Chapter 1
The hospital auditorium was filling. The day brimmed with significance for Waverly Junction Hospital and the community it served. As the burn center dedication drew near, the air hummed with anticipation and emotion. Olivia, dressed in her Waverly County Police Department uniform, stood among her mother and four sisters, a mix of pride for the community and a somber reluctance within her.
Liv found herself ensnared in a wave of emotions. In the midst of honoring her father’s legacy, she couldn”t shake the raw ache of his loss gnawing at her. She missed him so.
Her gaze swept across the room, taking in the diverse assembly of faces. Among them stood firefighters in their stoic stances. Medical personnel, with their unwavering dedication to healing, mingled with town administrators, some who really cared, and some who were there for a political appearance. And there, seated amongst them, were the members of the new burn center board, a symbol of hope and progress.
But amidst the sea of faces, the one she wanted was missing: her father. His absence loomed large, a palpable void that no amount of ceremony could fill. Each figure in the room represented a piece of the community her father died serving. Staring at the sign, she let herself feel a sense of pride in her father”s legacy, even as the pain of his absence threatened to overwhelm her.
Among the influx of attendees, Liv”s gaze lit upon a trio of firefighters entering together. One of them, standing tall and exuding a silent strength, possessed a distinct aura—a figure with cropped black hair and eyes as green as the fertile hills surrounding Waverly Junction.
“That”s Jackson Reynolds. David”s son. He was twenty when your dad and his died,” her mother related in a hushed tone. “His dad would be so proud seeing him promoted and getting a medal of valor.”
Jackson Reynolds—a name tied not just to the present moment but woven into Liv”s past through a joint tragedy. She nodded silently, her eyes flickering briefly in Jackson’s direction before she closed them, trying to suppress the next rush of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. She felt a pang of empathy, wondering if he carried the same weight of loss and unanswered questions about his father”s death that she did.
Her sister Isobel, a forensic psychologist, gently squeezed her hand. “Are you okay, Liv?” she asked, concern evident in her voice.
Liv took a moment to compose herself before answering softly, “Yeah, just... unexpected feelings, you know?”
Isobel nodded, understanding dawning in her eyes. “It”s a lot to process, especially today.” Liv knew she was speaking professionally. Isobel was barely four when their father died and had little memory of him.
Their conversation was interrupted by the ceremony”s commencement. As the speakers took the stage, Liv stole another glance at Jackson, who was engaged in a conversation with his fellow firefighters. The memories of the past collided with the present.
The burn unit dedication ceremony was both somber and hopeful with the community coming together to honor those who had been affected by fire-related tragedies. Olivia, like Jackson, reflected on her legacy—hers as a detective in the arson/bomb unit of the Waverly County Police Department—as she stood among the crowd. Her heart was heavy with emotion as she listened to the speeches and watched the ribbon cutting that officially opened the new facility.
As the ceremony drew to a close, Olivia”s police partner, Michael Wheaton, approached her. A warm smile graced his lips as he congratulated her and her family on the dedication of the burn unit. Michael, ten years Olivia’s senior in both age and experience, had a strong, confident presence, with a well-built physique that reflected his dedication to physical fitness. He possessed a rugged charm with his tousled dark hair and piercing blue eyes, presenting a striking figure.
“Congratulations, Liv,” he said, his voice filled with genuine pride. “This is such an important endeavor for our community and an honor for your family.”
Olivia returned his smile, gratitude shining in her eyes. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice tinged with emotion. “It means a lot to my family.”
As she engaged in conversation, she felt Michael”s gaze linger on her, sensing his concern like a gentle touch on her shoulder. His eyes followed hers as they unconsciously drifted toward Jackson Reynolds, who stood a few feet away, his presence commanding attention even on such a somber occasion.
A flicker of concern flashed in Michael”s eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the tragedy her father”s death carried. His understanding gaze spoke volumes, conveying a depth of empathy that warmed her heart.
She knew Michael chose not to voice his concerns aloud, a decision Liv appreciated in that moment. He knew her well enough to understand that now was neither the time nor the place to delve into her feelings. Instead, he offered silent support.
“Liv,” his voice broke through the din, soft yet earnest, drawing her attention back to him. “Honey, I see you looking at Jackson Reynolds—all I ask is that you be cautious. I worry about the impact reliving your father’s death might have on you. Not that you don’t do it every time we have a case.”
His words were a gentle reminder of his unwavering concern for her well-being, a reminder that she wasn”t alone. And as she met his gaze, gratitude flooded her heart, knowing that, no matter what, Michael would always be there at her side, ready to offer support and guidance.
A soft smile touched Olivia”s lips as she reached out to squeeze her partner”s hand in gratitude. “Thank you for looking out for me,” she said sincerely. Before he could respond, she leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, a silent gesture of appreciation.
The attendees began mingling, and Liv found herself drawn closer to where Jackson stood. Summoning courage, she approached him, her voice steady but tinged with vulnerability. “Jackson Reynolds, right?”
Jackson turned toward Liv, a hint of recognition flickering in his eyes. “Yeah, that”s me. And you”re...Olivia?”
A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Yeah, Liv, Liv Everhart. I... I just wanted to say, it’s nice to meet you, I mean…” She shoved some stray hair behind her ear. She was stumbling over her words.
Jackson”s expression softened, a subtle understanding passing between them. “Likewise, Liv. It means a lot.” His voice carried the weight of unspoken emotions, like hers. “I’m here for my mom. This is her day.”
Before Liv could say more, they were called away by the commotion of the event, each pulled in different directions by their respective responsibilities. But in that brief exchange, there was a shared acknowledgment—a silent understanding of the feelings that tied their pasts together, now intricately woven into the significance of this day.
* * *
Sirens blared as Olivia Everhart’s unit screeched to a halt in front of the blazing Waverly Junction shipping center. It served the community by making printing, packing, and sending services available and providing mailbox alternatives. Smoke billowed into the night sky, a dark shroud engulfing the old structure. Called to the scene by the Waverly Junction Police Department, the arson detective with a knack for sifting the truth from the ashes surveyed the scene, her eyes narrowing as she assessed the severity of the inferno.
Dressed in protective turnout gear, Olivia plunged into the chaos, her focus set on determining the fire’s origin. Amidst the crackling flames, she caught sight of a figure barking orders with command and precision. It was the newly minted Captain Jackson Reynolds, his presence a beacon in the fiery turmoil.
“Captain Reynolds, what’s the situation?” Olivia shouted over the roaring flames as she approached him.
Jackson faced her, his turnout gear smudged with ash, but his eyes were sharp and focused. “Detective Everhart, good to see you. Police advised us they called in a consultant. We’re containing the fire, but it’s stubborn. Scent of propane. Be careful out here.”
Olivia nodded, acknowledging the potential danger. “I’m aware. We need to find the source before it dissipates.”
As Olivia maneuvered through the commotion, studying the pattern of the fire”s progression, she couldn’t shake her admiration for how effortlessly Jackson coordinated the scene. His orders were concise, his actions purposeful, all while he stayed calm and cool. Being a captain seemed to agree with him. She’d seen plenty of scenes where that didn’t happen.
Returning from her investigation, Olivia found herself drawn to where Jackson was supervising the operation. She approached him again, curiosity piqued by his focus. “You’re quite the maestro in the middle of this orchestra,” she remarked, studying the way he directed the firefighters.
Jackson glanced at her, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Years of practice. It”s a dance with the flames. You learn its steps.” He stomped his boots.
“Seems like you’ve mastered it,” she replied.
He shrugged, a humble glint in his brilliant evergreen eyes. “Just doing what needs to be done.”
Their conversation was brief, interrupted by frequent calls for his attention. Olivia returned to her car, surrounded by the sketches that would inform the direction of her investigation, but the image of Jackson Reynolds at work lingered in her mind.
As the fire came under control, something about the way he handled the scene intrigued her, sparking a newfound curiosity. She wanted to know more about the man behind—hell, underneath—the firefighter’s uniform.
* * *
Jackson”s heartbeat a steady rhythm as he commanded the battle of the flames, the heat pressing against his skin. Amidst the war, he caught sight of Olivia Everhart, her silhouette emerging through the billowing smoke.
His focus wavered for a moment, caught between his job and the concern that struck him at seeing her there. He admired her determination, yet worry ate at him—this wasn”t a place for her, especially not now. He wasn’t a chauvinist. He had women under his command. All were capable firefighters. Yet, he wanted to shield Olivia from the danger, to keep her safe.
He wouldn’t mind taking her to his bed. That was true but not the reason he wanted to protect her. As he continued to battle the flames, Jackson couldn”t shake the feelings that came from watching her. Olivia Everhart was a force of nature. She was Chuck Everhart’s daughter. And there it was: he couldn’t let another Everhart get hurt.
* * *
Waverly Junction,nestled snugly between rolling hills and picturesque valleys in the heart of South Dakota, wasn”t just a town—it was a fabric woven from threads of history and modernity, creating a unique blend of charm and progress.
At the heart of Waverly Junction lay its bustling town square, a vibrant hub where the community gathered to share laughter, stories, and companionship. Standing tall amidst the square was a vintage clock tower, a timeless tribute to the town”s esteemed founders, the Waverlys and the Ashcrofts. Cobblestone paths meandered through the square, leading residents and visitors to quaint boutique shops, cozy cafés fragrant with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and artisanal stores proudly displaying locally crafted treasures.
But what truly made Waverly Junction special was its people—a diverse and welcoming community that embraced both tradition and progress with open arms. Whether sharing tales on park benches or extending a warm greeting to newcomers, the folks of Waverly Junction embodied the true spirit of small-town hospitality.
Throughout the town, echoes of the past danced with visions of the future. Historic buildings, adorned with intricate fa?ades, proudly flanked sleek modern offices and vibrant art galleries. The town library stood as a beacon of knowledge, its doors open to all who sought enlightenment, while a contemporary innovation hub buzzed with the energy of creativity and ingenuity.
But Waverly Junction wasn”t just about preserving the past—it was also about embracing the future. Ecological sustainability was part of the fabric of the town, with lush parks and green spaces inviting residents and visitors to bask in the beauty of nature. Trails wound through woods, offering a serene escape from the hustle and bustle of daily life, while nearby lakes provided ample opportunities for recreation and relaxation.
With a population of around fifteen thousand, Waverly Junction may have been larger than a typical small town, but its sense of community and camaraderie remained as strong as ever. Here, in this little slice of paradise, residents found not just a place to live, but a place to belong—a true home among the hills of South Dakota.
Yet, beyond its happy fa?ade, Waverly Junction harbored mysteries and stories. Its winding streets held secrets. The air whispered rumors. And tales often found their way into the investigations of the town”s detectives.
Olivia sat at her temporary desk in the busy police station, the hum of activity around her a constant white noise as she delved into the preliminary lab report for the recent fire. The fluorescent lights above cast a sterile glow over her cluttered desk strewn with papers and case files.
The report in her hands detailed the findings of the accelerant collected from the warehouse fire—confirming it was propane. As she scanned the document, her brow furrowed in concentration, her mind already piecing together the sequence of events.
She played around with the idea of a seemingly innocent act—workers barbecuing during the day just inside the loading dock, its large rolling doors open. The image of a group enjoying a casual lunch filled in one of her sketches from the scene.
She mentally reconstructed the site of ignition, picturing a stack of cartons toppling over onto a barely cooled grill, the collision sparking the chain of events. The stupidity fire, as she called it, was taking shape. As she absorbed the details, Olivia knew the lab report was merely the beginning. Confirmation would be found in the physical evidence she”d gather herself at the site.
She smiled at the picture that sat on her desk. A picture she carried everywhere. It was the last picture of her and her dad before he died. It was taken at Thanksgiving at her grandparents’ house. She stood beside him as he was carving an enormous turkey, her eyes wide as he handed her the large turkey leg. It was bigger than her head.
“About to put another one in the books, Dad,” she mouthed.
Olivia drove to the burned building. She began to meticulously document the scene, capturing the charred remains of the grill and the mangled remnants of the propane tank through her camera lens. Her forensic bag lay open, tools carefully arranged as she gathered evidence to support her theory.
Kneeling amidst the debris, she sketched the layout, taking precise measurements, absorbed in her task until a sudden presence jolted her senses. “Yeesh.” Startled, she whirled around, losing her balance, only to find herself wrapped in two strong arms. Jackson Reynolds, her rescuer, was standing there, a wry smile across his lips.
“What are you doing here?” Their simultaneous inquiries echoed in the air, a momentary standoff between them.
Jackson explained, “Checking for hot spots and making sure the area is secured. Don’t want kids or looters in here. Lots of inventory.”
“Just collecting evidence to prove the fire wasn”t intentional. BBQ gone wrong.” She showed Jackson remnants of a rib bone and a steak bone in an evidence bag.
As they wrapped up their respective jobs, a surprising gesture came from the tension that had crackled between them. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologized.
“Make it up to me by buying breakfast?” she asked.
Caught off guard by the reverse invite, Jackson hesitated for a moment, the edges of his lips twitching into a faint smile.
She watched him carefully. “Fine. Separate checks?”