Page 41 of Falling for the Firefighter
Williams nods, laying out solar charging equipment. "How often do the winds shift here?"
"Afternoon thermals pick up around two. Expect sixty-degree directional changes until sunset." I scan the horizon, reading familiar weather patterns in the cloud formations. "Storm system moving in from the northwest. Probably hit by tomorrow evening."
"You can tell that just by looking?" Williams sounds impressed.
"The mountains talk if you know how to listen." My father’s words spill out from me; his mantra lives with me.
I check my watch, calculating our next leg. "That cloud formation over the western peak only appears when a low-pressure system is building behind it."
Mac finishes the communications check, nodding his satisfaction. "You're set. Check in every two hours. Report any movement immediately, but do not engage. Clear?"
"Crystal, Cap," Martinez confirms, already settling into observation position.
As we descend toward the next drop point, Mac keeps pace beside me. "That was good. They respect your expertise."
I shrug, uncomfortable with the praise. "They'd better. Their lives might depend on it."
"You really can read the weather patterns that accurately?" There's genuine curiosity in his question.
"My father taught me." I duck under a low-hanging branch. "He used to say the mountains never lie, but they don't always speak plainly. You have to learn their language."
"Your father sounds like a wise man."
"He was." The past tense slips out before I can catch it.
Mac notices—of course he does—but doesn't push. Instead, he asks, "Were you always going to follow in his footsteps?"
"I never planned to." I navigate around a fallen log. "I was studying environmental science at CSU when he died. Heart attack on Widow's Peak. By the time another hiker found him, it was too late."
"I'm sorry."
"It was seven years ago." I keep my voice neutral, as if discussing a stranger instead of the man who taught me everything I know about these mountains. "Sheriff Donovan asked if I'd take over as safety coordinator temporarily. Temporary turned permanent."
"You're good at it." His observation carries no flattery, just a simple acknowledgment.
"I was better before." The admission slips out before I can stop it.
Mac's expression softens with understanding. "Before Sarah."
I nod once, not trusting my voice.
"What happened to her? After the accident."
"Multiple surgeries to minimize the scarring." I focus on a distant peak, memories rising unbidden. "Last I heard, she recovered, but is wheelchair bound for life. The family moved to Arizona afterward."
"Away from the mountains."
"Away from me." The truth of it still stings. "Can't blame them."
Mac is quiet for several paces, then says something unexpected. "You blame yourself enough for everyone."
The observation hits too close to home. I pick up the pace, putting distance between us as we approach the next ridgeline.
By midday, we've positioned four of the six teams. Each location I've chosen offers strategic advantages—natural cover, clear sightlines, proximity to water, and multiple escape routes. With each successful placement, the knot of anxiety in my chest loosens incrementally.
Maybe I can do this. Maybe the weight of responsibility won't crush me this time.
The fifth position proves more challenging. The original location I marked on the map has changed since my last visit—a recent rockslide altered the approach, making it too exposed for safety.
