by MJ Fredrick
He was able to give their location—how he knew, Peyton had no clue—and ask about the fire before yanking the phone from his ear and glaring at it. She thought he’d throw the offending piece of technology into the forest.
“It cut out.” He shoved the cell at her. “Damn it.”
She slipped it in her own front pocket for safe-keeping. “Were they able to tell you anything about where the fire is?”
“Not exactly, because Jen was too damn busy yelling at me about not coming back with the campers. But yeah, there’s been another flare-up between us and the camp.”
Jen. There was a woman who found success through commitment. “Call her back.” She reached into her pocket.
He shook his head. “Too much interference to do us any good.”
“Maybe if we go back up the mountain we can get a clearer signal.”
He shook his head more vehemently. “Why backtrack and give the fire a chance to gain on us? We’ll keep going. Stay close.” He started down at a faster pace.
Like she’d go off on her own. Her heart thudded in her throat. “How far do you think it is?”
“Hard to tell.”
“And camp?” She was already breathless as her adrenal gland went into workout mode again.
“On the other side of the fire. Once we get around it, we’ll probably run into some crews.”
He didn’t sound terribly concerned. That was good, right? “I’m surprised we don’t hear any planes.”
“Maybe the smoke is too bad. So who’s Jen?” she asked, though she knew.
His jaw tightened. “You know Jen Sheridan, Incident Commander. She gave you to me.”
“You’ve worked with her before?” Something in the narrowing of his eyes made her pretty sure the bad feelings went deeper than he let on, so she eased into her real questions. He had a way of sliding right past direct inquiry.
He cast her a glance. “You could say that.”
“I guess that happens a lot, you end up working with the same people again and again.”
“Yep.”
“So does it happen often that a woman is the incident commander?”
“Nope.”
Hm. Back to single syllables. She must have hit a nerve. She didn’t want to irritate him, much, but did wonder why this was a sensitive subject.
“I guess some people would have trouble taking orders from a woman.”
“Some do.”
A smile quirked her lips. He was so careful about what information he let out. “What about women on the crews? Do a lot of guys have trouble with that? Are there women crew chiefs?”
“Why? Looking to move up after your first week?”
She smiled. “Maybe, if you think I’m good enough. Are there a lot of romances on the fire lines?” Crap. Why ask that? Would he think—she didn’t want him to think she was interested. She didn’t want herself to think she was interested. In any case, she wasn’t doing anything about it.
He didn’t latch on to any hidden meaning. “There’s not a lot of privacy.”
“Still, life-and-death situations, close proximity...” Like last night in the tent. The warmth she felt now had nothing to do with hiking a mountain in July.
“People find ways, I guess, if they really want to.”
He was so oblique about it, she couldn’t tell if he’d had any personal experience. Her curiosity was purely objective, of course. “Have you? Wanted to?”
He stopped and turned to face her and she skidded to a halt at the dangerous tilt of his eyebrows. His impatience was palpable in the line of his body. “What do you want to know? Quit beating around the bush and just ask.”
She took a deep breath, but couldn’t quite meet his eyes, unable to convince herself about the real reason for her need to know. She focused on a rivulet of sweat washing a path through the grime at his temple. “How close are you and Jen?”
“She’s my ex.”
Whoa. Stunned, she set her feet apart to keep her balance, and used the rest of her energy to snap her jaw shut. “Ex as in married?”
“Ex as in divorced.” He started down again.
“Wow.” The word jolted her heart into beating again. She’d expected a connection, but a marriage? Gabe married, domesticated? Apparently it hadn’t taken. “Is this the first time you’ve worked with her since the divorce?”
“It’s the first time I’ve seen her since the divorce.”
“Wow,” she said again, truly at a loss for words. Almost. “That’s gotta be tough. What happened? I mean, if you don’t mind my asking.”
He snorted his opinion. “None of your business.”
Like he would be forthcoming on a personal item when he wouldn’t tell her if he worked for the Forest Service. As usual, he didn’t notice or care, instructing her to be quiet so he could listen for the fire.
They trudged in silence for what seemed like hours, the roar of the fire rising and fading, raising fear and then hope. Finally Peyton could be silent no more.
“I have to stop.”
He paused, glancing at her, his brows lowered in concern. “Are you thirsty? Feeling sick?”
“I have to—see a man about a horse.” She borrowed his euphemism.
He relaxed marginally. “All right. Go back the way we came. I don’t want you walking into the fire. And stay where I can see you.”
She stopped cold. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Nope. If I can’t see you, I won’t know if you’re in danger.”
Her face was hot and her bladder was full. “Never mind. I can wait.”
“Not for the next few hours, you can’t. Go ahead and go. You can hide behind a tree. I won’t look. I just have to be able to see you in relation to the fire, all right?”
Her bladder tapped its foot impatiently as she weighed modesty against necessity. “You promise you won’t look?”
He rolled his eyes. “You think I want to watch you pee?”
“I don’t know what kind of a perv you are.”
He grinned and winked. “A totally different kind. Hey, Peyton!” he called as she walked off. She turned.
“Got TP?” He tossed a roll at her.
She caught it one-handed and turned, red faced, to find a big fat tree.
“We’re in trouble.”
Gabe’s voice from the other side of the big fat tree made her jump as she fastened her pants. “Jesus, Cooper!” How had he snuck up on her?
“We got a blowup. No time for modesty. We’ve got to move. Have your gear?” His voice was the sharp businesslike tone she’d heard in the camp, not the lazy drawl she’d grown used to today.
She came around the tree pulling on her pack. He nodded his approval.
“Let’s move!”
“Gabe, what—?”
The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she saw the wall of flames not a hundred yards from where they stood. The fire advanced fast, faster than the flames at the camp yesterday. She watched in fascination, all the lovely colors, not just the expected warm colors, but flickers of blue and green and purple. It devoured the ground as it moved toward them, the grass and brush blackening and curling, flames licking at trees, igniting branches and needles, heating sap until the trunks exploded into torches. The heat rolled in waves, increasing in temperature.
“Don’t look at it!”
Gabe grabbed her hand firmly and started down the hill, the opposite direction from where they’d been heading, back toward the Girl Scout camp.
“What are you doing? We’re going the wrong way!”
He didn’t stop, didn’t slow, didn’t expend the energy to explain. She wouldn’t have heard him above the roar of the fire anyway.
Each breath seared her throat and lungs as the heat washed through the air. Firefighters died by breathing in the super-heated air. She squinted against the ash and embers floating toward them on every fire-created gust.
Gabe dragged her across the rough terrain, and she finally realized his int
ention. The fire had moved past them, between where they were now and the Girl Scout camp. He was getting them to the burned-out area, and safety.
As her shock subsided, she hurried forward, more sure-footed, but didn’t relinquish her hold on Gabe’s gloved hand. As the smoke thickened around them, his hand became her only connection, became her lifeline. She focused on following him, on trusting he would get out of here safely. He hadn’t failed her so far.
Gabe managed to cover his mouth with his spare bandana, turned to motion for Peyton to do the same. He felt her struggling behind him. She was having trouble getting the kerchief in place one-handed, but she refused to release his hand. Not stopping, he reached back, yanked it up from her throat to under her eyes. Good thing she’d left it on, and put on her fire shirt. He couldn’t allow her to stop.
His fire shelter—he’d given it to the little girls. He staggered with the implication. No fire shirt, no shelter, no radio. Firefighting had gained many advantages in the last twenty years and he was without all of them. If the fire overtook them, he was toast. Peyton still had her shelter. Maybe, if they squeezed together, they could both fit. If not, well, maybe the end would come quick.
The smoke obscured his vision, the noise so diffuse he couldn’t tell where the fire was. His instinct, his sense of direction would get them to the black.
Peyton cried out and he turned to see her batting at her bandana. He saw the flicker of flame and yanked off the burning fabric, threw it aside. The emotion in her eyes was pure relief, but he couldn’t allow her even a moment of relaxation. They had to keep moving.
The flames moved faster than the wind in the dust dry fuels. Even if Peyton deployed her shelter now, she’d be fried if only one ember got inside. They had to get back to the black. It was the only hope for her safety.
“Drop your pack!”
“What?”
He shrugged out of his pack and dropped it to the ground, motioning for her to do the same.
She stared at him in shock, but did as he instructed. Their load lightened considerably, they started running.
The roar got louder and Gabe tensed. He hadn’t thought the end would come today. He wasn’t ready. And Peyton—he’d promised to get her home safely. Did she have someone at home who’d be destroyed by her death? Who would mourn her and curse him?
He gripped her hand harder and looked up. He dragged Peyton under his arm before pushing her to the ground and dropping over her.
Chapter Seven
The slurry hit him with the force of a speeding truck, knocking the air out of him, damn likely leaving bruises the size of baseballs on his back, but the air temperature dropped palpably as the fire in the immediate vicinity slowed, beaten back by the pink foam dropped from the airplane overhead. He rested his head on Peyton’s shoulder for a moment as realization sank in. The pilot had cut it damned close this time, but Gabe was in no mood to complain. He wouldn’t even question how Jen had known just where they were to direct the slurry.
He wasn’t going to die today. He’d beat the dragon again.
Joy sliced through him and he eased off Peyton, rolled her onto her back. He grinned at the puzzled surprise in her eyes. He wiped dirt and slurry off her face and kissed the question off her mouth.
She stiffened with surprise or protest—he didn’t have time to recognize it before she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down to her, taking the heat of him into her.
Her mouth stretch into a smile beneath his. She released him and raised her hands above her head triumphantly. He drew back to hear her laugh, to watch her eyes shine up at him as she reached up to wipe slurry off of him.
“Pink is definitely your color,” she decided.
He laughed, throwing his head back to let the sound carry. “Yeah, I think I like it.”
He grinned down at her, his pulse slowing to a languid beat. How could a woman covered with soot, sweat and slurry be so beautiful? They had to take advantage of the reprieve to get out of here, but before they did, he needed to kiss her again.
Her expression told him that she knew his intentions and welcomed them. Her lips parted. A thrill of desire went through him and he kissed her.
He didn’t taste ash, didn’t taste sweat, only tasted hot, willing woman. Peyton. Pleasure curled through his blood, unfurling feelings he’d forgotten. They flared to life, more powerful for being dormant.
“Gabe!”
It took a moment for him to realize Peyton was not the one calling his name, which would have been difficult with his tongue in her mouth. He lifted his head, which Peyton protested with a whimper.
Through the smoke Gabe saw a group of firefighters striding toward them, clad in smokejumper gear. His elation evaporated and he sat up slowly, thoughts of Peyton pushed aside as he focused on the jumper in the lead, a man he recognized at this distance.
Jen had sent her new husband to bring her ex-husband home. Son of a bitch.
Gabe climbed to his feet, ignoring the aching muscles, the popping joints, as he brought himself face to face with his former best friend. He hadn’t spoken civilly to Doug since Jen announced she was in love with him and planned to marry him. The memory made bile rise in his throat, but he refused to drop his gaze.
“Doug.”
His fists clenched, his shoulders tightened. Last time he’d tensed up like this, he’d busted Doug’s nose. He swore, rolled his shoulders and reached down to help Peyton to her feet.
“You guys okay?” Doug asked.
How could the bastard be so civil? Oh, right. He had what he wanted.
“We’re just dandy. You didn’t have to jump out of a plane on our account.”
Beside him, Peyton brushed off her butt, an odd gesture since she was coated in filth, and reached out a hand to Doug. Gabe resisted the urge to slap her hand away. “I’m Peyton.”
Doug took her hand in a brief clasp, his own bandaged, but he didn’t wince when Peyton gripped him. “Doug. You’re both in good shape?”
“We wouldn’t be if the slurry hadn’t hit,” Peyton replied, her smile a little too friendly. What did women see in the man? He was balding and skinny, and he had to wear a bridge because he’d knocked out his front teeth in smokejumper school. Apparently women weren’t as shallow as rumor had it.
Doug grinned at Peyton and Gabe wanted to drag her behind him.
“Yeah, old Pedro nailed it, didn’t he? He’s been flying fires for longer than you’ve been alive.” He turned to Gabe. “We’ve got a route for you to get back to camp. I would’ve called for a chopper but you hate to fly.”
Gabe ground his teeth hard enough to pulverize his molars. Peyton glanced at him in surprise. How dare Doug expose his weakness to a stranger? He realized his reaction was adolescent, but he struggled to get past it.
“Yeah, well, we don’t need an escort. You and your crew can hold this line.”
Doug cocked his head like there was nothing wrong at all. “I got orders to bring you straight to Jen.”
“Well, you know what you can do with those,” Gabe muttered, backtracking to see if their packs were salvageable.
“Gabe,” Peyton chided, and he scowled, not needing her to remind him of his manners. She moved toward Doug again. “I’m sorry.” At first, Gabe thought she was apologizing for him and he spun around in fury. Then she said, “But do you have any water?”
“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Doug dug into his pack and presented two bottles, condensation dripping from them and making Gabe salivate at the thought of cool water. Doug held one to each of them. Gabe ignored the offering, so Peyton took them both. “Don’t drink too fast now,” Doug warned.
Peyton waved aside his warning, feeling like an old pro after her brush with death, though adrenaline still raced through her blood. And yeah, a little lust accompanied it. What would have happened if the smokejumper crew hadn’t shown up?
Gabe returned with one pack, his. “Yours is toasted. Sorry, Peyton.”
She shrugged like it didn�
��t matter, though a shudder ran through her. Danger had been imminent, but knowing her pack was gone when she’d dropped it only a few yards back turned her guts to ice.
“We cut it close, huh?” she said with a shaky laugh, wanting to collapse against him.
He turned his back on the jumpers and squeezed her arm. Something akin to tenderness was in his eyes when he said, “But we made it.”
They had, and the kiss celebrating their survival still had her quivering. She hadn’t kissed a man since Dan and she’d been ready to tear off her clothes in broad daylight for Gabe Cooper. The sex would have been incredible. She’d never felt so alive as she did after her brush with death.
Good Lord. She almost had to die before she understood why her husband had done what he did. The rush of beating death, of outwitting a force larger than herself was intense, almost sexual. To live through something like this once was incredible. To go to work every day knowing your life could be put on the line and you could beat it—yeah, it could be addictive. The realization stunned her, and humbled her, but didn’t dim the excitement still coursing through her.
She wondered how long the thrill would last.
Doug left his crew punching line around the slurry-dampened fire and the three of them headed through the healthy forest to the black. From there it was smooth sailing. They’d been so close, Peyton realized, and almost hadn’t made it.
Gabe again protested the need for Doug’s escort, but Doug insisted he had orders. Peyton sensed there was more going on. The tension between the two men was more stifling than the heat. She thought Doug might want to say something, but Gabe’s sullenness prevented him from doing so.
She glanced from Doug to Gabe. What was she missing here? A rivalry of some kind, but over what? A Hot Shot-smokejumper animosity? The two men seemed to know each other. Gabe was downright hostile, and she didn’t think it was because Doug had interrupted their kiss.
Gabe could almost see the questions hovering on her tongue. She was going to ask about him and Doug. He was actually impressed with her restraint so far as she hiked between the two of them. They’d cleared the trees and the view was open, sloping terrain leading down to the camp. Fire couldn’t creep up on them now. They’d see it coming.
