Chapter 6
Chapter Six
F lint
The thick smell of smoke burns my nostrils before I even step out of the tent. The sky is an angry shade of orange, flickering with the occasional flare of crimson as the fire consumes the forest I’ve spent my life protecting.
“Stay here,” I bark at Juniper, not bothering to glance back as I grab my gear.
“Not a chance,” she calls, jogging to keep up with me.
Of course, she’s not going to listen. She never does.
I whirl on her, stopping her dead in her tracks. “This isn’t some documentary you can edit in post. You don’t belong here, not when it’s this dangerous.”
Her jaw tightens, defiance flaring in her eyes. “I belong wherever the story is, Flint. People need to see what’s happening. They need to understand.”
“Understand what? You could get yourself killed?” My voice rises over the crackle of the distant fire, and I can feel my team’s eyes on us, but I don’t care. “This isn’t a debate, Juniper. Stay. Here.”
She crosses her arms, glaring up at me like I’m the most unreasonable man on the planet. “You’re wasting time arguing with me when you could be fighting the fire.”
I clench my fists, taking a deep breath to stop myself from throwing her over my shoulder and heading back for my truck–but it’s parked an hour away off the nearest two-track access road. I settle for a warning glare. “Fine. But if you’re coming, you stick to me like glue. You step out of line, and I’ll drag you back myself. Got it?”
Her lips twitch, like she’s holding back a smirk. “Got it, boss.”
The heat is relentless as we get closer to the blaze, radiating off the flames as my team digs trenches and sprays water in a desperate attempt to control the fire. Juniper trails behind me, her camera clicking occasionally, but for once, she’s quiet.
“Stay close,” I remind her, my voice gruff.
“I am,” she mutters, her tone softer than usual.
Despite my irritation, I can’t help but glance back at her. Her cheeks are flushed from the heat, strands of her hair sticking to her damp forehead, but her determination is unmistakable.
“Why do you always have to make everything so difficult?” I ask, not really expecting an answer.
She huffs out a laugh. “Maybe I like watching you get all bossy. It’s kind of hot.”
I whip my head around, glaring at her. “This isn’t a joke, Juniper.”
Her smile fades, but there’s a glint of something else in her eyes. “I know it’s not. But I also know you wouldn’t let anything happen to me.”
The weight of her words settles over me, and I hate how much they’re true.
Hours pass in a blur of smoke, sweat, and shouting. My crew works tirelessly, but the fire keeps advancing. When the aerial reinforcements finally arrive, the relief is palpable, but exhaustion weighs heavy on all of us.
“The road’s blocked,” Hudson calls out, jogging over to me. “We’re not getting out tonight.”
I glance at the sky, darkening with the onset of night. The smoke clouds blot out the stars, leaving the world dim and eerie.
“There’s a cabin about a mile out,” I say. “We’ll head there for the night.”
“What about me?” Juniper pipes up, stepping closer.
“You’re coming with me,” I tell her firmly. “There’s a fire tower across the river. It’s safer and farther from the flames.”
Her eyes narrow. “Safer? But I could get some footage of the guys at the cabin–”
I grit my teeth, resisting the urge to snap. “It’s safer for you across the river. That’s all that matters.”
She studies me for a moment, then nods. “Fine. Lead the way.”
We walk through the forest, and I have to resist the urge to throw her over my shoulder every step of the way. When we reach the river, I do carry her as I make my way across the access bridge that crosses the rushing water.
The fire tower looms ahead, a skeletal structure silhouetted against the smoky horizon. By the time we reach it, my muscles ache, and my patience is wearing thin.
“Climb,” I instruct, gesturing to the metal ladder.
She eyes it warily. “Ladies first, what a gentleman.”
I snort, crossing my arms. “Not a chance. I’m just not letting you out of my sight.”
She mutters something under her breath but starts climbing, and I follow close behind, my eyes trained on her every move.
When we reach the top, the small cabin at the tower’s peak is a welcome sight. I shove the door open, stepping aside to let her in.
“Home sweet home,” she says, glancing around.
“It’s not supposed to be comfortable,” I reply, setting my gear down.
She raises an eyebrow. “Good thing I have such excellent company, then.”
I glare at her, but she just grins, sinking onto the narrow bench by the window.
The silence stretches between us, heavy and charged. Outside, the glow of the fire still paints the horizon, helicopters flying overhead now and again as they work to control the flames. Up here, it feels like we’re in our own little world.
“You don’t have to hover,” Juniper says, breaking the quiet.
“I’m not hovering,” I lie, pacing by the door.
“Yes, you are.” Her tone is teasing, but her gaze is steady. “Sit down, Flint. You’re making me nervous.”
I hesitate, then reluctantly drop onto the bench across from her.
“There. Was that so hard?” she asks, smirking.
I ignore her, staring out the window. “You shouldn’t have come out here.”
“And miss all the fun?”
I shoot her a look, but her grin doesn’t falter.
“Why do you do this?” I ask, my voice quieter than I intended. “Why put yourself in danger for a documentary?”
Her smile softens, and for a moment, she looks almost vulnerable. “Because it matters. Because if people don’t see what’s happening, they won’t care enough to change it.”
I study her, the passion in her eyes undeniable. “You really believe that?”
“I have to.”
The simplicity of her answer hits me harder than I expect.
“Why do you fight fires?” she asks.
I shrug, realizing no one has ever cared to ask me this before. “Because saving lives feels like the best thing to do with my time on this earth.”
“Hero, huh?” she grins, bumping her shoulder against mine. I smile, letting her in a little more. She’s breaking down all the barriers I’ve built before now. The ones I had to construct just to get through my time in the military. Her fingertips brush my wrist, our gaze hovering long before I swallow, thinking the only thing I want to do is kiss her right now. But it’s not the time, not while my guys are fighting out in the woods, risking their lives to stop an inferno.
Juniper pulls her jacket tighter around her, but I can see the shiver that runs through her.
“Here,” I say, shrugging off my own jacket and draping it over her shoulders.
She blinks up at me, surprise flickering in her gaze. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
But the sight of her wrapped in my jacket does something to me—something I can’t ignore.
“You’re not what I expected,” I admit, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
She tilts her head, curiosity lighting her expression. “And what did you expect?”
I shrug, leaning back against the wall. “Someone more... polished. Less stubborn.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” she says, but there’s a teasing edge to her tone.
“You’re not a disappointment, Juniper.” My voice is low, but the weight of my words hangs in the air between us.
Her breath catches, and for a moment, neither of us moves. The tension crackles like the embers of a dying fire, and I’m not sure which of us will break first.
When she finally speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to protect me, Flint.”
“Yes, I do.”
Her eyes meet mine, and I see the fire in them—the same fire that’s been there since the moment we met.
“Why?” she asks, and the single word feels like a challenge.
“Because I can’t not.”
The admission hangs in the air, raw and unfiltered.
She leans forward, closing the distance between us. “You’re infuriating, you know that?”
I smirk, the corner of my mouth twitching. “Takes one to know one.”
And then, before I can second-guess myself, I close the gap, capturing her lips with mine.
The kiss is everything I knew it would be—fiery, demanding, and utterly consuming. Her hands tangle in my shirt, pulling me closer, and I lose myself in the taste of her. With our lips pressed together, slow and sensual, I savor the taste of her on my tongue. My heart hammers behind my ribcage as I realize this woman is every damn thing in life I didn’t know I needed. I’m never letting her go, not now, not ever.
When we finally pull apart, both of us breathing hard, she smirks up at me.
I chuckle, resting my forehead against hers. “You’re trouble, Juniper Hayes.”
“Good thing you like trouble,” she whispers, her voice teasing and full of promise.
And for the first time, I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, trouble is exactly what I need.