Fighting Love’s Flame – Chapter 1
The Douglas DC-3 shuddered through another pocket of super-heated air, and Jake Morrison’s stomach didn’t even register the drop. After ten years of jumping into wildfires, turbulence was just another Tuesday.
“Two minutes to drop zone,” the spotter called over the roar of engines and wind.
Jake checked his team’s gear one final time, muscle memory guiding his hands over buckles and static lines while his mind ran calculations. Wind speed: eighteen knots from the southwest. Visibility: half a mile in smoke. Landing zone: a meadow the size of a grocery store parking lot, surrounded by two-hundred-foot Douglas firs that would turn them into human torches if they missed.
“Morrison, you seeing this?” Tank Palmer pressed his face against the jump door window, his usual grin absent. “Ridge 302’s throwing some serious attitude today.”
Jake looked past his demolition specialist at the beast they were about to face. The ridge fire had crowned overnight, creating its own weather system—a pyrocumulus cloud that towered thirty thousand feet into the atmosphere, spawning lightning that started spot fires miles from the main blaze.
Orange flames danced through the canopy like devils, sending up columns of smoke thick enough to block the afternoon sun.
“Just another day at the office,” Jake said, projecting the calm his team needed. Inside, his chest tightened the way it always did now—ever since Williams.
Don’t think about Williams. Not here. Not now.
“Thirty seconds,” the spotter announced.
Jake moved to the door, hot wind blasting his face through the opening. The smell hit him first—the harsh blend of burning pine resin, scorched earth, and something primal that triggered every human instinct to run in the opposite direction.
Instead, he’d jump straight into it.
“Remember, we’re establishing a safety zone first,” he called to his eight-person group. “No heroics. We contain the northern flank and hold until the ground crews arrive. Everyone goes home.”
The last part came out harder than he intended. Tank caught it—Tank always caught everything—but said nothing.
“Get ready!”
Jake positioned himself in the doorway, one hand on the frame, watching the meadow approach through gaps in the smoke. The spotter’s hand touched his shoulder. Any second now—
“Go!”
Jake launched himself into the furnace-hot sky.
For three seconds, he fell free before his static line yanked the chute open. The familiar jolt compressed his spine as the canopy bloomed above, transforming his plummet into a controlled descent. Around him, seven other chutes popped open in quick succession—white jellyfish floating through the orange-tinted atmosphere.
The ground rushed up faster than it should have. Jake flared hard, boots hitting the meadow with enough force to send him into a practiced roll. He was up in seconds, already shrugging out of his harness as Tank landed twenty yards away with less grace.
“Everybody down safe?” Jake did a quick headcount as his team assembled. Childs, Rodriguez, Palmer, Kowalski, Martinez, Thompson, and the rookie, Daniels—all accounted for, already pulling tools from their gear bags.
“Safety zone, northwest corner,” Jake ordered, pointing to a natural depression backed by a rocky outcrop. “Childs, Rodriguez—start cutting a saw line. Everyone else, clear the fuel load. We need a hundred-foot separation minimum.”
They moved like a machine, each person flowing into their assigned role without hesitation. This was what Jake lived for—the seamless coordination, the shared purpose, the—
“Morrison!” Tank’s shout cut through the chainsaw noise. “We’ve got civilians!”
Jake’s head snapped up toward Tank. Through the smoke, barely visible, two figures stumbled down the ridgeline toward the fire’s path.
“Damn it.” Jake grabbed his medical pack. “Tank, Martinez, with me. Everyone else, keep working on that safety zone.”
They moved fast through the burned-over ground, still hot enough to melt boot soles if you stood still too long. The civilians—a man and woman in day-hiking gear—were maybe three hundred yards out, disoriented by the smoke.
“Hey!” Jake cupped his hands around his mouth. “This way! Move toward my voice!”
The hikers turned, the woman supporting the man, who seemed to limp. They’d never make it before the fire overran their position.
“Go,” Jake told Tank. “I’m right behind you.”
Tank didn’t question it, just took off in a ground-eating sprint that belied his bulky frame. Jake followed, his pack bouncing against his spine with each stride.
The heat intensified with every step closer to the active fire line. His protective gear felt like wearing a pizza oven.
Tank reached the hikers first and took the man’s weight. “Broken ankle,” he called as Jake arrived.
“I’ve got him.” Jake shifted into paramedic mode, assessing injuries while moving. The ankle was fractured, but the bigger concern was smoke inhalation. Both hikers were coughing, their eyes streaming.
“We tried to outrun it,” the woman gasped. “Tom fell—”
“Save your breath,” Jake ordered. “Tank, lead us out. Martinez, call for medical evac to our safety zone.”
They carried Tom toward safety as the fire crested the ridge behind them. Jake felt the radiant heat through his protective gear—like standing too close to a blast furnace. The sound was worse. A freight train roar punctuated by exploding trees as their sap super heated.
Move faster. Move faster.
They made it to the safety zone just as the fire front hit the meadow’s edge. Jake’s team had done their job—the cleared area held, flames dying down to manageable ground fire as they hit the fuel break.
“Medical’s twenty minutes out,” Martinez reported.
Jake was already working on Tom’s ankle, splinting it with practiced efficiency while monitoring his oxygen levels. The woman—Sarah, she’d told him—sat nearby, Tank giving her water and checking for injuries.
“You’re lucky,” Jake told them, though lucky was relative when you’d nearly been barbecued. “What were you doing up here? The trail’s been closed for two days.”
“We didn’t see any signs,” Sarah said. “We camp here every summer—”
“Signs were probably burned.” Tank’s voice held no judgment. “Happens fast out here.”
Jake finished with Tom’s ankle and moved to check Sarah’s vitals. His hands were steady, movements automatic, but that familiar weight settled in his chest. They’d been lucky. This time. But luck had a way of running out in his line of work.
Williams ran out of luck.
He pushed the thought down, focusing on his patients. The evac helicopter appeared through the smoke right on schedule, setting down in the center of their cleared zone. Jake supervised the loading, gave the flight medic a rundown of treatments administered, then watched the bird lift off.
“Nice work, boss,” Tank said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Though for a minute there, I thought you were going to go full hero mode.”
“Just doing the job.” Jake turned back to where his team was already extending the fuel break. “Let’s get back to it. We’ve got a long night ahead.”
As he walked back to the line, Jake’s radio crackled. “Morrison, this is Base. Captain Lennon wants you back here ASAP tomorrow morning. Something about a recent addition to your team.”
“Copy that.” Jake frowned. They were at full strength—he didn’t need any additions, especially not in the middle of an active fire. “Tell him I’ll be there at 0700.”
“Roger. Oh, and Jake? He said to clean up. Apparently, it’s important.”
Jake signed off, unease prickling at his spine. In eight years of jumping, “important” usually meant one of three things: budget cuts, bureaucratic nonsense, or something that would make his job harder. All he needed at the moment was chow and sleep.
Tank startled Jake awake a few hours after falling asleep sitting up. The fire crowned again just after midnight, sending Jake’s team scrambling to widen their defensive line.
By the time the sun rose—a pale orange disc barely visible through the smoke—they’d held the northern flank. Exhausted but victorious, Jake left Tank in charge of mop-up operations and caught a ride back to base camp on a supply helicopter.
The flight gave him twenty minutes to wonder what Captain Lennon had planned. Jake reviewed his team’s recent performance metrics, injury reports, equipment requests—everything came up clean. So, why the summons?
Base camp sprawled across a natural meadow like a small city of canvas and aluminum. The portable helipad buzzed with activity as water-bucket ships refueled. Tents in precise rows housed everyone from ground crews to dispatch teams. And at the center of it all, the mobile Incident Command Post—a converted RV that served as the nerve center for firefighting operations.
Jake paused at his tent long enough to change into a fresh uniform shirt and splash water on his face. The mirror above his camp sink showed what it always did after a night on the line: bloodshot eyes, soot in every crease despite his protective gear, and the thousand-yard stare that made civilians nervous.
He found Captain Lennon outside the command post, deep in conversation with someone Jake couldn’t see past the captain’s broad shoulders.
“Morrison.” Lennon turned, revealing his companion. “Right on time. I want you to meet June Harrington.”
Jake couldn’t believe his eyes. The woman from the wedding reception down in Whitewater Bay.
“She’s a reporter with—”
“No.” The word came out before Jake could stop it. “Absolutely not.”
June’s smile didn’t waver, though something shifted in those green eyes. “Nice to meet you again, Mr. Morrison.”
“It’s just Morrison. We don’t take reporters on active fire lines.”
“Morrison.” Lennon’s voice carried a tone that meant this wasn’t a discussion. “She has been approved for a full embed with your team. Orders from the state office.”
“The state office can—” Jake bit off the rest. “Captain, with all due respect, this is insane. We’re fighting an active crown fire, not running a tour service.”
“Which is exactly why I’m here,” June interjected, stepping forward. She was shorter than he’d remembered, barely reaching his shoulder, but something in her posture suggested she was going to hold her ground.
“The legislature is threatening to cut the smokejumper program’s budget by forty percent. They think aerial firefighting is outdated and too expensive. My documentary could change their minds.”
“Your documentary could get someone killed.”
“Morrison.” Lennon’s tone brooked no argument. “This isn’t optional. Miss Harrington has completed basic fire safety training. She’ll be equipped with full protective gear. And she’ll be your responsibility.”
The words made Jake tremble. Your responsibility. Just like Williams had been his responsibility.
“I need my team focused on fighting fire, not babysitting.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” June said, heat creeping into her voice for the first time.
Jake turned back to Lennon. “Captain, you can’t seriously expect me to—”
“I expect you to follow orders.” Lennon’s expression softened. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal. But we need this program to survive. Your team needs it to survive. Her documentary could be the difference between full funding and skeleton crews next season.”
Jake’s jaw clenched hard enough to make his teeth ache. He knew Lennon was right—the budget threats were real. They’d already lost two crews in Oregon to funding cuts. But having a civilian on the line, someone else to protect…
“She follows every order, no questions. “She wears full gear at all times. And if I say she evacuates, she evacuates. Non-negotiable.”
“Of course,” June agreed quickly. Too quickly.
“And no filming during active operations. You want to shoot scenery and interviews at base camp, fine. But when we’re working, the camera stays off.”
June’s expression tightened. “Mr. Morrison, the whole point is to show what you actually do. The public needs to see—”
“The public needs us alive and effective, not distracted by performing for a camera.”
“I’m not asking you to perform. I’m asking you to do your job while I do mine.”
They stared at each other, the morning air thick with smoke and tension. Behind June, Jake could see other firefighters stopping to watch the standoff. Great. Just what he needed—drama in front of the crews.
“Enough,” Lennon said. “You two will work out the details. Miss Harrington, Morrison will get you equipped and oriented. Morrison, play nice. That’s an order.”
The captain strode away before either could protest, leaving them standing in awkward silence.
“Look,” June said after a moment, her tone conciliatory. “I know this isn’t what you want. But I’m here to help. Your program deserves to survive, and I can make that happen if you let me.”
“You want to help?” Jake gestured toward the supply tent. “Then stay out of the way and try not to die. That would help immensely.”
He turned and walked away, not waiting to see if she followed. Behind him, he heard her mutter something that sounded suspiciously like “charming.” But she fell into step anyway, that expensive camera bag bouncing against her hip with each stride.
It was going to be a very long fire season.
You have been reading Fighting Love's Flame...
Sharing a tent with Alaska’s grumpiest smokejumper wasn’t part of June Harrington’s plan—but an overcrowded fire camp left her bunking with the one man who wanted her gone.
Jake Morrison made it clear from day one: her camera was a liability and his crew didn’t need a documentarian filming their every move. She made it equally clear she wasn’t leaving. Not when this assignment was her only shot at redemption for a past tragedy where she filmed instead of helping.
Every dangerous rescue revealed the devastatingly competent man beneath his stoic armor. Every quiet conversation exposed wounds that matched her own. He was drowning in guilt over losing someone under his command.
She understood that guilt better than anyone.
As they work together to save his program from budget cuts, the heat between them burns hotter than any wildfire—but when two people are convinced they don’t deserve second chances, can they risk trusting each other with their carefully guarded hearts?
Fighting Love’s Flame is a medical romance set in Alaska. It’s the third book in the Alaska Rugged Hearts Series and can be read as a standalone.
If you love workplace romance with forced proximity, grumpy smokejumper heroes finding redemption through love, and competent heroines who can save lives with a camera and melt hearts on the fire line—think Only the Brave meets Northern Exposure—then Fighting Love’s Flame is for you.
