by MJ Fredrick
She couldn’t pass them in fast enough. The children whimpered at the approaching fire. The rocks on which they stood heated and when the girls went down on their bellies, they cried in pain. Peyton noticed with horror that the soles of the counselor’s cheap tennis shoes were melting and sticking to the rock beneath them.
Finally, only the counselor was left and the fire practically licked their heels. Peyton shoved Gabe’s pack at the counselor, who took it and pushed it ahead of her through the opening. Peyton dove in with her own pack the moment the counselor’s bubbling rubber-soled shoes were out of sight.
The passage was both rough and steep, so she half slid, half stutter-stopped, letting gravity do most of the work. Her helmet tumbled down before her, and then the tunnel was pitch dark.
The last little bit of the passage was almost vertical and she lost her grip and tumbled into Gabe. He caught her, but with her pack added to her weight, she knocked him on his butt. He went down with his arms around her, still in protective mode.
For a moment, Peyton let herself stay there, her cheek against his chest, listening to the thundering of his heart telling her he’d been as frightened as she. They’d made it. By working together, they’d made it. For the first time she realized how close they were to dying. He squeezed her a bit, as if to remind her she was safe, before he released her.
“I bet you wish you hadn’t begged to come,” he murmured, setting her aside to see to the campers.
“I haven’t decided yet.” She reached for her helmet, and saw the surprise on his face in the dim light from her headlamp.
The cave wasn’t tall enough for the adults to stand, and the section they were in was too narrow for them to sit. After giving everyone a drink of water, Gabe took the lead to find more comfortable quarters. Exhausted, tears streaking their soot-blackened faces, the children followed.
The floor by the entrance had been littered with stones, but as they moved deeper, the floor became smoother, washed by rainwater over the years. Peyton wondered how far in they’d have to go to satisfy Gabe, and how the hell they were going to get out.
Fortunately for his charges, Gabe didn’t need to go much farther. He found an eye-shaped “room”, narrow at each end, open in the middle, where they would all comfortably fit. He scoured the room with his flashlight, searching for dangers before declaring it safe.
The fatigued children dropped to the floor in a heap. Peyton plopped down and rummaged through her pack. To Gabe’s amazement, she pulled out about a half-dozen bags of cookies and passed them out to the girls, who came to life to devour them ravenously. She handed over a bottle of water for them to share as well, gave another to the counselor.
“Cookies, rookie?” he asked skeptically.
“Hypoglycemia,” she said without a glance.
“Glucose pills are better and don’t take as much space. Those have to be crumbs by now.”
When she realized he wouldn’t ream her for her secret, she lifted her head and studied him through the gloomy light. “But pills wouldn’t do us any good right now with hungry kids, would they?” She tossed him a pack of sugary crumbs.
He grinned and tossed them back, opening his own pack. “I prefer beef jerky.”
“Tough guy,” she muttered. “Like you couldn’t use some sweetening up.”
He laughed, then noticed the counselor leaning against a rock on the edge of the floor, slowly peeling off her ruined shoes.
Gabe hadn’t realized she’d been wearing thin-soled tennis shoes, but at her cry of pain, he carried his pack over and knelt by her. He handed her the flashlight and tugged off his gloves to inspect the damage. The rubber soles had not only melted outside, but inside around the insole, and stuck to her socks, which weren’t very thick themselves. She had to be hurting, but how the hell would she get down the mountain with no shoes?
An afterthought, he reached for the radio at his belt and yanked his hand away with a yelp. The supposedly fire-resistant tool had melted into a gray clump. Useless. He looked over at Peyton, who was pouring the last of the cookie crumbs down her throat and wadding up the cellophane bag.
“Hey, rookie, you wouldn’t happen to have a cell phone in your magic pack, would you?”
She gave him a withering stare and reached into a pocket in the front of her pack. Damn, if she had one, it’d be melted to hell too.
The shiny silver job she held out to him was intact. “It won’t do us any good in here.”
“No, but once we go up, we’ll call a medevac chopper.” He took the phone and placed it by his pack, then turned back to the counselor. “This is going to hurt, but probably less now than later when the rubber cools and hardens again.”
The woman nodded and braced herself against the wall. Without being asked, Peyton slid over and put her arm around the woman’s shoulders. Observant was good. He sent Peyton a glance of appreciation, which she acknowledged with a small smile.
“What’s your name?” she asked, and when the woman focused on Gabe, Peyton tilted her face toward her and repeated the question.
Stubborn could be good too.
“Josie.”
“Josie, you were so brave out there.” Peyton’s soothing voice, already low and now roughened by smoke, reached out to calm his nerves as well. He hadn’t realized how tense he was until he started to relax. “You never even slowed down. And you found these caves— probably saved all our lives.”
Josie cried out and jerked as Gabe peeled one sock off. He saw Peyton take her white- knuckled hands in hers, tuck her head against her shoulder as skin came with the sock. He also noticed Peyton didn’t look at the injury illuminated by his headlamp.
“Have you been a counselor here for long?”
The counselor squeezed her eyes shut and tensed her muscles beneath his hands as the pain constricted her body. “Uh! Yeah. Twenty-seven years. Used to come here when I was a girl. I can’t believe—oh! I can’t believe it’s gone.”
Gabe quit listening to the conversation, only grateful Peyton had distracted her. How had the woman walked on these feet? The soles were literally one big blister. Fear must have driven her. Fear and bravery.
He treated her the best he could with the supplies on hand, wrapped her feet in gauze and a clean pair of his own socks and ordered Peyton to pass around the water again. He sat back against the cave wall and toyed with the switch of the flashlight.
While he watched her move, he waited for resentment to come. He was stuck here with a rookie, a reporter, no less. But he couldn’t blame the situation on her. No, she’d held up just fine on the run up the mountain. Hell, it was almost like having a partner.
He did not work well in pairs.
“Come here,” he said when she moved back to the corner she’d claimed for herself.
She considered him warily. “Why?”
So she didn’t trust him anymore than he trusted her. He wondered why. She’d trusted him well enough to save her life.
“You’re limping. I want to look at your feet.”
“They aren’t burned.”
And she had some defensive issues of her own. Was it him she wasn’t willing to admit weakness to, or herself?
“Blistered, though, aren’t they?”
She stammered, glanced away. “A—yeah.”
“First fire, new boots?”
“I have on two pair of socks,” she said.
Yeah, definitely some defensive issues there. He leaned forward and crooked his finger. “Let’s look at those feet.”
“They just…I...”
Her discomfort amused him. He wasn’t asking her to strip, for crying out loud. Why was she so skittish? “Sit and take ’em off.”
She did, grumbling more now than on the trail. Delayed reactions were fine with him. She’d done what she’d been told, and had done a fair job of it. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t dredge up any resentment.
She thrust her feet toward him and immediately he saw the outer sock, blackened on the top from
soot, had been worn through.
“Peel.”
“I can take care of my own feet.”
He couldn’t tell if she was blushing under all the soot, but her jerky movements told him she was embarrassed as she stripped off the socks. He motioned for her to place them in his lap for inspection, which she did with more force than necessary, near a place a man wanted as little force as possible.
He picked up one foot, was amused by the hot-pink toenail polish, amazed by the softness of the skin. Calluses hardened a few places, the rest was city-girl soft. He allowed himself a brief picture of what she might be like on her own turf. Would she wear girly dresses? High heels? Fix up her hair? Hard to tell what she’d be like dressed up, the way she looked now, in her baggy fire gear and covered with ash. But he’d imagine she wouldn’t be too bad.
Of course, sandals wouldn’t be very flattering. He could see some blisters forming, traced a testing finger over the high arch of her foot. She jerked and shouted, the sound startling the girls as it echoed off the cave walls. He grinned.
“Ticklish?”
She scowled and tried to pull her foot away, but he tightened his grip on her heel. “I have some cream in my pack.”
“So do I,” she said through her teeth.
Stubborn wasn’t as bad as most people made it out to be. It would keep her alive till he could get her back to safety. He wanted to smile again, but her other foot was still free and dangerously close to where it could do damage.
He released her and she scrambled to her side of the cave.
“Fine. Then put your clean socks on and put the dirty ones still in one piece over them.”
He watched to make sure she followed directions, then shut off the flashlight and closed his burning eyes.
Gabe dozed, his head against the wall. How could he relax when Peyton’s heart still drummed a mile a minute? The terror of the past few hours only now hit her. She’d understood it was serious at the time, but the pure audacity of their victory kept her mind churning.
Woman against nature. Considering the huge force she was up against, she felt damned lucky to come out even.
In the dim light of her headlamp, she saw the children were asleep, piled together like puppies. Josie curled against the wall, her back to them. So Peyton watched Gabe.
His strength was apparent in every aspect of his body, his broad shoulders and muscled arms accented in the black T-shirt, his wide callused hands, his stubborn jaw, black with both stubble and soot.
He was handsome, rescued women and children, true hero material.
God help her.
They’d be out of here in a few hours, back at camp, and Peyton would leave. She had her story, if not her answers. But she couldn’t afford to look for them in Gabe Cooper.
In all the stories she’d written in this series, no one had come as close to being the man Dan had been as Gabe did. She’d thought she was ready to deal with the feelings the comparison dredged up, both the familiarity and the resentment, but now everything was all tumbled up with a longing, a loneliness.
“A guy could get a complex,” he said, his voice a low rumble, his eyes still closed.
She hid her leap of surprise well, she hoped. She was sure he’d been asleep. Sneaky bastard. “Pardon?”
“You’re staring.”
“Sorry.” She took off her helmet, switched off the headlamp, leaving them in the dark. Something she should have done before, to conserve the light bulb. No telling how long they’d be down here. “You remind me of someone.”
“Who?”
His voice sounded closer, softer in the darkness, but she hadn’t heard him move. Just her imagination.
“I’m figuring it out,” she hedged.
She was not going to discuss Dan with him. The further she kept him at a distance, the safer she would be.
“A mix between Cary Grant and John Wayne.”
“What?” She went cold.
“That’s who people say I remind them of.”
“John Wayne?” Dan’s team had called him John Wayne. She’d hated the nickname, no matter how apt. What grown man wanted to remind people of a dead movie cowboy?
“It’s the macho thing, I guess,” Cooper said, as if answering her thoughts.
“Is that why you came out here? Became a Hot Shot? Because you’re some kind of cowboy?”
“I didn’t think about it at the time and I’ve never done anything else. Does that make me a loser?”
“No. You’re exactly what you need to be to do the job you do.”
A moment of silence. “What does that mean?” he asked, his voice tight.
She sighed, exhausted. She had no desire to explain a man to himself. “I mean, I’ve been watching, wondering what kind of people do this job. Most are kids, and they probably think this is very exciting. But you, you’re—”
“Not a kid,” he finished for her and she heard him shift forward. She saw, as her eyes adjusted to the dim light from above, that he rested his elbows on his knees. She resisted the urge to shift herself.
“No, you’re not just a kid, which makes you harder to pin down.”
“And yet you think you have.”
“As far as being a firefighter goes. I mean, how many people have a job with a name like ‘Hot Shot’? There’s an inherent arrogance there.”
“So I’m arrogant.”
She didn’t dignify that with an answer. “I think you like the danger associated with the job. You’d rather be on the line than in charge because there you can see results right in front of you.”
A slight hesitation. She’d hit the nail on the head. “Ah, but there’s the arrogance, right? Needing to see the results of my work?”
“Very probably. And I get the feeling you are the job. You are the Hot Shot. That’s why people talk about you, tell stories about you.”
He sat back with a groan. “Nothing I like better than being psychoanalyzed by a reporter, but I’m going to see if I can find another way out.”
She bolted upright. “So soon? Do you think the fire’s passed? That it’s safe?”
“No telling till I look.”
Next to Gabe came a small voice from the darkness. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
Cooper flicked on the flashlight and winked at Peyton. “See? I knew there was a reason I brought you.”
Chapter Four
Peyton woke with a start and looked into Gabe Cooper’s hard-hat light. She blinked, taking a moment to realize he’d wakened her. His hand remained on her shoulder until she sat up against the cave wall.
“You curl up like a damned snake when you sleep. Doesn’t your back hurt?” he asked, close enough that his breath stirred the opening of her shirt.
Annoyed when he didn’t move back, she took a quick inventory. “Everything hurts. What’s wrong?”
“One of your campers has run off.”
Panic at his words chased the cloud of exhaustion from her mind, and she reached for her helmet. Why the hell had she let herself fall asleep? He hadn’t. These people were as much her responsibility as his. “What? When?”
“About thirty minutes ago. Don’t worry, I’ve found her,” he added, moving back before she could get up and crack him in the jaw with her head. “But I can’t get her and she won’t come to me. She’s lodged herself up in a crawl space.”
Blood drained from her face. “Oh no” slipped out before she could stop it.
“Problem?” Suspicion darkened his tone.
She shook her head, swallowing hard. Gabe wouldn’t allow himself a weakness, she couldn’t show him hers, especially not with a child in danger. Not when she’d used the children as a reason to come up here. “Not at all. Show me.”
He nodded. She followed him out of the main “room” at a crouch.
“How long did it take you to find her?” She took the flashlight he offered and jammed her hard hat on.
“About ten minutes. This cave isn’t very big and she isn’t exactly qui
et. On the plus side, I found the only way out is the way we came in.”
She narrowed her eyes at him though he’d turned away. “How is that a plus?”
He pointed to a skinny tunnel, something only a child would think to climb in. “She’s in there.”
Peyton’s ribs refused to expand with her breath, and her throat closed. Only because Gabe watched her did she nod once and brace her hands against the opening.
“I’m going up to the surface, see if we can exit safely.” He turned away.
“No!” Her shout made them both jump as the word bounced in the small space. She released his arm as soon as she realized she’d gripped it. “What I mean is, can’t you wait till I get her out? Then you can go. There’s no hurry, right?”
He opened his mouth to argue, then looked at her and closed it. Heat crept up her throat to her cheeks as he evaluated her weakness and judged her on it. He probably saw “Not Hero Material” stamped on her forehead.
“I’ll stay right here,” he said in the calmest tone she’d heard him use.
She shouldn’t get mad at him for patronizing her when he was working in the best interest of the group to keep her calm. But something in his tone grated over her already-raw nerves. She used her anger to work up the courage to crawl into the tunnel.
The tunnel was just a hair wider than her shoulders, but she pushed the thought aside. She crept along on her belly, her chin brushing the limestone, and nausea welled up in her throat. She’d only think about Gabe and his “there, there” tone of voice and of the child whose legs were illuminated by her headlamp.
Even though she was not much smaller than Gabe, he couldn’t have fit in here.
Lucky her.
“Hi, sweetie,” she crooned, and was surprised by the quaver in her voice. Some comfort she’d be to the child. Taking a deep breath only reminded her of the narrowness of the passageway. She dropped her head to her hands on the floor of the tunnel, refusing to hyperventilate in front of Gabe.
Something touched her ankle, and she almost kicked out before recognizing the warm touch of Gabe’s hand.
