Page 37 of Falling for the Firefighter
Understanding dawns in his expression. "Is that what happened with Sarah? A split-second decision?"
"I hesitated." The admission costs me. "Just for a moment. Saw the danger too late. Called out too late."
"And you've been punishing yourself ever since."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway.
"Wouldn't you?"
Something flickers in his eyes—recognition, perhaps. Or a shadow of his own guilt.
"Every day," he says quietly.
The simple acknowledgment hits harder than any argument could. For a moment, we stand there, two people carrying the weight of responsibility, of choices made and consequences faced.
"I need your help, Josephine." No demands. No manipulation. Just the truth. "Lives could depend on it."
I close my eyes, weighing risk against responsibility. When I open them, my decision is made.
"I'll help position your observation teams, but I’ll set the routes. The pace. The safety protocols. No arguments."
Relief softens his features. "Agreed."
"And no civilians." I need this boundary to be firm and clear. "Just your crew. I'm not guiding tourists again."
"Just my team." He nods. "They follow orders and know their jobs."
Something almost like excitement flutters beneath my fear—the long-dormant part of me that loved guiding, that thrived onsharing my mountains with others. I squash it ruthlessly. This is about duty, not pleasure. About responsibility, not redemption.
"When do we start?" I ask, already mentally cataloging the gear we'll need.
"Tomorrow at dawn." Mac's expression turns professional again, but something warmer lingers in his eyes. "I'll brief the team this afternoon. We'll need observation points with good visibility but natural cover, access to emergency evacuation routes, and minimal fire risk."
I nod, already mapping possibilities in my head. "I know some places. Old hunting blinds, abandoned fire towers. I'll mark them tonight."
Mac moves back to the map, his focus shifting to the tactical planning that comes so naturally to him. For the next hour, we work side by side, plotting positions and routes, discussing team compositions and supply needs.
The earlier tension doesn't disappear, but it transforms into something more productive—a partnership born of mutual respect and shared purpose.
When Parker returns, we've outlined a comprehensive strategy. Six two-person teams positioned around the perimeter, with Mac and me mobile between positions. Three-day rotation, with daily supply runs and communication checks.
"Looks solid." Parker studies our plan with approving eyes. "I'll coordinate the equipment prep."
"We move at 0500," Mac tells her. "Ms. Mackenzie will be our primary guide for positioning."
If Parker is surprised by my involvement, she doesn't show it. She nods, professional respect in her eyes.
"I'll inform the team." She gathers her notes and heads for the door, leaving Mac and me alone again.
The moment the door closes, Mac turns. The map still lies between us, but the air shifts, tighter now. Charged.
“I’m coming over tonight.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “You heard me.”
I duck my head, suddenly fascinated by the corner of the map. “Mac… it’s not necessary. This past week was amazing, but?—”
