Page 9 of Hot for the Mountain Man

"That sounds like Hank."

"The whole town's buzzing about it." Susie refilled my mug though I'd barely made a dent. "First real community event of the season. It'll be nice to see Ashwood’s community center looking fancy for a change."

I made a noncommittal noise, hoping she wouldn't press for more conversation. Susie had known me since I was a teenager, but even she knew when to give me space. She patted my hand once before moving away to check on my order.

The diner hummed with activity around me—families chatting, silverware clinking, the sizzle of the grill behind the counter. Normally, I found comfort in the background noise, the normalcy of it all. Today, it felt overwhelming, everyconversation seeming to drift toward mentions of the upcoming gala.

"...brought on some decorator from Seattle at the last minute..."

"...completely transforming the community center..."

"...black tie, can you believe it? In Ashwood!"

I focused on my coffee, trying to tune out the chatter. My mind drifted to Peyton again, wondering if she was somewhere in town right now, planning how to turn our modest community center into whatever winter-meets-fire theme Hank had described. Who else could this designer from Seattle be but her after all? The thought of seeing her again immediately caused my pulse to quicken.

Susie returned with my burger and fries, setting the plate down with a flourish. "Eat up, Grant. You're looking too thin."

I smirked. "You say that every time."

"Because it's always true." She wiped her hands on her apron. "You coming to my nephew's graduation party next month? Jameson would love to see you there."

"I'll try," I said noncommittally, knowing I probably wouldn't.

Susie shook her head knowingly but didn't push. She moved down the counter to help another customer, leaving me to my meal. I ate mechanically, my thoughts elsewhere. Three days until the gala. Three days to prepare for a speech I didn't want to give, wearing a uniform that held too many memories.

After lunch, I headed back to the station for the fundraiser meeting. The small conference room was already crowded when I arrived, most of the crew slouched in plastic chairs while Hank Masterson arranged papers at the front. He perked up when I entered, waving me toward an empty seat.

"McAllister! Perfect timing. We were just about to discuss the program."

I slid into a chair at the back, nodding at Rodriguez and Hardy. Captain Dawson stood near Hank, arms crossed, looking about as thrilled as the rest of us.

"As I was saying," Hank continued, "this year's Fire & Ice Gala is shaping up to be our most successful event yet. We've already sold out all tickets, and the silent auction items are pouring in." He beamed, as if this information should excite us. "The community center is undergoing a complete transformation as we speak."

"What exactly are we transforming it into?" Rodriguez asked, voicing what we were all wondering.

"A 'Forest Awakening' theme," Hank replied without a hint of irony. "Spring blooms meeting mountain majesty. The designer working on the lodge renovation is handling everything. She's creating a cohesive visual experience that'll take your breath away."

My stomach tightened hearing my suspicion that the designer was Peyton confirmed.

"The schedule is straightforward," Hank continued, passing out printed agendas. "Cocktail hour at six, dinner at seven, speeches and presentations at eight, followed by dancing and continued socializing until eleven." He turned to me. "McAllister, you'll deliver a ten-minute address on wildfire prevention, focusing on everyday carelessness and potential consequences. We want to highlight the dangers without terrifying the donors."

Great. Talk about deadly fires but make it palatable for people eating chocolate mousse. Just what I needed.

"We'll need all of you there by five for a quick walk-through," Hank added, checking his notes. "The designer wants to ensure the lighting is correct for maximum impact during the presentations."

The meeting dragged on for another twenty minutes, with Hank outlining parking arrangements, seating charts, and fundraising goals. I heard almost none of it, my mind stuck on the realization that Peyton would be there, watching me give a speech about the very thing that had claimed Travis.

When we finally broke, I headed straight for the equipment room, needing to lose myself in the familiar routine of gear maintenance. I spent the next three hours meticulously checking harnesses, replacing worn straps, and testing buckles. The methodical work usually calmed me, but today my thoughts kept straying.

"Earth to McAllister," Hardy's voice broke through my concentration. "Captain's looking for you. Something about your speech?"

I sighed, setting aside the harness I'd been inspecting. "Thanks."

Dawson was in his office, hunched over paperwork when I knocked. He glanced up, gesturing me in.

"Sit down, Grant." He pushed a folder across his desk. "Talking points for your speech. Nothing complicated—I don’t expect you to bring up what happened at Timber Ridge. Just give them the basics about fire prevention, some statistics, and a call to action for donations."

I flipped through the pages, scanning the bullet points. "I've got this, Cap."

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