Page 39 of Falling for the Firefighter
Because out here, one misstep costs everything. And after last night… I have too much to lose.
I shift my pack higher on my shoulders, scan the perimeter, and force my breath to slow.
If any of them knew.
If they had the slightest idea what Mac did to me this morning—how he woke me with a grip in my hair and a command on his tongue.
Heat flares across my cheeks, my thighs clenching involuntarily.
I’m his.
And Mac? He’s going to make damn sure I never forget it.
He stands at the center of his crew, issuing final instructions. He's transformed overnight from the man in my bed to Captain Sullivan, all crisp authority and tactical precision. His team forms a semi-circle around him—twelve firefighters in yellow and green, loaded with observation equipment and survival gear. The other half of his crew remains on standby at the station, ready to respond if the arsonist strikes again.
"Our priority is intelligence gathering," Mac tells them, voice carrying in the morning stillness. "We're looking for evidence of human activity, unusual patterns, anything that might help identify who's behind these fires."
I hang back, checking my pack for the third time. Water purification tablets, emergency blanket, first aid kit, compass, topographical maps—everything in its place, just as I've packed a hundred times before. Yet my hands won't stop their methodical inventory, driven by anxiety I can't quite suppress.
Scout sits beside me, her intelligent brown eyes tracking my nervous movements. She tilts her head as I check the same pocket for the fourth time, then nudges my hand with her wetnose—a gentle reminder that my anxiety is showing. I scratch behind her ears, finding comfort in her steady presence.
"At least one of us knows what we're doing," I murmur to her. She wags her tail once, confident and ready, the way she always is before we head into the mountains.
"Ms. Mackenzie will be our guide." Mac gestures toward me, and twelve pairs of eyes shift in my direction. "She knows these mountains, the terrain, the pitfalls and dangers. When she speaks, you listen. Clear?"
A chorus of affirmations ripples through the group. I straighten my shoulders, feeling the weight of their trust settle uncomfortably across my back.
"We'll divide into six teams of two," Mac continues, unfolding the map we prepared yesterday. "Each team will establish an observation post at these designated coordinates. Ms. Mackenzie and I will guide you to your positions, then maintain mobile patrol between posts."
Rodriguez raises a hand. "What kind of terrain are we looking at, Cap?"
Mac defers with a nod in my direction. "Ms. Mackenzie?"
I step forward, pushing down the flutter of nerves in my stomach. "Mostly old mining territory. Steep slopes, loose shale in places. Several unmarked caves and abandoned prospector camps. The western ridge is unstable after last spring's landslide." I trace the area on the map. "Navigation is tricky—GPS signals bounce off rock faces, creating false readings. Follow the markers I've indicated, not your devices."
Parker studies the map, brow furrowed. "What about water sources?"
"Three reliable springs marked here, here, and here." I point to the blue X's on the map. "The northeastern stream runs high with snowmelt, but it's contaminated with old mining runoff. Don't drink from it, even with filtration."
The questions continue—terrain hazards, wildlife activity, and emergency extraction points. I answer each with growing confidence, my anxiety receding as I slip into the familiar role of mountain expert. This part I've always been good at—reading the land, understanding its moods and dangers.
Scout moves to my side as I speak, her presence grounding me. She's been my partner on every trail survey; her nose detects wildlife signs before I spot them, and her ears alert me to changes in weather patterns through sounds I can't hear.
The crew notices her immediately—the way she positions herself, alert but calm, scanning the terrain with professional focus.
"Your dog always work with you?" Williams asks with genuine curiosity.
"Scout's saved more hikers than I have," I reply, one hand resting on her head. "She can track scent trails through terrain that would take me hours to navigate, and she knows the difference between normal wildlife activity and something wrong."
It's the human element that terrifies me.
"Move out in five," Mac announces, folding the map. The teams break formation to perform last-minute equipment checks.
Mac approaches, stopping close enough that only I can hear him. "You okay?"
His concern shouldn't warm me, but it does. "Fine."
"You've checked your pack four times."
