Page 9 of Wildfire (Owl Creek #1)

Dinner is an exercise in restraint. I keep reminding myself that Renée is leaving in a couple of weeks. She has big dreams, just like Sadie did, and doesn't need to get tangled up with the likes of me.

I feel twisted up in knots as we eat our quiche and salad.

Especially because Renée keeps moaning with every bite, and I want to wipe the crumbs off her lips and kiss her.

I want to nibble on that bottom lip she keeps pursing when thinking about home.

I want to wipe the worry away from whatever haunts her.

What gave her those nightmares last night.

But I can't. I won't for self-preservation and because she is obviously not in a good place. I don't want to be the one who makes it worse. So we eat our dinner, and I tell her about my visit with Chief Johnson's widow.

"I think that's sweet you check on her."

"They don't have any kids, or they don't have any surviving children. So, no one is checking on her. If I don't do it, who will?"

"Seriously, that is the sweetest thing I have ever heard. But what do you mean about surviving children?"

"They had one kid. A son. And he got leukemia. After he passed away, they buried themselves in their jobs, and that was it."

"And now her husband is gone?"

"Yeah. She's all alone."

"I'm sure she appreciates you coming by."

"She does, but especially after the fire yesterday morning."

"Why's that?"

"It was the third one this month."

"Is that a lot?"

"More than usual before the start of tourist season.

The weather patterns around here have been changing for the last several years.

It's hotter and drier. And both the heat and dry conditions last longer.

Luckily, it also rains more during the wet season, so we are managing a balance.

For now. But this? This feels off. My other brother, who you haven't met, is a forest ranger who manages the giant state park in the mountains.

So we work together in the summer to deal with the uptick of hazards and little blazes that happen with all the campers that come through.

Someone always forgets to put out their fire completely.

And now, with the weather changing, we've got shorter and shorter windows of time you can even have a fire, which isn't good for tourism, of course.

People don't want to go camping without a fire. "

"So what are you going to do?"

"Keep an eye on things—more educational campaigns. I work with the mayor and town council to coordinate the education piece. But still…"

My mind is trying to puzzle out what is happening and how to keep Mrs. Johnson at peace. She knows better than anyone what it's like out there, and I don't want her to feel alone and vulnerable.

"You care a lot about this town, don't you?"

"It's my home!"

"Well, yeah, but where I come from, people don't seem to care about things. They dump in the woods illegally. They clear-cut without thinking about how that would make the river break the bank and wash out the road. And they sure as hell don't help their neighbors out. Mine didn't."

"Is that why you're leaving?"

"Wouldn't you?"

She stands up with her plate, hastily grabs mine from the table, and walks over to the sink to wash. The air is buzzing with tension, and I don't know if I should try to comfort her or leave her with her thoughts. Before I can decide, she spins around and faces me.

Her eyes are ablaze, and I can see that whatever is troubling her has awoken a beast.

"I'm leaving because people don't care. They just use you and abuse you and don't give you anything in return.

Because I'm tired of being shit on. I'm not even 23 years old, and I already feel like I've lived a lifetime's worth of pain.

I want joy. I want pleasure. I want freedom.

And I'm sure as hell not going to get it in Downsville. "

I cautiously approach with my glass in hand. "Do you really think you'll find what you're looking for in Los Angeles?"

"I might. I might not. But I have to try. And I have to give myself a chance. My mother gave up on her dream to raise us. And then she died. She just—" Two large tears run down her face, so I put my glass on the counter and reach for her. I wrap my arms around her, and she feels so small. So alone.

I hold her as the silent tears fall and wet my shirt. My hand instinctively reaches up to her head, and I stroke her hair as she releases everything that is trapped in her small frame until she sniffles and starts to pull away.

She swipes at her cheeks, and I grab a clean dish towel and wet it. "Let me help you," I say, washing her face with the towel while she looks up at me with big golden-brown eyes.

"Thanks, Chief. I'm sorry I broke down like that. I just missed so much with her gone."

I stand back and take her in. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest, pushing up her tits in the black t-shirt she's wearing. I felt the press of them against my chest when I held her, but it hadn't registered until now how good it felt to have her body next to mine.

"You don't need to apologize. It's okay for you to feel…feel anything here."

"God." She scowls. "Could you be any more perfect?"

A chuckle escapes my lips. "Oh, I'm far from perfect, Wildfire."

"We'll see about that." She grins at me and then turns to finish the dishes while I clean up the counters and table. Once we wrap everything up, she stands near the doorway, hesitating.

"What's up?"

"We didn't go grocery shopping, and now it's late. I don't have anything for breakfast."

"Did you like what I brought you this morning?"

"Yeah, but I can't eat that every day."

"Why not?"

"Because it's a special meal, and I don't want to make it less special."

"Okay, I'll bring you something else in the morning."

"Thanks, Cole."

"What happened to Chief?"

She shrugs and walks out the door, and I think my heart walks out there with her.