Chapter 7 Buried Embers #2
"That was different." I cross my arms, hating how defensive I sound. "You’re a professional, and those were established evacuation routes. This is—"
"This is what you do." His voice softens. "You know these mountains. My team needs that knowledge."
"I make maps." I turn away, rearranging papers on my desk with shaking hands. "I don't take people into the backcountry."
"Why not?"
The simple question slices through my defenses. I could lie, make up some excuse about being too busy, but he'd see through it immediately. Something about Mac has always made it impossible to hide.
"Three years ago," I say finally, my back still to him. "I was leading a guided hike. Family of four—parents, two children. The youngest, Sarah, was eight." I swallow past the tightness in my throat. "She wanted to see mountain goats."
I feel rather than see Mac move closer, his presence solid behind me.
“The trail wasn’t dangerous. I’d led a hundred groups down it without incident.
Safe. Familiar. I knew every root, every turn.
” My fingers tighten around the pencil, the wood creaking.
“But that spring, the snowmelt hit early. Hard. Underneath the trail, near Crystal Falls, the runoff carved it out. Left the top looking solid.”
The pencil snaps in half.
“It wasn’t.”
He doesn’t speak. Just listens.
“Sarah was excited. It was her first time seeing a real waterfall. She ran ahead—laughing, calling back to me—and before I could stop her…” My breath shudders out. “The ground vanished beneath her feet.”
I can still hear the sound—earth crumbling, that horrible second of silence before the scream.
“She fell fifty feet. Straight down onto jagged rock.” I force the words through the knot in my throat. “Her arm snapped. Her skull cracked so loudly I thought she was already gone. Fifty-two stitches to close her face. But the worst part—the part that never heals—was her back.”
I finally lift my gaze to his.
“The fall shattered her spine. She’ll never walk again. Eight years old, and I’m the reason she’ll spend the rest of her life in a chair.”
“Jo—”
“I was her guide. Her protector. And I missed it. I should’ve seen the undercut. I should’ve stopped her. I should’ve—” My voice breaks. “She trusted me, and I failed her. That’s the truth. And I live with it every time I close my eyes.”
The admission hangs in the air between us. Mac's expression shifts from gentle concern to understanding. He steps closer, into my space.
"Accidents happen," he says quietly. "Even to the most experienced guides."
"Not to me." I meet his eyes, needing him to understand. "Not before that. Not after. I don't guide anymore. I make maps."
He studies me for a long moment, blue eyes searching mine. Then he does something unexpected. He shares a piece of himself.
"Two years ago, I made a call during a canyon fire." His voice is low, steady. "Split my team to cover more ground. Standard procedure, one I'd executed dozens of times before."
Something in his tone makes my heart constrict.
"Wind shifted. Fire jumped the line." His jaw tightens. "Lost radio contact with the second team for seventeen minutes. Longest seventeen minutes of my life."
I see the shadow pass behind his eyes, the ghost of whatever happened in those seventeen minutes.
"They made it out." His voice roughens. "But it was close. Too close."
He doesn't elaborate, but I understand what he's doing. Offering me a glimpse of his own fallibility, his own burden of command. A bridge between us built of shared responsibility.
"I'm not asking you to guide tourists on sightseeing trips," he says. "I'm asking you to help seasoned firefighters protect the mountains you love."
His hand reaches up and brushes a strand of hair from my face. The simple touch undoes me more than any passionate kiss.
"My team knows what they're doing," he continues. "They're the best. However, they are unfamiliar with this terrain. You know it."
I stare at the map, at the red X marks forming their ominous triangle. If the fires are deliberate, they're just the beginning. Someone is out there with a plan, using the mountains I love as their weapon.
"I can't be responsible for people's safety." The words come out small, revealing more vulnerability than I intend.
"You already are." Mac's voice gentles. "Every map you draw, every trail warning you post, every evacuation route you plan—you're already taking responsibility."
His logic finds purchase in the cracks of my resistance, taking root in an uncomfortable truth.
"It's different when they're right there beside you," I whisper, finally meeting his eyes. "When their lives depend on your split-second decisions."
Understanding dawns in his expression. "Is that what happened with Sarah? A split-second decision?"
"I hesitated." The admission costs me. "Just for a moment. Saw the danger too late. Called out too late."
"And you've been punishing yourself ever since."
It's not a question, but I answer anyway.
"Wouldn't you?"
Something flickers in his eyes—recognition, perhaps. Or a shadow of his own guilt.
"Every day," he says quietly.
The simple acknowledgment hits harder than any argument could. For a moment, we stand there, two people carrying the weight of responsibility, of choices made and consequences faced.
"I need your help, Josephine." No demands. No manipulation. Just the truth. "Lives could depend on it."
I close my eyes, weighing risk against responsibility. When I open them, my decision is made.
"I'll help position your observation teams, but I’ll set the routes. The pace. The safety protocols. No arguments."
Relief softens his features. "Agreed."
"And no civilians." I need this boundary to be firm and clear. "Just your crew. I'm not guiding tourists again."
"Just my team." He nods. "They follow orders and know their jobs."
Something almost like excitement flutters beneath my fear—the long-dormant part of me that loved guiding, that thrived on sharing my mountains with others. I squash it ruthlessly. This is about duty, not pleasure. About responsibility, not redemption.
"When do we start?" I ask, already mentally cataloging the gear we'll need.
"Tomorrow at dawn." Mac's expression turns professional again, but something warmer lingers in his eyes. "I'll brief the team this afternoon. We'll need observation points with good visibility but natural cover, access to emergency evacuation routes, and minimal fire risk."
I nod, already mapping possibilities in my head. "I know some places. Old hunting blinds, abandoned fire towers. I'll mark them tonight."
Mac moves back to the map, his focus shifting to the tactical planning that comes so naturally to him. For the next hour, we work side by side, plotting positions and routes, discussing team compositions and supply needs.
The earlier tension doesn't disappear, but it transforms into something more productive—a partnership born of mutual respect and shared purpose.
When Parker returns, we've outlined a comprehensive strategy. Six two-person teams positioned around the perimeter, with Mac and me mobile between positions. Three-day rotation, with daily supply runs and communication checks.
"Looks solid." Parker studies our plan with approving eyes. "I'll coordinate the equipment prep."
"We move at 0500," Mac tells her. "Ms. Mackenzie will be our primary guide for positioning."
If Parker is surprised by my involvement, she doesn't show it. She nods, professional respect in her eyes.
"I'll inform the team." She gathers her notes and heads for the door, leaving Mac and me alone again.
The moment the door closes, Mac turns. The map still lies between us, but the air shifts, tighter now. Charged.
“I’m coming over tonight.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “You heard me.”
I duck my head, suddenly fascinated by the corner of the map. “Mac… it’s not necessary. This past week was amazing, but—”
“There’s no way you’re shutting the door on this,” he cuts in, voice low but absolute. “Don’t pretend the past week meant nothing.”
“It was just sex.” I lift my chin, defiant. Lying. Both of us know it.
“Don’t insult us both.”
Silence pulses between us. My heart kicks against my ribs like it wants to escape the room. His body’s still, but the air around him feels molten. Ready to ignite.
“We agreed to keep the personal separate,” I say. “Focus on the job.”
“No. You said that. I let you say it because you were scared. Still are.” He leans down until his mouth hovers beside my ear.
“But I’ve had my cock inside you, Josephine.
Felt you clench around me like you couldn’t get enough.
Watched you beg me not to stop. You think I’m the kind of man who fucks and walks away? ”
Heat surges up my throat. My fingers tighten around the pencil again—this time, I don’t snap it. But I want to.
“I don’t know who you’ve had in your bed before,” he says, stepping around the table, slow and steady like he’s stalking prey, “but I’m not the kind of man who fucks and walks away. Especially not from a woman like you.”
I hold my ground. Barely.
His thumb brushes the corner of my mouth, a touch so reverent it steals my breath. “You and I… we don’t just fit. We burn. Same fire. Same fucking spark.”
He exhales slowly, gaze locked on mine like he’s reading every fractured piece. “I’ve never met a woman who gives like you. Who fights like she’s made of armor, but surrenders like it’s a gift.”
My pulse stutters, betrays me.
“This isn’t over,” he murmurs, his mouth brushing my temple, voice rough velvet. “Not by a long shot. I’m coming over tonight. And we’re going to talk. Quiet. Honest. No interruptions. You’re mine, and I’m going to show you what that means.”
A promise, not a threat. But it still leaves me trembling.
Then he turns—no hesitation, no backward glance—and walks out like he just rewrote the rules.
And all I can do is stand there, every nerve lit, every wall cracked wide open… already burning for what comes next.