Spark (Montana Mountain Protectors #7)

Chapter 1

ONE

WARRICK

Sighing quietly to myself, I watch as one by one, my teammates flee from the parking lot, their energy frantic; all of them desperate to get home to their significant others.

It’s shocking to me that in the span of less than a year, all six of my brothers in arms have gone from free and single to tied down.

I’m the only one left, the only holdout not ready to jump on the wedding and baby train.

This town is kind of crazy. There’s this legacy, myth, curse, or whatever you want to call it, that has every man who steps foot into Rockhead Peak losing their shit and jumping on the first woman they see who makes their dick hard.

I mean, I get seeing a beautiful woman and wanting to fuck her. But that’s not what happens in this town. Instead, something in the air here makes men see a woman and have an instant and insane urge to marry her and get her pregnant.

And that’s not just crazy, it’s downright psychotic.

To be honest, I don’t get it. I’m only thirty-five.

I’m basically a kid in a man-sized body.

I don’t know how to look after a wife, and I definitely have no clue how to take care of a baby.

But now instead of my buddies asking me to the bar, they ask me to dinner with their wives, or the Barnetts throw a party that includes a million kids.

Kids freak me out. They’re small and helpless and fucking terrifying with their sticky hands and snotty noses. I get why you’d be okay with your own spawn, but why the fuck would anyone think I’d want to spend time with other people’s crotch goblins?

Not bothering to rush, I throw my bag over my shoulder, wave goodbye to the team of smoke jumpers that are starting their shift as we’re finishing ours, and step out into the balmy morning air. Spring has turned to summer, and the scent of warm wood and lush forest fills the air.

Montana is beautiful all year round, but summer here is my favorite. The sky is blue and endless, and the sun is bright, illuminating everything in a warm, comforting glow. It’s early, not even eight a.m., but it’s already warm enough that by lunch it’ll be muggy and humid.

Unlocking my ancient Jeep Wrangler, I slip behind the wheel and say a silent prayer as I turn the key.

Unlike some of my teammates, I don’t care about cars.

I’ve had my Jeep for ten years now. I bought it used and looking like it could do with some TLC, and now it looks like it’s a miracle that it makes it up and down the mountain each time I have to go to work, or head into town.

When the engine sputters to life, I clip my seat belt on and put it in drive, pulling away from base and turning onto the road that leads back to Jumpers Row, where we all live.

When I first accepted the temporary contract to join the newly created Rockhead Peak smoke jumper team, I expected the job to last a few months.

But we’ve been here for almost a year and a half now, and according to my boss, Buck, we’ve secured ongoing funding for at least the next five years.

I’m happy that I’ll be sticking around for a while longer.

I like working with these guys and in this town, but since my buddies all found relationships, I’ve become the odd man out.

I don’t want to spend all of my free time playing the third wheel to my brothers and their partners.

I want to play pool or darts and drink beer and chat shit without anyone bringing up babies or women or how fucking in love they are.

But on the rare occasion that anyone has an evening away from their partner, all they want to talk about is them, or their desire to get them pregnant, or the plans for the houses they’re all building for their families, while I sit there silent with nothing to add to the conversation.

Reversing my Jeep into my driveway, I try not to make eye contact with anyone standing outside their house, but it’s difficult to do when my entire team lives in such close proximity to each other.

Jumper’s Row is a semi-circle of homes on Hal Williams’s ranch.

My team lives in the first seven, while the other team inhabits the others.

The only house that’s currently sitting empty is the one that Knight used to live in.

About a year ago, Knight bought a huge parcel of land on the other side of the Barnetts’ property and started building a house on it.

A few months back, he quit his job and moved him and his wife, Octy, into the massive house he had built for them and invited all of us to live there too.

I don’t really understand the idea, but Knight wants us all to build some kind of compound of homes on his land so that we can continue to be neighbors even after we stop working together.

My brothers that are wifed up love the idea, and right now Nero, Buck, and Oz are all mid-construction on their own homes, while Danny and Anders are working with Cody Barnett and an architect to finalize the plans for their houses, too.

So soon, even my neighbors will be gone, and I’ll be living here alone.

I don’t mind being alone. I’m used to it. Both my parents are dead, and they had me so late in life they never had a chance to give me any siblings. I don’t have any aunts or uncles, and both sets of my grandparents died when I was young.

I’ve had relationships, but none have lasted long enough to get serious, and now that I live here, every woman I speak to expects me to buy her a drink and start planning our wedding within five minutes of meeting her.

Pulling my cell from my pocket, I pretend to be looking at something important as I open my car door and slip out. Keeping my gaze on my cell, I shut and lock my Jeep and get into my house without anyone giving me a sympathetic—but actually pitying—look and inviting me to join them.

I exhale in relief the moment the front door is shut behind me.

Kicking off my boots, I carry my bag into the garage, shove all of my dirty work gear into the washer, add detergent, and turn it on.

Walking back into the house, I flip the switch on my coffee maker, then head upstairs and straight into the bathroom.

After taking a quick shower, I pull on boxers and a pair of shorts and make my way back downstairs shirtless and barefoot. Grabbing a mug from the cabinet, I pour myself some coffee and add sugar and too much creamer until it’s rich, sweet, and would make my dentist cringe.

Throwing open the back door, I take my coffee outside and sit down in the huge patio chair that I bought, just for this purpose.

I’m a big guy. I’m not crazy tall, but I am thick, like an offensive lineman, only shorter and more jacked.

I lift a lot, and I’m proud of my arms that have been referred to as tree trunks in the past.

Letting my head fall back, I close my eyes and enjoy the warmth of the morning sun, feeling the vitamin D absorbing into my skin as I bask in the golden glow.

Days like today are when I wish I had a pool—but my yard isn’t big enough for one, this isn’t my house, and autumns and winters in Montana are long and cold.

If there were a pool in front of me, not a patch of overgrown lawn, I’d be naked and floating on a lounge chair right now. Fuck, that sounds like bliss. I need a fucking vacation. I haven’t used a single day of paid vacation since I started this job, because where the fuck would I even go?

Now that Knight has decided to quit and follow Octy around for a living, there’s even less chance for me to take time off. Everyone knows that he’s not coming back to work, but Buck is still holding out hope and refusing to hire a replacement.

Being a man down has put a strain on the team, and we’re all feeling it. I miss Knight, but he quit and he’s done with the fire service, and I don’t blame him. He’s the happiest I’ve ever seen him spending all his time with Octy, and Buck needs to accept that.

Blowing out a breath, I open my eyes and glance around my yard. I don’t have green thumbs, and it shows. The lawn needs to be mowed, and the handful of plants that haven’t already died through my neglect look ragged and wild.

The best use of my time over the next four days would be to finally get around to doing some of the jobs that I’ve been putting off for months, but before I even finish the thought, I dismiss the idea.

I doubt I’ll ever be bored or lonely enough to put up shelves I don’t need or repaint the living room in a slightly less boring shade of gray.

Home decor isn’t my forte, and you can tell.

Smoke jumping is usually a seasonal gig, and I’ve never lived and worked anywhere longer than three months.

When I first moved to Rockhead Peak, I literally had my clothes, the handful of boxes of stuff I kept from my parents’ house after they died, and my dad’s ancient recliner.

My mom thought she was starting menopause when she found out she was pregnant with me. Back then, having a baby at forty-eight was practically unheard of, especially when they’d spent twenty years desperately trying to get pregnant and never managed to get caught.

They were great parents, but after my mom died in a car accident when I was twenty, my dad, who was nearly ten years older than her, quickly withered and passed away less than eighteen months later from a heart attack.

Knowing I’d never choose to live there, I sold their house and most of their belongings. Now the chair and boxes of keepsakes are all I have left of them.

Reaching for my coffee, I lift it to my lips and drink, savoring the sweetness. Once the mug is empty, I push up out of my chair and go back inside. Washing and drying the mug, I put it back in the cabinet and try to decide what to do with the rest of the day.

I could make the twenty-minute drive into town, but it’s before ten a.m. on a Wednesday, and I don’t have any reason to go.

A kid from town started a new delivery service, so instead of having to stock up on groceries or head into town every time I need milk, I can just place an order, and he picks up what I need and drives it up the mountain to me.

I have food being delivered this afternoon, I already had breakfast, and I refuse to become the type of guy who goes to the bar this early on his day off.

Working out is an option. My home gym in the garage could help me waste a few hours, but because we didn’t have any calls yesterday, Nero, Oz, and I hit it hard last night, and now today is supposed to be a recovery day.

Restless, I grab my cell and Google what to do in Rockhead Peak, Montana.

The first result that pops up is a website talking about the scenic hiking trails.

I’m not a hiker. I’m bulky, and my frame is more suited to lifting weights than walking ten miles.

But I’m bored and I’m lonely, and if I don’t do something, I’m going to end up cracking a beer or binge-watching crappy TV like a loser.

So I click into the web page and start to check out the trails closest to me.