Chapter 4
Four
Colter
The first line we laid bought us less than two minutes.
That was the thing about mountain properties—no hydrants, no endless supply of water.
What we rolled in with was what we had until the tankers made the climb.
The fire had already chewed through the roofline by the time the second engine cleared the bend, flames punching up into the dark like they had something to prove.
“Engine Two, set up shuttle at the turnout. I want tankers staged there. Keep my access clear.”
I didn’t have to raise my voice. Everyone knew the rhythm. We’d run this drill enough times in theory. Theory just didn’t usually come with this much heat.
“Primary search clear,” came the call over the radio.
Good.
That took one variable off the board.
Water pressure stabilized as the first tanker dumped into the portable tank near the road. Lines recharged. Steam exploded in thick white sheets as we pushed into the structure again, knocking back the stubborn pockets that flared up behind compromised walls. What was left of them.
“Power’s cut at the pole,” Harvey reported.
“Copy. Watch that east wall. It’s soft.”
The roof sagged with an ugly, groaning sound that made the hair rise along the back of my neck. I didn’t wait for it to decide for me.
“Pull interior. Defensive only. She’s done.”
Nobody argued. We transitioned to exterior attack, holding the line long enough to keep the fire from walking into the treeline. Last thing this town needed was brush fire on top of flood recovery.
It took another half hour to beat the thing into submission.
Not save it.
Just to make sure it couldn’t hurt anyone else.
Overhaul was slower. Dirtier. Less dramatic. We pulled ceiling, chased glow, drowned hot spots that hissed and spit like they resented us.
I stepped back long enough to key the radio. “Notify county fire investigator. Likely electrical origin. No visible signs of multiple points.”
“Copy.”
Secondary search confirmed clear.
Utilities secured.
Fire watch assigned.
By the time Chief Carney rolled in, the place had been reduced to a smoking skeleton. I walked him through burn patterns and probable origin, pointing out the heaviest damage along the interior wall where bad wiring had likely done what bad wiring did best.
When I’d finished the update, I said, “You’ve got command.”
He nodded.
He studied the structure for another second, then flicked his gaze toward the yard. “Go see about your save.”
I didn’t correct him.
Command transferred.
And for the first time since I’d forced that bedroom door, I let myself look fully at the woman I’d carried out.
She sat on the tailboard, wrapped in a thermal blanket, oxygen mask still on her face.
Chunks of caramel brown hair had pulled free of a braid and hung limp around her pale face.
She stared at the smoking rubble of the house, but I wasn’t sure she really saw it.
No doubt the shock had hit by now. Since Jess hadn’t called in transport to get her to the nearest hospital forty minutes away, I had to assume she was physically stable.
I strode over to confirm that for myself.
“Hey, Cho, she good?”
Jess nodded. “No major injuries. Some smoke inhalation, as expected, and a few minor burns, but otherwise surprisingly okay. You got her out in time.”
Small mercies. That was probably the only good news of the night.
The place was a total loss, along with everything that had been inside.
The car had some blistering on the hood from heat, but had otherwise survived.
If she’d just arrived in town, maybe she hadn’t unloaded everything. But I remembered that big ass suitcase.
I tugged off my helmet and scraped a hand through my sweaty hair as I crouched in front of the woman. “Hey there. I’m Colter. What’s your name?”
She blinked long-lashed eyes and seemed to struggle to focus on me.
Exhaustion or some kind of head trauma?
Her pupils were huge, swallowing up the color of her eyes. But they did seem reactive as she finally zeroed in and managed to speak. “Swayze. Swayze Parish.”
“Is there anybody we can call for you, Swayze?”
She shook her head with a vehement jerk that made her wince and squeeze her eyes shut for a moment.
After all that smoke, she probably had one banger of a headache brewing.
But in that instant, visceral denial roused my protective instincts in a way I hadn’t expected.
Was there somebody abusive in her world that she was running from?
Was that what was behind her leasing a place sight unseen, doing the whole transaction online without ever laying eyes on it first?
Moving in on a major holiday when she had to know no one else would be around to help if something went wrong?
Her face held a pallid, exhausted expression, sallow in the harsh glare of the work lights, like she hadn’t slept well in ages. The shadows under those wide eyes looked like bruises. Well, I could at least help give her a safe place to land tonight, somewhere she could rest without fear.
“Look, there’s currently no hotel in town,” I said gently.
Her already bowed shoulders slumped further at that declaration, the silver blanket crinkling as she seemed to fold in on herself even more. I rushed to add, “But we’ll see you have somewhere to stay. You won’t be left out in the cold.”
“What? Is someone really going to open their house to a complete stranger on Thanksgiving?” The underlying sarcasm in her hoarse voice told me exactly how likely she believed that outcome to be. Like the very idea was absurd, impossible in whatever world she’d come from.
“That’s exactly what’s going to happen,” I assured her. “My grandmother has already made up a bed for you.”
More like Grandma Elsie kept one made up at all times for any given circumstance that might arise.
Even before the devastating flood last year that had displaced half the hollow, there’d been plenty of opportunity to help people out for one reason or another.
Stranded travelers, folks down on their luck, family passing through.
We were Gibsons. Taking care of people was what we did, had always done.
I knew she’d be happy to help Swayze out for the night—probably for as long as it took to get her back on her feet.
Swayze blinked at me again, those huge pupils making her appear dazed and uncertain. “Your… grandmother?”
“Yeah, she’s just up the road a ways. We’ll see you get a good night’s sleep, some food in your belly, and help you start dealing with everything else tomorrow when you’ve had a chance to rest.”
Her lips pulled into a confused frown, a crease forming between her brows. “Why would she… or you… do any of that for me?”
Suspicious. I couldn’t blame her for that reaction. Most places weren’t as community oriented as Gibson Hollow, especially not the bigger cities where people kept to themselves and minded their own business. She’d probably come from somewhere like that.
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” I said simply. “And whatever brought you to Gibson Hollow, you landed in a place that takes care of people. That’s just how we do things here.”
Something flickered over her face at that—surprise, maybe, or disbelief, or something deeper I couldn’t quite name. It was gone before I could decipher it, her expression shuttering. She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”
I didn’t think the rasp in her voice or the sudden glimmer of moisture in her eyes was entirely from the smoke she’d inhaled.
“Give me just a bit to wrap things up here with the chief, and we’ll get going.”
Swayze curled in tighter on herself, pale fingers clutching the foil blanket around her shoulders like it might offer some kind of protection beyond just warmth.
Bare feet and thin pajamas. She was bound to be freezing by now, even with the blanket.
The temperature had dropped fast once the sun set.
I pulled up the full family group chat.
Colter:
House is a loss. Gonna need a place for the new neighbor to stay the night.
Grandma Elsie:
Here, obviously. Poor little lamb.
Colter:
It’s a woman, approximately Alia or Everly’s size, if somebody could round up some clothes.
Alia:
On it.
Colter:
I’ll bring her by as soon as things wrap here.
I pocketed the phone because I knew my family would take care of what came next.
Chief Carney was near the portable tank, talking with Harvey over the hiss of cooling metal. I crossed to him, helmet hooked under my arm.
“Victim’s stable,” I said. “Name’s Swayze Parish. Smoke inhalation, a few minor burns. Cho had her sign a refusal. I’m going to take her to my grandmother’s unless you need me here.”
Carney glanced past me toward the tailboard where she sat still wrapped in silver, small and pale against the bulk of the engine. He studied the structure for another second, the lazy curl of smoke rising from what used to be a roofline.
“Fire watch is set?” he asked.
“Harvey’s got it. Utilities are secured. Investigator’s notified.”
He gave a single nod. “Then go. We’ve got mop-up.”
“Copy that.”
I stepped away and started stripping gear—helmet into the compartment, gloves shoved into my pocket, turnout coat peeled off and draped over the side step to cool.
My shirt underneath was soaked through, clinging and cold now that the adrenaline had burned off.
I rolled my shoulders once, checking in with my body.
Nothing pulled wrong. No burns I hadn’t noticed.
Harvey caught my eye. “You good?”
“Yeah. Call me if it flares.”
He snorted. “It won’t.”
I walked back to the engine and crouched in front of Swayze again, settling onto my heels so I was at eye level with her. The oxygen mask was gone now, dangling loosely from her fingers like she’d forgotten she was still holding it.
Jess was packing up her kit beside us, checking inventory on her supply bag and snapping compartments shut with efficient clicks. “She’s clear to go. Keep an eye on the coughing, though. If it gets worse or she starts wheezing again, she needs to be seen properly. No arguments.”
“I will,” I promised.
Swayze looked up at me like she wasn’t entirely sure I was real—like I was just another bit of smoke and shadow that might dissolve if she blinked too hard. Her eyes—hazel, maybe? I couldn’t quite tell—were glassy, ringed red from the smoke, but steady enough now.
“Ready?”
Her gaze drifted once more to the smoking skeleton of the house behind us, lingering on the blackened beams and the curl of gray still rising into the night sky.
Whatever she’d brought with her to Gibson Hollow—whatever life she’d been trying to build here—had turned to ash and ruin in the space of an hour.
She nodded slowly, though her throat worked like the words wouldn’t come.
I stood and offered her my hand, palm up, waiting. She hesitated only a second before taking it. Her fingers were icy, and they trembled slightly when they pressed into mine.
Behind us, the house gave a final settling groan and dropped another beam into the wreckage with a muffled crash that sent up a fresh plume of embers.
Swayze shuddered, her whole body going tense, and her fingers tightened in mine hard enough that I felt her nails through the calluses on my palm.
“Let’s get you somewhere warm,” I said.
Not wanting her to walk barefoot across the gravel and debris scattered across the ground, I shifted my grip and scooped her up into my arms in one smooth motion. She made a startled noise that was half protest, half surprise, her free hand flying up to clutch my shoulder.
“Bare feet,” I explained simply, nodding down toward the ground where shards of glass glinted in the firelight.
She followed my gaze, took in the reality of it, and sighed—a sound that was equal parts exhaustion and reluctant acceptance. “Okay,” she murmured, and then she relaxed against me, letting her head tip forward to rest near my collarbone.
I carried her to my truck and didn’t look back.