Chapter 31 #2
I would never judge him for doing what was necessary to survive, but I’m relieved it didn’t come to arson. “Firefighters are special heroes to you, then.”
“Yeah.” He strokes to the base of my neck and rubs gently with his thumb. “I got into plenty of trouble growing up. There was a time when I was either starting a fight or finishing one.” He chuckles. “Let’s just say I’m no stranger to community service.”
“Have you ever been back to that fire station?” I say as the pieces fall into place.
“Yep.” He slips his wallet from his back pocket and thumbs out a worn picture of a younger Linden standing next to a man with thick gray hair at the back of a fire engine.
Both in dark blue t-shirts with their respective battalion logos on the front.
They’re not hugging, but their smiles are bright and sincere.
I gaze up at him while my heart swells with a tender warmth. He didn’t have to share this. I would have understood. But he invited me in. Offered this very fragile part of himself. To me.
“How long did it take to believe that June and Nelson would love you no matter what?” I ask.
He tucks his wallet away and draws me to his chest, locking his hands at my low back to keep me close. “When I quit fighting, maybe.”
That’s such a long time to feel temporary. I wrap my arms around him. “I’m sorry.”
He kisses the top of my head. “Don’t be. It’s a part of my song.”
Dinner is the most entertaining and rowdiest meal I’ve ever enjoyed. There’s so much good food and laughter, kindness and relentless razzing between Linden and his siblings. It’s delightful to be a part of it, like I already belong.
Greta opens her presents. There’s gift cards and clothes, a first aid kit and road flares for her new car, and from all of her uncles, a new saddle waiting for her in the barn.
When Greta gets to my little trinket—an oversized cheer megaphone charm on a sturdy keyring—and the Falcons Cheer hoodie, her eyes find mine in the sea of faces.
Next to me, Linden reaches under the table to hold my hand.
“How did you get this so fast?” Greta’s eyes turn glassy as it dawns on her. “Wait, is this yours ?”
Linden squeezes my hand while all eyes turn to me. I nod.
“I can’t take this,” Greta says, her eyes so earnest.
“I want you to have it,” I manage. “I think my mom would approve.”
She jumps to her feet and hurries around the table. I stand and fold her into my arms. These past few weeks of spending time with her and Linden has been a highlight of my summer. The three of us have grown so close, like we’re already a family. It makes my already full heart crack open even more.
“Thank you,” Greta whispers.
I give her a squeeze, then kiss her temple. “Wear it with pride, girl.”
After cake and ice cream, we migrate to the barn so Greta can admire her new saddle.
The dogs trot alongside, wagging their tails.
As promised, I get a tour of the barn and meet each of the horses, including Jupiter, Linden’s massive chestnut roan who nickers when he hears Linden’s voice and pokes his head over his stall door to visit.
Linden rubs his nose and whispers something I can’t hear. I have a feeling these two have a longstanding partnership. It makes me excited for the trail ride date Linden’s promised me next week.
That night, Greta and her cousins are treated to a sleepover with Auntie Edie and their grandparents, so the drive home is quiet, my thigh warm against his on the bench seat.
My heart is packed so full and I have a feeling the memories from tonight are going to be dancing in my mind for weeks to come.
“I love your family,” I say, gazing up at him.
With a smile, he downshifts then takes my hand again. “Pretty sure they love you, too.”
I rest my head on his shoulder and let the soft night breeze cool my face.
We stay close like that all the way home. Linden jumps down and crosses to my side. When he opens the door, instead of taking his hand, I wrap my arms around his neck and part my knees, drawing him closer.
His bright eyes turn inquisitive. I kiss him, drinking in the soft press of his lips and the cricket song and the cape of black night arched above us, studded with stars.
“What was that for?” he asks, gripping my thighs to tug me to him.
I comb through the curls at the nape of his neck. “I love you.”
His face stills, and he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He takes a small breath, his fingers weaving through my hair while his eyes tense with emotion.
“It’s okay,” I say, watching his face. “You don’t have to say it back.”
He caresses my cheek as a tear brims at the corner of his eye. “What if I want to say it back?”
I catch his tear with my lips, savoring the sweet salt and the way he’s taking such a big leap, being vulnerable with me. Letting me see the complex and untamed mess that he is in this moment. “Take all the time you need.”
He captures my mouth with his, the heat and hope and raw tenderness expanding so fast inside me that it’s too big for my chest. Too big for my heart.
He presses his forehead to mine. “I thought I had nothing left to give. Love should have been too big a risk for me. Foolish. Even…dangerous. But nothing could keep me from loving you, Meg. You’re the risk I’d take over and over again.”
I kiss him, and his tongue sweeps in, soft and sensual. I tighten my thighs around his waist.
“I love you, Meg James.” Our eyes lock for a long moment before he kisses me again. It starts slow and sweet, but soon our tongues are flicking and swirling, the heat between us making my pulse tap faster.
He lifts me by the backs of my thighs and kicks the door shut with his heel. We kiss again in the middle of the driveway until we’re breathless.
“Can we sleep outside tonight?” I ask. “You can show me your favorite stars.”
He gives the sky a glance, then he’s smiling down at me. “News flash, shortcake. You’re my favorite star.”
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Love Me Steadfast
Prologue
William
The tones wake me from a deep sleep. I’m instantly alert and jump into my pants and boots, then grab my shirt, all while memorizing the details being broadcast over the PA system.
Medical call activated from the crisis line. The address is familiar, but I can’t place it.
My pulse flutters into my throat as I race for the pole and slide down to the truck bay.
Who do I know who lives on Salt Creek Road?
My partner Burton is right behind me. He climbs behind the wheel of the ambulance and I jump into the passenger side. An engine is also dispatched, and both of us pull out of the station, sirens wailing.
I check in with dispatch for details.
“Twenty-four year old female reporting mental health crisis. Possible substance abuse.”
“Is anyone with her?” I ask.
“Not that she’s reporting.”
I hope the crisis line folks are still talking to her. If anything, it will buy us some time.
“Sheriff’s department is enroute,” our dispatcher says.
“Does she know we’re coming?” I ask.
“Affirmative,” dispatch replies. “Evergreen medics are on standby.”
I set the radio back in its cradle while Burton accelerates onto Sunnyside, which curves around the south side of Bear Mountain.
It’s a narrow paved road that turns to gravel after the first two miles.
The rig vibrates and dips over the uneven road.
There’s no traffic at this hour, and I kill the siren but leave the lights.
When the GPS indicates our turn is approaching, it hits me.
“Oh fuck,” I say, running a hand through my hair.
Burton frowns. “What?”
Responding to calls where a loved one is hurt or injured is every firefighter’s nightmare. “I think I know where we’re going.”
The faded sign for Salt Creek Road flashes in the headlights, and Burton turns. The road is in even worse shape than the one we left behind, and our heavy rig bounces and jerks over the potholes and washboards .
“You been out here before?” Burton asks as we take the left fork, passing beneath the Thunder Mountain arch.
“Yeah,” I reply. When Morgan started the rescue almost six years ago, she had two horses and twenty acres. Now it’s grown to more than 600—some of that public land she won the right to lease for cheap—and dozens of animals. “It’s…been awhile though.”
“Some kind of horse rescue?”
It’s normal to make conversation while responding to a call, but my throat is too tight for words right now, so I just nod. What are we walking into?
The last time I talked to Morgan was in the cereal aisle at the grocery store a few months ago. Did I miss signs that she wasn’t okay? Or was I too distracted by the gnawing questions I refused to let myself ask about Charlotte that I didn’t notice?
I’ve tried for years to get over her, but my heart will always belong to Charlotte.
Burton parks the rig just past the front door of a two-story farmhouse that’s seen better days. All the windows are dark, except for a faint glow coming from a window upstairs.
Beyond the house, the fenced pastures and the barn are just shadows. A light is on above the barn entrance, but I don’t see any movement.
Burton and I jump out and open the back doors. We both glove up and I grab the med kit, then follow him to the door. Engine 5 parks to the side. They’re only here for backup so they’ll stay back for now.
On calls like this, we’re usually accompanied by a deputy or two. But they’re not here yet and I’m eager to get inside and make sure Morgan’s okay.
“You wanna wait?” Burton asks as I glance over my shoulder, hoping to see a Finn River Sheriff’s rig materializing out of the darkness .
“Nah. If she’s alone, we should be okay.” If this was a domestic, we wouldn’t have the option of going in alone. We don’t deal with violence—only its aftereffects.
Apprehension fizzles under my skin as we step inside the house.
“Morgan?” I call out.