Kale (The Fire Inside #1) Read online

  Copyright © Chelsea Camaron and Theresa Marguerite Hewitt 2014

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of Chelsea Camaron and Theresa Marguerite Hewitt, except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All Trademarked items used in this book belong to their perspective owners.

  Cover Design by: Theresa Marguerite Hewitt

  Title Page Graphic Design by ilaserdesigns Gerald Gonzales

  Editing by: Asli Fratarcangeli

  Formatting by: IndieVention Designs

  *Intended for mature audiences only*

  This book contains strong language and strong sexual situations.

  Please do not buy if any of this offends you.

  She is the shy, quiet, nerdy girl. He is the hero.

  From childhood, she’s only had eyes for him. His only goal in life was to become a firefighter. One of the elite. A hotshot. He is one of the top smokejumpers from Krassel Yard.

  Smoke has clouded his vision. Never noticing the relationship they were already forming, he is surprised when the girl next door, growing up, is suddenly all woman and all he can think about.

  When the smoke clears, can he handle the flames of desire she draws out of him? Or will he leave her heart a smoldering pile of ashes?

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One Team Tango

  Chapter Two Wallflower

  Chapter Three Piper Invades

  Chapter Four Mistake

  Chapter Five Bad Day

  Chapter Six Date Night

  Chapter Seven Instincts

  Chapter Eight Hero

  Chapter Nine Injured

  Chapter Ten Go Away

  Chapter Eleven One Shot

  Chapter Twelve Happiness

  Chapter Thirteen Fire

  Chapter Fourteen Fight for Him

  Chapter Fifteen Goodbye

  Chapter Sixteen Mom Knows Best

  About the Authors

  Excerpt from Lights To My Siren by Lani Lynn Vale

  CHAPTER ONE

  The crackle. The heat. The sweat. The smell of the burning pines, spruce, and fir trees all comes together.

  The burn deep in my chest grows with every breath, as my body seeks clean air. The adrenaline is rapidly coursing through me from the jump and the mission at hand. Dig the fire line, contain the flame before it can jump and spread further.

  The thankless, dangerous, exhilarating and, mostly, unnoticed job of a smokejumper. The job I proudly wake up and do without a second thought.

  It’s June in McCall, Idaho; early in fire season and we have our first wildfire of the year. The snowfall this winter was less than we usually get and the lack of rainfall has drawn all the moisture out of the underbrush. The small brush fire, from a campsite nearby, quickly and easily takes off. Rapidly becoming a full on wildfire as the campers try to flee to safety.

  The local firehouse is unable to control the blaze and calls in my team. Within twenty minutes, the eight of us are suited up, packs and parachutes attached, and are up in the DC-3 twin Otter preparing to go up. The aircraft takes off at elevation; the drop location quickly scouted and chosen. The hatch opens and streamers drop as we line up for jump order. At the opening, I look down at the streamers blowing, judging the wind direction and gusts while I wait.

  Deep breath in and the smoke hits my senses. It’s go time.

  The spotter taps my shoulder and with that communication I leap out of the plane. The free-fall, the escape, the moment that the world seems to stop as the air rushes around me. Counting, I focus; once I am out of the planes span, I pull. Swoosh. The jerk up, as the parachute balloons out and catches, slowing my decent to the blaze waiting below. From the air we can see the full size of the beast awaiting us. Once on the ground it will be like facing the giant with only a stone. Hitting the hard surface of the landing zone, I run out as the Kevlar material of my chute follows behind me to the ground. Moving quickly, I gather up the fabric that safely brings me down and tuck it away in my bag.

  The coolness of the air, during my decent, is now gone and replaced by the heat of the winds fanning the fire. Sweat is immediately dripping down my face and throughout my suit. My team and I instantly begin working on the fire line while the plane begins circling, dropping the fire retardant over the top side of the mountain.

  Long gone are thoughts of home, people, or any of my life outside of the blaze. To be a smoke jumper you have to have a fire deep inside you. One that burns for the battle. One that burns for the jump and one that burns to sacrifice. There is no rest, no backing down, and no moment to think of anything beyond getting the fire under control. If one cannot focus on the task at hand, innocent lives can be lost, homes destroyed, wildlife gone, and businesses devastated.

  This is all I’ve ever wanted, all I’ve ever known: the fire, the battle, and the rush. It’s something I was born to do. This need to help, this need to fight; it all came from my father.

  Every little boy thinks their dad is a hero and, I guess, in some ways every good dad is a hero, if not to anyone but their very own kids. My dad was a hero not just to me, but for a lot of people. He was a firefighter. Every time his radio went off, he followed wherever the flame took him. Late at night, middle of the day and even during family dinner; but it never fazed us. It was what he did and who he was. Some calls were car accidents, some were false alarms, and some were small house fires that were easily contained.

  His last call is one engrained in the very fiber of my being. I was thirteen and my dad and I had been out in the backyard of our little home, throwing a football back and forth when the crackle of his radio rang out through the crisp spring day, loud and clear. It had always sent good chills down my spine and as my dad listened; I remember the little grin I had on my face, just thinking of my hero going out and saving someone.

  “Gotta go, son,” he said, throwing the ball perfectly back to me and waving. “Tell your ma and sister that I’ll see them later!” He waved once more, while tugging his worn out baseball cap down over his shaggy, dirty blonde hair and shoving his aviator sunglasses into place. I remember waving back and running after him; watching his beat up Bronco speeding down our quiet street towards town.

  I never really worried about my dad because he always came back, but this time was different. It was an hour or two later, I was in the house with my mom and younger sister, Piper, sitting on the floor in front of the television, anxiously waiting for my dad to return. I remember my mom saying something about smoke, pulling her hands from the soapy dish water as I raced past her to look out the window. The sight of the grey and black against the fading blue of the sky spiked my adventurous spirit. Before my mom could protest, I was outside, pulling my Schwinn bike from the shed and pedaling down the street, seeking the source of the smoke.

  As I pedaled with all of my might, I whipped around the far corner of my street to come face to face with police cars and fire trucks blocking the road, and a roaring blaze up ahead. I remember being mesmerized by the flames right off, letting my bike fall to the pavement and walking right past a couple of cops as they talked to one another. One of the larger apartment buildings was almost fully engulfed as I approached; dodging and weaving through the crowd.

  I got right up to the edge of
the crowd when I heard one of my dad’s fellow firefighters say to a bystander, “Benson has already brought out most of the family,” feeling a swell of pride within me. That is my dad; I remember whispering to myself, watching as they were still trying to douse the flames. “There he is right there!” The guy shouted, pulling my attention to the front, lower level window of the building.

  The glass was broken out, the smoke just billowing from the space and I see my dad’s partner, Pete, standing on the grass, waiting for something. Then I see him, my dad, his body covered in the yellow suit of a firefighter and his face covered in a mask. Black soot tarnishes the yellow, but it’s all part of the job and I remember feeling like jumping out of my skin when I watch him hand a little girl over through the broken window to his partner, slapping Pete on the back as he rushes towards the crowd and the waiting ambulance.

  Then the creaking and cracking of the roof and upper floor. My dad disappears and I hear his scream through the radio of the firefighter closest to me. “I’m trapped! I need some help!” My heart sinks as his fellow brothers’ rush in, but an exploding propane tank that had been stored in the basement throws them all back. They are yelling for my father over the radio, and apparently, so was I; screaming and yelling into the dusk air.

  I don’t remember running towards the burning building, but I do remember being held back by a crying Pete. I remember the heat; filling my face, arms and legs, just as it is now when the crackle of my own radio brings me from my zone.

  “Team Tango- Family says there are two family pets, black labs, probably still in the cabin to the west of you,” one of the local forest rangers says and I curse out loud.

  “Alright, we’re on it,” I reply, as my team and I assemble together. Mason, Ryan, Finn, and I will head west into the heat while Devin, Rolando, Zeke, and Leland stay on the trench making sure the fire can’t jump the line and continue to spread. Natural instinct screams to go away from the heat, but for me, my heart burns to be in the hot fire, battling the blaze.

  We make our way in the direction of the cabin, grabbing water from my personal gear bag, I drink up. We carry a forty pound pack with us into the jumps to provide us immediate supplies in the event we get too far in the fire to be reached by the support teams. Hydration is key as the temperatures rise. We are suited up in our fireproof jump jacket and pants with a high collar to protect us during the decent into trees. With the added weight of the gear pack and the suit covering us, we sweat out more liquids than we are taking in. As we trek deeper into the woods, the air is getting thicker as the smoke is surrounding us, and the heat is stifling. Still, we trudge on.

  Fortunately, the family wasn’t home when the blaze began. They were cut off on their way in, for their safety. That’s when they informed the forest ranger of the pets in the home. The back of the house is ablaze, the orange, red, and yellow growing taller and billowing out of the windows with every inch of the cabin it consumes. At the door, the heat radiates further and Mason gives the signal for us to enter. The roar of the flames and pressure of the building straining under the onslaught of the fire makes it difficult to hear.

  Kicking the door in, I drop my body, focusing low, as the smoke pours straight out at us. Ryan enters first. The house is going up fast; there is no way to save it, but these two dogs are part of this family. We don’t make it far before the chocolate labs are spotted on the floor of the kitchen to our right. Panting, I can see they are alive, but the heat and smoke inhalation has depleted the poor pups’ energy reserves. Ryan and I quickly scoop up the dogs. The weight is adding to the excursion we put our bodies though. There aren’t enough days at the gym, cardio, or weight training to prepare you for the challenges you push your body through with each and every call out. At the porch, we hand off the dogs to Mason and Finn as they rush the pets away to fresher air. Pushing through, we get a safer distance away from the house as it continues to burn. The cracking and groaning of the beams is a familiar sound. As one of the sides fall down, I can’t help but shake my head and hope the family is prepared for bad news. They are safe, their dogs should be okay, but their home is gone.

  The plane overhead comes in, dropping more retardant over our area. It will help, but only for a little while. There will always be dry brush. There will always be some sort of spark; whether man made or not.

  We traverse the course we just went through. Returning to the fire line, we hand off the two very weak dogs to the forest ranger who will deliver them to the rescue center. Once there, they will be given treatment that will hopefully save their lives. Having some space from the massive part of the fire, I can hear on the radios that, slowly, the beast of this fire is being contained and smoldering out. My team and I continue to work making sure the hot spots are cooled, and the possibility for new sleeper fires to start are eliminated.

  The call comes in that I am needed at Breathe Easy Pet Center. My time is divided between my job for the county as an environmental scientist and the rehabilitation center for domesticated pets and wildlife animals. Two dogs have been evacuated from a wild fire and need assistance for dehydration, possible heat stroke, and smoke inhalation. Throwing my long brown hair up in a quick pony tail, I grab my overnight bag and head out.

  As I climb in my car, my mind drifts to the blaze. Is Kale out there? Did his team jump today? My heart beats loudly in my ears as I attempt to tame my fears. Every call, every fire, my mind goes straight to him.

  Piper would know if he was safe, if I called her. However, that would only bring on questions I don’t want to answer right now; so I regulate my breathing and focus on the task at hand. I love my best friend, but she can be one nosy and nagging person when she wants to know something, and me asking about her brother? Oh yes, she would definitely want to know why.

  I pull into my parking spot in the back. I can see Allison, the vet, is already here as I exit my car and walk past hers. This is good news for this family and their canines. The quicker they get clean air back into their system and their body temperatures back to normal, the stronger their chance for survival. Entering through the back door, I quickly drop my bag, wash up, and glide into the room to assist with these two dogs.

  After four hours of IV fluids, cooling the dogs at a slow pace as to not shock their systems, and blowing fresh oxygen into their faces, we seem to be on the upward turn. My focus needing to be on the lives in my hands, I am able to put the fires out of my mind for a bit. Now, as we are settling the dogs in to the observation room, my mind wonders if the blaze has been contained.

  “Paige, I’m gonna head out. Call if anything changes, otherwise I’ll see you in the morning for the shift change.” Allison says as she gathers her things to leave.

  “Will do.” I reply looking at the clock and realizing its now after six and I haven’t eaten since breakfast.

  Turning on the local radio station, I wait impatiently for any updates on the first wildfire of the season. I tap my worn out Timberland boot clad foot on the peeling linoleum beside the observation cage, one of the dogs inquiring whines pulling me from my daze just staring out the window.

  Going to the small kitchen area, I pull out a microwave meal from the freezer for my dinner. The center is a small building and nights here alone with the sick animals are no call for anything fancy for a meal. We have an open seating area in the very front for families who wish to wait for their pets, and a small restroom out there for public use. Then you enter the back, where everything important happens in my boring little world. The first room on the right is a simple exam room like at any regular vets office. This is where most animals are seen after a fire and are quickly released back to the care of their owners. The room to the left is for wildlife that will be treated and then picked up by the forestry services division of rehabilitation, to get them back to the wild or placed in a rescue if the animal requires permanent care. The second room to the right is the observation room with its kennels and crates, along the wall for the animals that need more than interme
diate care. The room across the hall is a small bedroom for the watchman. Tonight, that full size bed with its simple quilt and two pillows will be my quarters. At the end of the hall is a full bathroom with a shower for when we are so overrun we have to stay for days, rather than the normal rotation, which has happened on more than a handful of occasions. The kitchen is across from the bath and it’s more like a break room kitchenette; with cabinets, a refrigerator, a microwave, and toaster oven. We have a small four person table and chair set, and a radio. The microwave dings as I am listening for updates from the monotone radio broadcast. I sit down at the table to eat my Salisbury steak and green bean dinner.

  Living in small town Idaho, life is calm and quiet most days. Typically, the biggest news floating around is the hookups and breakups, setting the rumor mills to churning. Fire season makes things change as more than life hangs in the balance during these hot summer months. Businesses, homes, pets, land, wildlife, and entire ecosystems are affected with each fire.

  Growing up here, it is something you get used to, but it is never something you want to hear. My dad being a logger and working on the mountain side, I was always trained to listen for the wildfire calls. The dangers of his job always kept my mom nervous because it wasn’t just fires, but anything could go wrong in his field at any moment. Logs can slip and crush a leg or, hell, an entire person, before someone has the time to react. Crane lines can break, dropping trees down to those below. Even chainsaws can slip a chain and slice through a man’s leg in the blink of an eye, and I’ve heard of it and seen the after effects more times than I would like to mention. You can always tell a man who has spent a tour on the mountain, he usually has one or two less fingers.

  Piper and I grew up with the constant rush and anxiety of ‘would today be the day our mothers worst nightmares came true?’ She is my best friend. We lived four houses down from each other for as long as I can remember. I have also been in love with her older brother, Kale, for just as long. He doesn’t notice me though. I am far too meek and geeky for the always uber popular and oh so hot, Kale Benson.