2. Axel
Chapter Two
AXEL
I help Nina out of the harness, fingers brushing against her waist again. I keep it brief, professional. Still, my palms tingle with the memory of how her curves pressed to the hard lines of my body on the way up. She smells like vanilla lip balm and cheap perfume. There’s glitter on her cheek, a smear of it across her jaw. She’s not my type. Too sparkly, too city, too… everything.
And yet, I can’t stop glancing back at her. Logan’s with the girls in the back while I sit up front with Ryder. There’s a report of a fire to the east, so we’re both preoccupied.
My brothers and I are barely out of the bird when Brittany is being whisked into the waiting arms of EMTs, the wind from the rotors still snapping at our jackets.
Nina catches my eye, offering a quick, breathless thank you. There’s a light in her eyes that throws me off balance for a second, like I’ve stepped out onto a sheet of black ice. Then she smiles.
Damn . I look away.
Ryder talks to Logan, then meets me near the tail end of the chopper, his headset pushed up onto his mess of dark hair. “You alright?”
“Fine,” I grunt. “Easy lift.”
His gaze flicks to Nina. “You met the new dispatcher?”
I blink. “What?”
“Yeah. Logan said she mentioned she’s starting at base on Monday. That’s her. From the city, apparently. Didn’t realize she’d be crashing bachelorette parties on her first weekend.”
I look at her again. The glitter jacket, the fake lashes, the bright lipstick just starting to smudge at the corners. She’s laughing with Brittany now, brushing her hair out of her face.
No way.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Ryder smirks. “Nope. That’s your new dispatcher, bro.”
“For fuck’s sake!” I let out a breath, something sharp tugging in my chest. Attraction slams into annoyance. Great. She’s fucking beautiful. And a walking disaster.
She could barely stay warm out there, in that silly jacket covered with sequins. That kind of jacket doesn’t belong on these mountain ridges. Neither do people who think hiking in cut-offs is cute. I don’t care how pretty she is or how soft she felt in my arms.
There’s no way she’s cut out for this.
After Ryder lifts off again for a resupply run, I head back toward the trucks. It’s almost dark now, shadows slipping across the mountains. Something shifts in the underbrush near the access road. A low whine. Faint. Hurt.
I slow down.
Another whine.
I step into the woods, scanning the undergrowth. A shape limps through the shadows. Coyote? No, a dog. Mutt, maybe part shepherd. Ragged fur, ribs showing. Limping badly on its front leg.
I crouch, hands up. “Hey, buddy. It’s okay.”
It growls softly but doesn’t bolt.
I reach into my pack, pull out a strip of beef jerky from my stash. “Hungry?”
The dog sniffs the air, takes a limping step forward.
“Come on. I’m not gonna hurt you. It’s risky business being out here so close to the road.”
It creeps closer. The fur is matted and full of burrs. There’s a nasty cut on its leg. I hold out the jerky. The dog snatches it, its eyes wary.
“Easy, Risky…” I tear off another piece and toss it closer. Then another, until it’s within reach. I touch its shoulder gently. It flinches but doesn’t run.
I scoop it up slowly, cradling it against my chest. It whines but doesn’t fight me.
The second I slide into my truck with the dog curled on the seat beside me, I’m arguing with myself. I should take it straight to the vet. But Mom… she’ll want to see it. And she’s better with animals than anyone I know. I text her and start up the engine.
By the time I roll up to her porch, the dog is trembling from exhaustion and pain. I carry the dog through Mom's back door into the warm kitchen that smells like herbs and spices. She's already clearing space on the counter, laying down clean towels.
“Poor baby,” she murmurs, her hands gentle as she helps me set him down. “How long has he been out there, do you think?”
I step back. “No collar. Ribs showing. At least a few weeks.”
Mom clicks her tongue disapprovingly as she examines the wound. The dog watches her warily but doesn't resist. There's something about Mom that puts all creatures at ease.
“Pass me some water and the antiseptic. Does he have a name?” She nods at the cabinet where she keeps her supplies. I know the drill. This isn't the first stray we’ve brought back, though it's been a while. I grab the medical kit and the big ceramic bowl she uses for her remedies.
“I’ve been calling him Risky. I don’t think he’d have made it for much longer out there.”
She washes the wound carefully, her silver-streaked dark hair falling forward. “It's deep, but there’s no infection yet. Lucky you found him when you did.”
“Just happened to be there,” I mutter.
She gives me that look. The one that says she knows better. “Nothing just happens, Axel. You know that.”
I don't answer. Don't need to. Mom's always been half-mystic, especially after all these years living in the mountains. Dad used to tease her about it, but he didn’t argue when her remedies worked better than anything from the pharmacy.
She opens her wooden herb cabinet and starts pulling out jars labeled in her neat handwriting: calendula, comfrey, plantain.
“Hand me that beeswax, would you? And the olive oil.”
I grab them from the shelf. “You're making a salve?”
“Best thing for a wound like this. Comfrey for the tissue repair, calendula for healing, plantain to draw out any infection.” She works as she talks, measuring dried herbs into the oil.
“I’ll take him to the vet if he needs antibiotics. Animals show you what they need. Look at him… he's already calmer.”
She's right. Risky's breathing has evened out, his eyes half-closed as she works. There's relief there, like he knows he's in good hands.
While the herbs steep in the warm oil on the back of the stove, she cleans the wound more thoroughly and checks the rest of him. “No broken bones, just the cut and some malnourishment. We'll fatten him up in no time.”
“We don’t need to keep him, Mom. I can take him to the vet, they have a shelter program.”
She smiles, not even looking up. “Let’s get him on track first.”
I lean against the counter, watching her work. Her hands move with the confidence of someone who's been healing others her whole life. She raised seven rowdy boys, patched up countless scrapes and breaks, and still finds energy to tend to every stray creature that crosses her path.
“You're even quieter than Logan tonight, hon. Something on your mind?”
An image of Nina flashes into my head. The way she looked in the helicopter light, glitter on her cheeks, eyes bright with adrenaline. I push it away.
“Just work.”
“Mmm.” She doesn't believe me. She raises an eyebrow but doesn't push. Instead, she turns back to the dog, applying the cooled salve to his wound with gentle fingers. “This will help with the pain and speed healing.”
Risky whines softly, pressing his head into Mom's hand. She scratches behind his ears. “He'll stay in the kitchen tonight. I’ll give him some food and make him a bed. Tomorrow, I'll give him a herbal tincture to build his strength back up, and we’ll start to get some meat on these skinny bones.”
I nod, knowing there's no point in arguing. When Josie Blake decides to heal something, it gets healed. End of story.
“You look tired,” she says, studying my face. “Stay for dinner? Hunter and Marcus are coming over.”
“Can't. I've got reports to finish.” And a sexy new dispatcher to worry about.
She nods, but not before I catch a flicker of disappointment. “Take some stew, at least. I made too much.”
We both know she didn't, but I accept the container she presses into my hands. As I turn to leave, Risky lifts his head, eyes finding mine.
“He'll be okay,” Mom says softly.
On the drive home, I keep seeing Nina’s face. The flush in her cheeks, the way her voice trembled when I held her. She was scared, but she didn’t fall apart. And I can’t stop thinking about her pressed against me, warm and soft, her hair brushing under my chin.
This is bad.
She’s the new dispatcher. Fan-fucking-tastic. Which means I’ll see her every damn day. And yeah, she’s beautiful. Maybe there’s something about her that snuck under my skin when I wasn’t looking. But that glittery, city-girl, bride-squad energy? That doesn’t belong in the field.
We’ve got a job to do. Real lives on the line. No room for distractions. No time for complications.
Even if those complications come with big brown eyes and the kind of smile that could make me forget my own name.
I need to keep my distance.