Chapter 6
KINCAID
DrunkenPoet: It’s taking all my self-control not to ask for a pic of you.
IndexEcho: I’m suddenly hating that I’m a stickler for the damned OpSec rules on this job, Poet.
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I was scanning through emails at work when I came to a permit request for a restaurant to operate open-flame grilling during an outdoor event next weekend. The person applying for the exemption? Alex Marian on behalf of Timber.
Because of course it was.
“Jesus fuck,” I muttered under my breath before barking, “Sujo, get in here.”
Javi came hustling in, hair still damp from his post-workout shower. “Yeah, Chief. What’s up?”
I showed him the request. “What’s this Slingshot Showdown at Sundown?”
He grinned. “Oh man. It’s killer. A group of scouts started it like twenty years ago or something, and now it’s an annual tradition.
You know the mountain’s called Slingshot, so the Showdown is basically a massive slingshot tournament.
It starts in the morning with different brackets and narrows down to the best of the best by the evening.
By the time the final round happens, it’s more challenging because of all the shadows on the mountain.
You planning on going? You totally should, man.
They’ve got food trucks and live music, crafts and shit. It’s a good time for sure.”
“I wasn’t asking because I’m looking for a good time,” I said, trying to retain my patience. “I was asking because Timber is applying for an open-flame permit.”
He pursed his lips and nodded. “Yeah. I think they do their Swiss mushroom burgers and stuff like that. Obvi can’t bring the pizza oven out, you know?”
“We’re on strict fire restrictions right now,” I reminded him.
“Yeah, but people gotta eat.”
I grunted and hit Reply, referring back to my first email from Alex Marian for help with the wording of my response.
Subject: Re: Application for Exemption Permit
Dear Alexander “Aspiring Arsonist” Marian,
Thank you for your last-minute and wildly optimistic application for an open-fire grilling permit during the Slingshot whatever-the-fuck.
While I appreciate your eagerness to earn a few bucks by endangering the local populace as well as all vulnerable wildlife and personal property, I feel compelled to point out a few things:
The “controlled outdoor cooking” you’ve proposed is, in fact, you attempting to operate open flames during peak fire season where a single spark could ignite half the county—something you might understand if your job involved preventing disasters instead of creating them.
The proposed grilling location is too close to combustible material, including dead trees, dry brush, and, I assume, a Timber-branded napkin caddy.
Finally, as you are aware, the company applying for the permit is currently on a temporary probationary status in regards to fire safety compliance due to previous “incidents”. (See mugshot attached.)
So while I admire your commitment to the “ignore all safety protocols for a good burger” approach, I respectfully deny your permit before I start explaining to bereaved families why their homes burned down because someone needed a flame-grilled mushroom and Swiss.
With sincerest regard (for fire safety),
Judd Kincaid
Chief, Legacy Fire Department
I shot it off without stopping to think about it too hard, which was probably a mistake. But the day ahead was slammed, and I was out of patience with Alex Marian.
After replying to several more emails, making a few follow-up calls, and checking in with the crew on shift, I headed out to SERA to help with one of their wildfire response exercises.
Slingshot Emergency Rescue Academy was a widely known and respected educational school for wilderness emergency response. They taught first responders in wilderness emergency medicine, wildfire response—including smokejumping, search and rescue, swift-water rescue, and helo extraction.
Today’s exercise was a wilderness pump and hose deployment exercise, using portable pumps creekside, running progressive hose lays uphill, and maintaining necessary water flow.
By the time I returned to the station, I was drenched in sweat, filthy with creek mud, and starving. The drill had been delayed twice by pop-up storms, and we’d ended up finishing at dusk.
I walked into my office and closed the door before tossing down the fire-retardant Nomex shirt I’d already taken off, peeling off my cotton undershirt to join it in the pile, kicking off the woodland fireboots, and reaching for the button on my Nomex trousers.
My goal was to get into my private shower and stand under the cold spray until my stomach’s complaints were louder than the pounding headache I had from overheating.
“Um, I feel like maybe I should alert you to my presence. But, by all means, continue the show.”
I jerked up and stepped back, tripping over the pile of dirty clothes and boots until I fell against the closed door and landed on my ass. “Fuck!”
Alex Marian stood by a tall filing cabinet, half-hidden in the shadows created by the sunset shooting warm, slanted beams across the floor.
From this angle, I could see his muscular calves and thighs exposed by twill shorts, his shoulders and cut biceps bare, thanks to a plain navy tank top, and his long, slender feet in brown leather flip-flops.
I forced my eyes up to his face, where I saw twinkling eyes but also a rosy blush on his cheeks.
“Why the fuck are you hiding in here?” I snapped, hoping my anger would be enough to keep my dick in line. My attempt to stand back up gracefully was less than elegant, and I felt new aches and pains joining the ones from the grueling exercise in the woods.
“I’m not hiding,” he said. “I came to see you, and one of the guys told me I could wait in here since you were due back any minute.”
I made a mental note to kill my entire crew. “Normal people wait in one of those chairs,” I said, nodding to the two chairs in front of my desk. I moved to the bathroom, unwilling to let Alex Marian’s inability to understand the word “no” keep me from my shower.
Alex’s voice followed me. “I was too upset to sit still. I need you to reconsider about the Slingshot Showdown.”
“No.”
I closed the bathroom door before he could argue with me, and then I turned on the water before shucking off my boxer briefs and stepping into the shower.
The cool water was the sweetest kind of relief, and I let out a groan as I felt it wash away the sweat and grime of the day.
The fact that the frigid water also helped tame my dick was just a bonus.
“Hear me out,” Alex said, his shadow appearing through the frosted glass of the shower door.
“No,” I growled. “What the fuck are you doing following me into the bathroom?”
“Don’t tell me you’re modest because I won’t believe you.”
I reached for the bottle of shampoo on the shelf. “Why not?”
“Pfft. The kind of guy who gets naked in front of a local business owner—”
I barked out a laugh. I couldn’t help it. “I did not get naked in front of a… Jesus fuck, what are you doing?”
His hand appeared over the shower door, empty and making a grabby motion. “Give me that shampoo. I can tell by the smell it’s the same kind my cousin JJ uses. That shit will ruin your hair. Gross. Your hair is way too nice for that discount shit.”
The compliment must have gone straight to my head because that was the only explanation for my handing him the bottle. “You’ve successfully stolen my shampoo. Now, go away.”
I grabbed the bar of soap and began to scrub myself, hissing as the soap found little cuts and scrapes I hadn’t noticed acquiring during the day. My burn scars covered unpredictable nerve endings that never seemed to be able to decide when they wanted to send numb signals or sensory signals.
“What happened to you?” he asked, sounding more serious, as if unable to keep up the provoking banter. “You kinda looked like shit when you arrived.”
“I’m fine,” I grunted.
I drank down as much water from the showerhead as I could, desperate to rehydrate and regulate my body temperature.
Fire-damaged skin had sweat issues, which meant I was more sensitive to overheating than most people.
I’d borne these scars for most of my life, so I knew how to manage them, but the heat sensitivity had made my life hell when I first got overseas, and I’d had one too many close calls with heat exhaustion in Philly when I was back stateside.
It was one of the many reasons I’d decided to move to Montana.
“Judd?”
I’d never heard my name in his voice before. Didn’t even know he knew or remembered it, to be honest.
“Yeah?”
“Was it a fire?” He sounded unsteady and surprised, as if just now realizing I might have been responding to an actual fire.
“No. Not a fire.”
“Then what happened?”
I finished rinsing off and cracked open the door to reach for a towel.
Alex’s hand bumped into mine as he handed the towel to me.
I pulled the towel back inside the shower stall and began to dry off.
“Wildfire drills up at SERA,” I explained, finally wrapping the towel around my waist and opening the door.
Alex’s cheeks were still adorably pink, and his hair was messy like he’d run his fingers through it.
His eyes were wide with concern, and I got the feeling he was trying hard to keep from sneaking a peek at my body.
For some reason, that disappointed me. I wouldn’t have minded seeing his interest confirmed.
I’d thought the pink cheeks were a sign, but maybe not.
“W-were you—I mean, was my cousin Tommy hurt?” he stammered, eyes flicking to the floor.
I could tell from the janky way his eyes were moving and the deepening red of his cheeks that he was asking about his cousin to cover up his discomfort about asking after me. Or maybe my body being on display was making him act funny.
Either way, it was goddamned adorable. And wholly unexpected from the sassy restaurant owner.