“This is the weirdest hooky I’ve ever played,” Riley said. She peeled the backing off the children’s “honorary firefighter” sticker Don had given her and stuck it to her shirt.
“Agreed,” Mark said, pulling the sucker out of his mouth. He’d lucked out with cream soda. “Have you had enough, then?”
“Is there more?”
“That depends on you.”
She tapped her chin with her finger. “Hmm, I seem to recall this guy wanting me to paint something for him for Christmas.”
His brow furrowed. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your commitments.”
“Ha,” she said. “I’ve been away from my commitments for”—she counted on her fingers—“less than six hours, and I think I’ve piled on even more. How did you manage that?”
“I didn’t manage anything. Volunteering at the firehouse is all you.”
“Oh yeah, like I’m going to let you keep all of your selflessness to your . . . self.” She scrunched up her nose, and Mark shook his head, putting the sucker back in his mouth.
“I’ve got a few books you can borrow,” he said around the stick. “You can at least read up on procedural stuff and decide if you still want to do it.”
“I do want to do it,” she said. “Besides school, and the nativity, and the renovations, I don’t have anything else going on. I’m strong. I’m smart. My summers are free.”
“Are you going to be here this summer?”
Her confidence wavered. “What?”
They were pulling down her street, and he parked in front of her house.
He removed the sucker from his mouth. “Are you going to be here this summer?” he repeated slowly.
She faced forward, smoothing her expression. “I’m not sure, but it’s looking that way. I mean, the first year of teaching is probationary in Washington, so if they don’t like me, or if I don’t really like the school—” She trailed off. She rubbed at the knot forming in her chest. New Orleans rose in her thoughts.
“Riley?”
“What?”
“Just think about it before you commit. Okay? It’s real.”
“And teaching isn’t real?” She’d committed to teaching. She just hadn’t committed to teaching in Miracle Creek . . . yet.
“Both are real,” he said. “All I’m saying is, think about it.”
She took a breath, knowing he was right. But it wasn’t that simple. “I’ve done a lot of different things. Taken a lot of paths. It’s how I work. Just because I want to explore another path doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be important to me. I’ve considered a lot of important things. And I’ve left a lot of important things.”
He looked away.
“Mostly for the better,” she added. “It’s life.”
A muscle worked in his cheek. “You said you’ve always wished for a home.”
“No, I said I stopped wishing for one.”
He turned to her, his brow furrowed. “You’re messed up.”
She blinked at him, this boy-hero-man who hid from people behind a hood. “You think I’m messed up? You stalk people instead of calling them on the phone.”
He leaned toward her. “You threaten people in cars with baseball bats.”
“That joke’s older than the Stickley.”
He glowered at her, and she matched him for a moment.
And then he began to laugh. That rich, deep laugh that first taught her who he really was.
She smiled. And for the first time she considered what it might be like to leave Mark Rivers behind.
She pushed the thought away. “So, plunk head, do you want to see how the nativity is coming along?”
He nodded. “Sure thing, C-fire.”
She wrinkled her nose. “C-fire?”
“Trust me.” He stuck the sucker back in his mouth. “It fits.”
Riley watched Mark out of the corner of her eye. He chopped vegetables while she browned hamburger for spaghetti sauce. He was good at it.
“Are you cooking more at home?” she asked.
He nodded. “We’ve gotten by with mac and cheese, Stouffers, and sometimes Dad’s famous tuna casserole, which is not famous for its taste, trust me. Steph goes to Costco once a month and brings us fruit because she’s afraid we’ll die of scurvy. I told her I’d be better at feeding us.”
“Where does your sister live?” she asked.
“Over on Cedar.”
“She married someone from here?”
“No, they met at WSU. He’s from Richland, but he liked it here and found a job in Wenatchee. Steph never intended to live outside of this valley. She made that pretty clear when they were dating, I think.”
“You’ll have to introduce me.” She was curious to meet more of the Rivers family.
“I don’t think so,” he said, bringing the chopped onions and peppers over and sliding them off the cutting board with the knife.
“Why not?” She stirred in the veggies, inhaling the scent rising from the pan.
“Because she’s a whole other type of fire, and I can only handle one of you at a time right now.”
She gave him a funny look, then opened the jar of sauce.
He’d been pleased with her progress on the nativity. She’d finished a sheep and had begun work on the star last night. She’d thought she’d get to work right away on the baby after they’d figured out the face, but she’d only been able to pencil it onto the black board. She’d stood poised over what would be the baby in the manger with her paintbrush for ten minutes before she’d decided to work her way up. After all, she figured, it would be best to work the kinks out on the lesser characters first.
She glanced over her shoulder as Mark poured a bag of salad into a bowl and rummaged through the drawers for serving utensils.
They’d looked at paint sample cards for the front room and discussed her plans for the bathroom. He’d rooted around her art room while she’d readied the paints, and then they’d talked about his mom while she painted. He’d rigged her easel and a large bucket from the garage into an angled support so she wouldn’t have to work on a flat surface, which would save her shoulder muscles on the bigger pieces.
The star that she’d dismissed as potentially boring in its angular simplicity took on a life of its own, battling its symmetry and two dimensions as she added color upon fiery color. Riley couldn’t say how much time had passed before she noticed Mark had stopped browsing and just watched her.
Then the growl of her stomach told her it was past dinnertime, and she offered him dinner. He hadn’t refused.
She returned her focus to stirring the sauce, when the noodles began boiling over, water hissing on the stovetop. Riley grabbed the handles and pushed the pot off the burner.
She yelped as heat blossomed over the palm of her left hand.
Mark appeared at her side, taking her hand and steering her to the sink. He ran a stream of cold water over her hand.
“I think that handle was over the other burner,” she said, trying to pull her hand away.
“Do you have any potatoes?” he asked, keeping her hand in place.
“Um, sure, in that cupboard over there. Why?”
He grabbed a potato and cut it in half lengthwise. He pulled her hand from the water and dried it with a paper towel. Then he pressed the potato cut-side down to the skin of her burned palm.
“Is that okay?” he asked.
“I was really hoping for noodles.” She could tell from his expression that he wasn’t in the mood to joke.
“Rub this around a little,” he said. “The juice helps.”
She followed his directions with the potato. “It feels nice. Thanks.”
He stepped back. “I’ve got some burn cream in my truck. Do you have bandages?”
“Yes, in the first aid kit. Maybe.” She s
miled wryly. “Nothing like burning yourself with an ex-fireman around to make you reevaluate your emergency preparedness.”
He didn’t laugh. He lifted the potato, examining her skin, and nodded. “Not too bad. The burn cream should take care of it. I’ll be right back.”
She watched him go, realizing his perspective of something like a little kitchen burn. The weight of what he’d been through began to settle on her. If it had been her right hand, she’d have a hard time holding a paintbrush or chopsticks—or anything—until it healed.
He came back in with the biggest, most official-looking first aid kit she’d ever seen. He motioned her over to the table and sat next to her, angling so he faced her better.
He opened the kit and pulled out a little blue jar.
“Give me your hand,” he said.
She did.
He removed the potato and soaked a cotton pad in alcohol, brushing it across the fleshy part under her thumb. It felt cool across her palm. He waited a second for the alcohol to dry, then applied some white cream from the blue jar.
She felt immediate relief. “Thank you.”
“My aunt gets it from Mexico. Good stuff. Apply it again tonight. Let me know if it blisters, okay?”
“Okay.” She smiled, but it was subdued. She thought of all the other burns he’d had to worry about. Keeping them clean, wrapping them, applying cream. And the skin grafts . . .
He finished up and repacked the first aid kit.
She reached with her good hand and held him there before he stood. “Thanks. Really. When stuff like this happens . . . it’s nice to have someone help.”
He nodded. “You’re welcome.”
And she saw it. His need to help. His desire to use what he knew to protect others. He was a fireman, like he said. He had to be in that red truck.
After dinner was done and dishes were cleaned, they stood in the nearly finished walkway between the front room and kitchen. Riley glanced at the clock on the wall.
“What a day,” she said.
“But a good day, though. I hope.”
“A really good day.” She shivered.
“Are you cold?”
“It’s this house. Even with the windows sealed, it’s drafty. I loved having the fire the other night.”
“It’s only eight. Were you going to stay up and paint, or . . . ?”
She shook her head. “No more painting tonight. I think I’ll let this rest a bit.” She lifted her hand.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not much.”
“Do you want to build a fire?”
She hesitated, knowing his discomfort around any flame. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.”
So they built a fire, carefully, methodically, and they pushed the sofa in front of it. She sat with her blanket around her shoulders.
“That feels nice,” she said, watching the flames.
“Good.”
One of the logs sizzled and snapped, and Mark seemed to get lost in the glow from the flames.
“What happened?” she heard herself ask. “When you saved those boys?”
He turned away, and she worried that she’d overstepped her boundaries.
“It’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to tell me.”
“No. It’s just . . . it’s a long story.”
She scooted over on the sofa, pulling her blanket out of his way, and waited, watching him with a mix of curiosity and fear for what she’d just asked him to do.
Mark studied the space next to Riley on the couch. She’d moved to the left, and he wondered if she’d done it so he’d be less uncomfortable, or if he was just overthinking a girl making space for him. His fight-or-flight response kicked in, and for a second, he froze.
But the desire to tell somebody who wasn’t a reporter or an official or his shrink surged through him, and he dropped down next to her before his feet pushed him out the door. Even then, he was unsure how to answer Riley’s question.
What happened when you saved those boys?
He focused on the boys.
“We’d been called up into the Chelan Complex.” The words came slow off his tongue. Like gears that hadn’t turned in a long time. “They were short on fighters. The fires that summer—I’d never seen anything so devastating in my career. Our crew was helping with emergency evacuations.” He remembered a few faces. People had been cooperative, but panic was always underneath.
“The fire had turned on this area outside of Chelan. The winds were brutal. We hit this nicer stretch of homes on acreages, and some parents discovered a few of their younger boys were missing. They’d thought they were with other families, but one of the parents guessed the kids had gone to their fort. My gut turned to rock when they pointed in the direction they thought they might be. We barely convinced the parents to follow the evacuation plan. We couldn’t spare the crew, so Jay and I took off with one of the dads to look for six boys, aged seven to ten.”
He sat back, rubbing his hands together, feeling Riley’s eyes on him and the heat of the flames in the grate.
“Forest fire gear isn’t the same as standard gear, you know?” He looked at Riley.
She shook her head, her large eyes pale against the dark room.
“The uniform is lighter. A shirt and pants. Smaller helmet and a backpack. Goggles, if the smoke gets bad. Out there, your main worries are heat exhaustion. Dehydration. We approached this stand of old trees in the foothills, clouds of black smoke behind.” He shook his head. “I was worried. I could see Jay was, too, but he didn’t slow. We just had the crew truck, no road. We stopped about a quarter mile out and booked it on foot.”
Riley curled her legs underneath her, and he looked back at the fire. The memory would become more intense now. It always did.
Her hand folded around his, anchoring him to the present.
“We left the dad. Told him we needed somebody there when we brought the boys out. I don’t know how we got him to stay. We headed into the smoke, following a trail into the trees—tall old pines creaking in the wind and the heat. We heard a scream, so we ran that way. When we reached the trees, the flames were already there, high in the tops and on the ground. Burning debris falling everywhere. Jay called out, and I followed. He saw what I hadn’t. Partway up one of the bigger trunks, about fifteen feet, the kids had built a platform, no walls. The tree above them was lit up and hot. One boy was already on the ground, coughing. I took care of him while Jay called out for the others.
“We heard them, above us on the platform. I don’t know how they were breathing up there. The remains of a charred rope ladder swayed from the top. Jay kicked at the part that had fallen, tangled in the burning branches near the boy. I could see Jay’s mind working. There wasn’t a tree he couldn’t climb.”
Mark pictured Jay as a kid, scrambling up the tallest pines they could find on his property, smiling and hollering like a lunatic.
“I radioed the crew and then focused on the boy—Zack,” he said. “He’d broken his leg trying to jump from the platform to get help. I bound him up best I could and lifted him, running him outside the trees. I signaled to the dad, who was running to meet me, and then I charged back in. Jay had made it up the tree. He’d tied his own rope on and had a boy over his shoulder as he rappelled down the trunk. He handed him off to me, and I ran him outside. Set the boy down, checked him over. His name was Dylan.”
Mark paused, his eyes unfocused, watching the flames in the fireplace and in his head.
“Then what happened?” Riley gently prodded.
Mark took a deep breath, still watching the flames dance. “I ran back and Jay was coming down with another boy. That was three. We were only halfway done.
“An older tree on the far side fell with a crash, taking a couple smaller ones with it and spreading flames. I yelled at Jay to hurry a
s I left with the third boy.” Mark’s chest knotted up, making it hard to breathe. “Stupid thing to say. He was climbing that tree like a squirrel.” He pulled his hat off and ran a hand through his hair. His leg bounced. “When I came back, he’d made it down again and tossed the fourth boy over my shoulder. I yelled at him that I’d go up. He waved me off.
“‘Are you kidding?’ he said. ‘Only two more.’
“When I got back again, things had slowed. He was shouting from above. ‘Platform’s burning! Be careful!’ Yeah, like I was the one who needed to be careful. Jay was coming down with the last two boys, one over either shoulder, and I didn’t like the looks of that treetop. The wind was whipping. Flaming branches were falling. The whole stand would be an inferno, and we were right in the middle of it. The heat would get us before the flames did.”
He felt Riley’s grip on his hand tighten. He was almost done. Nearly there.
“Jay was bigger than me. Stronger too. Not as fast but he powered through and made it down. I caught one of the boys as soon as I could reach him.”
He tried to take a breath, but it hitched. In his mind, he saw that exchange again, that nod of Jay’s—We made it. We did good.
His voice came out husky. “I remember hearing a huge crack, like splitting rock, and I fought to keep my legs under me as we sprinted out of there, lungs choking. Then came this shove. Jay—he’d shoved his boy at me, full force, and it was all I could do to grab the boy’s waist as we stumbled back ten feet. ‘Go!’ Jay yelled. I caught Jay’s expression as he went down, the ferocity in his eyes just before the tree fell like a hammer.”
The silence in the room engulfed him.
Riley wrapped her other hand around his as he struggled against his emotions. Two. Two small hands keeping him tethered. After a minute, he continued, his voice breaking.
“I was dazed—shouting for him. But the weight of the boys and the wave of heat from the fallen tree drove me back, and I had to go. I had to leave him there.” He swallowed hard. “I got the boys out and set them down. I somehow missed the emergency vehicles arriving, missed the rest of my crew holding me back as the copse collapsed on itself. Didn’t matter. I shook them off and charged back in there. I managed to find the tree, and Jay, in the smoke and heat. He was so still. I pulled and . . .” He shook his head. “Another crack. I heard him again—in my head. ‘Go!’ It felt like everything moved in slow motion. I couldn’t breathe. I managed to turn and fall, but another tree came down. Smaller. But I was trapped in the burning branches. I tried to get out—had to pull my hand out of my glove, but I didn’t get any farther. I was going to die with Jay. Part of me was okay with that.”
Miracle Creek Christmas Page 21
