Page 90 of Falling for the Firefighter
I blink in surprise. "Tell him what?"
Her smile holds the wisdom of decades spent reading people and situations with uncanny accuracy. "Child, I've delivered enough babies in this town to recognize the signs. Plus, Scout's been treating you like precious cargo for the past week."
I glance down at Scout, who's positioned herself slightly in front of me—a subtle but unmistakable protective stance she's adopted without conscious direction.
"Tonight." The admission feels right as soon as I speak it. "When he gets home."
"He'll be over the moon." Eleanor's confidence carries absolute certainty. "That man's been father material since the day he set foot in Angel's Peak. The way he handles emergencies with kids, coordinates with the school district on fire safety education—he's been practicing without realizing it."
The observation warms me. I've watched Mac with Danny's family during their return visits to Angel's Peak, seen him coordinate youth fire prevention programs, and noticed how naturally children gravitate toward his calm authority. He'll be an extraordinary father.
"All units, controlled burn complete."Mac's voice announces success."Beginning final suppression and monitoring protocols. Site will be monitored for forty-eight hours per standard procedure."
"Copy that. Observation post returning to base."
Eleanor and I pack up our equipment while Scout conducts a final perimeter check, her nose working to confirm no threats remain in the area. The controlled burn site below shows perfect execution—targeted vegetation removal without any escape or uncontrolled spread.
The drive back to town takes us through the recovering landscape where last year's devastation is gradually giving way to new growth. Mac's fire management strategies have accelerated healing, and green shoots now push through ash-enriched soil in carefully planned patterns.
At the fire station, Mac's crew completes their post-operation debriefing with the efficiency of professionals who've worked together long enough to anticipate each other's needs. I watch through the bay doors as Mac reviews reports, signs documentation, and coordinates with his team for tomorrow's planned educational program at the elementary school.
When he finally emerges, uniform dusty but spirits high, his eyes find mine immediately across the parking lot. Evenafter eighteen months, that first moment of contact still sends electricity racing through my veins.
Scout bounds toward him with unleashed enthusiasm, her greeting ritual unchanged despite the passage of time. Mac crouches to accept her attention, one hand scratching behind her ears while his eyes remain locked on mine over her head.
"Successful burn?" I ask as he approaches.
"Textbook execution." He stops close enough that I can smell smoke and sweat and the familiar scent that's uniquely his. "Your wind readings were perfect. Made all the difference in containment timing."
The professional acknowledgment gives way to something more personal as his hand finds my waist, thumb brushing against my ribs in a touch that speaks of possession and familiarity.
"Hungry?" I ask, though food isn't really what I'm thinking about.
"Starving." The double meaning in his voice sends heat pooling low in my belly. "For several things."
The drive to our cabin—no longer just mine, but ours, expanded with a workshop where Mac builds furniture and a larger office where we both work on fire management planning—passes in comfortable conversation about the day's successes. Scout settles in the back seat with the contentment of a dog whose pack is complete and safe.
At home, Mac heads for the shower while I prepare dinner, my mind rehearsing how to share the news that will change everything. Scout positions herself where she can monitor both of us, her protective instincts heightened by whatever scents she's detecting.
When Mac emerges, hair damp and wearing the jeans and flannel shirt that make him look more mountain man than firecaptain, I'm standing at the kitchen counter with my back to him, summoning courage.
"Josephine." His voice carries a note of concern. "Everything alright?"
I turn, meeting his eyes across the space that's become our sanctuary. "Remember when you said you wanted all of me? Permanently?"
Something shifts in his expression—wariness mixed with hope. "I remember. Why?"
Instead of words, I pull the pregnancy test from behind my back, holding it where he can see the unmistakable positive result. "Because you're about to get more than you bargained for."
The silence stretches for three heartbeats while he processes what he's seeing. Then his face transforms—wonder, joy, and something deeper blazing in his eyes as he crosses the kitchen in two long strides.
His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing over my cheekbones as he stares down at me with an intensity that steals my breath. "Are you...? We're...?"
"Pregnant." The word comes out soft but certain. "About six weeks, I think."
His response is immediate and overwhelming—arms wrapping around me, lifting me off my feet as he spins us both in a circle, his laughter rich with pure joy. When he sets me down, his hands immediately move to my stomach, palms spread wide over the place where our child grows.
"A baby." His voice holds wonder, as if he's afraid speaking too loudly might make it disappear. "Our baby."
