Wildfire Vows

Harper’s POV

There were places in the world where time stood still.

Unfortunately for me, that place was Pine Haven, Oregon.

The moment my boots hit the cracked pavement of Main Street, it was like stepping back into a version of myself I’ve buried three years ago. The same diner, with its chipped turquoise awning. The same hardware store, with its squeaky sign. Even the same pair of retired men perched outside the fire station, nursing coffee and gossip like it was their religion.

And behind it all, looming over the town like an ever-watchful god, was the forest. Dense. Green. Quiet—for now.

I adjusted the strap of my leather duffel bag and took a breath. The scent hit me like a gut punch. Pine, smoke, and memory.

I hated how good it felt.

The cab that dropped me off peeled away, the tires crunching over loose gravel. I didn’t move. Just stared down the street toward the courthouse, where my lawyer was waiting with the final papers. Divorce. Signed. Sealed. Over.

Well, almost.

“Just a formality,” I muttered to myself.

A formality that would free me from the one man who knew how to light me up—and tear me apart.

Jake Lawson.

God, even the name made my chest tighten. He wasn’t just a chapter in my past—he’d been the whole damn book. First love. First heartbreak. First everything. We married young, wild with hope and hormones, and it burned too hot to last.

We lasted three years.

And I’ve spent another three trying not to look back.

I squared my shoulders and started walking. No more flashbacks. No more longing. I’ve come for one reason: to end it. Officially. Cleanly.

But the universe was cruel.

Because just as I crossed the corner, fate—or hell, maybe karma—hit me with a reminder of exactly what I was trying to forget.

Jake.

I heard him before I saw him. That low, familiar chuckle echoed from the direction of the fire station. Deep and rough, like gravel warmed by sunlight.

My head turned on instinct, traitorous and too slow to stop.

And there he was.

Leaning against the fire engine, gear pants slung low on his hips, soot on his jaw like it belonged there. His tan was deeper, his build broader, and his hair—shorter now—still curled at the ends when he sweat. He had his helmet tucked under one arm, the other raised in casual conversation with another firefighter.

Jake turned then, mid-laugh.

And froze.

Our eyes locked.

The grin slipped from his face like a switch had been thrown. And me? I felt that old heat crackle beneath my skin like dry tinder waiting for a spark.

God, why did he still have to look like sin in turnout pants?

Jake’s gaze dropped to my bag, then back to my face. His expression tightened. Guarded. The way it used to get right before our biggest fights—when love turned to ash between us.

I didn’t wave.

Didn’t smile.

I turned my face away and walked.

The courthouse was only three blocks away, but it felt like miles.

I kept my pace steady. Ignored the burn in my chest. Ignored the sound of his boots behind me when he crossed the road. Ignored the rush of memories that threatened to rise like smoke from the ashes.

Don’t look back.

I never had a damn good poker face, but today I tried. Because I’d promised myself, after everything, that I’d never let Jake Lawson see me break again.

Too bad Pine Haven had other plans.

Just as I reached the steps of the courthouse, a woman barreled out the door. Phone in one hand, panic in her eyes.

“Evacuation notice just came through,” she said breathlessly. “The fire changed direction. It’s headed for town.”

I blinked. “Fire?”

The woman nodded. “Wildfire. Fast-moving. And bad.”

I heard sirens wail in the distance, fast and sharp.

Behind me, Jake’s voice rang out—loud, clear, unmistakably in command.

“Harper!”

I turned, slowly this time, and met his eyes again.

This time, I didn’t look away.

Because this wasn’t just about old vows and signed papers anymore.

This was about survival.

Jake’s POV

Harper.

It had been three damn years since I’ve seen her in person. Three years since her scent had been more than a memory, since her voice had been more than a ghost in my head.

And there she was.

Standing at the top of the courthouse steps like some goddamn vision. Same storm in her eyes. Same hips that used to fit perfectly beneath my hands. She wore that leather jacket I used to love that she stole on cold nights, and her hair was longer now, tied back like she meant business.

She always meant business when she was trying to avoid feelings.

My pulse kicked hard.

Of course, she’d come back today. Of all days. Right before a fire was about to eat half the town alive.

I should’ve turned around. Walked back into the station. Let her go.

But my feet didn’t get the message.

“Harper!”

She turned toward me slowly, chin lifted like a dare. Same fire. Same edge. And God help me, that look still did things to me it had no damn business doing.

“You picked a hell of a time to show up,” I said as I jogged up the steps. “Town’s about to burn.”

“I heard,” she said calmly, but I didn’t miss the way her fingers tightened on the strap of her bag. “Lucky me.”

The sarcasm was pure Harper.

So was the tight control. I’ve seen behind that mask once—seen her cry, seen her scream, seen her break. And she’d seen me break, too. Maybe that was why we never worked. Too much fire, not enough control.

Or maybe the problem was that we never really put the fire out. Just poured gas on it and hoped it didn’t explode.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, even though he already knew the answer. Her presence was a gut punch I’ve been bracing for since the lawyers called.

“Final papers.” She held up the envelope like a shield. “I came to finish it.”

My jaw ticked. “You came to erase us.”

Her eyes flared, just for a second, before she took a breath and stepped down the stairs, past me, not toward me. “I came to do what we agreed on.”

I followed. “Funny. Thought we agreed on forever once.”

Harper stopped mid-step, turning slowly. “Forever burned down, Jake. You were holding the matches.”

That hit like a blow to the ribs, but I didn’t flinch. Not this time. Not when there were real flames on the horizon.

“Look,” I said, raking a hand through my hair. “This isn’t the place or the time, alright? We’re about to lose half the north ridge if the wind doesn’t change.”

She nodded, all business again. “Then go. Do what you do best.”

I didn’t move. “You got a place to stay?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“Town’s being evacuated. There’s nothing to figure out.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not staying with you.”

I let out a breath. “Jesus, woman, I wasn’t offering a vacation. I’m offering shelter.”

“And I’m telling you, I’ll find my own.”

“For Christ’s sake, Harper—”

A sudden roar echoed from the distance. Not thunder. Not wind.

Fire.

The sound of trees dying fast and hot.

My radio crackled from my belt. “Command to all units, fire’s breached the containment line. Emergency shelter orders are in place. Repeat—emergency shelter orders are in place.”

Harper looked up at me, pale now.

I grabbed her arm, firm but not rough. “We don’t have time to argue.”

“I’m not—”

I didn’t let her finish. “You want to sign those papers later? Fine. But right now, you’re coming with me. And don’t pretend you’re too proud to let me save your ass.”

“I don’t need saving.”

I stepped closer, voice low. “No. But I do. Because if something happened to you—”

Harper’s eyes met mine, wide and stunned.

I swallowed. The words sat heavy on my tongue.

“Come on,” I said instead. “My truck’s around the corner. There’s a shelter location just outside town.”

And because the fire didn’t care about closure or pride or past mistakes, she nodded.

I let her go.

But something in her gaze told me that fire was between them?

It wasn’t finished burning.

Not even close.