Two months later, Jackson, Griffin, and Cassandra had been deployed to a wildfire in northeast Oregon known as the Fox Hollow fire. This one wasn’t quite as intense as the one that nearly cost him his life. Still, it had consumed over twenty-nine-thousand acres of land. No loss of life had been reported, but a few homes had been destroyed. Teams of hotshots, air tanker drops of water and fire retardant, and crews like Jackson’s had successfully contained the fire in less than two weeks. Now it was manageable enough for his crew to head home.
Jackson gathered his belongings, stuffed them into his red gear bag, and prepared to head home.
As he stepped free from the large tent he’d shared with three other firefighters over the last week, he cast his gaze around at all the tents and trailers that had been set up. Huge plywood stands stood in one section of the short, dry grass, displaying maps, weather reports, and daily assignments. A smaller group of firefighters stood before the plywood stands, listening to Captain Wright give his daily briefing. Some of them lifted their hands in a farewell to Jackson.
He did the same to them.
“Yo, Hollerback, wait up,” Griffin called to him.
Jackson paused and turned around.
Griffin and Cassandra fell into step next to him, their gear bags in their hands.
“This one wasn’t so bad,” Jackson said, as they headed toward the dark green bus that would drive them home.
“Not like the last one, that’s for sure,” Griffin said.
“Yeah, the last fire left a real taint on my soul,” Cassandra said. Her untamed wavy hair bobbed about her face. “I’m glad for the PTSD therapy I went through. I no longer have nightmares of MacHugh falling on top of me.” She shivered.
“Yeah, it’s really helped me, too,” Jackson said.
That, and couples counseling. He and Blaire had been vigilant about learning healthy ways of regarding themselves, as well as one another. They’d built the foundation for a long-lasting relationship. He hoped to seal the deal and ask her to marry him soon.
Not only that, through relentless support from his therapist, and brutal self-reflection, he’d come to peace with his biological upbringing, even allowing himself a measure of forgiveness toward his parents and his brother.
“I didn’t have to go through too much therapy,” Griffin said. “Not like you two.” He cast a sympathetic gaze at Jackson. “You ever speak to your brother?”
“Nope,” Jackson said. “I ended that part of my life. Cut all ties with him and my dad. I had to do it to save my own life and to protect my relationship with Blaire.”
“She’s a hoot in Academy,” Griffin said, chuckling. “I walked through the training center to speak with Kowalski and caught her kicking the pants off some of the other recruits with her skills. She’s a determined one.”
“She is. I’m really proud of her,” Jackson said, a sunbeam of a smile spreading across his face. “She’ll finish Academy before Christmas, and then, in the spring, she’ll take her EMT training. She hopes to get a job in the department and pursue paramedic training, too.”
“She’s on the fast track. I hope she gets in,” Cassandra said. “I need a few more sisters to work with. Hanging out with you wankers has its limits.” She tapped Jackson’s biceps with her fist. “Too much testosterone.”
Jackson chuckled as he approached the bus.
“Morning gentlemen and lady,” the bus driver, a scrawny, wrinkled-face man named Josiah said from his position near the luggage carrier at the side of the bus. He wore a light khaki-colored uniform and black boots. He’d driven them here from their station and was driving them and a couple other crews in the region back home.
“Good morning, Josiah,” Cassandra said. She strode toward him, removing her gear bag from her shoulder.
He picked up her red bag and heaved it under the bus. “Good sirs, can I take your luggage?”
“Sure,” Jackson said.
“Of course,” Griffin said.
Jackson set his bag down and reached for the phone in his shirt pocket. His fingers came up empty. “Shit. Where’s my phone? I think I set it down in the finance office. Be right back.”
“No rush,” Josiah said. “We’ve got nineteen more firefighters to load. We’ll still be here.” He smiled, revealing two gaps on the right side of his jaw where premolars once sat.
“I’ll save you a seat,” Griffin said. “I need a shoulder to sleep on.”
Jackson scoffed and shook his head. “Dream on.”
He grinned and raced away toward the finance trailer. As he jogged along the dry grass and parched soil, he thought about his plans to ask for Blaire’s hand in marriage. He had a big idea in place. He hoped he could pull it off.
He couldn’t wait to seal the deal. They’d worked hard to get to where they were. Creating a formal commitment seemed like the next step to take.
Once he stood outside the white-sided trailed, he rapped on the door with his knuckles.
“Come in,” George Ahlberg called.
George was an older man who’d worked in fire camp finance for as long as Jackson could remember. His pate was nearly bald, but he made up for it with a bold gray and brown mustache.
Jackson opened the door to the stuffy trailer.
George sat at his desk, his armpits ringed with sweat, talking to a chunky firefighter whom Jackson didn’t recognize.
Jackson nodded to the firefighter, turned to George, and opened his mouth to speak, but George beat him to it.
George slid out a desk drawer and pulled out Jackson’s white phone. “Forget something?”
“Yes, thanks,” Jackson said, reaching for it. “Gotta get back to the bus. We’ll be leaving in a few.”
George and the other firefighter nodded. “Flip the fan on for me, will you?”
Jackson leaned over and flicked the switch on the large, portable fan facing George’s desk.
“Much better,” George said with a sigh. “Thanks.”
Jackson nodded and exited the trailer. As he beelined toward the bus, he spied a pale green bus bearing the words “Convict Crew” in bold black letters along the side.
A group of convicts clad in orange jumpsuits, marched single file toward the bus, carrying their firefighting tools.
Jackson directed his gaze straight ahead. He knew not to make eye contact with convict workers. Rules dictated no one talked to, looked at, or even acknowledged the convict workers.
A weird sensation prickled the back of his neck. He reached back to rub it and turned around. His eyes met Jake’s, and his head jerked back in surprise.
Jake, shuffling along with his fellow convicts, glanced away and then risked another look.
For one long second, Jackson studied his brother. He wondered how Jake had been allowed on a firefighting team at all, since he’d started the Sun-A-Do fire, and arsonists were not allowed to fight fires. Maybe he caught some leniency for good behavior? Don’t know, don’t care. Not my problem.
Jake looked gaunt, but fitter than Jackson had ever seen him. One tiny corner of Jackson’s heart pushed through all the hurt, disappointment, and betrayal he carried, radiating pride that his brother had joined the convict team. He gave the barest of nods and then broke eye contact, lest anyone saw him. After that, he hurried away.
As he stepped on the bus, a sense of completion fell over him. He realized seeing his brother doing something meaningful had allowed him to let go of a shitload of bitter resentment. A curious peace settled in his heart. He’d learned how to create good boundaries for himself, even though it hurt like hell some days. He’d learned to be open and honest with Blaire. He’d come to terms with his past, accepting it as best he could. And, he had the best damn dogs, the best damn job, and the best damn relationship any man could hope for. Jackson O’Halloran considered himself a lucky man.
One chapter truly ending, only to start another with Blaire.
It only seemed fitting to continue to save lives, with the love of his life by his side, and give back to the community that had given him so much. After all, true to her word, Blaire had buffed and polished his heart to glory. And for that, he owed her the world.