Page 6

She sat stiffly in the seat, white-knuckling the strap of her bags, but she hadn’t hesitated once after my order. It was obvious she was scared, but she wasn’t letting it cripple her. That impressed me more than I’d admit.

Her voice was softer when she asked, “Twice in two weeks. Do you always rescue stranded women, or am I special?”

The corner of my mouth twitched before I could stop it. “You might be special.”

Color rose in her fair cheeks, and she turned toward the window. I gripped the wheel tighter, cursing myself. Shouldn’t have said that. But hell if it wasn’t the truth.

I should be running things down at the station. Coordinating crews. Instead, I was here, making sure she was physically safe. I’d been worried about her for hours, because I’d seen the path of the fire, but I’d had no way to contact her. I’d thought about her a lot over the past week.

The road bumped under the tires, ruts deep from disrepair. Smoke curled low between the trees, the ridge glowing faintly behind it. She sat close enough that I caught the scent of her shampoo—something light, floral, clinging even through the smoke. She looked tired, though, like she hadn’t slept well last night and hadn’t had her coffee yet.

When the pavement opened beneath us, her shoulders sagged. She let out a shaky breath, and I forced myself to ease my grip on the wheel.

“You did good,” I said, voice even. “You packed. You were ready.”

She looked at me, eyes bright in her pale face. She smiled with an ironic look. “Only because you told me to.”

Something tightened in my chest at the smile. I forced my eyes back at the road, jaw working. I didn’t like that I was so taken in by her.

By the time we hit town, the Station 1 was filling with evacuees. Kids clutched stuffed animals, women carried bags, men lugged coolers. Radios crackled in the background as reports filtered in, narrowing down the coordinates of the building fire. My lieutenant stood at the whiteboard near the office, jotting notes.

I backed into my spot and cut the engine. “You’ll be safe here. This is a community evacuation station.”

She slid out with her bags slung over her shoulder, eyes wide as she took in the chaos. I touched her elbow without thinking, guiding her through the people. Her skin was warm under my hand, soft against the calluses on my hand.

Inside, it was a madhouse—tables stacked with supplies, maps pinned to the walls and whiteboards, men and women moving fast. The box of cards from her class still sat on the workbench, but some of them had been mounted to the wall, glitter catching the light. She noticed and her shoulders straightening just a little.

A rookie nearly dropped an armful of bottled water. Cameron caught one before it hit the floor and handed it back with a smile. The rookie muttered thanks and rushed off.

She turned to me, chin lifted. “I can make myself useful.”

I studied her for a long beat. That braid draped over her shoulder and I wanted to reach out and remove the hair tie, see if it was as soft as I remembered it. What did her hair look like down? Or spread across my pillow as we…

“Chief,” someone called, and I jerked.

“I have to go. Stay out of trouble.”

She grinned slightly and winked. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

I snorted as I turned toward my men.

4

Cameron

The firehouse felt like the heart of town had been moved indoors. They had moved all the trucks outside, leaving the bays for the people. Radios chattered in short, coded bursts. Boots thudded as the firefighters moved around, trying to accommodate the influx of people. The tiny coffee machine on the far wall gurgled, and I seriously doubted it would be enough for all these people. Smoke clung to everyone who walked in from outside.

I stood just inside the bay, clutching my little duffle and teacher bag, trying not to look like a stray that had wandered in with the crowd. People filled every open space: parents, grandparents, teenagers with backpacks, kids hugging stuffed animals by the ears. A golden retriever leaned against a woman’s leg, panting and smiling like this was a social event.

It was chaos.

I found an open cot and set my things on the floor, then sank down onto the not-so-soft surface. I had no place to complain, though. After I staked my space, I moved toward a table. I needed something to drink.

A boy tugged on my jeans. He couldn’t have been more than six. Ash streaked his cheeks like war paint. He looked familiar to me, like I’d seen him in the hallways at school, but I didn’t know his name. “Do you know where the bathrooms are?”

“Let’s go find one,” I said, and my voice came out steady, thank God. I walked him down a short central hallway to the men’s room, waited near the door until he came out, then guided him back to a cluster of families in a corner of the bay. His mother mouthed a thank-you over the head of a toddler who had fallen asleep on her shoulder. I smiled and nodded, giving her a wink, like it was any other school day.

The first nerves loosened. Maybe I didn’t have a uniform, but I wasn’t useless.