CHAPTER
ONE
EMMETT
The sting of sweat blurs my vision, and I wipe it away with my sleeve. There’s no time to stop and do more if I’m going to save this house. When the forest is burning around you, there’s no time to think, no time to stop.
It’s all gas, no breaks.
Just so happens I prefer it that way.
Beats the hell out of the alternative—alone with nothing to occupy me but my thoughts. That’s far more dangerous than a fire.
The yellow fabric comes away soaked, carrying the brownish tinge of a long season.
It gives me zero fucking relief from the heat bearing down on me.
Nothing to be done about it, though, so I lower my head and dig. This fire is screaming across a mountain range, putting me right in its crosshairs. Time to get the fuck out of here—hopefully in one piece.
I’m a miserable son of a bitch, but I don’t have a death wish.
Besides, it's not just me out here.
The raised voice of the red-faced homeowner arguing with the local Incident Commander carries across the yard. Hisstubbornness is the only thing keeping us from hauling ass down this mountain. And I’m about done with it.
My irritation grows with every protest from him.
Harlowe James, incident commander for Timberline Peak Search and Rescue, is as cool as a damn cucumber.
On the porch, she has another go at explaining the mandatory evacuation. She doesn’t plead or bargain with him, even though he’s as irrational as a feral barn cat. Remaining patient in a way she shouldn’t have to and laying out the way it is—calm, direct, like he’s got no other option be to comply with her.
I don’t dare step in.
I wouldn’t disrespect her like that and I don’t need to.
He, on the other hand, shakes his head.
This guy doesn’t give two fucks that it’s been one of the driest summers on record in the Teton’s in the last decade, or that the late-season heat Wyoming is experiencing are a catastrophic mix.
The entire county is nothing more than a matchbox.
He’s willing to put his life and ours on the line for the sake of being stubborn. In my ten years as a firefighter for the Coyote Creek Interagency Hotshots, I’ve met dozens like him. Fines and the threat of charges only make him dig his heels in.
Talking someone into leaving everything behind—their home, their memories—is one of the hardest parts of Harlowe’s job.
We’re here to keep the losses to a minimum. Harlowe deals with the human side, I deal with the structures.
We should have more boots on the ground, but the Stillwater Fire didn’t care about planning. It shifted toward this rural outcropping of houses outside of Timberline Peak and my crew was close, pulling me from the fire line to help with this evacuation was a last resort.
I’m seriously questioning my superintendent’s judgement.
Sure, I have a shit ton of experience and rock solid instincts, but I’m not the guy you want as the face of your team.
I’d rather have a sliver under my thumbnail every day for the rest of my life than deal with people the way Harlowe has to.
Give me the blaze.
Fire, I know.
