Taken by the Firefighter (Maple Peak Mountain Men #5)

1. Harper

Exactly seven minutes before Harper Lane was supposed to congratulate herself on coordinating a flawless event, the cocoa machine furiously began smoking.

Not sputtering.

Not steaming.

Smoking.

A thin gray ribbon curled from behind the rented beverage station, sliding upward like a judgmental ghost with immaculate timing.

Harper stared at it for half a second.

Then her smile snapped into place.

It was a very good smile – polished and reassuring. Although, when necessary, it could be slightly terrifying, too. She had practised it in the bathroom mirrors, hotel lobbies, and once during a corporate gala where a swan-shaped ice sculpture had collapsed into a donor’s lap.

“Wonderful,” she said brightly. “The cocoa has developed a personality.”

The volunteer beside her, a young college freshman named Tim, who apparently looked like he had never made a decision more dangerous than choosing between cow milk and oat milk, went immediately pale.

“Is it supposed to do that?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh.”

“But panic is terrible for branding, so we’re not doing that.”

Harper set down her clipboard, stepped behind the table, and yanked the plug from the wall. The machine gave one final offended hiss before going dead quiet.

Around them, the Maple Peak Observatory buzzed with soft music, winter coats, laughter and children pointing at projected constellations on the domed ceiling.

Dr. Adrian Blackwood’s astronomy talk had ended beautifully.

Stella Reed had managed the crowd beautifully.

Harper had coordinated the flow of arrivals, cocoa, parking, signage, and volunteer stations beautifully.

And now, all of a sudden, a cocoa machine had decided to become a chimney.

Harper inhaled through her nose.

Controlled urgency – that was the phrase. Not panic or disaster.

She lifted the machine’s back panel just enough to see a faint glow from a frayed internal wire and immediately closed it again.

“Tim,” she said.

“Yes?”

“Please step away from the haunted beverage equipment.”

He took three dramatic steps backward.

“Excellent. Now find Stella and tell her we’re moving the cocoa line to cider only.”

“Should I tell people there’s smoke?”

“No. Tell them we’re offering an exclusive limited-edition cider experience.”

Tim blinked. “That sounds fake.”

“Most luxury is.”

He hurried off.

Harper turned, clapped her hands twice, and addressed the small cluster of guests who were nearest to the table.

“Good news, everyone. We are giving the cocoa station a little rest before it becomes emotionally overwhelmed. Hot cider is now available at the north table.”

A little girl in a silver puffer jacket frowned. “Did the cocoa break?”

Harper bent slightly. “The cocoa has made some poor choices.”

The girl nodded, satisfied. “My brother does that.”

“Then you completely understand.”

A few adults laughed. The group began moving away from the table. Harper kept smiling until the area cleared, then grabbed the small fire extinguisher tucked beneath the station.

She did not need it. Or probably not. But, probably was a word that didn’t exist in her dictionary. She checked the wall outlet, scanned the table skirt, checked the cord, then waved two volunteers over.

“Move the napkins and paper cups to the far side. Leave the machine unplugged. Nobody tries to fix it. Nobody says, ‘My uncle knows wiring.’ That sentence has killed more events than the weather.

The volunteers nodded.

The smell of overheated plastic lingered in the air, sharp and ugly under cinnamon and pine. Harper’s stomach clenched.

For one miserable second, she was not in Maple Peak anymore.

She was mentally back in a hotel ballroom in the city, standing under the chandeliers while a vendor’s faulty lighting rig sparked behind the stage.

She heard the crackle, the shout, her boss declaring very calmly, “Harper was responsible for vendor oversight,” even though Harper had flagged the issue twice in writing and with photos.

Her throat tightened.

No.

Not now.

Not here.

She had moved to Maple Peak for a fresh start, not to let one smoking cocoa machine drag her career into a shallow grave.

“Miss Lane?”

The voice behind her was low, masculine, and authoritative enough to make the word “miss” sound like a formal written warning.

Harper turned.

And found trouble dressed in a navy fire department jacket.

He was tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark-haired. Built with the kind of practical strength that came from hauling equipment, chopping through doors, and ruining a woman’s concentration without asking permission.

His jaw looked stubborn. His eyes were a cool, assessing gray. His expression said he had never once described an electrical hazard as “emotionally overwhelmed.”

Maple Peak Fire Department was printed on his jacket.

A radio sat at his shoulder.

A helmet hung from one hand.

Behind him, two firefighters moved toward the cocoa station with efficient calm.

Harper’s smile made a valiant attempt to survive.

“You must be Captain Pierce.”

“Logan Pierce,” he said. “Fire Captain.”

“Yes. I gathered from the uniform and the general air of disapproval.”

His eyes flickered to the dead cocoa machine. “That equipment yours?”

“Rented.”

“Plugged into that outlet?”

“It was. Then it began auditioning for a disaster documentary, so I unplugged it.”

One eyebrow moved.

“Did flames appear?”

“No flames. Smoke from the unit, slight heat near the back panel, possible wiring issue. Guests were moved away, machine unplugged, combustibles relocated, and no one has been allowed to touch it.”

Logan studied her for a beat.

The silence stretched long enough to become rude.

Harper lifted her chin. “I also resisted the urge to throw cider at it, which I think shows growth.”

This time, he smirked.

“Good call. Cider’s not rated for electrical fires.”

“There goes my emergency plan.”

He stepped past her, crouched near the machine and examined the plug without touching it. His movements were precise. The firefighters behind him checked the outlet and surrounding area, murmuring to each other.

Harper watched him carefully because she wanted to assess his assessment and not because his jacket pulled across his shoulders in a way that suggested the man had been assembled by a committee of romance readers with very specific priorities.

No, absolutely not.

“Power’s off?” he asked one of his crew.

“Outlet’s cool,” the firefighter said. “No extension cord. Machine’s the issue.”

Logan stood and faced Harper again.

“You handled it quickly.”

The praise hit her harder than it should have.

She hated that.

“Thank you.”

“You cleared the area, removed combustibles, and didn’t let anyone play hero with faulty wiring.”

“That last one is my specialty.”

“You’d be surprised how many people think smoke means ‘poke it with something.’”

“I work events, Captain. I’m surprised by very little.”

His gaze dropped to her clipboard on the table, then returned to her face.

“Still, your safe distance could use work.”

There it was.

The warm little glow his praise had created immediately blew out.

Harper smiled again, sharper this time. “My safe distance?”

“You moved the guests away. You stayed close.”

“I was assessing the hazard.”

“You were standing beside it.”

“I was coordinating.”

“You were standing beside it while coordinating.”

She folded her arms. “Is this your official firefighting opinion?”

“Yes.”

“How comforting. I was worried it might be unsolicited.”

One of the firefighters behind Logan made a coughing sound that suspiciously resembled a laugh.

Logan did not look away from her.

Harper picked up the clipboard and tucked it against her chest. “This clipboard has saved lives.”

“It has not.”

“It has saved timelines, which is the same thing in event planning.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, but not in anger. It was more like he was trying to decide whether she was serious or not.

“Miss Lane–”

“Harper.”

“Harper,” he said, and the sound of her name in his voice created an inconvenient little spark low in her stomach. “Next time something smokes, you clear the area and call it in. You don’t babysit the problem.”

“I wasn’t babysitting. I was supervising its bad behavior.”

“That sentence worries me.”

“Most of my best work does.”

He stared at her.

She stared back.

Somewhere behind them, a child asked whether the telescope could see aliens. Someone laughed. The music shifted to a softer instrumental piece. Snow tapped lightly against the observatory windows.

Harper became suddenly aware that Logan Pierce was standing too close.

Not actually too close by any measurable safety standard. There was probably a very respectable amount of distance between them.

But he felt close. He felt like heat after cold air. Like command. Like a man who noticed too much and had very little patience for nonsense, which was unfortunate because nonsense was one of Harper’s more reliable coping mechanisms.

Stella appeared at Harper’s side, cheeks flushed from managing guests.

“Everything okay?”

“Perfect,” Harper said.

Logan looked at her.

Harper amended, “Contained.”

“Better,” he said.

Stella’s gaze bounced between them with the immediate interest of a woman witnessing romantic potential. A place where Harper was fairly certain there was only professional irritation.

“Captain Pierce, thank you for coming so quickly,” Stella said.

“That’s the job.”

“And Harper handled it well, right?”

Harper shot Stella a look.

Stella ignored it.

Logan’s gaze stayed on Harper. “She handled the emergency well.”

Harper waited.

His mouth almost curved.

“She handled the safe distance less well.”

Stella pressed her lips together.

Harper pointed her clipboard at him. “You are becoming repetitive.”

“Fire safety often is.”

“And yet somehow not charming.”

“That was pretty clear.”

Now he definitely almost smiled.