“Go on, Kenny,” she says, waving me off. “Fire doesn’t wait.”
“Neither do sandwiches,” I say, grabbing my jacket.
She smiles. “I’ll save you one.”
I’m out the door in seconds, boots hitting the ground hard as I jog to the truck. The engine rumbles to life, and the familiar adrenaline buzz moves through my veins. It’s not a big call—doesn’t sound like more than a smoldering stump or someone’s ill-advised campfire—but even the small ones can turn into disasters around here.
Which is why, when I turn onto the trailhead road and see smoke threading between the treetops, my grip tightens on the wheel.
“Swift Mountain Fire, Unit Three on scene,” I say into the radio. “Smoke visible from west ridge. Investigating.”
I pull off near the trail entrance, kill the engine, and step out. The air smells sharp—burnt pine, cold earth. Nothing out of control, not yet, but enough to warrant attention.
I grab my gear and start down the path.
It doesn’t take long to find the source: a small brush pile, flames licking at the edges. Someone probably thought they’d put it out. Someone was wrong.
I kneel, assessing, already reaching for the canister on my belt when I hear it?—
The click of a camera shutter.
No.
There’s no way.
I straighten slowly.
And there she is.
Emma stands just beyond the smoke, camera raised, framed by tall evergreens and a beam of fading sunlight. Her hair’s pulled back messily, cheeks flushed from the cold, expression absolutely rapt as she stares through the lens at the flames.
Of course she’s here.
Of course she found the fire before the firefighters did.
“What,” I say loudly, “are you doing?”
She startles so hard she nearly drops the camera. “Jesus—would you stop sneaking up on me?”
“I wasn’t sneaking.” I step closer, careful to stay between her and the fire. “You shouldn’t be this close.”
“I’m not that close.”
“You’re close enough to inhale a lungful of smoke.”
She lifts her chin, stubborn as ever. “The smoke makes the light interesting.”
I close my eyes for half a second. “Emma.”
“What?” she asks, exasperated. “I’m working.”
“And I’m asking you to step back while I put this out.”
Her gaze cuts to the flames, then back to me, and for a moment I swear she’s torn between obeying and arguing just to see how far she can push me.
She lets out a breath that hitches slightly. “Fine.”
When she steps back, I move forward, dousing the flames and turning the burning brush to expose embers. The fire hisses and dies beneath the suppressant. Once everything’s soaked and safe, I stand, brushing ash off my gloves.
