Wildfire at Dawn

by M. L. Buchman

  He might not have her height or length of leg, but she could see he was a powerful runner. A long, solid stride, very self-assured on the smooth trail. Used to running over untracked terrain among burning trees, this must be a cakewalk for him. But he wasn’t just a runner. From his trim waist up, he had a powerful build from hour upon hour of backbreaking labor.

  They crossed a fast-rushing stream. He didn’t bother making the small detour up to the split-log footbridge, but trotted agilely over the protruding rocks with a quick set of almost dance-like steps and hit the far side in a clean stride.

  “What’s it like?”

  He didn’t ask for clarification as he slowed enough that conversation would be easier. “Fighting fire is like nothing else in the world. It has all of the intensity of an avalanche, with more safety and controls than you probably have when you guide tourists on a ride.”

  Laura couldn’t believe that he was translating it into her terms. Nobody was that thoughtful, unless they were making it up. He didn’t feel false. Actually, he’d probably learned this trick so long ago that it was automatic: figure out the woman’s metaphors and use those to charm her. He was good at it. That it was planned didn’t make it any less thoughtful. She let her silence prompt him for more.

  “If you get in really close to the main fire, that usually means that things aren’t going well. Small stuff we can get in close, but the bullroarers we try to anticipate rather than attack. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle.” At a “Y” in the trail, he turned upslope.

  She didn’t point out that farther on, his choice became a significantly tougher route.

  “No two fires are the same. Even one fire can change its behavior from one minute to the next.” He eased the pace on the steeper terrain so that he could keep talking, but didn’t flag at all as they continued to ascend.

  They were at six thousand feet and the thinning air slowed most people down. She’d been up here for the last six months, so she was fully adapted. Apparently his lung capacity was sufficient. Of course, he’d just been fighting a fire at over five thousand feet.

  “So, we do our best to be smarter than the fire and—”

  “Smarter? Fire’s think?”

  “In the most evil ways you can imagine. I can’t tell you how many times my crew has cut a line, only to have the wind go through three compass shifts so it actually goes around our line and comes at us from the other direction. Fighting a fire on two facing fronts, that’s an uncomfortable place to be.”

  “Then why—” She cut herself off as they broke above the last of the tree line. She’d always enjoyed this view. Climbing out of the trees, the vista was incredible. It was as if Mount Hood simply exploded into being, dropped that very instant from the heavens. The ski slopes and chair lifts were wrapped around one flank of the mountain. It was mid-August, so Palmer was still skiable and the upper lifts were still going to reach there, but the lower slopes had turned to alpine meadow for the short summer season.

  They stopped at seven thousand feet, both breathing heavily, to appreciate the view.

  “Then why do I jump fire?” He was winded but not breathless.

  She nodded, but felt foolish for asking. It was such a natural thing for someone as macho as Akbar the Great.

  “So that I can stand where I did yesterday morning. Here, turn around.”

  Without asking first, he placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face south; his hands were an easy and powerful strength where he left them resting light on her shoulders. The shock of the intrusion of her personal space was wholly overwhelmed by how much she enjoyed the feel of that casual strength.

  “Look.”

  Hundreds of square miles of the Mount Hood National Forest stretched before them. Rolling hills cloaked beneath endless rolls of dark conifer. Occasional sharp ridges of rock sliced upward from the green shroud, crying victory as they soared forth. It was one of those perfect summer days and all she could see was the forest that lay for dozens of miles ahead of her.

  “Imagine,” Akbar’s whisper was so close beside her ear that she felt both a chill and a heat. “Imagine that behind us is a couple hundred acres of unsightly black, nose-biting char and hundreds of man-hours of back-breaking mop-up.”

  His description was a sharp jar to the senses.

  “In front of you though, is ten thousand, a hundred thousand acres of pristine forest. My team and I did that. We kept that forest safe and alive, at least until the next fire. There’s no feeling like it in the world.”

  Laura tried to imagine it. Tried to imagine that she had saved this vast area in front of them… “You make me feel small.” As if her life was—

  “No!” He cut off her thoughts with a tone as sharp as a knife and whirled back to face him, but dropping his grip on her the moment he did so.

  She missed it.

  “No. You show people why it’s important. You, your mom, your grandmother that you were telling me about, you show people why it’s worth preserving. Every flower or mountain stream or elk you show people attaches them that much more to the land. If it weren’t for people like you, they’d probably let it all burn and not even know what they’d lost.”

  Laura studied his dark eyes. Saw the passion in them, the truth. No dissembler was present now. This was a different man than the one in the Doghouse Inn. No, it was the same man that she’d met, just not the one he did his best to project. Akbar cared about what he did and cared deeply. He even managed to make her feel more important in the process.

  Any rational thought went by the wayside, she simply leaned in and kissed him.

  His first reaction was neither possessive nor smug; it was surprise. He didn’t break the kiss, but did freeze for a long moment, his eyes wide. Only then did he slip his hands onto her waist. Not pulling her in, just holding her as if he needed to steady himself. When he did kiss her back, it was warm, gentle, and lush. The heat grew like a slow fire until she was lost in the whirl of the flames.

  He broke the kiss causing her to stagger a half step.

  “Damn, Laura Jenson! Is that how they kiss in the space age? I had no idea what I was missing. Sign me up.”

  It was a line. It was just a silly line. But it was a damn good silly line.

  # # #

  They finished the run back at the corral. Laura had shooed Akbar ahead on the descent as well. He’d given her a lot to think about, like maybe she didn’t care if it would only be a short fling—not if he’d kiss her like that again. She hadn’t wanted him running close behind her, distracting her thoughts.

  Sensing something was up, Mister Ed came up to her on the side away from Akbar. The horse made it a clear and total snub. She kissed the big tan gelding on the forehead as Akbar laughed.

  “Well, looks like I lost the first round. Care for a rematch, Space Ace?”

  “Space Ace?” As nice a request for a second meeting—second date?—as she’d ever received.

  “You’re out of this world, Laura. And I’m willing to bet you’re not even from this millennia. They just don’t make women as attractive as you.”

  There was no question in her mind about wanting a rematch. But he’d be back on call tomorrow, and who knew what that meant. She had to buy herself a moment.

  “What do you think?” she asked her horse. Then she reached to scratch the twitchy spot up under his mane.

  Mister Ed stretched out his neck and shook his head with a sharp “no” just like he always did when she rubbed that spot.

  “Well, there’s one thumb’s down, Mr. the Great.” Akbar tried to pout, but it didn’t look very convincing. Then she had an idea as she pictured the day’s activity sign-up sheet.

  “What? That’s an evil grin you’ve got there.”

  “Who said today’s match was over?” She turned to face Akbar and Mister Ed mirrored her move so they were both staring at him. She couldn’t have orchestrated it better if she’d tried. “That was only round one, if you’re up for it.”

 
“If you’re involved, Space Ace, I’m up for it.”

  Picturing a firefighter climbing a glacier could be fun. Besides…

  “I have to warn you. There will be this big, very handsome male along.”

  “As handsome as this one?” he nodded toward Mister Ed who continued to eye him suspiciously.

  “He certainly thinks so,” she allowed the chagrin into her voice.

  Akbar flashed her a huge smile, his teeth bright against his skin. “Can’t wait to meet him!”

  # # #

  The feeling was not mutual. Grayson Masterson was six-two, square-jawed, and had offered Akbar an overly-powerful handshake when they met. Akbar restrained himself from returning the favor by perhaps crushing a few bones with his firefighter-strong grip, and simply returned the same as he received.

  He had to remind himself that this was one of Laura’s paying guests, and at no small fee. He’d seen the price that Bess wrote off at the front desk when Laura had added him to the list as a personal guest. He’d actually felt a little guilty, but Bess had cut off his protest.

  “You’ll earn it, young man,” she told him without explaining. “Besides, you’re the first ‘personal guest’ Laura has ever signed up even though it’s one of her job perks. I look forward to hearing more about you.” She offered him a broad wink and turned to other tasks.

  Then he’d turned around and looked up into Garyson Masterson’s face glaring down at him from on high. The “you’ll earn it” part of Bess’ statement began to make sense. Grayson had tried sticking close to Laura as she organized everybody, but eight people had signed up for the outing and that kept her moving around.

  She slowly got them settled around a large table in one corner of the main hall. People were fetching coffee and tea, he went for hot cocoa himself and settled in to look around.

  He’d been up at the Lodge several times. He’d had the pleasure of escorting a few fine women to their rooms, but had never lingered in the grand, central space. The open timber walls soared upward for stories. Heavy beams gave the room a feeling of age-old strength without becoming oppressive. A massive stone fireplace stood like a great pillar. The old WPA guys back in the Depression really knew how to build; this place was gorgeous. He could settle in right here and never move. It was comfortable and airy and cozy all at once.

  As the others came to the table, Akbar sized them up. Grayson was gym-fit and arrogant about it, exactly the sort of guy who didn’t make it past the first day of firefighter tryouts. No room for attitude on a crew.

  Maximilian and Millie were in their sixties but were aging very gracefully; their Austrian accents and good manners would make them pleasant companions for the day.

  Jeff and Kris were on their honeymoon. He was teasing her, “if I rode horses for you, you can climb some ice.” They were pretty damn cute together; early twenties and looking awfully happy about it.

  On Akbar’s list marriage had always been in the “someday for sure” category whenever his mom had asked. For these two it had clearly been more of a “can’t wait.” He didn’t wonder too hard what it would take to make him feel that way. Because when he briefly considered it, the whole “marriage someday” concept didn’t sound as foreign as it might have even last week. A woman like Laura made it easy for him to imagine that there actually might be a woman out there that he’d actually want to spend a some time with. And that extended into “a lot of time” or even “a lifetime” and he definitely wasn’t ready for any of those thoughts.

  The other three members of the group were a dad and two teens: Bart, Sammy, and Tiffany. Kids. He didn’t have much to do with kids. His own sister, and hence her friends, had been older. He’d managed to snag a full-time slot with MHA his first year out of high school because they were expanding the crews. He’d only thought to take a year off before going to college. Two years in he’d made the jump team and worked his way up for most of a decade. Now, with TJ out, he was the lead. He dealt with the eighteen year olds who tried out for his crew, but this boy and girl were twelve and thirteen.

  Laura breezed right up to them, greeted them by name, and soon had them laughing. Tiffany was the outdoorsy one and was all gung-ho. Sammy, not so much. But by the time Laura was done with him, he appeared to have a bit of a crush on her and that would definitely see him up the mountain.

  Akbar had a bit of a crush on Ms. Laura Jenson himself and was rather enjoying the sensation.

  Once they were all gathered, Laura did the safety lecture thing. Always roped together on the ice. Move slow. Think before you act. All of the basics. He listened with one ear; she didn’t miss a single point. Not so Mr. Handsome. He appeared bored with it all, forcing Laura to repeat and emphasize points that everyone else already had gotten.

  Akbar sighed. He’d thought this would be fun, helping Laura put an overeager tourist in his place. Now he’d have to actually keep an eye on the guy.

  # # #

  Laura herded everyone through the rental shop. The price for the outing included the rental of parka, snow pants, boots, ice axe, helmet, and crampons. It also included transportation up onto the snowfields.

  They hiked through the meadow over to the base of the Magic Mile chair lift, most of their gear in lightweight packs and carrying their coats. At the lift she had them shrug into their coats, despite the warm day. The chair was a quad, seating four at a time and it would be much cooler a thousand feet up the mountain. And the Magic Mile was a fast chair generating surprising amounts of wind chill. She sent the Austrians and the newlyweds up in one quad, the dad and his kids next, then she took Akbar and Grayson with her.

  Akbar offered her the outside, but she didn’t want this to turn into a mano-a-mano thing. The slightest shake of her head and he moved to the outside; if Grayson noticed, he didn’t let on. The arm went around behind her along the back of the chair. She had to hide her smile as Akbar apologized for accidentally whacking Grayson’s hand when he casually rested his ice axe between them.

  She turned to try and mouth an apology for getting him in the middle of this. He cut her off with an easy smile and some stupid question about the skiing conditions at the top of the mountain.

  One thing that was unique about Mount Hood was that the top of the Timberline Lodge Ski Area was open year round. The only area in North America that could make the claim, though the last couple of years they’d had to close from mid-September to mid-October. But the summer ski schools and Olympics training were running hot and heavy this August.

  Between them, they kept the topic going for the whole ride.

  On the upper stretches of a slope called Kipp’s Run, they practiced rope work with crampons—mostly how not to step on the rope running toward you from the person ahead of you to your own harness. Stepping on your own rope was an invitation to making an expected face plant as it jerked you unexpectedly by the waist.

  The top of Kipp’s still had a good thick snowpack, but at lower elevations was completely melted out, so there were no skiers. Their little group owned the upper slopes.

  The Austrians and Jeff had enough experience to manage well. And most of Jeff’s tips to his wife were correct. The kids were soon having so much fun that shrieks of laughter were echoing through the crystal clear air. To Akbar, this was obviously old hat. His rope work was at least as good as her own. Though the crampons were a new concept, he had the feel of them far sooner than even the experienced hikers. Grayson was, well, being Grayson.

  Ice axe arrest training was always fun. They all took turns. The “falling” person lay flat on their back, head aimed down the slope—the hardest recovery position—while someone else held their ankles. At her signal, they were let go. Once they were skidding along with some speed, which only took a moment on this steep terrain, they’d grab the head of the ice axe with one hand, pull the long handle tight across their chest with the other, and lunge over to jam the pick into the snow. This flipped them onto their bellies. The pick in the snow, firmly clamped by their should
er, caused their feet to swing downhill. Leaning into the ice axe and their now properly downslope-pointing cramponed boots, they were jerked to an abrupt halt.

  Akbar did it perfectly every time once she’d demonstrated it. Even Grayson got it right reasonably quickly. The kids couldn’t get enough of it until the increased altitude combined with having to climb back up to their starting point each time finally slowed them down.

  She moved the group to the head of the main slope, the first real traverse they’d do. She set up two five-man ropes. She anchored one and always picked the most able tourist to anchor the other. Akbar was the obvious choice. The only drawback was that Grayson and the family would make one foursome and the Austrians and newlyweds the other. Grayson had proven that he was the weakest, and she hated strapping him in with kids. No matter how she juggled it, that’s the way it came out.

  Well, she certainly wasn’t going to put Grayson with Akbar, the man was already simmering. Both she and Akbar had been circumspect, but apparently not careful enough. Could she help it if her smile grew and her body started vibrating every time he got close to her.

  So they roped up at the crest of slope, standing in a line along the top. Hers was: Tiffany, dad, Sammy, Grayson, then her. Akbar’s was: Austrians, newlyweds, and Akbar. Each person had thirty feet of rope between them connecting from one waist harness to the next.

  “Remember,” she told everyone. “Keep close enough to the person ahead of you that there is always slack in the rope. That way it makes a big loop downslope from you and you won’t step on it.”

  There were special duties for the person in anchor position and she started rattling them off to Akbar. His nods punctuated her list easily as fast as she could list them off. He already knew the job.

  “If someone goes down, it’s your job to shout ‘Falling!’ as loudly as you can and then plant yourself hard, crampons and ice axe. Even if they arrest in the first five feet, you don’t release until they’re back up and in position.” He nodded at that. She could see the pure professional in him. He was taking this far more seriously than even her grandmother which was saying something.