Page 3 of Redwood Blaze (Black Timber Peak Hotshots #1)

TWO

MILLIE

I hear him from down the hallway in my BTP Hotshots office and I chuckle with a shake of my head.

I’ll never admit that I make them to see his goofy-boyish smile and green eyes widen. He could be a model on the cover of an Irish GQ, but that’s not his calling.

It’s like all of us. There’s something rooted deep in us.

Maybe it’s the mountain— the majesty and grandeur.

Maybe it’s the trees— sacred and towering like green flags of nature.

And maybe it’s the people— knowing that we’re protecting one of earth’s most precious resources.

We’re not sappy about it. Hell, to some it’s just a job, like many others here on this blue and green marble, but to most of us, this job is about more than just stopping a fire.

And I know it’s that way for me and I know it’s that way for Callum. I mean, Rusty. I think the moniker has to do with his ginger hair, but I’ve never asked him.

His head peeks around the corner of my office and he slowly bites into a bar. I cut them extra big. The guys can deal with the sugar rush.

“Boss, damn, this might be your best batch.”

The way he savors the bite fills a little place in me. I’m not a baker and those bars are really the only sweet-treat that I can make, but thankfully, they’re his favorite and I know it. I know it and I pander to it because I like seeing him happy.

Maybe because I’m not always happy.

“How are the reports?” he asks.

“Got some smoke over on peak six, but the fire watcher thinks it’s someone renting a cabin and starting up the fireplace. He’s keeping an eye on it. And then on?—”

“Peak three,” we say together and I nod.

It’s always peak three. There’s always one peak that has more issues than others. And this one is mainly because of hikers and campers. It’s the most accessible of the peaks for those activities, so it’s more active when it comes to smoke reports and fires in general.

“Seems some campers got a little bonfire happy last night. Thankfully the rangers caught it in time and put it out, but they said the campers moved on and they wouldn’t put it past them to do another stupid move tonight.” I cringe. “I don’t mean stupid.”

“Yeah, you do,” he says before throwing back the last of the lemon bar.

“Let’s face it the facts speak volumes. Eighty-five percent of forest fires are caused by humans with their unattended campfires, improperly discarded cigarettes, and equipment malfunctions like parking their vehicles over dry plants so the hot exhaust catches it on fire.

Not to mention the ones that aren’t accidental. ”

Arson.

We hate the word.

Hotshots can understand that some humans make poor choices whether out of need, misinformation, lack of information, or plain laziness, and in the long run, they can be forgiven.

But when someone starts a fire on purpose that leads to endangering others’ lives, well that isn’t forgivable.

That’s a life sentence of shame and dishonor.

And of course, there’s one other, Mother Nature.

She’s one factor that can’t be taught or trained to do better.

She’s makes the rules when it comes to weather.

And she gives and takes away— rain and lightning.

Rain slows fires, but lightning starts them.

We rarely talk about her because… well, we’re not necessarily superstitious, but we’re not about tempting fate either.

I grab my necklace and rub the chunk of petrified wood. Okay, maybe I’m a little superstitious and this is my talisman of good luck, but not all of us have these either.

He leans against the doorjamb and finishes chewing. “Damn fine lemon bars, Millie.”

“Thanks.” I push my blonde ponytail over my shoulder. I know we’re about the same age, but for some reason, I swear Rusty has a wiseness —and wise ass ness— to him. “Did you say that your family’s been in firefighting?”

“Granddad, my dad, and now me.”

“Three generations.”

“And only one is not here because of it.”

My heart clenched. “Your grandpa?”

He just shakes his head once and then rolls toward me. “Nah, cancer took him from us when he was sixty. My dad was caught up on peak twelve when I was sixteen.”

I read about that fire. It wasn’t big, but the wind wrapped it around the hotshots.

One of the worst feelings in the world to see a way out and five minutes later it’s gone and you’re just backing toward the other side of the fire.

We’ve got equipment that can help, but probably almost twenty-years ago, it wasn’t what it is today.

Our heat-resistant shelters can withstand fire for up to ninety-minutes but sometimes even that long isn’t enough.

Shifting winds… a hotshots number one fear.

“I’m sorry, Rusty. I’m thankful for his service and I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks.” He shuffled his feet a little.

I push to stand. “Well, I’ve got to get going.”

“Got a hot date?” he asks me and I still.

“No, nothing like that. I’ve got a meeting with the mayor about building onto the cabin for four more hotshots.”

“Forty isn’t enough?”

“Beckett, Wilson, Ian, and Juan have all put in for transfers to Diamond Ridge.”

“Oh…”

Losing that many just meant we’ll have to hire twice as many because the attrition rate in this field is almost thirty percent in Montana, and it’s higher in other states.

“It’ll be okay,” I say while grabbing a light jacket.

I still when I get close to him. The scent of his pine-scented body invades my nose. Any woodsy smell is a turn-on for me, probably some deep-seated neurosis from fighting for the trees.

I clear my throat. “I’m glad you like the lemon bars.”

“I don’t like them.”

I rear my head back. “I thought?—”

He moves in close. Too close. My heart starts pounding in my chest and I hold my breath.

“I love them, Millie.” He turns and walks away.

Jeez.

I lean back against the doorway.

It’s always been like this with us.

And it’s something different than my past relationship.

I close my eyes hoping it’s getting better, but the visions are still there.

Shattered glass.

Broken mementos of my mother.

Clothes strewn on the lawn.

And the words never leave the deep recesses only to be brought forth when I’m either stressed or least expecting it.

You’ll never be free, Millie. I’ll find you wherever you hide.

He said them over and over.

And no matter how many nice words Rusty says to me, he can’t drown out the ones that repeat themselves on a loop.

I grab my laptop bag and head out to meet Mayor Jackson at his place of business, Jackson’s Sticky Ribs.

Maybe I’ll bring some ribs and cornbread back with me.

Plus, tonight is special and Rusty will find out why soon enough. But that’s how it is, we always look out for each other. We’re not just a team. We’re a family.

But my track record with family isn’t the greatest.