Page 25 of Falling for the Hotshot

“Good morning, Autumn,” I said, throwing out all of the formalities today, since I was alone in the department.

“Hi, Blaze,” she replied, but she didn’t sound as perky as usual.

“Is everything okay?” I asked, and it was followed by a long pause.

“Today would have been my wedding day,” she answered. I felt like a pinecone bursting from the heat of a wildfire. After the initial shock passed, I realized with a profound understanding why Autumn had been here in the first place. But I was struggling with an adequate response. Autumn, with her bright flaming hair, had been through something. I wondered what had happened. Why was she betrothed and now... living in a lookout tower all by herself? In my pondering, I was silent.

“Are you still there?” she asked, her voice filled with concern.

“Yes, I’m here. And I’ll be here all day, if you want to talk about anything.” I didn’t think that smiling made a noise, but if it did, I thought I could hear it coming from Autumn.

“Thank you, Blaze. Do you know any good jokes?” The pressure was on as Autumn tasked me to make her laugh. While my mind was suddenly as blank as a Word document, I thought I could divert the conversation while still distracting her from whatever grief she was feeling today. The desire to lift her up and… protect her from sadness was overwhelming. I had never felt like this before, and we’d only been talking for two weeks. I didn’t even know what she looked like, but I realized then, that I didn’t care.

“A firefighter, a firewatcher, and a dispatcher walk into a bar—” I started, not knowing the punchline.

“Oh no, not one of these jokes!” she giggled on the other end of the line. Mission accomplished.

“You didn’t let me finish,” I teased, racking my brain. “They walk into a barbecue joint,” I stated, matter-of-factly.

“Uh huh, go on,” Autumn whipped back.

“And the bar, er, hostess says, ‘Oh no, what’s burning?’ When the cook in the back says, ‘I overcooked the ribs.’”

“Well, it’s not the worst joke I’ve ever heard, especially for being made up on the fly. I’m actually impressed.” She saw right through me, and I laughed.

“Thanks. I’m glad you liked it.”

“If you ever decided to pull the plug on firefighting, you could have a real career as an opener for stand-up comedians.”

“Ouch, just an opener? Why not the headlining act?” I put my hand over my heart, wishing she could have seen my reaction.

“I’d have to hear a lot more material to promote you to the headliner. Maybe I’ll give you some time to prepare, if that is truly your ambition.” Her giggles made my cheeks redden.

“I think I’ll just stick to fire, but I may come at you with a few more jokes,” I said, feeling suddenly very inspired to make her laugh.

“By the way,” Autumn changed gears, “the air smells like a campfire today, but I don’t see any smoke.” I nodded, though she couldn’t see me.

“We have some smoke from a fire in Montana. It may get worse before it clears up, as the forecast is showing the winds pushing it right to us.”

“That’s good to know. If I didn’t know, I might call in a panic that I’m smelling a lot of smoke.”

“In that case, Autumn, pretend I never said anything.” We both laughed and continued to idly chat for most of the morning. After a few hours, she asked if we were going to get in trouble for talking so much.

“I’m alone today, actually. But otherwise, no, don’t worry about it. Unless we are tying up a line, in which case, you are the line to get to me—there isn’t much going on. Things are usually winding down this time of year. This year, the heat just won’t let up and—” another dispatcher called in.

“Tower Two to dispatch.” The voice was urgent. It was Greg, whom I’d met in passing over the years, as he’d been a lookout since well before I was born.

“Dispatch to Tower Two, over,” I said, leaving my hand on both radios for a moment, before setting down the one that I spoke to Autumn on, hesitantly.

“We have a fire.” My heart skipped a beat. This was what I was born to do, in any capacity. Though I’d much rather have been out fighting it myself, I was finding dispatch increasingly satisfying. Talking to Autumn every day also had something to do with that.

After getting all of the information from Greg, I started to deploy the units. My heart was pumping faster than it had in weeks. I also finally got Don on the line, a conversation I’d been wanting to have ever since I first spoke to Autumn, but now was not the time to ask about the girl in Tower Three.

“We’re on it, Blaze,” Don promised, as his truck started on the other end of the line. “I have one crew already driving that way because while we were on Mount Bridger, we saw a little smoke plume forming.” I closed my eyes and remembered the fire on Mount Bridger two years ago.

The wind was blowing forty-five miles per hour for three days. Not uncommon in Wyoming, but we usually hoped that windstorms waited for fire season to pass. Or, at the very least, didn’t coincide with a massive, out-of-control burn.

Embers the size of a fist were falling up to ten miles from the source. Pine needles came down like rain drops, landing at our feet as we stood at the edge of the fire line. But no matter how fast we dug it, or how wide, the fire was jumping miles at a time on the ridge because of the high wind gusts.