Page 7 of The Firefighter's Angel
His grip tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. “You’re not overreacting. I saw the way he looked at you.”
The quiet way he says it sends a shiver down my spine.
I nod and stare out the window for a second. “The trip was supposed to be different. My dad and I planned it two years ago for my high school graduation. We were gonna see Yellowstone, hike, make a whole memory out of it.” My throat tightens. “But he died. Just…a freak accident overseas. He was on a photography trip. There was a bus crash and he happened to be passing by just then.”
Daniel glances at me, something soft but stormy in his eyes.
“My mom kind of shut down after that,” I continue. “We both did, I guess. But she moved on faster than I could.” Faster than I thought possible, but I don’t say that. I continue, pushing the words past the lump in my throat, “One day I came home from college and Lenny was just…there. And then came Lyle.”
He doesn’t interrupt, just lets me talk. It’s…strange. I usually hate opening up. It always makes me feel exposed. But with Daniel, the words come out without me needing to drag them.
“She found the trip plans,” I say quietly. “Still folded in the back of my dresser drawer. She said we should do the trip to honor my dad’s memory or something. I thought it might be okay. But she didn’t tell me Lenny and Lyle were coming until we were already leaving.”
Daniel’s hand flexes against the gear shift.
“I’m home from college for the summer,” I add. “Not sure if I’m even going back. Nothing’s really clicked since Dad died. I just feel like I’m floating all the time. Like I lost my map.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Sounds like you’ve been carrying a hell of a lot on your own.”
I bite down on my lower lip, blinking back the tears forming in my eyes. “I’m fine,” I mumble.
He glances at me, his eyes cutting into mine. “You don’t have to say that…with me.”
God. What is it about him?
I shift in my seat, watching the way his forearms flex as he steers, how steady and grounded he seems. “What about you?” I ask, desperate for a change of subject. “What…exactly do you do? Besides rescue traumatized girls in the woods.”
That earns a faint smirk. “I work fire line support. Bush truck operator. Type three wildland engine.”
“Sounds very manly,” I tease.
He shrugs. “I guess. Mostly it means I drive this beast into places most people wouldn’t dare, scout for hot spots. There are a lot of the lightning fires here, we let them burn because some burn and regrowth is good for the land. But we keep a close eye on them, make sure they don’t get out of control, and contain them when necessary. We don’t normally have huge fires here most years, with the exception being—”
“1988,” I say in unison with him, blushing when he gives me a look of surprised delight, like I just passed a pop quiz. “My dad was really into Yellowstone trivia,” I explain sheepishly. “That one stuck in my head for some reason.”
He chuckles. “It sounds like he was a great dad.”
“He was,” I say softly. I’m not sure why I keep bringing the conversation back to my dad, except that maybe Daniel kind of reminds me of him, in a way. The way he looks so at home in nature.
“Do you live out here?” I ask.
“Close. I built a cabin about ten miles south. Off-grid, mostly.”
“Of course you did.” I grin. “You look like you belong out here.”
He arches a brow. “How so?”
I wave vaguely. “You know. Wild. Rugged. Mysterious.”
He laughs again, that deep rumble that does things to me. “What about you?” he asks. “Are you always this brave? Running off into the woods?”
“I didn’t have much of a choice.”
His smile fades slightly. “No. You didn’t.”
Something shifts between us, a deeper, quieter connection that goes beyond physical attraction.
“Thank you,” I say, voice soft. “For showing up. For…saving me.”
