Protect, p.1
Protect, page 1
For those of you wondering if firefighters are real-life superheroes in more ways than one, I promise you they are. They’re also hot as hell, and Rowan Kingsley is your proof.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
TROPES
Firefighter romance, angst, small town romance, forced proximity, second chance romance, friend to lovers, hurt care and workplace romance.
TRIGGERS
This book features the death of a family member (not on the page, but through a flashback), dealing with grief, anxiety and panic attacks, dealing with fear over a loved one’s job, descriptive scene of injury while fighting fire and healing process of injury from fighting fire.
If you are triggered by any of these situations, please skip this one.
CONTENT WARNINGS
This book contains profane language and explicit, consensual sexual content.
Contents
AUTHOR’S NOTE
SUPPORT WILDLAND FIREFIGHTERS
PROTECT PLAYLIST
ORGANIZATION FLOW CHART
PROLOGUE: ROWAN
1: VIOLETTE
2: ROWAN
3: VIOLETTE
4: ROWAN
5: VIOLETTE
6: VIOLETTE
7: ROWAN
8: ROWAN
9: VIOLETTE
10: VIOLETTE
11: ROWAN
12: ROWAN
13: VIOLETTE
14: ROWAN
15: VIOLETTE
16: ROWAN
17: ROWAN
18: VIOLETTE
19: VIOLETTE
20: ROWAN
21: VIOLETTE
22: ROWAN
23: VIOLETTE
24: ROWAN
25: VIOLETTE
26: ROWAN
27: ROWAN
28: ROWAN
29: ROWAN
30: VIOLETTE
31: VIOLETTE
32: ROWAN
33: VIOLETTE
34: ROWAN
35: VIOLETTE
36: ROWAN
37: VIOLETTE
38: ROWAN
39: ROWAN
40: VIOLETTE
41: ROWAN
42: VIOLETTE
43: ROWAN
44: VIOLETTE
45: VIOLETTE
46: ROWAN
47: VIOLETTE
48: ROWAN
49: VIOLETTE
50: ROWAN
51: VIOLETTE
52: VIOLETTE
53: ROWAN
54: ROWAN
55: ROWAN
56: VIOLETTE
57: VIOLETTE
58: ROWAN
59: VIOLETTE
60: VIOLETTE
EPILOGUE: ROWAN
GLOSSARY
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
SUPPORT WILDLAND FIREFIGHTERS
I won’t call them heroes because they’d hate that, but I could not write this book without acknowledging the real wildland firefighters who perform these hazardous duties every fire season. They work long hours in treacherous conditions, facing extreme heat, smoke and inhospitable terrain – oftentimes without receiving an adequate living wage and while sacrificing time with their loved ones. The challenges they face are beyond what most of us can imagine, taking a toll on their physical, mental and emotional resilience. Their dedication to protect our communities, landscapes and natural resources deserves our deepest appreciation and support.
Grassroots Wildland Firefighters advocate for proper classification, pay, benefits and comprehensive well-being for federal wildland firefighters by providing solutions and support through policy reform.
If you would like to contribute monetarily, please consider donating at givebutter.com/GRWF.
PROTECT PLAYLIST
Sleeping on the Blacktop – Colter Wall
Indigo – Sam Barber and Avery Anna
Angel from Montgomery – John Prine
Phoning Heaven – Waylon Wyatt
Break My Bones – Wyatt Flores
Burn, Burn, Burn – Zach Bryan
It’s True – Gavin Adcock
Beautiful Lies – Tanner Usrey
Back in Black – AC/DC
Jersey Giant – Evan Honer and Julia DiGrazia
Always Been You – Jessie Murph
I’m on Fire – Nate H
ORGANIZATION FLOW CHART
There are thousands of people from various command teams involved with wildland fire operations, but for the sake of keeping it simple, we are only listing the roles mentioned in the Sky Ridge Hotshots series.
PROLOGUE
ROWAN
ALMOST SIX YEARS AGO
“You think he knew his time was up?” My best friend, Jacob, leans into me as he asks so no one else will hear him.
Such a loaded question pulls my attention from the multiple scuff marks on my boots. I scrubbed them as clean as I could last night. I was hell-bent on getting them spotless for my sup. My former sup.
Fuck. There’s nothing like swallowing the heaviness of that reality down.
“Don’t know, man, but he went out like a hero,” I answer somberly, taking a pull from a half-empty bottle of tequila and passing it to Jacob. I don’t normally make a habit of drinking in the middle of the morning—none of us do—but it’s gonna take everything we have just to walk through those funeral home doors.
“Twelve weeks,” my new captain, Callahan—Cal—says, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Just the rest of this season and he would’ve retired.”
Cal looks like hell. We all do. Superintendent Garret Macomb, our sup, was our mentor, our leader, our friend; and now he’s just fucking gone. His old plaid jacket is still hanging on the hook at our base and he’s never coming back to claim it.
I swipe the bottle back from Jacob and take another much-needed pull from it to stop the sting at the bridge of my nose. The tequila burns the back of my throat, but it’s a burn I welcome.
The steady flow of cars and trucks through the rain seems never-ending, turning into the parking lot as my squad talks around me.
“Laney says there’s a reason for everything. I say that’s a pile of bullshit. Where was this rain last week? There’s no reason for any of this,” Jacob says, brushing the misty droplets from his sleeves.
We all wore our uniforms today—standard green Nomex pants and our yellow wildland fire shirts. We stand out in the crowd of dark suits and dresses, but it’s how we show our solidarity and respect.
“That’s your girlfriend’s job. She’s just trying to make you feel better, trying to help,” Cal says to him, patting him on the shoulder, already acting like our captain.
Jacob nods, fighting back tears. He’s been my best friend since middle school, and I’ve seen him cry only once aside from now.
“Sup would have your heads for drinking at eleven a.m. over him, boys,” Jacob’s dad, Jack, says as he locks his truck behind him with a remote. He’s a twenty-year vet and a squad leader with our crew. He’s got more salt than pepper in his hair now but he’s still a strong man. Jacob says he’s thinking of retiring at the end of this season; he just wants to work at least one full summer with his son.
Jack’s wife, Mae, walks in step beside him carrying a sympathy card. Her long dark hair is pulled back in a bun and it’s obvious she’s been crying. I scan the parking lot, knowing if Jack and Mae Taylor are here, my biggest regret isn’t far behind them.
“How’s Molly, honey?” Mae asks Cal, giving him a motherly hug. Jack and Mae own the local bar Shifty’s that we all hang out at more often than we should. Between that and basically growing up at their house, they’ve become like pseudo-parents to all of us over the years.
“She’s good; she’s in there somewhere.” Cal forces a small smile, gesturing to where his fiancée is inside.
I glance out at the mountains through the rain and listen to the group’s chatter for a few minutes, forcing the last image I have of Sup from my mind for the thousandth time; he was sitting on the ridge, stuffing a turkey sandwich into his mouth like any other lunch break, laughing and cracking jokes, his eyes crinkling up into little crescent moons the way they did. I take another sip from the bottle of Patrón and then pour a little out onto the grass beside us for the man who taught me everything I know.
Miss you already, ya sturdy fucker.
We’re hotshots, wildland firefighters. Death and injury are expected in our line of work, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard as hell to say goodbye. For today, tequila seems to be making this a little more bearable.
I take my final pull from the bottle at the precise moment I hear her smoky voice. Of course I’m the one standing out here drinking midmorning when she approaches.
“Never seen you boys so clean,” she says to all of us as she steps up onto the curb, her pretty face still hidden by the black umbrella she carries, the ends of her long honey-brown hair visible under the brim.
I turn fully toward her, straightening up and passing the bottle to my crewmate, Caleb.
Violette Mae Taylor, Jacob’s fraternal twin sister, looks stunning and somber in a black dress that fits her to perfection. It falls to her knees, tapering in at her small waist. The sleeves are long and cuffed at the wrist, and the neck is high, but it doesn’t conceal that gorgeous body enough to stop me from swallowing. Hard.
Her light hazel eyes flit to mine, then quickly look away.
“King,” she greets me quickly.
I wince. Once upon a time, I used to be Rowan.
Her coconut scent fills my senses
Violette hugs Cal and says something to him low enough that we can’t hear before turning to face the rest of the crew to say her hellos. The ones who have known her a long time hug her as she gives her condolences.
“All right.” Jack clears his throat as he checks his watch. “Time to get your shit together, boys. Let’s send Sup off right.”
Our crew utters various forms of fuck yeah and for Sup.
Cal turns to lead us in through the dark wooden double doors as our new captain. Jacob and I follow with Jack, Mae, and Violette close behind.
The moment our crew enters the building, all eyes are on us.
I nod to Xander, Sup’s son, the moment I see him. He’s taking over as Sky Ridge’s superintendent, effective immediately. The number of people here to pay their respects to him, his brothers, and his mother is impressive.
Superintendent Macomb’s yellow helmet catches my eye at the front. It rests at the foot of the podium holding his urn. Xander’s mom stands beside it. I fight back the tears I know are coming as I wait patiently, willing myself to hold it together. Cal and Jacob shake Xander’s hand before I extend mine. He pats me on the shoulder as if to comfort me.
“I’m so fucking sorry, man,” I say. It’s all I can manage to get out while choking back tears.
“My dad loved you, King. He was proud of you and Jacob.” He calls me by my nickname, gulping back sorrow of his own. “You know what he’d say?” A hint of a smirk plays in Xander’s eyes even through his grief.
I fight the tears. “That I’m Rowan fucking Kingsley, and I should lock it up. Never let them see me sweat.”
“That’s right. You and Jacob are the new generation. He’d want you to be strong,” Xander says, already following more in his father’s footsteps than he realizes.
“I’ll do my best, Sup,” I tell him proudly, but his new title doesn’t sit right with me yet.
“It’s time to begin.” The minister from our local church approaches us, gesturing to the seating area to our left.
I nod before moving on with our entire crew to take our seats. The first two rows are a sea of yellow and green.
Christ, this is only my second season. I can’t help but wonder how many more of these memorials I’ll have to attend over my career. I can’t help but wonder if one of them will be for me.
Our job isn’t for the faint of heart. We know the risks, but we take them with pride. I look around at my brothers, silently vowing to do everything in my power to protect each one of them, or fucking die trying.
1
Violette
PRESENT
I stare up at the ceiling, singing the theme song to Hollie’s favorite TV show in a fading whisper for the twentieth time tonight, willing her to fall asleep. After a few minutes, I’m pretty sure the twentieth time’s the charm because her pretty hazel eyes finally close. Her blond curls settle against her pillow in tufts as I carefully watch her adorable little features, assessing the best time to make my escape.
We moved back to Sky Ridge almost a month ago, and it’s taken her this long to settle into a new bedtime routine. In her almost four years on this earth, Hollie has always been an incredible sleeper. I swear, this child loved to lie down in her crib every night, cuddle in with her favorite stuffed animal, and drift off to dreamland. But one thing my Hollie doesn’t like is change—at all. And the last year has brought us a lot of that.
Like a stealthy mom ninja, I half roll off the toddler-size bed she sleeps in and raise the guardrail, praying it doesn’t do the squeaky thing it does sometimes and wake her up. Some nights I pass out with her, but tonight I have to go to work, which is, truthfully, the last thing I want to do. After only two weekends, I’m still not quite used to moonlighting at my parents’ bar.
Did I picture myself slinging drinks for extra cash in the town watering hole at twenty-eight? Not a chance, but here we are. The thing is, I can’t even use the excuse that it’s to help my parents out, because it’s not. It’s to help me out. They were the ones gracious enough to let me work alongside their regular bartender Lou on the weekends for some extra cash.
Thankfully, it’s not my only source of income. I’m also a nurse in the burn unit at Bakersfield Hospital, which is ironic, since fire and trauma are two of the reasons I left this town in the first place.
But oddly enough, working with burn victims over the last month has been sort of cathartic for me. My mother is convinced it will heal me of my emotional scars. I’m not quite sure if I buy that.
My career in nursing, unlike my bartending job, rewards me richly, but even with the child support I receive from my ex, things are a little tight having to pay for pricey day care and what’s left of my student loans. Sky Ridge, Washington, is known to have a high cost of living to begin with, but in the nice, sought-after area of town I wanted to raise Hollie in, homes have skyrocketed.
Our house at the corner of Pine Street and Maple is a 1920s one-floor craftsman that cost me a small fortune, so the more tips, the better. Hence my outfit tonight—my tightest faded blue jeans and a ribbed white tank top that bears our pub’s name—Shifty’s—and shows a generous amount of cleavage. Ten years ago, I never would’ve been comfortable wearing something like this in public, but now I’ve grown proud of my curves and even feel confident showing them off a little. So, if a bit of cleavage helps my savings account, I’m here for it.
I hold my breath as I back out of Hollie’s doorway, standing frozen for a few seconds just to make sure she’s actually sleeping.
I fluff my long, golden-brown waves around my shoulders, thankful I got ready for work earlier so I wouldn’t have to do it after Hollie fell asleep.
As I wander through my house picking up toys, I listen to the local news running on the TV. They’ve been covering the Pinafore Creek fires, a series of wildfires burning in the mountains outside of Spokane for days. Normally, I’d shut it off, but I’m in such a hurry to tidy up before my parents get here to watch over Hollie I just let it run.
“The Sky Ridge Hotshots, Central Washington’s own Type 1 hotshot crew, shared video footage of their fire line that redirected the Pinafore Creek fire from jumping into an unprotected conservation area. This in turn stopped the fire from spreading to an upscale neighborhood beyond the mountain late Saturday afternoon. The crew has been working with other crews from Arizona and Wyoming and they’ve managed to dig a line that Superintendent Xander Macomb says ultimately helped bring the rapidly growing and potentially deadly wildfire under control. Just seeing the footage today has helped put nearby residents’ minds at ease.”
I flinch involuntarily at the reporter’s words as I finish tidying. The familiar tight spread of anxiety creeps up my throat, the same feeling I’ve willed myself to push past, countless times since my twin brother Jacob’s tragic death almost five years ago. Sky Ridge’s deadliest summer to date. Two crew members, one season. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to take a deep breath, centering myself and willing the feeling away.
Tears are for another day, I tell myself repeatedly until the tightness subsides.
The handsome face of Superintendent Xander Macomb catches my eye on the TV, standing in the black—the already burned aftermath of the forest—just as the sun is starting to set behind him. He’s wearing headphones and holding his phone up for his interview as his crew moves about behind him in the background. I can’t help but scan the group of men—all powerful, muscular, and fit. They wear olive-green pants and yellow long-sleeved shirts, boots, and helmets, and they’re filthy from head to toe.
I look away quickly, berating myself for even searching for him in the first place. The reporter starts to ask Xander a question via video call just before I pick up the remote control to change the channel.
Nothing against Xander—he’s a kind man who worked well with my dad and brother—but hearing all about the deadly fire feels like too much for me when I have to put my best smile on and face the rowdy Saturday night crowd.
“Hey, Vivi. You look pretty,” my mom, Mae, whispers as she comes through my front door. Bless her and the fact that she knew she needed to whisper.
She kicks her sandals off and sets her purse down on the bench in my entryway.
