A Son for the Mountain Firefighter
by Melinda Curtis
Honesty first! I know very little about firefighting. I had read one novel about a wildfire prior to reading A Son for the Mountain Firefighter. In traveling, I have seen groups of enthusiastic firefighters stopping for lunch on their way to fire camps. Of course, there is the occasional TV show with burning buildings, but they are pretty far removed from mountain firefighting. Melinda Curtis’ Mountain Firefighter Series contains an interesting blend of romance and firefighter procedural.
Handsome Jackson Garrett, nicknamed “Golden” because of his luck, has demons to face: his status as a husband and father and his fear of fire after losing a rookie firefighter on his crew. Curtis takes us behind the scenes to see how hard the firefighting life is on the family back home and the difficulties of fighting fires fueled by dry foliage and fickle winds. We experience the firefighters’ camaraderie as well as the isolating necessity to show no weakness.
Although I was at times uncomfortable reading about fires, I learned a lot about the subject, which I consider a real plus. I enjoyed the characters who were realistically portrayed as simultaneously weak and strong. It was a fairly quick read and so interesting that I didn’t want to put it down. Now I’m looking forward to reading Twins for the Mountain Firefighter that focuses on Jackson’s best friend Logan, AKA Tin Man, a name given him by a “particularly disappointed woman” who “publicly proclaimed Logan to be lacking a heart.”
I would like to extend my thanks to Melinda Curtis for giving me the opportunity to read this book in exchange for an honest review.
Category: Romance, Action
Notes: #1 in the Mountain Firefighter Series—clean and heartwarming
Publication: February 24, 2020—Purple Papaya Press
“Love is about feeling closer to your partner than to anyone else on the planet. Feeling so close that you know what it is they need. And needing to be with them more than you need to breathe air.”
Oh, his anger. It tested her strength like a gust of cold, winter wind.
Not the honest sweat from clearing brush, but the cowardly sweat that clung to the body as tightly as the fingers of death.