Page 6 of Falling for the Firefighter
The crew's heads swivel between us like they're watching a tennis match. Mac's eyes darken, pupils expanding as our verbalsparring intensifies. I realize, too late, we're giving them quite a show.
"You're suggesting we disregard standard operational protocols in favor of—" he taps my hand-drawn map, his finger deliberately brushing against mine in a touch that lingers a beat too long, "—artistic interpretations?"
The simple contact sends an electric current up my arm. His eyes confirm he felt it too, and did it on purpose.
"I'm suggesting your protocols are designed for California chaparral, not Colorado alpine wilderness." I resist the urge to pull my hand away, refusing to give him the satisfaction. "And there's nothing artistic about accurate terrain mapping."
A firefighter with a buzz cut—Martinez?—chuckles. "She's got you there, Cap."
Mac shoots him a look that would wither a lesser man, but Martinez just grins wider.
"Told you she'd be a match for you," he mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.
My cheeks burn at the implication. Mac ignores the comment, but his jaw tightens.
"Ms. Mackenzie clearly knows her territory," Parker interjects, studying my maps with a professional eye that doesn't quite hide her amusement at our exchange. "Perhaps a practical demonstration would settle this debate?"
"Excellent idea." I flip to my map of Angel Creek Basin, grateful for the diversion. "See this tributary here? Your GPS will show it flowing northwest. Every official survey for the past eighty years shows the same thing."
I trace the blue line with my finger, hyperaware of Mac leaning closer. His presence at my side radiates heat that seems to seep through my clothes.
"But three years ago, a rockslide altered its course. It now flows northeast, creating a seasonal marsh here—" I tapthe location, our shoulders nearly touching, "—that becomes impassable during spring runoff. It's not on any official map, but it could trap your crew if you relied solely on satellite data."
Mac studies the map, his brow furrowed. He's close enough that I could count his eyelashes if I were so inclined. Which I'm not. Obviously.
The silence stretches for five heartbeats before he straightens, his arm brushing mine in a touch that feels deliberate.
"Impressive." His tone remains neutral, but something in his eyes has changed. "Any other examples?"
"Dozens." I flip to another map, ignoring the pleased flutter in my stomach at having scored a point. "The old mining road on the west face. Satellite shows it as a viable access route, but the middle section collapsed last winter. Or the cave system near Thunder Ridge that provides emergency shelter during lightning storms."
With each example, Mac's team leans closer, their initial skepticism morphing into genuine interest. Rodriguez and Burke exchange looks, clearly reassessing their assumptions. Parker takes notes on a small pad, occasionally nodding.
"Your thoroughness is commendable." Mac's admission comes reluctantly, but his eyes never leave my maps—or is it me he’s studying? "Though I maintain that a combination of technologies provides optimal safety."
"I never suggested abandoning technology." I cross my arms, mirroring his earlier stance. The movement pulls my coffee-stained shirt across my chest, drawing his gaze momentarily before he deliberately looks back at my face. "Just supplementing it with actual knowledge of the terrain."
Parker checks her watch. "Time for the morning check-in with base. Coffee break for fifteen?"
Mac nods, and the crew files out, not even attempting to hide their knowing glances and whispered comments. Only then do I realize how Mac and I have been leaning toward each other, barely six inches separating our faces.
I step back, my body oddly reluctant to break the connection. "That went well."
"Did it?" His voice holds a note of amusement. "I'd say it's just getting started."
I busy myself with reorganizing maps, struggling to regain my professional composure. "Your team seems competent."
"High praise indeed." He doesn't move from his position, watching me with unwavering attention. "Are you always this passionate about cartography, Mackenzie?"
"I'm passionate about keeping people alive." I don't look up, afraid of what he might see in my eyes. "These mountains don't forgive mistakes."
"That sounds like experience talking."
The unexpected gentleness in his voice makes me glance up. His expression has softened; the challenge replaced by something more complex. For a moment, we're just two people, the charged atmosphere between us settling into something almost comfortable.
Before I can respond, the door swings open and Scout bounds in, muddy paws leaving prints across the polished floor. She heads straight for Mac, completely bypassing me, and sits expectantly at his feet.
"Traitor," I mutter.
