Saved By The Mountain Man (Men Of Fire Mountain #8)
Chapter One
Pace
Heat clings to my skin. Smoke fills my lungs. I am trapped.
My fists beat against the door as it melts right in front of me. I cry out as pain blooms inside of me. I scream but no sound can be heard above the roar of the fire. I watch everything I knew burn to ash right in front of me. I can do nothing. Nothing can be saved. No one else is able to escape.
“No! Mama!” I scream as fire fills my vision until I can see nothing else.
Sitting up, I realize it is cool in the room. Bright moonlight shines in through the open windows, bringing the sweet scent of the pine trees that surround my cabin. I am not in the city. Not in a two bedroom walk up. I am not watching my entire world go up in flames. I am safe. But I am not okay.
“Not again,” I hiss as I pull at the tank top clinging to my skin. I am sweating, my sheets drenched, my body aching.
Climbing out of bed, I strip the sheets, balling them up with my damp shirt to toss it all in the hamper. I grab a fresh set of sheets from the linen closet, tossing them on the bed. Before I get back in bed, I head down the hall for a quick shower. I am shaking as I step beneath the hot spray, my hands balled into fists at my sides.
“Doc said to count until I stop seeing it in my head,” I mutter to myself.
If I were to count until I stopped seeing my childhood home go up in flames, I might never run out of numbers. Closing my eyes against the onslaught of images, I take several calming breaths. It takes a few moments, but I start to calm down. The hot water beating down on me, the cool tile beneath my feet, it helps ground me in the now.
It has been a few weeks since my last nightmare. After I step out of the shower, I grab the notebook by the bedside table. I write everything I can remember from the dream. The heat of the flames, the shouts of my mother, my sister, cries from my little brother. I can recall it all as if it just happened, not just in a dream, but as if I were back where it all fell apart.
It’s been close to eight years since I lost everything in that fire. I was too late to do anything. Too weak to save any of them. I watched the home I grew up in, all of my memories, and my entire family burn to the ground. It was all there one moment and gone the next. I was taking my mother flowers for Mother’s Day when I saw the brownstone up in flames. I was too late.
“Always too fucking late,” I hiss as I pull on fresh sweats.
Outside, a cool spring morning is waking the small town of Ashwood. It will be a nice break from the past few weeks of rain. The air is crisp and the skies clear as I head outside for a quick jog. I won’t be able to go back to bed now. Not with those memories playing in my head like a horror flick.
Running the familiar path through the thick forest surrounding the cabin, I try to calm my thoughts. Try to shuffle them back in order again. My head always gets messier this time of year. In just a few days it is the anniversary of the worst night of my life. Unlike most anniversaries, it is not a day I look forward to of course. Not a day I celebrate all that I lost.
Losing my mother and both of my siblings all at once was a blow I never thought I would recover from. In some ways I am still not over it. I have these nightmares, I can’t let anyone in my life get too close. I became a firefighter just so I could repent for not saving my family. For not being there when they needed me most.
“Morning, Pace,” a voice calls, jarring me out of my thoughts.
Blinking in the dim morning light, I smile at Tison as he sits on his front porch, sucking at his stogie. We’ve been neighbors for a few years and yet my runs past his place, while he is sitting alone on his porch, are the few interactions we’ve had. Maybe I ought to stop by with some beers sometime or invite him to my place to watch a game, but I have never made the effort.
“Morning Tison. How’s it going?”
Tison just tilts his steaming mug of coffee at me, tipping his head. I suppose that means it's going ok. Giving him a return jerk of my head, I smile. Men can be so simple. Several other guys live up here on the mountain, keeping to themselves, not venturing out much besides to work or hit town for a beer now and again.
Some of them take a woman back to one of the two hotels in town from time to time. I’ve never done that myself. Not that I’ve never come close. There have been a few women who’ve caught my eye over the years, pretty redheads or beautiful blondes. I just never believed it was worth the trouble. Not that they would bring me trouble.
I am plenty of trouble all on my own.
Running through the woods wakes me up, helping to shake off that nightmare. After the fire, they came every single night. It took a long time, and a lot of therapy, for me to sleep through the night. Since I came to Ashwood to find my place, to settle here on the mountain, it has been a lot easier. Even if I made the mistake of doing the dumbest thing possible.
My nightmares have changed in the past few years. Because I was fool enough to become a volunteer firefighter. It seemed like the right thing to do. To have a chance to save a few homes, a few families, even if I had not been able to save my own. It is my way of paying penance for my failure. Now my nightmares include new faces, new shouts of terror, and new failures.
I’ve not lost anyone since I’ve been volunteering, but there’s been some close calls. Some badly burned kids at a campground stuck with me for a while. We just didn’t get there in time to save them from damage, though we did save all their lives—and their historic teepee where the fire began. Still, those kids cries, and their scarred bodies, haunt me along with my mother, my sister, and my brother.
“Get out of your head, Pace,” I tell myself, picking up my speed.
My lungs burn and my legs ache by the time I make it back to my cabin. Running is a way I shake off the sadness, the emptiness, the loneliness of having no one left. I suppose I could let people in, but I am still grieving the loss of everything I knew. It’s been long enough according to most folks, including some of the guys I fight fires with.
Standing beneath a hot shower, I do my best to let the tension of the morning fade. Need to shake this shit off and start my day. There are no days off in my world. If I am not fighting fires or saving kittens out of trees, I am up here working at my shop. This cabin and my meager lifestyle were afforded by the sculptures I create. It is the one thing I always did for myself, that now pays the bills and puts some food in my belly.
“Come on, Smokie, let’s go to work, girl,” I call down the hall. I wait for a moment before I hear the big Bullmastiff’s paws thumping on the hardwood as she rushes for the front door. There is no leaving her behind.
“Hey, girl. Come on, let’s go do something worthy, huh?”
Heading outside to my Jeep, I laugh as she bounds past me, tail twirling as she waits for me to open the door for her. Always a lady. Once she is settled in, I stow my gear in the back and climb in. I will spend a few nights at the firehouse before I come back up the mountain. It’s a good I am forced to socialize—otherwise I might never speak to another human.
Driving towards Ashwood’s small metropolis, I smile as Smokie hangs her head out of the window, as pleased as peach punch. This dog was all I had left after the fire. We’ve been thick as thieves ever since she made it out of that blaze. Poor thing tried to drag my sister out, but she was just a pup.
“Did your best, Smoke,” I assure her, giving her a cuddle.
Smokie barks as if she knows this, a big grin on her brindle face. I smile too. At least we have each other. I’m not sure what I would have done without her since the fire. Having a piece of something left from that tragedy was enough to keep me going. To know I had to take care of her the way my sister would have, it gave me a purpose while I got through the grief.
“You did better than your best for me, girl,” I assure her as she thumps her tail happily, head still hanging out the window.
Pulling up to the fire station, I take my usual spot on the corner. Grabbing my duffel bag out of the back, I let Smokie out and she bounds inside, greeting by the other fire fighters already here. Following her inside, I hesitate for a moment. I take a moment to get my bearings, to prepare myself for interaction with the other guys here today.
We will spend the next four days together, so I will put up with their jokes, their talks about their old ladies, bad music, and lots of bro bonding. I don’t mind the time with these guys, but it does take me time to adjust. I glance down over Ashwood, admiring the quaint town I call home.
This place, the people in it, they’re not why I do what I do. Well, not at first, they were not. Now though...I’ve grown a fondness for this place and the people here. Angie the mouthy butcher always gives me the best steaks, Gene the grocer keeps the freshest produce in the county, and Abigail the mail lady always brings a bright smile and a bad joke with the daily mail.
This is my home now. I may not be close to anyone here, have no real ties here, but the guys I fight fires with, and the local town folk are my new family. It’s taken me some time to adjust to life without my family, but I am slowly getting there. The hurt of my loss will always be with me, the guilt that I somehow survived, but it aches a little less with each fire I fight. With each life or home I make a difference in.
If I could just let in some happiness, I might be doing alright.
“What’s up Pace? How you been, brother?” Jagger Dillon calls in greeting, shaking me from my thoughts.
Blinking at him in the fading light of the afternoon, I offer a shrug. I turn to watch him wrapping a hose up for the number two truck. Going to join him, I grab the hose for the number three truck and together we work on wrapping tight, uniform Cleveland rolls. I consider things we could talk about, that I could start a conversation about, but I don’t.
“Pace, we don’t have to talk. We all get you’re the strong silent type, yeah?”
Smirking, I shake my head. “Not sure about that strong part, Jagger. Wait…does this mean all the guys think I am also tall, dark, and handsome? Do I fit all the storybook clichés?”
“Well, Alcide was my vote for tall and dark, if we’re talking about romantic types. No, I just mean…it is enough that you show up. Sometimes that is all we can do, you know?”
Glancing over at him, it feels as if I’ve just come to after a too-long nap. Sometimes it is all we can do, just to show up. At one time it was all I could do to get out of bed, to take a shower, to want to do a single thing other than mourn. Now…now I do all of that with ease most days. I can do more than just show up now.
I can make friends with these guys I trust my life, and others, with. I can talk bullshit and have a beer with them, or tell the bad joke for a change. We can hang out on our off days if they still want to have that fish fry we were talking about a few weeks ago. Hell, we could all go on a fishing trip if the offer is still open.
“Yeah, sometimes it is all we can do, to show up. I think I can do more, brother. Do you think…well, do you think Caden and Alcide might still want to take that fishing trip?”
Jagger stares at me for a moment before he grins. “Hell, yeah, man. We were just talking about it with Maksim. He has a sweet boat, one of those pontoon numbers. Even if we don’t catch a single fish, that would be a sweet way to spend a weekend off, yeah?”
“It would be. Let’s do it, Jagger. I could host a fish fry at my place if we manage to catch anything.”
“That’s what I’m talking about, brother. Yeah, man, let’s do it. I’ll tell Maksim…ah, shit, saved by the bell,” he chortles as the alarms sound, alerting us to a call-out.
Tossing the hoses on the trucks, we hurry to our gear. We change out fast as the other guys come rushing in. As we’re pulling our boots on, Jagger tells them I want to take that fishing trip. I laugh when they all turn to gape at me. Yeah, I guess for a while I was just showing up, because for a while it was enough.
It's about damn time I start doing more than just showing up.