“You’re not wrong,” Jubal said. “Well, it’s probably a tie between you and Sugar.” He leaned against the machine. “How are your parents?”

“Good,” I said, too tired to correct him.

“And the brood?”

“The siblings are all good too. Sam just moved to the east coast. Kendra is a senior in high school. Kara is a sophomore in college this year. Everyone else is just plugging along.” I only gave him the highlights. We were too many to update anyone on all of us unless they specifically asked.

“How does Jenn feel about Sam moving?”

“About the same as she did when I left.”

Jubal nodded. “How long has it been?”

“Since I left?”

“Since you’ve heard from Becca.”

I made a face. “You know the answer to that.” I stood, sanitized the equipment, wiped off the remaining sweat on my neck and arms, and tossed the towel into my basket in the utility room as I passed. The washer was shaking, mid-spin cycle, as if it was trying to forget the love of its life too.

“It gets easier,” Jubal called across the room. “Heard you met a girl and she’s pretty … impressive.”

I crossed my arms as I leaned against the doorjamb. “You all gossip more than my siblings.”

He threw his head back and laughed out loud. “I guess we do.”

Jubal had been promoted to captain the season before, and there was no better man for the job. He was also a great therapist when it was called for. He’d steered me straight more than once.

Jubal’s cell phone rang. He walked out into the hall and stood with our superintendent, Chief. Chief was the opposite of Jubal: balding, faded brown hair, a large, misshapen nose, and he towered over us, even the Maddox boys, at nearly six feet six. He looked every bit a leader, and we all trusted him implicitly.

I showered and put on a clean pair of shorts, stopping just short of my bed when Jubal walked out. Everyone turned to listen to him speak.

“The Queens Canyon Fire has been upgraded. Everyone get your gear and let’s head down.”

“Is that Colorado Springs?” Watts asked.

“Yep. Let’s go,” Jubal said.

Everyone smiled. We ended up at the Springs a lot, and, more importantly, we had a good relationship with the owner of the Colorado Springs Hotel—who also happened to be the hotel bartender.

I pulled out my pack and began shoving my personal effects—my uniform, playing cards, toiletries, boots, wallet, keys and cell phone. I snapped my helmet onto the fabric loop at the top then made a bee-line to the truck bay. In as little time as it took me to pack, I wasn’t the fastest. Half the crew were already in place and ready to roll.

“I have a good feeling about this one,” Tyler said, grabbing my shoulder.