Welcome to the Takeover Blitz for Fire Mountain by Dana Mentink hosted by JustRead Publicity Tours!
About the Book
Title: Fire Mountain
Series: Elements of Danger #1
Author: Dana Mentink
Publisher: Revell
Release Date: July 1, 2025
Genre: Mystery & Romantic Suspense
Fire rains from above as they fight to discover the truth and stay alive.
In the shadow of a threatening volcano, long-haul trucker Kit Garrido wakes up in her crashed big rig, unable to recall what happened or why she’s suddenly in possession of someone’s baby. Fiercely independent, she has to admit that perhaps this time she could use a little help.
As the threat of eruption grows, former cop Cullen Landry refuses to leave his cabin in the evacuation area, which is why he’s the only one left who can help Kit escape the crumpled cab of her truck. He doesn’t want to get tangled up in the mystery of the beautiful woman with an abandoned infant, but when he sees the bullet hole in the windshield and the bloody handprint on the interior, he realizes that he’s in this thing, like it or not.
When two armed men with ill intent approach, the race is on to stay alive, discover the truth, and find the baby’s missing mother–all while a deadly mountain rains fire from above.
PURCHASE LINKS: Goodreads | Revell | Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Bookshop
Dana Mentink is a USA Today and Publishers Weekly bestselling author. She’s written more than 50 mystery and suspense novels for Love Inspired Suspense, Harvest House, and Poisoned Pen Press. Winner of two ACFW Carol Awards, a Holt Medallion Award, and a Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award, Dana lives in Northern California with her husband.
Connect with Dana by visiting DanaMentink.com to follow her on social media or subscribe to email newsletter updates.
Excerpt
COLD AND ICE-PICK PAIN bored into Kit Garrido’s temples. Her limbs were leaden, her body a deadweight in the driver’s seat of her big rig. Grit coated her tongue and teeth. She tasted blood. Try as she might, she couldn’t reach out to unbuckle her seat belt. Panic bubbled up in-side her.
She felt movement. Someone yanked hard on the pas- senger door, unleashing pulses of pain.
“Ma’am?” A low baritone, rough.
A big hand skimmed her temple, calloused fingers hard like talons. Through her slitted eyelids, a male torso mate- rialized, a large man in a heavy jacket. Warm ash drifted from his baseball cap and settled on her cheek, featherlight.
“What . . . happened?” Her voice was a croak.
“You crashed.” His voice held the trace of a Southern accent. “Volcano’s unsettled everything. Not safe to stay here.”
Not safe? Crashed? Why wouldn’t her mouth work fast enough to spit out the questions? Fear lapped at her insides as he fumbled for her seat belt.
“You’ve got to wake up. Now.”
She forced her eyes farther open, grabbed the wheel. Cold wind raked her cheek. Wind? She lurched into full consciousness so fast her brain rocked in her skull. Green. Everywhere green mixed with brown, the trees of north- ern Washington all around, the rattling pine needles oddly muted by their coating of volcanic ash. A pine cone dropped on her lap through the gaping hole in the windshield. It left a sooty stain on her knee before it bounced off. She stared at it.
How . . .
He was talking, but she couldn’t follow.
She touched her brown ski cap, then the flannel of her favorite long-haul driving jacket, the feel of the fabrics proving to herself she was alive. Somehow. A hiss of es- caping steam commanded her to acknowledge what she desperately didn’t want to see.
Her beautiful Freightliner truck was wedged cab first, jammed in a crevice between two crooked trees. In the side- view mirror she observed an enormous trench of gouged earth that marked her journey from the road above to the place of impact. The shiny yellow cab with its cozy sleep- ing unit, her home for three-hundred-plus days a year, was squashed like the face of a Pekinese. The pristine white trailer she’d washed that morning was no doubt damaged as well. She closed her eyes and pictured the bold font she’d painstakingly chosen for the Garrido Trucking logo. How absurdly proud she’d felt the day the lettering was applied. Her truck. Her business. Her life. Finally.
Muscles in her throat tightened, and tears started down her face.
Crashed. She’d crashed. Everything she’d worked for, gone. The pain in her head intensified. She stared around wildly. “But what happened? How did I wreck?”
The man shrugged. “Dunno. I’m not sure why you’d even be on Pine Hollow Road in the first place. Pretty ridiculous, considering.”
Ridiculous? She bridled as the location sank in. Pine Hollow? Why there? Deep breaths. One, two, three, then she unbuckled and levered herself from the driver’s seat. Pain lanced her left wrist. Broken or sprained? Her shirt was splattered with blood, though she couldn’t feel any cuts.
“Easy,” the man said, arms outstretched as if to catch her.
Why couldn’t she remember what happened? She must have rolled out of her small office solo that morning, like she always did before picking up her load, the last load she dared haul out of a region under an evacuation advisory. She wouldn’t have chosen Pine Hollow, a twisty route that would take her nearer the volatile Mount Ember. Every- thing she’d learned, the geologic facts she’d devoured, left her itching to escape. Had she lost control? Maybe she’d been knocked out by a falling boulder. Had the noxious gasses venting from the volcano’s bulging side overwhelmed her? But why here?
The cold infiltrated her torn jacket, numbing her arms. Faraway, she heard the distant rumble of thunder or maybe another earthquake from the mountain preparing to blow. No sounds of vehicles, sirens, people. Eerie. Terrifying.
Her thoughts were muddy, slow. Get help. She patted her pockets in a futile search for her cell. Gone somewhere.
The satellite radio was her next choice until she realized it had been pierced by the branch that neatly skewered the windshield. Her throat went dry. A few inches to the left and it would have impaled her too. Ruined also was the precious old-school CB she’d rebuilt, which would have instantly connected her with a fellow trucker.
The man was still staring at her. He straightened and leaned closer. “Are you hurt badly? I can carry you.”
She couldn’t make herself answer, so he went on. “Your radio’s crushed, I see. My cell phone has no bars down here. Where’s your phone?”
She jammed her knit cap on tighter. Hurt or not, she wouldn’t let any stranger control the conversation, espe- cially not in her rig. “I’ll find it.”
He shook his head. “You rest a minute. I’m gonna hop out and make sure your truck’s not on fire or anything.” He muscled his way back out the passenger door, the metal protesting with a bloodcurdling shriek.
She didn’t see any sign of his vehicle through the filthy glass. Where had he come from? There were no helpful locals out and about under the present circumstances. Nerves tightened in her stomach. A trucker alone with cargo was vulnerable, a female trucker even more so.
Protect yourself. She fumbled for the crowbar, but the seat was collapsed on top of it. Instead she yanked the fire extinguisher loose, which made her head feel like it was going to detonate. Best she could do. She eased closer to the fractured passenger window.
The ground was a moonscape of ash and debris. The man eased along, a palm on the cab for support, and she got another chance to examine him. Long legs, cowboy boots, flannel shirt, Yankees baseball cap, and a scar—she hadn’t noticed that before. It bisected his left eyebrow. He disappeared around the other side of the rig before return- ing a few moments later. The closer he got, the taller he was, probably six four and muscled. More than a match for her five-foot-five, hundred-ten-pound frame. The fear resurged. Protect yourself.
The extinguisher cut into her clenched palm. He drew close enough to the open passenger door for her to catch the light brown of his eyes, almost translucent like smoke. When he tried to climb aboard, she raised the extinguisher. “Where did you come from?”
His lips quirked. “Originally? South Carolina.” That explained the drawl. “I meant . . .”
“I know what you meant.” He shot a look at the ravaged landscape before he turned back. “Top of the ridge. My cabin’s up there. I was on my roof and I saw you go over the shoulder. I was surprised six ways to Sunday. Didn’t even hear you coming because the wind was howl- ing, and I sure didn’t expect any rigs to be in this area. Anyway, I hightailed it here in my truck. It’s parked up a ways.”
“I don’t know you.” A silly remark.
“Don’t know you either. You from around here?” She wouldn’t tell him where she lived.
“Close.”
He pointed to the fire extinguisher and heaved out a breath. “Are you going to clobber me with that or not? I promise it’s not necessary.” He held up his palms. How does anyone have fingers that long? “You need first aid before we get out of here, and I’m the only one here to give it to you whether you like it or not.” He plucked the kit from the pocket in the door and wiggled it at her. “You’re bleeding.”
“I don’t need first aid.”
He said something in reply, but his words seemed to come from far away, a rushing sound drowning them out as dizziness overcame her.
The extinguisher dropped to the floor, and she sank onto the driver’s seat while he climbed in and slammed the pas- senger door. A wave of nausea enveloped her. Hastily he dumped out the first aid kit and shoved the container under her chin as she wretched. He handed her a clean handker- chief from his pocket with a neat C embroidered on it.
She stared at the precisely folded, pristine cloth.
His cheeks pinked. “I know. No one carries these things anymore. Mama insists, and she sends me a box of ’em every Christmas.” He looked intently at her. “I’m fairly certain you have yourself a concussion.”
Dana Mentink, Fire Mountain
Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group, © 2025. Used by permission
My Impressions
“Not a family, not them. Just . . . united strangers. ‘I know you aren’t a blood family, but people can be put together in unexpected ways.’”Archie
I wanted to check my blood pressure. It had to be high. After finishing Dana Mentink’s Fire Mountain romantic suspense novel, I felt so in tune with the characters, I thought I had run from men who built their money on exploitation. I was nearly sure I was trying desperately to escape a rumbling volcano. I lost myself in the drama, intrigue, baby care, and natural disaster unfolding in the book. So artfully told, I’ll never forget.
An everyman and everywoman hero. That’s what Cullen and Kit are. An ex-policeman, who can’t recover from his last call, and is now a horse rancher. A proud, independent, truck driver whose immediate memory is gone. Why is there a 9-month-old baby in her care? Kit knows nothing about babies. Worse, why is she headed back into the evacuation zone of Mt. Ember, threatening to blow her top? ( Do you either remember Mt. St. Helens or remember learning about her in school?) Since we were nearly across the nation, yet our summer weather was affected for months, I could only imagine how horrifying it would be to be in the danger zone! Plus, while injured, with baby in tow, Kit and Cullen discover someone is after them with deadly weapons!
Fortunately for the reader, Mentink has a great sense of humor. When I thought I would explode myself because of the building suspense, Mentink would insert levity. It might be trading witty lines between Cullen and Kit, or it might involve Archie, a crusty former Marine who had refused to leave his home on the mountain.
I loved Archie’s character! He is an enigma to be sure! Rough and gruff, yet “grandpa” with the baby.
In some ways, this book reads like a nightmare. Just when you think Kit and Cullen might be safe, either the mountain creates terror or Nico and Simon are hot on their trail again. However, Fire Mountain has embers of hope, where romance, character strength, and faith shine through.
One faith message is that of forgiveness. Kit has struggled with the absence of forgiveness in her past. Plus, she has a past she’s not proud of. “God forgives you for all that, Kit,”says Cullen.
“You’re not credible to say that though, are you?”…”Because you don’t believe what you say, deep down. You don’t live like it anyway,” Kit retorts. Ouch!
I find it interesting that Kit compares two sides of unforgiveness to equating oneself to God. “If a person can’t accept forgiveness themselves, or refuses to give it to someone else, it puts them in the place of God, doesn’t it?” Just in case it sounds like there is a lot of headtime in this book, let me say there are snatches. They are sandwiched between the desperate and the good times, perfectly placed to stimulate thinking, without losing the quick pace of this breathtaking story.
I received a copy of the book from the author and publisher through Just Reads and Netgalley. I also bought my own copy. No positive review was required, and all opinions are my own.
Notable Quotables:
“There’s your plan, and God’s plan, and yours doesn’t count.”– Kit’s father
“Rose- colored glasses aren’t going to keep us from dying.” “I prefer to attribute it to experience. I’ve seen God do plenty of miracles, so why not another one here and now?”– Kit, Cullen
“loving someone was one thing. Living it out was altogether different…”
“This moment, these days, his life, would be over when God said so. Not a moment before.”
My Rating
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Superior! I am having a bit of trouble remembering that I was NOT a part of this spectacular drama! I won’t soon forget it!
Tour Giveaway
(1) winner will receive a copy of Fire Mountain and a $20 Amazon gift card!
Be sure to check out each stop on the tour for more chances to win. Full tour schedule linked below. Giveaway began at midnight July 9, 2025 and lasts through 11:59 PM EST on July 16, 2025. Winner will be notified within 2 weeks of close of the giveaway and given 48 hours to respond or risk forfeiture of prize. US only. Void where prohibited by law or logistics.
Giveaway is subject to the policies found here.
Follow along at JustRead Tours for a full list of stops!
Book Title: The Mending of Lillian Cathleen
Linda Brooks Davis was born and reared on a farm in Raymondville, a small Rio Grande Valley community in the southernmost tip of Texas. Linda earned a Bachelor’s Degree in Speech Pathology from Abilene Christian University and a Master’s Degree from Houston Baptist University. She retired in 2008 after forty years as a special educator and administrator. Linda and her beloved husband Al worship and minister at Oak Hills Church in San Antonio and dote on six grandchildren, three of whom are triplets. Readers may contact Linda through her website, 
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