Chasing Fire (Gilded Knights Series Book 2)

by Emilia Finn

  “And if they can’t?” She coughs to swallow down the crackle in her voice. “If it’s impossible because the fire is too big?”

  “Then the first two shouldn’t have entered in the first place. Basically,” I lean forward and take her hand. “These men and women aren’t stupid. We’ve trained hard, and no one is going to toss themselves into the fire for shits and giggles. We fight smart, Idalia. We’re not hotdogging around on a baseball field, unable to regulate our emotions.”

  I smile when my recycled words register in her brain, then releasing her hand, I lean across to the dash and snag a package that catches my eye. It’s one of the shake ‘n’ bake wildfire burrito blankets that was tossed to us by the hotshots the other week.

  Turning the package over, I feel my smile grow—not because of what I hold, but because of the memories I have of that day. “That was fun.”

  “What is that?” Idalia leans a little closer into my space so her long hair dangles over my thigh, and her scent claws its way into my lungs. “It’s… a fire blanket?”

  “Yeah. My crew and I had a training day with the smokejumpers a few weeks back. We—”

  “Smokejumpers?”

  “Yeah, the guys who fight forest fires instead of structural ones. Rather than being based in one town and focusing their efforts there, these guys live up north, and then they’re flown into the hot spot when needed. They’re on call, and when on-shift, they train to be on their plane within a couple minutes of their sirens wailing.”

  “That’s pretty fast.”

  “Yeah, it is. Anyway, they were here a couple weeks back, took us into the trees, and then they tossed us from a plane and told us to enjoy the fall.”

  Unimpressed, Idalia purses her lips and shakes her head. “So what’s so special about that blanket?”

  “If everything is going bad, if there’s no way out, nowhere to go, and the fire is coming for us, then this blanket could be the only tool left to save our lives. It’s nicknamed the shake ‘n’ bake, because you literally shake it out like a blanket, then you—”

  “Bake,” she whimpers and turns straight in her chair to look out the windshield. “You lay down and bake.”

  “We wait it out,” I counter. “And we survive.” I sure as shit don’t tell her the actual statistics of survival once a firefighter reaches this point. “This is for the hotshots anyway, not us. But all of this was just to show you that we have training, and then we have backups. Our backups have backups, our communication saves lives, and no firefighter is ever alone on the job.”

  “Brandon McGarren was alone,” she murmurs.

  “Brandon McGarren broke protocol when he re-entered that house solo.” I place my hand on Idalia’s thigh. There’s no sexual undertone, but rather, friendliness and support. “He was a hero, Idalia, and I’m thankful for his bravery. He’s the reason you and Max are here right now. But bravery or not, he broke protocol. I don’t intend to do the same.”

  After a moment of silence, I give a small nod and slide the shake ‘n’ bake into my pocket, then I open the truck door. “Come on. Max, do you wanna use the hose?”

  11

  Idalia

  Disarming

  For hours, rather than enjoying a baseball game in the sun and ignoring work and the multiple calls from Mr. Lockwood, Max and I enjoy a tour of the local fire station. Which is, honestly, the absolute last thing I expected I would do today.

  Or ever.

  Nixon talks us through the different sized hoses—I had no clue they had different sizes—and then around to the control board on the side of the truck he lovingly strokes and calls Diana. He attempts to teach us how all of the buttons and doodads help him and his crew while on a job, and he even lets Max sound the airhorn. It’s a fun, educational day by all accounts.

  So why the hell do I focus on how his stroking hands run along glittering red paint, and not, say… my body? Why? Why must my brain do that to me now?

  “Idalia?”

  Why, when this man still has dried blood on his nose, and angry, red knuckles from fighting, am I more interested in his strength, and the knowledge and confidence he shows while walking around this fire station? Why can’t my libido stay dormant for another year or two, while I take that time to raise my son and run my hotel?

  “Idalia?”

  Why now, when I’m busiest of all… when Max is readying to start school, the Oriane needs my attention, and my world just doesn’t have room for a man?

  “Hey?”

  I startle when calloused fingertips touch the underside of my chin and pull my attention up.

  Nixon’s green eyes bore into mine, concerned and beautiful in one, then his brows pull together with worry. “Is this too much?” He looks down at the helmet in his hand, ROSA painted on the side, then hides it behind his back. “Too much?”

  “No.” Exhaling, I turn out of his hold and force myself to smile when Max’s eyes come up to study mine. “Sorry, I was daydreaming,” I tell them both. “Are you having fun, bello?” I bend and drop a kiss to Max’s hair. “Are you learning lots of cool things?”

  He nods, silent as ever, but he’s smiling, so I accept that and take his hand when he offers.

  “Are you guys ready to leave?” Nixon asks. He thinks we’re tired… or bored… or intolerant, perhaps, when in reality, my heart and loins wage war and try to take me down from the inside. “We can go someplace else.”

  “Um, yeah.” I clear my throat. “Sure. We can go.”

  “Only if you want to,” he adds. “We can stay as long as you want. There’ll always be more to show you. But if you’re done…” He takes my other hand, daring and uncaring that a dozen men in uniform watch on. “I have something else maybe you guys would enjoy.” He leads us away from Diana and into the sunlight outside. “It’s a ten-minute walk, so if you’re up for a stroll. No hills,” he adds, likely for Max’s sake. “It’s an easy trek, then after, I’ll escort you guys back to the Oriane.”

  “Um… I mean…” I look down at Max, knowing a ten-minute walk for adults is bound to be an hour for us. “Will there be somewhere I can get food when we get there? Max will be hungry by the time we arrive.”

  “Sure. Loads of food.” Instead of releasing my hand, Nixon only twines his fingers between mine and leads the way. “Why the Oriane?”

  My brows pull close as my brain works on puzzling out his question. “Hmm?”

  “Why a hotel,” he clarifies. “Your world was tossed on its head, your son is working on finding his voice again, and you just figure… Let’s buy and renovate a hotel?”

  “Oh.” Warmth fills my cheeks, made worse when Max glances up, awaiting my answer. “Uh, well… I wanted a new home for us,” I begin. “New town, new space, new everything.”

  “A fresh start.”

  “Si, but I guess I wanted more than just a home. I wanted a purpose for us.” I draw a deep breath, then exhale with a glance up toward Nixon. “I could have just rebuilt a house, but that would have turned boring pretty quickly. Instead, I wanted to do something important, something that’ll stand long after I’m gone.”

  “So a hotel,” he finishes. “Okay.”

  “I needed something that wouldn’t require me to be in an office from nine-to-five, or suffer through a commute, or scramble to find daycare for Max. I want to be around him every day until we’re forced to part.”

  “Forced to part?”

  “School.”

  “Oh.” He relaxes at that, then chuckles. “Way less morbid than I was thinking. Go on.”

  “Max and I have a bond beyond mother and son,” I tell him. “Or at least, I think it’s more special than the norm. We’ve endured tragedy together, we’ve overcome our entire lives being rocked, and we’ve maintained our bond, even with two years of no words. No I love yous,” I choke out. “No one telling me goodnight, or to have a good day. Some days, when I have nothing left to give, our home can be completely and utterly silent. Those days are hard,” I whisp
er. “I needed to work again, but I also need to mom, I need to be with my son whenever he needs me, and I need a job that is flexible enough to allow me to take off for therapy for Max.”

  “Ah, so instead of joining someone else’s establishment, where you might have to follow their rules—”

  “I made my own,” I finish for him. “I run the Oriane tighter than maybe even you run your fire crew.”

  I glance up and smirk when Nixon’s brow lifts.

  I’m only teasing, only playing, but after my insults today—and in most of our interactions up to this point—it’s only fair he makes certain.

  “I have staff to take care of the hotel,” I tell him, “and when I can’t be with Max, I have Arlo.”

  He nods. “If anyone is going to encourage Max to speak, it’ll be her.”

  “You think?” I relax and feel today’s stresses leach from my pores. The sunlight is like medicine and energy, pricking my flesh in the most pleasant of ways. “How so?”

  “She’s so loud and annoying, he’ll speak just to tell her to shut up.”

  “Oh.” His answer is so unexpected that it makes me laugh. “Right. I guess. She’s certainly… loquace.”

  “Is that Italian for annoying?” he laughs. “Because… yeah.”

  “She’s good to us.” I grin when Nixon’s handholding turns to a gentle swing of our arms. A stroke of his thumb on my wrist. “Arlo is like a storm. Loud and scary, messy, and sometimes mean.”

  “And yet,” he chuckles. “You pay her a salary.”

  “I guess I’m trying to say that not all storms are bad, I suppose. Sometimes, they clear the way, they clean out old debris, and leave behind something sparkling and new.”

  Considering that, Nixon continues leading us… somewhere. We’re moving away from town, and toward residential streets.

  “She’s a good kid,” he admits. “I know a lot of us rag on her, but that’s only because she can take it—and I promise, she gives it back a thousand times over.” His eyes come to mine. “She and her cousin are very much alike. They’re both strong, opinionated, loud women,” he snickers. “Mitch gets to spend the rest of his life trying to survive Nadia’s wrath and impulsivity, and whoever Arlo lands on… ya know, in ten years or so, had better be able to step up and accept her for who she is. Only the strong will survive, and any desgraçado who thinks he wants a swing will have to accept her five older brothers.”

  “Like how you all protected Abby?” I snicker. “Don’t think for a single second those women didn’t tell me how the Rosa brothers carried on when she started dating.”

  “Whatever they told you was biased and likely a gross exaggeration.”

  “So there was no one faux-gagging the night Abby got married?”

  Chuckling, Nixon swings his arm over my shoulders and tugs me closer. “That was Mitchell. I plead innocence.”

  “And there’s no dinner roster declaring which brother will drop in and make sure Abby is eating?”

  “We scrapped the roster once she got hitched,” he continues to laugh. “The roster was Beck’s idea, by the way. It’s actually quite ironic that we fought so hard against her dating, only for the guy to take better care of her than any of us could.”

  “Groundbreaking revelation.” I roll my eyes. “Bravi, Rosa.”

  “Oh, so when you’re sad or vulnerable, you turn to ice. When you’re mad, you turn to fire and burn us all. But when you’re getting cocky, you start with the eyerolls and sarcasm? Alright,” he mumbles and squeezes me tighter. “I see how it’s gonna be.”

  “Taci,” I whisper. “Mind your business.”

  He chuckles. “Fine. Why this town?”

  “For the Oriane?” I clarify. “Why not? I did a little research online, spent the better part of a year running these places down, determining which were for sale, and which would sell if I convinced the right people. I studied each town these places were located, met with local vendors, discussed contracts, pricing, quality, and ability to deliver on time. And in the end…” I smile. “I met Nadia Reynolds.”

  “Of course you did,” he laughs. “And she told you to buy a property here and become her best friend, and you did, because it was less painful than listening to her speak a moment longer.”

  “Close,” I snigger. “Nadia was sweet, and fun. And smart,” I add. “She then introduced me to Abby and Arlo, who were also charming and sweet. And now…” I shrug. “This is where we landed.”

  “And do you like it here?” Nixon nudges us to the left, around a corner, and releases me so fast that I startle.

  My eyes swing around in search of what’s changed, only to find him sweeping Max up into his arms, and a moment after that, onto his shoulders.

  Stunned, I look up, then down to my now empty hand where my son was only a moment ago. “Wha— Max?”

  “He was getting tired.” Nixon grins when, to prove his point, Max rests his hands on Nix’s head, then his chin on his hands. “See?”

  “Um…”

  “Do you like it here?” As though everything about today is normal, Nixon snags my hand once more and continues our stroll. “Does this town make you happy?”

  “I mean…” Exhaling, relaxing with the confidence that Nixon isn’t likely to let Max fall, I try to focus on the easy conversation we were having only a moment ago. “Sure.”

  “Sure?” he questions. “That doesn’t sound convincing.”

  “Yes,” I try again. “I like it here. The people are nice, the vendors haven’t dropped the ball yet, the stores have just enough to get us through, and anything else we need, we can order online. We haven’t entered the school system yet, but Max’s speech therapist says the schools here are good, and they have programs that will bring extra resources in to help.”

  “How so?” Nix asks. “What kind of resources?”

  “Like, speech therapists,” I say. “For kids like Max. Tutors for kids who may have learning disabilities. Support workers for children who maybe can’t hear, so they learn and communicate by ASL. The state helps out with a lot of that, so it’s not impossible for these kids to get an education.”

  “Do you think Max will have difficulty learning at school?” Nix looks up, though obviously, he can’t see the boy perched on his head. “Will it be a struggle?”

  I shake my head. “No. Max is very smart, and by remaining silent, I actually wonder if he’ll be ahead of his peers once school’s in. Mostly, I worry about bullies,” I admit. Releasing Nixon’s hand, I reach up and stroke Max’s leg. “He’s quiet, he’s shy, and he’s unimposing. I worry he’ll let people walk all over him, and they’ll keep doing it, because he won’t tell them to stop.”

  “Do you want to know what I think?” Nixon grins, for seemingly no reason, and reaches up to take Max’s hands. He looks to me, as though confirming my attention, then he shows me the hands he holds. “Your son is quiet as a church mouse, but every single time I look at you, more so when I smile at you, this guy hurts me.”

  “He…” Clueless, I slow our steps, only to stop when I can’t decipher Nixon’s meaning. “What?”

  “Pulling my hair, pinching me, the good ol’-fashioned stink-eye,” he chuckles. “I assure you, Ms. Mazzi, he doesn’t speak, but he’s no wallflower. He’s got me toeing the line and staying respectful, and I know, even without words, if I step out, he’s gonna make me pay.”

  “What?” I glance up at my angelic son, his sweet smile, his sparkling eyes half-hidden under moppy hair. “Nuh uh.”

  “Believe what you want,” he counters. “But I’m telling you what’s up. I see you up there, Maximo. I hear you.”

  “You’re crazy.” I reach out for Max, and sigh when he reaches for me in return and hops from Nixon’s shoulders into my arms.

  He quickly wraps his arms and legs around my body, then snuggles in, resting his cheek on my shoulder and exhaling. I look around where we stand, the street, the old pay phone that probably hasn’t been used in a decade, then the cars sitting
in driveways.

  “Where are we?”

  “Nearly there.” Instead of taking my hand, Nixon rests his palm on the small of my back.

  I don’t want to notice his touch. I sure as hell don’t have the time or mental capacity for something like this. But still, my brain zeroes in on his fingertips on my back. His warm smile near my temple. His strong chest in my line of sight.

  “I’m surprised you don’t recognize the street.”

  “Really?” I look around once more. “I haven’t taken a lot of time to look around town. Max and I are busy during the day, and at night, we’re fried.”

  “Not the other night,” he counters. “You made the drive then.”

  “I—Oh. We’re near your house?” And then it hits me. “We’re going to your house? Are you insane?”

  “Not according to my last psych evaluation,” he smirks. “Relax, Idalia. It’s totally innocent, I swear.”

  “You said you wanted to show me something,” I argue. “You said— My son is here!”

  “I know.” His hand becomes a little firmer on my back. Not quite ‘You’ll go where I say’, but certainly ‘Please don’t run away.’ “This is absolutely innocent,” he presses. “An extension on what I’ve been showing you all morning.”

  “You said there would be food. Max is going to be h—”

  “There will be food,” he insists. “I’ll start cooking as soon as we arrive, and while we’re waiting for that, I’ll give you a tour and show you the things I brought you here to see. You need to relax. Trust me a little. I’m not a fucking psycho predator, out to take anything from you.”

  “You’re a man,” I snarl. “A very charming man, with a very dangerous job. And I haven’t once changed my mind on how I feel about all that.”

  “Those things are true, but I’m also empathetic to your feelings, and I think you’re blindingly fucking beautiful. So I’m over here, trying to explain to you the reasons why my job is risky, yes, but the risks are calculated and minimized. Come on.” He tugs me along. “We’re almost there. I’ll make food, you can work on your hangry, and then I’ll continue to convince you I’m worth the shot.”