Penn (Cinder County Fire Dept. #1)

One

Penn

This is my spot. It’s quiet, save for the movement of the river and chipmunks, and an occasional black bear. Secluded . Save for the aforementioned wildlife. For the last three years, almost every chance I get, it’s been my secret escape. Secret .

So why is there a woman here?

Ribbons of meat flavor the warm, humid midsummer air. Whatever she’s cooking smells delicious. I don’t even realize my nose is dragging me over toward the source until my footsteps crunch loudly over the pile of sticks she gathered, alerting her of my presence.

“It’s kind of rude, sneaking up on me like that,” she says without looking over at me.

“I’m not sneaking up.”

From this distance, I notice her curves, and from what I can see of her profile, she’s wearing glasses.

“How’d you get here?” I ask as I take another couple of steps closer, but not so close that I’m totally in her space. We’re alone out here, I don’t want to alarm her. Even if I do wish she weren’t here and would go away. I don’t have it in me to scare her off.

“I followed the signs,” she says, still not looking over at me. I guess she doesn’t scare all that easily. Or maybe I’m not so scary.

Wait…there’re signs? Who the fuck put up signs to my hideout?

Not like you own the actual fucking land, Penn . Someday though, I might. Maybe not this exact spot, not this exact land. But someday, I’d like to have some land of my own. Sprawling and quiet and mine.

Maybe this is someone’s idea of a practical joke. God knows there’s no shortage of those at the fire station. The guys have all variety of pranks. But how did they find out about this? They know I like to go off the grid. Just didn’t realize they knew which direction. These mountains are fucking vast. How could they just guess?

There’s a bottle of white wine at her campsite. Kind of a weird pairing with steak, but maybe that’s all they had at the store—we are kind of out in the middle of nowhere. She flips over the meat, and another blast of that delectable scent goes up into the forest air, overwhelming my senses. The fire is healthy, probably too hot. There’s a low rumbling deep below my chest. I take a few more steps closer. It’s the food, not her winding curves or those cute as fuck glasses lulling me toward her. The river is a bit low, normal for this time of year, but I can still hear it flowing nearby.

“Signs?”

“Shit,” she hisses at the meat, which I realize is starting to burn too quickly, as she turns off the flame. “It needs to be more level.” She pulls gloves out of her pocket as she peers over her shoulder, finding a spot, and in that split-second that I glimpse her eyes I swear I can read the ideas that are running through them.

“Wait, don’t try to move it.”

“It’s not that heavy.”

“It’s still gonna be hot—”

She bends down to lift with her legs, immediately tripping backward. The meat goes flying off as the scalding grate comes tumbling down on top of her. I’m on her fast but not fast enough—like I said, I didn’t want to crowd her, I only wanted to watch her. Somehow that doesn’t make any of this sound any better . It takes three or four of my longest, fastest strides to get to her. I yank the grate off of her.

I peel her melted glasses off her face and toss them. Pulling her into my arms, I carry her away from the smoke. “Stay here. Don’t try to open your eyes.” My heart works double-time to slam the oxygen throughout my body as I take off in a sprint toward the river and pull off my shirt, soaking it into the rushing, fresh water. I race back to the girl. She’s shaking and breathless when I return. I lay the wet shirt very gingerly over her face. “Shhh.”

“Ohh,” she manages a sound, which amazes me. And it’s a sweet little sound. I lift the wet shirt slowly and turn it over. Her face is so swollen that her eyes are closed, and I just can’t help but want to see her eyes. What color were they?

“My glasses,” she says weakly. I’m impressed she’s able to say anything at all. Maybe she’ll be okay. Maybe…

It’s bad, Penn. It’s fucking bad , there’s the voice of reason in my head. Fucking annoying voice.

I haven’t seen much of fires since becoming a firefighter and paramedic, but I have seen a whole hell of a lot of trauma. I know when it’s bad. But we are so fucking far away from any real help out here.

It’s all on me right now. On everything I’ve learned. God I wish Ward were here right now. Emrys, anyone. Even Dante would be welcomed company at the moment. The fuck am I supposed to do? I’ve at least got to find something cleaner to use than my shirt to dress her wounds with.

“Don’t try to open your eyes,” I tell her once again.

“It wouldn’t matter. I’m blind without my glasses.”

“You’d be literally blind if you hadn’t been wearing them.”

“That’s lucky.”

“Yeah, very. I’m gonna go find you a clean towel or washcloth, okay?”

“No okay, I like your shirt, it smells good.”

A grin smears across my face. “You have your sense of smell. That’s a good sign. Not sure how accurate it is, though…” I softly chuckle, “…if you think it smells good.” I can’t let it sit too long on her face before changing it out. I go and dig through my stuff in my tent, finding a clean rag. Back to the river, back to the girl.

“Until I can get you to a hospital, we need to just keep this skin cool and moist.”

“Moist,” she repeats, almost deadpan.

“What.”

“Some people don’t like that word.”

I crack a smirk. “What would you rather I say, wet?”

“Damp?”

“Sodden.”

“Soaked.”

“Not soaked. We definitely don’t want the skin to be soaked.”

“Definitely not,” she says, and this time I know she’s teasing. Her sense of humor at a time like this is astounding to me. If I had just one ounce of it under pressure, I might not need to escape like I do. “There is no good word,” she adds, morosely.

“I’m so sorry.”

Silence falls on us for a blip. And then eventually, I ask, “What’s your name?”

“Hearth.”

Almost seems appropriate. Or inappropriate. “Nice meeting you, Hearth. I’m Penn.”

“Penn?” she asks quizzically. “What’re you like, a writer?”

“I’m a firefighter.”

“We should switch names.” She laughs.

“You’re a writer?”

“Yeah. Well kinda. I haven’t published anything.”

“If I’m being honest? I haven’t put any fires out. Not real ones anyway.”

“Well you did save me.”

“I’m also an EMT.”

“Tell me more.”

“You’re a curious thing.”

“Writer, remember?”

“Is this going to end up in a book?”

“I almost just burned my whole face off tonight. Of course I have to write about that .”

I bite down on my cheek, trying not to tell her she did burn a lot of her face tonight, and that she may never look the same again. There are no mirrors out here, thank God. And I’m pretty sure the fact she’s alive is her main concern right now. But once the pain eases and she starts to heal some…she may care that she looks different than she did before and that it might take a lot of surgeries to come close to how she used to look. To feel like herself in her own skin again.

“What do you even look like?” Her question breaks into my thoughts. “You have a nice voice…”

“I do?” I chuckle warmly.

“Mmhm…I didn’t really see you earlier?”

“I know. You were too busy cookin’ up something fucking mouthwatering smelling.”

“Those were gonna be some delicious ribeye.”

“Maybe you can make them for me someday? And in exchange, I’ll let ya see my ugly mug.”

“No way you’re ugly with a voice that hot…” She reaches out to feel my hand and then curious little fingers scope up my arm, making a path up to my chest and making my cock instantly twitch.

I grab her hand. “Stop that. We should get going to the hospital.”

“Closest one is in Pigeon Forge.”

“That’s correct.”

“Two hours away.”

“Roger.”

“No, Penn. Please, no.”

“You need medical attention.”

“ You’re medical. You’re giving me attention.”

“Hearth, I don’t have the supplies, the equipment…”

“I want to stay here.”

I exhale a grievous sigh. I have no idea why she would be so stubborn about this, but I’m not about to drag her anywhere against her will. Maybe that’s a decision for me to regret later. For right now, I am just intent on tending to her the best I know how.

“Fine. Wait here a sec.” I stand up to go grab a blanket and pillow from her tent and bring it over into mine. My tent isn’t meant for two people, but we can make do. Once the bedding is all made up and I open up some vents to let in the breeze, I gently bring her over to it.

I’ve completely forgotten about my grumbling stomach earlier, and when I ask if she’s hungry, she declines food. I tidy up the wound and dress it again. Caring for it will mean I need to stay awake pretty much all night to continually redress it, but as I draw Hearth up into my arms to fit us both comfortably in the tent, I continue to have zero regrets. Laying the back of her head on my chest, her breathing syncs with mine. Cool night air starts to float into the tent, and we both sigh.

A getaway, a hideout, a camping spot—call it what you want. I come here to try to unsee some of the shit I have to see, to pretend it didn’t happen, doesn’t exist. For some of the other guys I work with, they can detach, compartmentalize. Not for me. I have to release it all out here before I can go back and be around my family and my handful of close friends and act like none of it ever affected me.

At least, that’s why I first started coming out here, after I stumbled upon it while taking a drive just trying to get lost. Then, after a few trips I found that I just liked it. I need the grounding, the fresh air. The distance. It feels like a second home. And the land…it’s impossible to explore every corner of it. I can’t afford any meaningful amount of land of my own yet but someday, I will. Someday, I’ll take some good, hardy land like this and make it my own.

It’s weird to not be alone out here, to be perfectly honest. I know why I’m here. But why on God’s green fucking earth—

I let out another deep breath, turning my attention to this incredible girl who somehow spun my world off its axis and is growing more and more comfortable in my tent, tucked into my side.

“You awake?” I whisper.

“Yeah.”

“Wanna talk?”

“Yeah.”

“So, why’d you come out here anyway?” I finally ask. “To find inspiration?” I take a guess.

“That’s kind of cliché, isn’t it? Writer struggling to strike creative gold goes off into the woods looking to find her muse?”

I can’t completely tell if she’s teasing or not, so I just nod. “So, did you find him?” I ask. “Or…her?” I never know what to picture when people talk about their muse. A man or a woman? Do muses have genders? Are they like angels? Devils…

“I wasn’t really here for that, to be honest,” Hearth says. “I have lots of ideas for stories. It’s just, no literary agents seem to be interested in reading them. Or they think other people won’t want to read them. ‘Average readers,’” she air-quotes, somehow without even raising up her hands. It’s in the set of her mouth.

“Maybe I could read some.”

She gives me a look with only that plump lip again, it’s half smile, half challenge. “To be honest, I really just needed a bit of time alone.” She pauses. “Is that weird?”

That’s exactly why I come out here, too . “Not weird at all,” I admit. “So what do you do… when you’re not writing?”

“Now who’s the curious one?” Her eyebrows lift up at me.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be trying to keep you awake. You probably need to get some sleep.”

“Probably.” Hearth yawns on cue. “I make jewelry,” she says sleepily. She grows heavier on my arm, my chest.

“Jewelry? That’s cool.”

“I don’t love it. I kind of don’t hate it, though. I’m just really good at it.”

“It isn’t your passion,” I state, thinking her little brag is adorable.

“Passion,” she echoes, in such a quiet whisper I almost don’t hear it.

“Mmm.”

“What’s so special to you about this place, Penn?” she asks me long after I think she’d already fallen fast sleep.

“Didn’t you see it? It’s beautiful,” I say.

“Lots of places are beautiful.”

“No one else comes here,” I answer more pointedly.

“Hmm. So you like it because it’s like, was like, all yours.”

I keep the tent vented open or it’ll get way too fucking hot in here—it’s sweltering outside as it is. A wedge of moonlight falls on her hair. The forest comes more and more alive the later it gets. I inhale deep, the scent of Hearth’s shampoo mixed with campfire smoke annihilating my senses, and my arms pull her tight against me, on instinct. “All mine.”

This is hardly the time to pitch my own tent in my shorts, but she’s warm and soft and she fits right into me.

Fuck.

“Sorry I messed that up for you, Penn.”

Mess it up? She sure fucking did .

“Everything’s okay,” I whisper to nothing and no one, since I am pretty sure she’s asleep this time. “Everything is going to be okay, baby, I promise.”

Meeting Hearth wasn’t on my Bingo card for this camping trip. But dammit. I want to either stay forever out here with her…or take her right back home with me.