Page 13 of Summer with the Mountain Man (Mountain Man Summer #16)
Blue Mountain Burn: The Firefighters of Hartley Ridge, Book One
Hudson
I shuck out of my heavy fire-resistant jacket, hang it on its hook on the station house wall, and turn back to face my second-in-command. “That’s it for the night, Jake.” I drag my hands through my hair and puff out a chuckle. “I owe the crew a beer.”
Bushfire season in Australia is always rife with charged anticipation for firefighters, but here in the Blue Mountains…
Well, when you live in the most mountainous region in the country, dense with eucalyptus forests, cut with plummeting gorges and towering craggy peaks, the bushfire season is a special kind of hell.
As captain of the Hartley Ridge Fire Brigade, I ensure our weekly Monday-night drill sessions get us prepped to perfection.
“Just one?” Jake says, arching an eyebrow as he toes off his boots. “Oi, Gibbo,” he calls over his broad shoulder. “The captain’s forgotten he lost the Whitlam bet.”
Ah, crap. He’s right. I bet that Brady Whitlam, the longest-serving member of the brigade, would move to the States after he met a girl over there last Christmas.
After the nightmare fire season we had before he flew over there, I thought we’d lose him to a life outside the brigade.
Turns out, she moved to Australia instead.
Right now, Brady was on paternity leave, taking his new role as a proud dad to his baby son very seriously.
He's a braver man than I. Being in a relationship? Being a father? Hell no. Not when my life is at risk every time there’s a callout. I wouldn’t do that to anyone.
“What’s this?” Tony Gibson, the brigade’s RPAS specialist, wanders into the station house’s changeroom, toweling down his damp hair.
The crew’s resident tech geek and drone operator looks like he should be on the stage of a bodybuilding competition.
He lets out a low chuckle, slinging his towel over his shoulder. “The captain forgetting he lost a bet?”
I run a quick look over them both. They look exhausted. Still alert and charged up, but exhausted. Now that I think of it, the rest of the team looked the same as they were all heading off.
Hmm, maybe I pushed them too hard tonight?
I put them through a series of hazmat and compressed air foam system drills.
But with the weather bureau issuing a storm warning ninety minutes after we started, the last thing we needed was being outside if it hit.
An aerial ladder platform, rain, and lightning don’t mix well.
“Alright, alright.” I strip off my T-shirt and toss it at Tony, who catches it with a grin and lobs it straight back to me. Snatching it out of the air, I snort. “My shout at the pub next?—”
Thunder shatters the air in a deafening crack. Tony and Jake run appraising looks over the ceiling as the station house rattles.
“And we’re done,” I state. “Get home before this hits. All of us have mountain roads to drive up, and I don’t want to have to come save your arses if you get stuck somewhere.”
Jake snorts. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve seen that truck of yours.”
“Hey, don’t knock the Beast.” I laugh.
“The Beast is a relic,” Tony declares, pulling on his T-shirt. “There’s a reason you ride a motor?—”
More thunder destroys Tony’s jab at my mode of transportation. We all duck, reflexes and instincts kicking in.
“Get going,” I say. “Hopefully, the storm is all noise, and we won’t have to get the engine out.”
Jake nods. “Stay safe.” He smacks the back of his hand to Tony’s shoulder. “C’mon, Gibbo. I just remembered you parked that monstrosity of a pickup behind me.”
“Stay safe, Chief,” Tony says, slinging his laptop bag across his body.
Thunder grumbles overhead. In the distance, lightning splits the darkness, flashing through the station house’s open engine doors.
I frown. “Out of interest, do either of you know who’s looking after Mrs. Andrews’s place while she’s in hospital? And her dog?”
Jake shakes his head. “No idea.”
“I heard her niece was flying up from Melbourne.” Tony adjusts the strap of his bag. “I hope she knows how to handle Archie.”
“Me too.” Picturing the massive bullmastiff Lily Andrews spoils rotten, I make a mental note to check in on the old artist’s place before returning to work tomorrow morning.
The small town of Hartley Ridge is, despite its name, situated in an almost-as-small valley, surrounded by Mount Kissingpoint, Talisman Peak, and—in typical Australian ironic fashion—Bushrangers Flat, the craggiest, steepest mountain in the Hartley area.
The town is a slice of Australian history, established by freed convicts in the early 1800s and growing little since then.
It’s picturesque, laid-back, and a mecca for artists and artisans.
Lily Andrews, a sculptor with a massive Instagram following, lives high on the side of Mount Kissingpoint—a mile above my own place.
I like her a lot. Even if she is constantly trying to get me to model for her.
Naked.
More lightning bleaches the night in jarring pulses, followed by angry rumblings.
“Go.” I wave toward the street. “Get some downtime. Just in case.”
I don’t need to finish the sentence. Everyone knows I mean any strikes could start a fire.
With nods, Jake and Tony leave.
Stealing a moment, I stand in the open garage door beside the engine and watch the storm. It’s definitely bearing down on us, and it looks pissed. God, I hope it loses steam before it reaches us.
And I hope to hell Mrs. Andrews’s big-city niece does, in fact, know how to handle Archie. Otherwise, there will be a terrified bullmastiff running scared in the Kissingpoint bush, and no one in Hartley’s Ridge has the stamina to deal with that.
Especially if Mrs. Andrews hears about it.
The Mountain Man’s Heat
( Blue Mountain Burn: The Firefighters of Hartley Ridge , Book One)