by T. R. Cupak
The South Twenty Dump Fire was turning into a shit show. So much so, they’d started calling it the Dumpster Fire down at the sheriff’s office.
Dillon had been a deputy with Bounty County for the past two years. He’d always known he was going to be a cop. His dad was a cop in his hometown of Livingston, Montana. His grandma had been a cop in Bozeman until just a few years ago. He fuckin’ loved watching the show COPS. So what else was he going to be?
He’d gone to University of Montana, majored in criminal justice, and got his Bachelor of Science degree – because, yeah, he considered crime fighting a science and not a fucking art – and then found a job in Imminence.
And he fucking loved it.
Dillon currently stood at a security checkpoint about twenty miles outside of Imminence. He wished he had a more exciting job at the present moment, but it was an important one, nonetheless. They were trying to keep all unnecessary traffic out of town. All the sightseers and fire seekers could wait until the evacuation risk went down. He’d spent most of the day turning cars around and letting the locals pass by. The U.S. Forest Service buses and crummies – hotshot crew haulers – had been trickling through since morning, but they’d picked up in the past hour. There were going to be a ton of firefighters on this fire within a few days. It was a relief to know the extra help was here, but it was still scary.
Another bus approached, no doubt headed to fire camp and then on to the Dumpster Fire. Dillon waved it through the checkpoint and gave the driver a nod, tilting his chin up to give the driver the clear to pass.
A hotshot hauler approached next. Dillon had no idea why anyone would want to be a hotshot firefighter. It sounded like a super shitty, dangerous job. But he was damn glad that someone wanted to do it. Otherwise, the whole state of Montana would have burned up by now.
He was thinking about how grateful he was that his job was running away from fire and not into it when he saw her through the small square window.
Damn.
The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen was sitting near the back, staring out into the forest that surrounded them. She was gorgeous. Too gorgeous. Black hair tied up in a ponytail. Beautiful blue eyes. Bright red lips. She couldn’t be a hotshot. No way. Dillon figured with that face she had to be the communications director. Something media related.
Why would she be in the crew rig then?
There was no making sense of it.
He’d never seen a hotshot wearing lipstick.
Chapter Two
“Baby, come sit by me,” Garrett pleaded, turning around from two rows up. “You can switch with Joe, here. Let’s talk this out.”
Lauren Davis rolled her eyes and stared out the truck window in an attempt to ignore him. Garrett Drake. He was her coworker, her ex-boyfriend, and the biggest asshole this side of the Mississippi River.
She’d dumped him a few weeks ago.
“Lauren,” he whined, demanding her attention.
“Fuck off, Gare,” she shot back. More heads turned back to look at her. Her crew knew what had gone down, knew that Garrett went to fill in on an all-male crew earlier in the fire season.
And everyone also knew that this crew got down and dirty one night at fire camp with some hotshot groupies.
Because now two thirds of that crew had chlamydia.
At least Garrett had been nice enough to warn her that she should probably get tested for it.
Yeah, she kicked his ass to the curb.
But she still had to work with him all summer long.
Ugh. She used to want to jump his bones every time she saw him in their uniform. Bright yellow shirt. Dark green Nomex pants. It was sexy on most of the guys in their crew, but on Garrett it was downright sinful. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Perpetual five o’clock shadow. When he was covered in dirt and soot, he was even hotter.
But now when she looked at him? Lauren just wanted to puke.
She’d gotten a full STD panel right before she left for the Pine Ridge Fire. When that fire was finally under control, they’d loaded up and started making their way toward the next fire rotation. Once they hit cell service she’d been able to get the good news. STD free.
Dodged that bullet.
Lauren wasn’t sad that they’d broken up. It wasn’t like they were going to get married and have babies. Nope. Garrett wasn’t even that good at sex. He was just hot and that gave him somewhat of a pass on typical performance standards.
Lauren was twenty-four years old, good looking, and on one of the best hotshot crews in the West. She knew she was bad-ass and a fucking catch.
She didn’t need an STD-riddled, cheating boyfriend along for the ride.
Lauren hadn’t known what she wanted to do with her life when she graduated high school. She thought college was what she was supposed to do, so she enrolled in Eastern Washington University. She messed around for two years and dropped out. Her parents were not happy with her, but she’d never really made her parents that happy anyway, so she figured she’d do what she wanted.
A few guys from high school had become firefighters, and when they suggested it to her, she decided to give it a try. A few years and a few aced tests later and Lauren was GS-4, bringing in good money in overtime and hazard pay on an Interagency Hotshot Crew. She didn’t see herself fighting wildland fires forever, but it was great exercise, exciting work, and she loved saving natural resources and homes, so she’d do it as long as she could. There was definite potential for her to move into a training and exercise position when she was ready to pull the plug on working the fire line. Don’t give up. Keep movin’ up. She repeated her mantra as she stared out the window.
Lauren removed her lip gloss from her pocket. It wasn’t something she’d bring to the fire with her – the heat would melt the plastic container. But when she wasn’t covered in dirt and busting her ass to keep the western United States from going down in a fiery blaze, she liked a more feminine look.
Being the only woman on her crew sucked. She’d been on more diverse crews that were much less frustrating than this one. She’d been on crews where she’d been constantly sexually harassed and had to file complaints with HR. This crew was much better in that regard. It was mostly their discussions of bodily functions that made her want to fucking scream.
Seriously, how often do I need to hear about the size of bowel movements?
Going to bathroom out in the forest proved challenging. She didn’t have a dick she could whip out and piss in front of the crew. She had to find a private place, brace herself on a tree, and try not to pee on her clothes.
She’d actually gotten pretty good at it, but it was still a pain in the ass. Luckily, she was usually sweating so much she didn’t even need to pee very often. Neither did the guys, which was probably why all they ever talked about was shitting.
Lauren was fucking tired of this crew and their obsession with bodily functions. And the situation with Garrett was the final straw. As soon as fire season was over, she was putting in for a new team.
“Come on, babe. We still have to work together and trust each other,” he said. He’d gotten up and was crouching down beside her seat.
“There’s nothing to talk about, Garrett,” she replied, chin lifted. “You cheated on me with some hotshot groupies and potentially gave me chlamydia. It’s fucking ironic that we’re about to head to the STD fire. I guess it was meant to be for you.”
Fires were usually named based on either a geographic location or a landmark. This fire just happened to have started on Highway 20, past the dump about twenty miles south of Imminence, Montana. The South Twenty Dump Fire name was apparently not vetted by anyone who could see the implications of the STD Fire. Acronyms were probably not considered.
Or, maybe they were, and that was the whole point.
“You’re never going to forgive me?” he asked.
“You’re lucky I don’t have the clap, Garrett, or I would fucking destroy you,” she said. “But instead, I’m clean and you’re disgust
ing. You’re nothing to me. Take a seat.”
“Come on, baby,” Garrett begged. “Don’t do that. We had something special!”
Is this guy fucking serious?
She pointed to the front and turned her head to face out the window again. It was going to be a long hitch.
Chapter Three
After spending all day at the security checkpoint waving buses, fire trucks, and Forest Service vehicles through, Dillon was ready for something more exciting.
“Yates! Let’s hit up fire camp for dinner,” his lieutenant, Jake Hamilton, suggested to him as Dillon hopped out of his squad car. No one called him Dillon around here. Everyone in Bounty County called him either Yates or Cowboy.
He wasn’t entirely sure why they called him Cowboy other than the fact he occasionally wore a cowboy hat.
He might know how to rope cattle, but it’s not like he grew up on a ranch. He’d helped some friends in high school with their chores and just took to it easily.
And Dillon might love country music, but sue him! It was good music. It didn’t mean he was a cowboy.
And… he might have tried riding a bull a time or two, but he’d only stayed on the full eight seconds a handful of times. It didn’t mean he was a cowboy.
Whatever.
Dillon had never been to a fire camp before, but he’d heard talk all day about the food there. He was skeptical. Another coworker, Detective Wesson Campbell, came walking out the front door of the sheriff’s office before Dillon could respond to Jake.
“Who’s down for a fire camp sandwich?” Wesson asked.
What the hell is a fire camp sandwich?
“Um, I’ve never been to a fire camp, so I’m game,” Dillon said with a shrug.
“Don’t leave without me, fuckers!” Cole shouted as he ran out the front door.
“What the hell is so good about fire camp food?” Dillon asked.
“Dude, they bring in caterers. It’s like a Hollywood movie set but with a lot more calories. Fuckin’ delicious,” Jake explained. “It’s my favorite thing about fire season.” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
They piled into a couple of rigs and headed out of Imminence. Just outside the city limits, a field that mere days ago had been completely empty save for a few lone trees and sagebrush was now bustling with activity. Tents. Trucks. Equipment. Hundreds of people. Most were in green pants and either a yellow button up shirt or a navy blue t-shirt. Some looked exhausted, covered in dirt and ash. Others looked fresh and ready to roll. Dillon assumed the fresh ones were the fire crews that just arrived today.
Dillon, Jake, and Cole were still in uniform, so they got head nods from a lot of the firefighters as they walked through camp. Apparently one of the perks of working the road blocks was the ability to enter and walk through fire camp, grab a tray, get a shit-ton of delicious-looking grub piled on your plate by a catering truck, and pull up a chair in a big tent set up like a cafeteria – all without anyone asking questions.
Because that’s just what they did.
And Wesson was totally right. Fire camp sandwiches were fucking awesome.
“How was running checkpoint today, Cowboy?” Cole asked. More and more firefighters began filing into the tent, taking seats at the tables around them.
“Fine. Boring. But I don’t mind a boring day every once in a while as long as I’m gettin’ paid for it.”
“I’d kill for a boring day again,” Wesson added. He was one of the department’s two detectives and they were always busy. Bounty County may not be the most populated of all the counties in Montana, but it was large in square mileage and heavy with drug activity despite recent successful efforts to stop it.
“But man, you’re a detective. That sounds so kick-ass and you don’t even have to wear this monkey suit.” Dillon gestured to his tan and brown uniform.
“Double-edged coin, man,” Wesson said, shaking his head. Wesson Campbell was a great detective, but he messed up common sayings all the time. It was hilarious, but the only people who ever called him on it were Jake and Wesson’s best friend Smitty, another deputy. Dillon let the ‘double-edged coin’ comment slide.
“Why’s that?” he asked.
“I get called out in the middle of the night all the time. And we don’t have a lot of murder goin’ on in this town, but read my words, Cowboy: if there’s a murder, I’m havin’ to get out of my warm bed that I share with my smokin’ hot wife and head to a cold, dead body and sadness.”
Dillon thought that sounded awesome. He certainly wasn’t ready for a wife, though he wouldn’t mind more smokin’ hot chicks warming his bed. But getting called out to solve a murder sounded like all of his childhood dreams come true. Bringing a murderer to justice – it wouldn’t bring back to person who was killed, but he knew it could help the family find some small semblance of comfort.
“Lemme know if you need help, is all I’m saying,” he offered. “I love overtime and…well, I think I might love being a detective, too.”
Jake laughed. “You’re gonna need approval for those overtime hours before I let Wesson call you out in the middle of the night to check out dead bodies, Cowboy.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dillon scoffed, shrugging away his admission. “Just keep me on your list, is all I’m saying. I know I’m still one of the new guys, but I can do more than run road blocks and speed traps.”
“We’ve been here two years now,” Cole chimed in. “We aren’t new guys anymore, Yates.”
“I got good news on that front, brothers. Bossman got approval for a new position just last week from the Board of Commissioners. You won’t be the newbs for much longer,” Jake added.
“Fuck yeah. About time,” Wesson said, wiping the sweat from his forehead. It was hot out.
“This seat taken?”
Dillon turned toward the very female voice and looked up.
Oh shit.
Fire engine red lips.
The woman from the bus.
She was more beautiful up close than she was when he’d seen her through the bus window earlier today. Black hair pulled up into a ponytail. Porcelain skin. She looked like a pin-up model.
Fuck.
It was about ninety-five degrees outside, but Dillon’s brain was frozen, no longer processing thoughts into words. No synapses were firing.
“Sorry, darlin’. I apologize for how rude my colleague is. That seat is not taken because we’ve been saving it for you,” Cole flirted.
The bombshell from Dillon’s dreams rolled her eyes.
Dillon cleared his throat.
“Sorry, uh. I, uh.” Why won’t my brain work?.
“Oh my god, you guys are witnessing Dillon Yates, notorious ladies’ man, losing his fuckin’ mind over a woman,” Jake teased.
Jesus. Pull yourself together, Yates!
He took a deep breath and then spoke. “Don’t listen to these chuckleheads. Please, sit.” Dillon gestured to her.
“Thanks…Dillon,” she said as if she were practicing saying his name. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her mouth.
Don’t say anything about how juicy her lips look. Don’t say anything about how juicy her lips look.
“You’re welcome.”
Phew.
“It’s Lauren,” she answered.
“You comm staff?” Dillon asked.
“What?” she replied. Dillon wondered if maybe she didn’t hear him.
“Comm staff?” he repeated.
“Like, communications?” she asked, bewilderment in her voice.
“Yeah. Like that.”
“No.” She didn’t offer anything else.
“He’s totally bombing, you guys,” Wesson chimed in.
“It isn’t pretty, is it?” Jake added.
“Fuck off, fuckers,” Dillon turned his back to them and turned to face Lauren. “Ignore them. Please. I do. So what is it that you do here?”
“I’m a hotshot.”
Say what now?
“Really?�
� he asked, trying not to sound rude but he was really kind of amazed that this beautiful creature was a hotshot firefighter.
“Oh, Cowboy. You’re really fuckin’ this up.” Cole just had to chime in again. That asshole.
“Sorry, it’s just you’re really fuckin’ pretty,” Dillon said quietly.
She didn’t smile.
“What the hell does being pretty have to do with fightin’ fires?” she asked, now clearly pissed off.
“Dammit, I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant. I just…dammit.”
The rest of the crew continued to laugh at his expense and Dillon felt his cheeks flush red with embarrassment.
“Swear to god, I’m not usually this big of an asshole,” he promised and gave her a smile that got most women into his bed.
Lauren didn’t stay pissed for long. She moved right passed it. “What the hell is there to do in this town anyway? I’ve got a free night and if I see another fuckin’ firefighter, I’m gonna lose my mind.”
Dillon grinned.
He was about to show her exactly what the hell there was to do in this town.
Chapter Four
Lauren wanted to get the fuck out of fire camp tonight. She couldn’t deal with Garrett, and she didn’t want to deal with the rest of the assholes on her crew either. They were on her side but they wouldn’t call Garrett out on his horrible behavior. If he’d just leave her alone, it would be fine. But he kept trying to win her back. He was fucking delusional if he thought that would ever happen.
So she’d gone to dinner on her own with every intention of finding some new fire camp friends interested in scoping out the nightlife in this small Montana town.