Page 74 of Falling for the Firefighter
"When I get back..."His voice drops to that dangerous whisper that makes my skin tighten with anticipation."We're going to have a very thorough conversation about exactly what happens when you save my life."
Heat pools low in my belly despite everything. "Is that a threat or a promise?"
"Both."The single word carries weight that has nothing to do with fire suppression and everything to do with the way he's going to take me apart when this is over."Now get back to saving our town. I have work to finish."
The radio goes quiet, leaving me staring at it while my pulse hammers against my throat. Around me, the command center returns to its controlled chaos, but I remain frozen by the promise in his voice.
Scout tilts her head at the sudden change in my scent—the shift from fear to something warmer, more anticipatory. She's learned to read the subtle changes that indicate when Mac and I are focused on each other rather than the crisis at hand.
Her tail thumps once against the floor, and I swear there's amusement in her brown eyes. Even she knows what's coming when this fire is finally out.
When this fire is out, when Angel's Peak is safe, when the adrenaline fades and we're alone, he's going to remind me exactly who I belong to.
But first, we have a town to save.
Chapter 17
Fire Tornado
Thirty-seven minutes later,Mac's SUV pulls into The Haven's circular drive, followed by a Forest Service transport carrying his team. Through the ballroom's tall windows, twelve soot-covered firefighters emerge from the vehicles.
Alive.
Moving.
Whole.
My knees nearly buckle with relief.
Mac strides through the entrance, his uniform torn and blackened, face streaked with ash and sweat. But his eyes are clear, focused, scanning the room until they find mine. The intensity in his gaze stops my breath—gratitude, possession, and something darker that promises our earlier conversation is far from over.
Scout beats me to him by several seconds, launching herself from beneath the command table the moment Mac crosses the threshold. Her tail whips back and forth as she reaches him first, pressing against his legs and inhaling deeply—cataloging the scents of smoke, granite, and survival that cling to his uniform.
Mac's stern expression softens as he crouches briefly to accept her enthusiastic greeting, one soot-stained hand scratching behind her ears.
"Hey, girl," he murmurs, and I catch the relief in his voice—not just at being alive, but at being home.
Scout's entire body wiggles with joy, and for a moment, the dangerous tension between Mac and me takes a backseat to the simple reunion of a dog with her pack.
"Base Command." His voice carries across the room, professional despite the heat that flares between us. "Requesting status update."
I force myself to remain seated, to keep my voice steady. "Fire's continued to spread. Three new ignition points reported in the last hour. We deployed volunteer teams to the containment positions you designated."
He approaches the main table, where our maps are spread out. His team files in behind him. Parker looks exhausted but alert, Rodriguez favors his left arm, Williams moves stiffly but under her own power. They're battered but functional. Exactly what I'd expect from elite firefighters.
"Casualties?" Mac asks, studying the updated fire positions marked in red across my carefully drawn terrain.
"Minor injuries only. Burns, smoke inhalation, exhaustion." I point to the medical station Eleanor has set up near the kitchen. "Dr. Blake and Dr. Carrington are treating everyone. Your team should be checked over."
"Negative. We don't have time." Mac's finger traces the fire's advance on the map, his jaw tightening as he processes how much ground the blaze has gained during their extraction. "How long until it reaches the first residential areas?"
"At the current rate of spread? Maybe four hours."
Four hours to save Angel's Peak.
Mac's hand finds the small of my back as he leans over the map. The brief touch sends electricity racing through me despite everything. His thumb brushes against my spine, a subtle claim that makes my breath catch.
"You did well, Josephine." The words are quiet, meant only for me. "Damn well."
