Page 1 of The Smokejumper’s Lady (Praise Me Like Fire #1)

Clea

“These peaks used to have over a hundred glaciers.” I point past the line of trees toward the mountains. “Now? We’re down to maybe twenty-five. Give or take.”

Mr. Reynolds lets out a low whistle. “That’s just…damn.”

“Heartbreaking,” I agree, but I smile. “Still the most beautiful place on earth. And totally worth sweating through this hike for.”

Little Maddie Reynolds looks up at me, her cheeks pink from the climb. She’s clutching a sparkly water bottle like it’s the last cold drink in Montana. “Are there bears here?”

“Oh, for sure,” I say, leaning down to her level with a wink. “But don’t worry. Bears don’t like big groups, and you guys have been awesome hikers. Any bear with sense is already running the other way.”

Mrs. Reynolds gives a little theatrical gasp and pulls Maddie closer. She’s joking, but I can tell she’ll be keeping her eyes wide open from now on.

Smart woman . The woods really are no joke.

We keep moving, the trail bending to give us a panoramic view of the valley. I stop for a second and let them take it in. Pines as far as the eye can see, the glint of a distant stream, the blue sky stretching so wide it makes me feel small in the best way.

I never get tired of this.

No matter how many tours I lead, no matter how many times I rattle off the same facts about alpine ecosystems and glacier melt. This place still takes my breath away. It makes everything else feel…lighter.

Even the stuff I try not to think about.

Like how my mom thinks I’d be safer behind a desk wearing heels and a blazer, instead of hiking trails in trail runners and cargo shorts. Or how my dad thinks that my dream—owning my own adventure tour company—is just a silly phase.

Or how in my darkest moments, I think they both might be right.

A sharp crackle from my walkie startles me. I grab it off my hip and press the button. “Tour guide ten, go ahead.”

Tom’s voice buzzes through, scratchy but clear. “Clea, hey…it’s Tom. Got an alert from the ranger station. Dry lightning’s moving in from the west. Time to head back.”

My stomach dips. I glance up at the sky. Still clear. Still perfectly blue. But out here, that can change in minutes.

“Copy that.” I clip the walkie back to my belt. Then I turn to the Reynolds family. “Change of plans, folks. We’ve got a weather warning—there’s a possibility of dry lightning. It’s a long shot, but we don’t take chances in this park. We’re heading back. Now.”

I keep my tone calm, steady, even as my pulse starts to pick up. They nod and fall in line, Maddie sticking close to her mom.

Good girl.

The trail feels hotter now. The wind’s gone still. My stomach tightens with a familiar feeling of unease—the kind that only comes when nature decides she’s about to show her teeth.

The wind shifts. No warning, no whisper, no breeze to ease it in. One second the air is still, the next it’s humming, electric, wild. The kind of change you feel more than see, crawling up the back of your neck.

Then comes the thunder, deep and distant, like something ancient waking up.

I whip around just as the clouds roll in fast over the ridge, dark and cracked with streaks of silver.

Mountain storms are fast. I know this. I’ve said it a hundred times to wide-eyed tourists.

But this is faster than anything I’ve ever seen. Too fast.

Crack!

The sky splits open with a bolt of lightning, so close I can feel the vibration in my teeth. The smell hits next, sharp and acrid.

Fire!

“Oh my God,” Mrs. Reynolds whispers, her pretty brown eyes growing wide with a mixture of fear and shock.

“Stay calm!” I shout, already grabbing for my walkie. “Everybody stay close. Keep moving!”

The walkie crackles as I press the call button. “Ranger station, this is tour guide ten. We have an active fire—repeat, dry lightning has ignited the forest just east of the ridge. I have civilians with me, requesting immediate assistance!”

There’s a delay. The flames eat it.

The fire is spreading fast. Dry pine needles, brittle grass, low humidity. It’s like the whole forest was just waiting for one spark.

Maddie is screaming, high and shrill, and Mrs. Reynolds is frozen, her hand on her chest, staring at the rising smoke like she can’t believe it’s real.

Mr. Reynolds is barking her name, grabbing at Maddie, trying to keep them both moving, but it’s chaos.

Heat is building, smoke choking the clean alpine air, turning the world around us into a nightmare.

“We have to move,” I bark, louder than I mean to. “Everyone stay close to me.”

I grab Maddie’s hand and start running down the narrow trail, my boots slipping on loose gravel. My lungs are burning already—from the smoke, from the fear. The heat surges behind us, chasing us like it has teeth.

That’s when I see it…a narrow dip in the ridge, shadows just beyond the thick bramble. A jagged outcropping of rock, barely visible through the smoke. My pulse kicks into overdrive.

It’s a cave!

I don’t even hesitate. “This way!” I shout, dragging them toward it. Branches snag at my arms. Maddie stumbles once, then again, but I don’t let go of her hand.

The flames are close now, so close I can hear the trees screaming. We duck into the cave just as the first wall of heat rolls over the trail.

Inside, it’s damp and tight, but it works as a cover. The opening is small enough that I pray the fire won’t come barreling in, and the rock above us gives a layer of protection we didn’t have a minute ago.

Maddie is sobbing now, completely undone. Mrs. Reynolds is trying to hold it together, but her face is streaked with terror. Mr. Reynolds is wheezing, hands braced on his knees.

I take off my flannel shirt and press it against Maddie’s nose and mouth. “Breathe through this, sweetie. Just like blowing out birthday candles, okay?”

Her eyes are wide and glassy, cheeks streaked with soot and tears. But she nods. Brave girl.

Mrs. Reynolds clutches her daughter tighter. “Are we going to be okay?” she asks me, voice trembling.

I pause.

My instinct is to lie. Say yes. Say help is already on the way. Say there’s no way in hell the fire will reach us here. But I’ve guided enough groups and studied enough weather patterns to know better.

So I meet her gaze and speak the truth, because it’s all I’ve got left.

“We’re in a decent spot,” I say, keeping my voice as steady as I can. “The cave gives us some cover. Fires usually move with the wind and terrain. We’re near the creek, and the air’s thinner up here. We just have to stay low. Stay calm.”

Please just believe me.

The walkie squawks, and I lunge for it, my heart leaping into my throat. “Tour guide ten reporting,” I say. “We’re in a cave near the East Fork ridge, north trail. Four people, including a child. Requesting immediate air support.”

“Copy that,” a male voice crackles back. “Smoke jumper team’s been dispatched. ETA ten to twelve minutes. Hold tight.”

Relief crashes into me so hard I nearly sag against the rock wall. Ten minutes might as well be a lifetime, but it’s hope. It’s something.

I turn to the Reynolds’s, offering a weak smile. “Help’s on the way.”

Mr. Reynolds lets out a shaky breath and nods. Mrs. Reynolds buries her face into her daughter’s hair. The tiniest bit of tension leaves their bodies. Not all of it, but enough to give them a second wind.

Ten minutes.

I glance toward the cave opening. Orange flickers in the distance. The flames are crawling closer. The sound is almost worse than the sight, like a freight train barreling through the trees, snapping branches, devouring everything in its path. Hungry. Alive.

And through it all, I’m here.

Not in a safe office. Not behind some glossy desk in a hotel like my parents wanted. I’m in the middle of a wildfire, babysitting tourists, wondering if this is the hill I’m going to die on. Literally.

I hear my mom’s voice again, sharp and certain: “You’re wasting your future on this park, Clea. Do you want to be thirty with nothing to show for it except bug bites and a sunburn?”

I always say something about how thirty is still a whole decade away. How I’m only twenty and have plenty of time to figure out what I want to do.

But my weak excuses just make my mom think there’s hope for me yet, so she keeps pushing. And I’m not strong enough to say what I really want to say.

What I’ve never said—what I always think after those calls—is that this place feels like mine. The ridges and creeks and winding trails are the only thing that’s ever made sense to me.

But right now?

Right now, nothing makes sense. And I feel trapped.

My hands are shaking. My throat is raw. I can’t let them see how scared I am, but God—this is the worst fear I’ve ever felt. Not just for myself, but for the wonderful family with me. For Maddie.

A deep, thunderous crack shakes the cave walls. A tree has fallen somewhere nearby.

Maddie whimpers, burying herself deeper into her mom’s arms. Mrs. Reynolds sobs quietly. Mr. Reynolds looks at me again, desperate for reassurance.

I raise the walkie again. “Team ETA?” I say, trying not to sound as terrified as I feel.

“Smoke jumpers have eyes on your coordinates,” the voice replies. “Hang in there.”

I lower the walkie slowly. “They’re coming,” I whisper, mostly to myself. “Any minute now.”

I don’t know what kind of people jump out of planes into wildfire zones. I don’t know how anyone signs up for that. But right now, I’m praying one of them finds us before the fire does.

And if they don’t?

I guess it will go down in history that I died doing what I loved. Died before I gave up and settled for a desk job. That doesn’t seem so bad…