Chapter 4
Chapter Four
F lint
“I’m not helpless, you know.” Juniper’s voice carries from behind me, that sharp, defiant edge slicing through the crisp mountain air. She’s got a tone like she’s daring me to argue, which is just about the only thing she’s been consistent about since we met two days ago.
I glance over my shoulder, boots crunching on the rocky path. She’s lugging her camera gear, her backpack slung awkwardly over one shoulder, and her hair catching the sunlight in a way that irritates me more than it should.
“Could’ve fooled me,” I mutter, just loud enough for her to hear.
Her gasp of outrage pulls a smirk from me, one I quickly smother. Can’t let her think I enjoy riling her up—she’d use it against me in a heartbeat.
“You are insufferable,” she snaps, picking up her pace to match mine. “I’ve trekked through rainforests and climbed volcanoes for my films. I can handle a little forest.”
“This isn’t just ‘a little forest,’ princess,” I reply, not bothering to hide my sarcasm. “This is Devil’s Peak. The Rockies. Steep trails, unpredictable weather, and wildlife that sees you as dinner.”
Her eyes narrow, and she plants herself in front of me, forcing me to stop. She tilts her chin up, which is almost endearing considering I’ve got at least a foot of height on her. Almost.
“Don’t call me princess,” she says, her voice low and sharp.
“Whatever you say, princess .” I let the word roll off my tongue, watching as her cheeks flush. It’s a mix of anger and something else—something that tightens in my chest and makes me want to see how far I can push her.
She huffs, turning back toward the trail, and I follow, my longer strides easily keeping up. Her determination is written in every step she takes, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t... impressive.
“Why do you care so much, anyway?” she tosses over her shoulder. “If I want to stumble around and get eaten by a bear, that’s my business.”
I snort. “Because it’ll be my ass the sheriff comes for when Barron finds out I let his cousin get mauled on my watch.”
Juniper whirls around, stopping me dead in my tracks. Her eyes flash, and she’s close enough now that I catch the faint scent of whatever floral shampoo she uses.
“You’re doing this for Barron?” she arches an eyebrow.
“No,” I say evenly, holding her gaze. “I’m doing this because I don’t like burying people. Especially people who clearly don’t know what the hell they’re doing out here.”
Her mouth opens and closes, and for once, she doesn’t have a snarky comeback. I take the win and step around her, continuing up the trail.
“Keep up, city girl,” I call over my shoulder.
“You’re impossible,” she mutters, but she follows, her footsteps quickening to match mine.
By the time we reach the clearing, the tension between us feels as heavy as the gear she insists on carrying. I’ve offered to take it twice, but she refused both times, her stubborn pride getting in the way of common sense. I admire her determination, I’ll give her that.
“This is it,” I say, stopping in front of a firebreak my crew cut last season. The charred ground is already sprouting new growth—green shoots pushing through the ash like nature’s version of hope.
Juniper sets her gear down and pulls out her camera, her expression shifting as she surveys the scene. The passion that fuels her softens her features, making her look less like the relentless pain in my ass and more like someone I could... like.
“This is what you wanted to destroy?” she asks, gesturing to the vibrant greenery.
I step closer, letting the challenge in her voice wash over me. “This is what we saved. Controlled burns give the forest a chance to grow back stronger. The carbon created from the ash is nutrients for the soil. Without the controlled burns, wildfires would take everything—trees, animals, people.”
She turns to me, the camera hanging loosely from her hands. “And what happens to the animals that can’t escape the burns? The habitats destroyed?”
“Fewer lives lost in the long run,” I say, meeting her gaze. “Sometimes you have to sacrifice a little to save a lot.”
Her eyes search mine, and for once, she doesn’t argue. Instead, she lifts her camera and starts filming, her focus shifting to the landscape.
I let her work, watching as she moves with a grace I didn’t expect. She’s methodical, crouching low to capture a sapling sprouting through the ashes, then panning to the horizon where the forest stretches endlessly.
“What’s it like?” she asks suddenly, breaking the silence.
“What’s what like?”
“Fighting fires. Being out there in the middle of it.”
I shrug, unsure how to put it into words. “Hot. Loud. Dangerous.”
“That’s it?” She lowers her camera, fixing me with a look that says she knows I’m holding back.
I sigh, dragging a hand through my hair. “It’s... humbling. Fire doesn’t care who you are or what you’ve done. It’s relentless. You either learn to respect it, or you don’t survive.”
Her expression softens, and she steps closer, her voice quieter now. “Sounds like you’ve been through a lot.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. The memories are still too raw—flames licking at my gear, the heat so intense it felt like my skin was melting.
Juniper reaches out, her fingers brushing my arm, and the contact sends a jolt through me. Her touch is light, hesitant, but it’s enough to break through the walls I’ve spent years building.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” she says, her voice gentle.
The sincerity in her eyes does something to me, something I don’t want to name. I step back, putting space between us before I do something stupid, like kiss her.
“We should head back,” I say gruffly, turning toward the trail. “It’s getting late.”
The drive down the mountain is quiet, but the tension between us is louder than ever. Juniper sits with her camera in her lap, her fingers brushing the strap absently. She’s been staying at the local motel, I know for a fact the roof is leaky and the windows are drafty and about as old as this mountain itself. Inviting her to stay at my place has been on the tip of my tongue all day, but I don’t know how well-received that would be. I don’t want Juniper to think I only have one thing on my mind when it comes to her–even though the truth is I do have that on my mind–and a helluva lot of other things. It’s been hard to sleep the last few nights with the pretty city girl taking up all my free thoughts.
“You’re not what I expected,” she says suddenly, breaking the silence.
I glance at her, frowning. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs, a small smile tugging at her lips. “I guess I thought you’d be less... complicated.”
“Complicated?”
“You’re a wilderness firefighter with a military background, and you live in a cabin in the middle of nowhere,” she says, ticking off the points on her fingers. “But you’re also smart, protective, and kind of a pain in the ass.”
I snort, shaking my head. “You feel like you know me, huh?”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” she says, her tone playful. “But I’m starting to.”
Her words settle between us, heavy with meaning, and I don’t know how to respond. Instead, I focus on the road, the hum of the engine filling the silence.