But he was also Brand Mitchell’s son and therein was the problem. Was he… still afraid of his father? Ryker huffed a breath as a cold chill washed over him. Yeah. There was still a little boy inside of him that remembered, and he was afraid. It didn’t matter that he was grown now; he’d never learned how to prevent memories and old emotions from inserting themselves into his life.
He was still that kid sometimes, counting the days until he could get the hell out of this town and away from his past. But… he was going to be an uncle. His mom was marrying the only man Ryker had ever considered a father. He had a damn good job offer working for the forestry department waiting for him. His cousins were having babies and expanding the Mitchell clan with a new generation of shifters that would need a lot of guidance and a lot of love.
And most importantly, he had Olive.
Ryker jerked against the seat as his bear shoved him aggressively from the inside. Wincing, he pressed a hand below his ribs. “Knock it off!”
The next blow made the seat vibrate.
“Yeah, okay, I’m an idiot. You were right; I was wrong. Are you happy now?”
Sitting straighter in his seat, Ryker ran a hand over his face and glanced to his left. A narrow path started at the road and led across a grassy opening before disappearing into the forest where it twisted and turned along a brutal incline that bisected two mountain peaks. A basin sat in the middle, fed by a small waterfall that caused water to overflow and pool into a series of wide cracks and crevices.
He and Fox used to ride their bikes up here, panting, legs burning from tackling the gravel road on rickety ten speeds. They’d spend the entire day hanging out on the rocks and swimming in the basins.
One day, Fox would bring his child here and tell him or her stories of hours spent in this glorious place, and all the other spots that offered good childhood memories.
Like the ice cream shop where the owner gave them free scoops from the remnants of the ice cream barrels if they promised not to tell anyone else. And the park where they climbed trees, and the alley behind the school where they set up soccer nets in the street because no one ever used that road.
The places they went to escape home were the best parts of this town.
What about his children? Wouldn’t he want to show them the same things?
A high-pitched tone startled him from his thoughts. The fire pager alarmed for a fully engulfed house fire. Throwing his Jeep into drive, he sped into town. Adrenaline blocked everything from his mind as he reached the station and threw on his gear.
By the time they arrived, the small house on a dead-end street was nearly fully consumed by flames.
A police car sat close by with the front passenger open. An officer stood by the door, speaking to whoever was inside. As he passed, Ryker spotted a boy in the seat, legs hanging over the edge, head in his hands. A blip of recognition went through him, but he ignored it as he went to work pulling and priming hose. In minutes, hard streams of water arched over the fire and battled down flames.
Sweat plastered his hair to his head and ran down his back when the fire was finally under control.
Garbled words came through the mic clipped to his shoulder. “Mitchell, you’re going in.”
“Copy that.”
Handing his position on hose duty over to someone else, he grabbed tools and joined the others preparing to enter the house. He loved this part. After the fire was controlled, a team went inside to punch holes in the ceiling and walls to reveal hidden flames, while another crew cut holes in the roof to vent dangerous gases and make it easier to extinguish flames inside.
They never knew exactly what they were going to find inside. The fire could renew suddenly, blocking exits and trapping them in. Despite the danger, he never thought twice about going in. If it had to be done, he was going to do it.
Clamping his jaw, Ryker followed his crewmates inside. Rolls of black smoke danced around the space and the charred remnants of someone’s life littered the floor. He found the kitchen where the metal skeleton of a table and chairs stood in the middle of the room. A melted rectangle of what might have been a kids’ lunchbox sat on the warped countertop and a cast iron kettle radiated smoke from its place on the charred stove.
It struck him that this was someone’s home. A house fire was never just a fire. It meant devastation for a family, the loss of their safe place, and their memories. Sometimes, they could get to a fire quickly enough to prevent too much damage. But other times, it turned out like this.
Ryker punched holes into the kitchen walls as he walked around the room. His eyes strayed to the remnants of a cookbook on the floor. It was badly burned, but the graphic of a holiday tree on the cover was visible.
“No shit.” A smile tugged his lips.
He recognized that tree. His mom had the same book. She made sugar cookies from the recipe on page forty-four every year. Curious, he rummaged carefully through the remains of the book and found the interior pages mostly intact.
He flipped through them until he found it.
Page forty-four. Someone had circled the same recipe his mom loved in blue ink and put an exclamation mark next to it. Whoever lived here must like that recipe, too. A hard twist knotted in his chest as he closed the book and went back to work.
His oxygen tank alarmed, signaling that his tank was nearly empty. Exiting the house, he hurried to the firetruck to exchange his tank. Pulling his mask off, he grabbed a bottle of water and ran a hand over his sweaty face. He couldn’t help but notice the kid was still inside the police cruiser, swinging his feet, fingers tangled in too-long brown hair. Ryker did a double take as the boy plopped his chin in his hands.
It was Cal, one of the kids he’d caught starting fires in the park.
“Hey.” He strode over. “What are you doing here?”
