Page 66 of Falling for the Firefighter
As his vehicle disappears toward the fire line, I stand alone in the staging area, watching smoke columns rise like pillars against the afternoon sky. Somewhere in that inferno, Mac and his team are fighting to contain an ecological disaster.
Scout moves to my side, pressing against my legs as if sensing the weight of what comes next. Her brown eyes follow my gaze to the smoke columns, and her nostrils flare as she processes the scents carried on the wind—smoke, fear, the complex chemistry of a town under siege.
Chapter 15
Call to Arms
The Haven'sgrand ballroom has never served a purpose more distant from its design. Where crystal chandeliers usually illuminate elegant gatherings, they now cast harsh light over maps spread across banquet tables pushed together in a makeshift command center. The air tastes of smoke that clings to everyone's clothing, mixing with fear and determination in equal measure. My throat burns with each breath, a constant reminder of the disaster pressing against our town's borders.
Scout lies beneath the main table, her chin resting across my boots as I address the assembled crowd. She's been my shadow since we emerged from the tunnels, refusing to leave my side even in this crowded, chaotic space.
Her brown eyes track every movement in the room, ears swiveling toward radio chatter and urgent conversations. The stress radiating from every person here affects her too—I can feel the tension in her body where she presses against my legs, offering comfort while drawing it in return.
Every chair is filled. Every face is grim.
Somewhere out there, Mac fights alongside his team on the front lines, facing the engineered inferno head-on. Theknowledge sits in my chest like a weight, worry threading through every decision I make here in relative safety.
I stand at the head of the main table, trying to channel the authority Mac displayed before he left for the front lines. Maps ready, pulse still racing from our tunnel rescue and the passionate goodbye that followed. The memory of his hands on my skin, his promise to find me when this is over, grounds me even as my nerves sing with tension about where he is now, what he's facing out there with Parker and his team.
"The situation is critical." I don't waste time with preambles; I echo Mac's direct approach. My voice carries through the room, steadier than I expect despite everything we've faced. "We're facing a fire unlike anything these mountains have seen in recorded history. Captain Sullivan and his hotshot crew are fighting the main blaze on the front lines, while we coordinate civilian evacuation and volunteer firefighting efforts."
Lucas Reid, The Haven's owner, leans forward. The polished businessman looks haggard, expensive shirt wrinkled, usually perfect hair disheveled.
"What resources do we have for civilian operations?" he asks.
"Local fire services. Volunteer firefighters. Search and rescue teams." I gesture toward the assembled crowd, drawing strength from their determined faces. "And everyone in this room who knows these mountains."
Murmurs ripple through the assembled crowd—a cross-section of Angel's Peak's residents summoned for this emergency council. I spot familiar faces etched with worry throughout the ballroom.
Eleanor Morgan, her silver braids coiled regally atop her head, sits with her spine straight despite her age, her sharp eyes already calculating logistics. Beside her, Hunter Morgan leans forward intently, flour still dusting his forearms from whatever he abandoned in his restaurant kitchen to be here.
Drs. Cole Blake and Tess Carrington cluster near the medical supply station, their trained eyes scanning the crowd for potential volunteers with relevant skills. Jackson Hart, mountain rescue specialist and wilderness guide, studies the fire projection maps with the intensity of someone who's pulled bodies from burning mountains.
Caleb Donovan stands by the window with arms crossed, his forest ranger uniform wrinkled from hours on the fireline, watching smoke columns rise in the distance.
Lucas Reid paces near the windows, his usual corporate polish replaced by genuine concern as he calculates what resources The Haven can contribute. Near the back, I spot Riley Bennett, the journalist who returned to cover Angel's Peak's revival, her notepad forgotten as she absorbs the gravity of our situation.
Ruth Fletcher, owner of The PickAxe bar, stands with her weathered hands clasped, having closed her establishment to be here. Beside her, Marianne Cox from Mountain Metalworks nods grimly—both women representing the artisan community that's helped transform our town.
Even Dominic Mercer from Silverleaf Vineyards has come down from his mountain vineyard, soil still under his fingernails from whatever harvest work he abandoned. His dog Merlot sits alert beside him, both of them radiating the same coiled tension.
The diversity of faces—business owners, artists, medical professionals, emergency responders, and longtime residents—reflects everything Angel's Peak has become. All of them now united by a single purpose: saving their home.
The chandelier light catches the dust motes floating through the air, tiny particles of ash that infiltrated even this sealed space. My skin feels gritty with it, the taste bitter on my tongue.
"What are you asking of us?" Eleanor's voice cuts through the whispers, direct as ever. Her hands rest steady on her walkingstick, but I catch the slight tremor in her fingers—the only sign of the fear she won't let show.
I meet her gaze steadily, drawing on every ounce of authority Mac trusted me with. "Everything. Your knowledge. Your skills. Your hands." I gesture toward the map, the paper crinkling under the weight of our collective attention.
"This fire was deliberately engineered to cause maximum destruction. Captain Sullivan believes the ultimate target is the old Silver Creek mining complex, but the path there runs straight through Angel's Peak."
My stomach clenches at my own words. Someone wants my mountains to burn, wants my town reduced to ash for reasons I can't yet fathom.
Noah Morgan stands, the movement drawing all eyes. His chair scrapes against the polished floor—a sound too loud in the sudden quiet. As fire chief, his authority here is crucial in Mac's absence.
"For those who don't know, Captain Sullivan's team are elite firefighters specifically trained for wilderness blazes." Noah's respect for Mac is evident in his tone, but his voice carries the weight of someone who's seen what untrained volunteers can do in crisis situations.
"Jo coordinated a successful civilian rescue earlier today. If she says we need everyone, we need everyone."
