by MJ Fredrick
Which she was. But with a reason.
That was it. It was the situation, not the man. If only she could keep her mind on her purpose, look for the humanity in the hero, without showing him hers. The sympathy in his eyes when she told him her story unsettled her. She had to protect herself, because right now she was feeling just too damned vulnerable.
The confession had the effect of emptying her mind. Only motor skills remained, putting one foot in front of the other. She couldn’t comprehend her own exhaustion, only that the fire was coming up and the sun was going down.
“We’re not going to be able to see much longer,” Gabe said after what had to be an hour of silence. She didn’t remember ever experiencing such a lengthy silence with another person. Of course, forming words took brainpower and she’d depleted the last of hers. “I’d hoped to reach that ridge before sundown.” He motioned upward, and the place he was pointing to seemed unreachable. “We’ll keep going till the batteries run out.”
“Mine is already winding down.” Even talking took too much energy.
He chuckled. “I mean in the headlamps. The flashlight won’t do us any good since we need our hands.”
“What’ll we do if the batteries run out?” Her words came slow and slurred.
“Stop. Are you going to be okay? Are you hungry?”
She waved her hand at him weakly, too scared to eat. But if she didn’t get food, if they didn’t rest, she couldn’t keep up much longer. Still, she lied. “I’m fine.”
“You’ve got food in your pack, right? You didn’t give it all to those girls?”
“I’ve got food.”
“Then eat.”
She studied him a long moment before plopping down and pulling an MRE out of her pack.
He knew two of her weaknesses and hadn’t revealed one of his. She tore into the pseudobeef. “What about the fire?”
“If it gets close enough, we’ll see it.”
“Very funny. We can’t sleep. The fire could come up on us.” She hated the pathetic tone of her voice but was too tired to muffle it.
“You can sleep. I’ll keep a lookout.”
Good Lord, how could the man think he wasn’t a hero if he was willing to go without sleep so she could rest? He had to be more tired than she was. She couldn’t allow that sacrifice. “I’m not going to sleep if you can’t.”
He rolled his eyes, not hiding his disgust that she was arguing with him. Again. She felt a small twinge of guilt for irritating him, but she needed him to see her as an equal, as he had in the cave.
Of course, if Gabe Cooper had an equal, she wouldn’t be doing this story.
“You’ll sleep if I tell you to.”
“You can’t make me,” she said, realizing too late how childish that sounded.
He snorted. “I don’t think I’d have to, but do you have to argue about everything I tell you?”
“No, but—”
“Peyton.” Though his tone was soft, the underlying intensity alarmed her more than his temper would have. “We will get out of here. Just not tonight. Going down the mountain will be harder than coming up.”
She didn’t want to wait. As bone weary as she was, she wanted to put miles between her and this fire, all the way back to Chicago, if possible. “But we’ll have gravity on our side.”
He kept his voice calm, though her questions tested his patience. “What about forward motion on rocky terrain? I don’t want you falling on your face going down the mountain. We’ll find a safe spot, I promise, and wait till morning.”
“We should’ve stayed in the cave,” she muttered as they trudged on.
He stumbled a bit, as if doubting his decision to move up the mountain. “If I’d acted sooner, we could have. I’m sorry we didn’t make the helicopter. By the time I realized we wouldn’t make the chopper, we couldn’t have gotten to it.”
“If I had been faster getting out of the cave, if I hadn’t freaked out that you left me alone, we’d be back at camp by now.” Despair and exhaustion made her petulant, and while the knowledge shamed her, she didn’t have the will to battle her own faults.
“Peyton.” He stopped, turned her toward him, his own eyes intent in his grimy face. His responsibility for her must weigh on him and her questions were making his job harder. “We’ll get out of this. It’ll be hard work, but we’re going to get out of here.”
“I know.” She tried to smile, to show her appreciation of his encouragement. “I’d just kinda like to skip the middle part.”
“Come on.” He released her, leaving her bereft for a moment, floating, before she took steps to follow him. “We’ve got to take advantage of the light while we have it.”
After the sun went down, their headlamps put out miserly light in the pitch blackness. The only light was the glow of the fire beneath them; the smoke had obliterated the moon and stars. It was too dark to tell if they were still in the open or if they’d gone back into the trees. The ground had leveled off so it felt like they were moving sideways instead of up. She hoped Gabe knew where they were. She was pretty sure he did, at least in relation to the camp.
Though she couldn’t see him, she sensed him, and not just because of the noise he made as he climbed, as he breathed. It had to be because they were the only two people on the mountain, right? She would feel this way about any person she was running for her life with, this connection, this need.
It wasn’t because he was a man, a strong man. A handsome man. A hero.
Her muscles trembled with every step. Her head didn’t want to stay upright on her neck, and sweat soaked her T-shirt through the fire shirt he insisted she wear.
Ahead of her, Gabe crouched and she almost tripped over him. She caught her balance with a touch to his back, damp with perspiration, hard with tension. He stumbled a bit, then stood slowly. She dropped her hand away.
“We’ll camp here,” he announced abruptly.
“Camp?” She turned back to where the fire glowed below them, reflecting off the smoke in an eerie red light. “But the fire—”
“We’re in the black. No fuel.”
Where had she heard that before? “We thought we were in the black where the helicopter landed.”
He sighed. Another question he didn’t want to answer. Then the ground around them was illuminated. She shielded her eyes from the sudden light of his flashlight. He walked around the area, kicking up burned grass and clouds of ash.
“It’s cool,” he assured her. “No embers.”
She was afraid to trust nature, but she did trust Gabe Cooper. In relief, she sank to her knees, fatigue quivering her muscles. “I’m so tired but I don’t think I can sleep.”
He dropped his pack beside her, sending up particles of soot and making her cough. He lowered himself to the ground next to her with a groan and switched off the flashlight. The darkness beyond the pale beams of their headlamps was overwhelming and silent, and she reached for him, then stopped herself. He wouldn’t interpret the touch as being a means for her to regain her balance, like on the climb. He’d attribute it to female hysteria, to cowardice, and that she couldn’t bear, for him to find her lacking in any way. She closed her fingers around her pack instead.
“Got any water left?” he asked, oblivious.
“A little.”
“Make it last.”
She dug out her bottle by feel, shook it to gauge how much water was in it. Less than half, probably. She would only take a sip to wash the dust from her throat. But when the tepid water touched her lips she wanted to gulp it down. Gabe pulled it away from her. In the dark, his fingers brushed hers, bare now, no gloves, and she almost dropped the bottle. At least he couldn’t see her fumble as she secured the container and stuffed it back in her pack.
“Tomorrow will be a long day without water.” He pulled his pack in front of him and pawed through it.
“I know.”
“Ever sleep outdoors?”
“Not in the middle of nowhere.”
He
turned toward her. “Even in a tent?” he asked, disbelief in his voice.
Was he was teasing? So what if she hadn’t slept outside? She hadn’t had the desire. Did that make her weak?
“Do you have a tent?” she asked.
“A little one-man job. No sleeping bag, but it’ll be some protection.”
“From what?”
He paused. Then as if it was obvious, explained, “The temperature’s falling fast.”
“What do you mean, falling? I’m sweating like a pig.”
“Lovely,” he said, laughter in his voice. “As high up as we are, it will probably get down to the upper thirties. The tent will be some protection for you.”
Upper thirties? In July? “For me? What about you?”
“I’ll be fine outside. I’ve done it before.”
“Without a sleeping bag?” she asked skeptically. “Or a fire shirt?”
“Well.” He swallowed. “No.”
“Then you’re in the tent too.”
He paused again, giving her time to consider what she’d just offered. She was going to sleep in the same tent as a man she’d known a—was it only two days? How could this all have happened in two days?
“It’s real small, close quarters,” he said. “And I said I’d keep watch.”
Was it her imagination or did his voice sound huskier than it had a minute ago? Imagination or reality, it sent skitters down her spine to places long ignored.
Okay, get a grip, Peyton. Yeah, he’s a hunk. Yeah, she’d be sleeping next to him, but they’d both be fully clothed and too exhausted to act on any interest. If there was any on his part. Which there probably wasn’t.
Not that it mattered.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re exhausted too, and you said we’re safe here. In the tent, at least we’ll be warm.” Okay, her voice was definitely huskier. Probably all the smoke they’d breathed today. Uh-huh, that was it.
The tent couldn’t be that small, could it?
Okay, it was. Um. Gabe straightened up from driving the last spike. The tent was no bigger than a coffin and she was going to share it with him. No way they were both going to fit. Maybe she could sleep outside. Hypothermia had nothing on sleeping next to a man who oozed virility. But she was already shivering, though earlier she could have sworn she’d never be cold again.
“Um, I think I’ll sleep outside.”
She heard him suck in an impatient breath, but couldn’t look at him.
“We can sleep with our heads toward the opening, can even leave it unzipped a bit if you want.”
He thought her claustrophobia made her hesitate. And she had to admire his patience. She didn’t realize he had the resources. He couldn’t understand—she wouldn’t admit—his size, his undiluted maleness had her heart hammering in her chest.
“It won’t be bad, Peyton. You’ll be asleep before you know it. And it’s going to be too cold out here.”
Come on, Peyton. You ran from a wildfire today, crawled through a cave. You can sleep next to a man you hardly know. She squared her shoulders and nodded, though he’d turned off the flashlight and couldn’t see her.
He took her arm, urging her into the tent. When she crawled inside, feet first, the nylon stretched over hard ground was like the bed of a five-star hotel.
Then Gabe crawled in and sucked all the air out of the tent. Her skin tingled with awareness as he tried to fit in beside her. She scooted toward the seam and still felt the press of him against her back. She held her breath, heard him clear his throat in obvious discomfort as he settled on his side also.
“This, ah, this isn’t going to work,” he said gruffly, his breath grazing her ear.
She couldn’t turn around to look, didn’t want to see how close he was, though his shoulder bumped hers as he tried to find a spot for his arm. “Um, what?”
“Maybe you could put your head on my arm. There doesn’t seem to be any other place for it.”
She lifted her head in surprise and he took that as agreement and slipped his arm beneath. She settled back down, at first hesitant to let the whole weight of her head rest on it. He grunted her name and she tried to relax. His arm was hard and warm and smoky. Just when she thought she was used to the smell, her senses had to come back in full force.
All of them. The change in position brought his chest against her and she wished for the extra layer of his fire shirt between them. His T-shirted chest felt naked and she cursed her fertile imagination.
He flipped her hair over her shoulder away from him and she immediately tensed.
“Sorry. It was tickling my nose.” His voice was so close, his words teasing the back of her neck. She tensed all over again.
“Oh.” She smoothed the ponytail against her throat so no stray hairs would bother him. Then she shifted her hips and bumped her bottom into his groin. Both of them went perfectly still. Then, as if not to draw attention to her movement, she eased her hips away infinitesimally.
“We both have to, ah, relax,” he murmured at last.
He placed a hand on her hip and she flinched. He shushed her and slid his arm about her waist, drawing her against his body, spooning her against him, careful to keep their lower bodies apart, which of course only made her focus on it. Had her little bump aroused him and he didn’t want her to realize it?
No, she was being ridiculous. She was filthy and sweating and still wearing her boots, for crying out loud. Hardly arousing.
No one had held her since Dan died. She squeezed her eyes shut at the memory of the intimacy they’d shared every night, even the night before he died, but her eyes were too dry for tears. Good thing, since she didn’t want Gabe to think she wasn’t tough enough.
His heart beat against her back, strong and sure. One arm over her body, the other under her head, almost made her forget the tent wall inches from her nose.
And made her remember with an alien longing other things that happened in the dark.
She’d forgotten how wonderful a man’s strong arms about her felt, how safe. The thought terrified her. She took awhile to relax against him.
“That’s more like it,” he said against her ear. “Good night, Peyton. You did real good today.”
Pride rose at his words, almost blocking out the awkwardness of their sleeping arrangement. She’d hung in, she’d proven—
Proven what? That she was as tough as the people she wrote about, as Dan? Not yet.
Gabe’s breathing evened out almost immediately, but as tired as she was, she couldn’t sleep. Her mind snapped from one thought to another, from the fire to the campers, from Gabe to Dan, back to Gabe. Always back to Gabe.
He wasn’t as much like Dan as she’d first thought. Though both men were heroic, Gabe’s confidence didn’t come at the expense of caution. His mistakes were quickly rectified. He hated to be questioned about his decisions, but never failed to answer her. He was pure hero material, decisive, tough, intelligent. Just the right combination for her story.
So why was this the first time she’d thought of her story in hours?
Chapter Six
Peyton woke alone, light glowing through the yellow nylon of the tent. Was it the fire coming up on them? She scrambled through the opening, pricking her palms on the burned grass poking through the flimsy floor of the tent. Where had Gabe gone? He hadn’t left her, had he?
She’d barely calmed herself when he walked out of a grove of trees the fire had burned under, blackening trunks and undergrowth, but not reaching branches. How he’d managed to find a clearing in the dark just added to the mystery of Gabe Cooper.
She had trouble untangling herself from the tent opening before finding her feet to stand and confront him.
“Where were you?”
“Went to see a man about a horse,” he said cheerily, raising her suspicions. He hadn’t used that tone before. “I have a signal on your phone. I told them where we are and that we’re okay.”
Relief sagged her shoulders. “Are they coming to get u
s?”
He shook his head and she was glad to see his face again, to be able to read his expressions. “They can’t spare the manpower to rescue two healthy firefighters. We’ll be fine.”
Okay, maybe she wasn’t as glad to see his face, since he seemed to pity her for her naïveté. “Yes, but—” She hadn’t realized how much contact with civilization would raise her hopes. “I thought maybe you were too integral to be gone all day.”
He laughed, moving past her toward the tent, and her hope deflated. “Nice try. Now you go talk to that man about that horse and I’ll pack up.”
Well, a little sleep did Gabe a world of good. Peyton changed her socks as he folded the tent and repacked it without seeming to realize what had gone on in there. Apparently the emotions awakened by sleeping in such confines didn’t torment him. Wouldn’t it figure. She was all twisted with what-ifs and why-nots, and he was whistling. Whistling.
Annoyed he had viewed last night as nothing more than a necessity, she snapped at him. “What are you so cheerful about?”
He didn’t blink at her tone. “Jen told me the fire burned past us while we slept. It’s all downhill from here.”
“But you said downhill was harder,” she reminded him.
“Yeah, but we’ve had a good night’s sleep.” He swung his pack onto his shoulder. “Everything looks better after that. Ready to move out?”
Was she ever. She couldn’t wait to get back to other people and her right mind, the one that didn’t wonder what might have happened last night if she’d turned around in his arms.
“How long do you think it will take us to get back to camp?” She hefted her own pack.
“We won’t have to spend the night in a tent again.”
Like that was a bad thing. Oops, where had that thought come from? So she had liked sleeping against his chest, with his arm across her. It made her—secure. Something she hadn’t thought to experience again.
He made her feel something else, but she wasn’t quite ready to put a name to it. It was beyond desire, beyond tenderness, almost...trust.
How could she trust a man who could hurt her most? How could she let herself be vulnerable to him in any way? Because once she was open to him, it was only a short step to fall in love.
