Wild Heat

by Bella Blake

  My mouth opens to ask Chase why he’s covered in scratches and dirt, but instead I stare in shock, my eyes wide as the realization hits me.

  It’s not Chase at all.

  6

  HUGH

  The fire broke out fast and spread even faster.

  By the time the trill of the siren sounded at our base station, sending out the call for smokejumpers, my heart was already pounding, because I live for this.

  When shit goes sideways, I’m in my element. The more adrenaline that’s pumping through my veins, the calmer my mind becomes, until it’s honed to a razor-sharp focus.

  Mom used to scold Chase and me for pushing ourselves to the edge, but we never listened to her. Truth is, I’m addicted to the rush, to the danger. We both are. It’s no surprise he’s a wildlife survivalist and I’m a smokejumper.

  What is life if we’re not living on the edge of it?

  The rush of leaping from the plane, gear bag strapped to my front and parachute snapping above me, with thick smoke billowing up at me from below—it makes me feel alive.

  Even when a fierce gust of wind, full of heat, fills my chute and tears me away from my crew, I’m not taken over by panic. I know the risks of this job, and they’re never far from my thoughts as I suit up for the mission in the ready room before each jump. But I also know these woods.

  I pull on the toggles of my chute, trying to maneuver back to our planned drop location, but the wind is too strong. I’m used to facing rapidly changing conditions and thinking on my feet—or in this case, in the air. I steer into a strong column of rising air and let it carry me up to a high ridge, because it’s better than the alternative of being pushed directly into the heart of the inferno, far away from the line.

  As I land, I think about Chase, knowing he’s around here somewhere, if he stuck to his planned route. He doesn’t have the same fire-retardant gear as me, but he’s got plenty of experience and he’s sharp as a tack. Hell, he might even be smarter and tougher than me—although I’d never tell him that.

  I have to believe he’s making it out, his hikers in tow like obedient ducklings. They’ll listen to him, if they want to survive.

  And if I can find him, I will.

  Another gale of heat-fueled wind picks up my chute just before my feet touch the ground and sends me spiraling into the air, unable to control my flight. I grab my knife and saw at the risers, but before I can cut the cords and free myself from the chute, the wind buffets me, tossing me toward a line of tall conifers.

  I crash into trees, the branches pulling at my limbs like greedy demons of the abyss, but the wind is relentless, dragging me through the evergreens. Then, as quickly as the wind grabbed me, it becomes suddenly still, releasing me from its assault. I tumble through the trees to the ground, sliding against the harsh rock of the ridge.

  This side of the ridge is steep and slick with loose rock. I twist the knife in my hand as I feel the ground shift under me. Swinging my arm hard, I drive it into the ground, slowing my slide while I dig my toes into the ground.

  Holding on, I claw at the parachute harness as the wind picks back up, and finally it detaches—flying away towards the crimson ocean spreading across the horizon.

  Taking a breath, I close my eyes for a brief moment of respite before I scan my surroundings. I’m about ninety feet from the top of the ridge, not a far distance. But the incline is nearly ninety degrees, mostly barren of vegetation, and the ground is covered with loose rock and pebbles.

  The climb is going to be slow and dangerous.

  I look down through the trees to where the ridge slopes off at a wide ledge. It’d be a fast slide, straight down for a good fifty yards or so. But if I miss that ledge, it’ll be free-falling over a cliff. I turn away, dismissing the route. I can’t find my crew if I’m lying dead at the bottom of a ravine, or worse, slowly dying from two broken legs and a head injury, waiting for the fire to consume me.

  The only plausible way out of here is to go up the face of the mountain. There aren’t many hand-holds, so my knife and stubborn will are the only things I have to help. I climb, harder than I ever have in my life, and I swear every time I gain five feet I slide back down another three.

  Every inch of elevation is a battle, but it’s one I refuse to give up.

  Between the strenuous effort and the waves of heat billowing up from below, I’m sweating like crazy inside my thick jumpsuit. When I reach a small plateau, I take my pack off so I can strip out of the jumpsuit.

  After sucking down some water from my canteen, I strap my pack back on and keep going up the face of the mountain. Every now and then, I manage to get a good foothold against the edge of a deep-set rock or the base of the few thick shrubs dotting the face of the slope, but for the most part it’s just a scramble and slide routine, over and over.

  I don’t know how much time has passed, an hour, maybe two, when I hear a faint voice call out. It barely registers and for a moment I think I’ve just imagined it, that it’s just the wind howling through the canopy of the trees.

  Then I hear it again, someone yelling, “Hello! Anyone out there?” The voice is distant, but there’s an edge of fear in the tone.

  And it’s clearly feminine.

  The shouts set off a twist of alarm in my gut.

  I know Chase is with two women, and the idea that one of them could be on her own in the middle of this makes me redouble my effort. People have died out here wandering around in the dark—long falls from rock ledges that give way, broken ankles from tripping over roots, bears that are none too pleased to have their space invaded.

  There’s a million ways this land can kill you.

  If someone doesn’t have the right set of skills and intimate knowledge of this rugged landscape, a wildfire is a death sentence.

  I’m just a dozen feet or so from crawling over the edge and to the top. I focus on her voice, using it as a beacon. It adds strength to my weary muscles and determination in my heart. But the last few feet of the slope curve outward in an overhang of solid rock. I won’t be able to hoist myself over it with my gear strapped to my chest—it’ll catch on the jagged edges, and I’ll go crashing down the mountain.

  Clinging to the side of the ridge with tooth and nail as the ground nearly slides out from under me, I bite out a curse.

  I fucking hate leaving my gear. Might as well ask me to give up an organ.

  There’s no way around it, though. I have to do it, for now. Maybe I can figure out a way to get down there to it after I find the woman.

  My legs straining to hold my massive frame steady against the shifting ground, I carefully use my free hand to unbuckle my pack. Seconds stretch into minutes as I slowly slip out of the straps, releasing myself from its hold.

  Inching myself to the right, I bury my knife in the ground to hold me and drag my pack up with one arm to rest it against the upper side of a small shrub. The bush looks like it’s barely hanging onto the slope, itself, but it’s all I’ve got.

  I’ve only made it two feet past the shrub when I hear it snap like a toothpick. I look over my shoulder and shout with dismay as the bush gives way under the weight of my gear. It breaks off completely, bouncing end over end down the slope, taking my pack with it.

  Shit! This day just became a lot more fucked.

  My pack slams into an outcropping of rock about forty feet down and comes to a dead stop. There’s no way I can safely retrieve it from my position, not without risking the chance I’ll slide right past it and tumble down the damn slope like a boulder all the way to the bottom. That’d be bad enough, but even if I didn’t break my leg or my neck, I’d have to find the energy to make this climb again.

  I turn my gaze back to the ledge above me, evaluating the situation anew. The top of the ridge is taunting me with how close it is.

  Fuck it. I’ve gotta keep going and find that woman.

  Digging my free hand into the rocks, I shove myself up the last three feet of the slope. Carefully, I reach a hand up an
d grab onto the ledge, then tuck my knife between my teeth and swing my other hand up, clawing at the thick edge to get a firm grip. It takes considerable effort, but I pull myself up with a loud grunt, my muscles straining, and haul myself over the edge.

  Once I’m securely on top of the narrow ridge, I drop my knife and fall on my back, my chest heaving. I’m so fucking thirsty that the air I suck into my lungs burns against my dry, raw throat like razor blades. My canteen is full of water—too bad it’s attached to my pack forty feet down the side of a damn mountain.

  Tough shit, suck it up asshole, I tell myself.

  There haven’t been any shouts from the woman in the last few minutes, and that’s more concerning than my parched mouth.

  I roll over and climb to my knees, staggering along the ridge in the direction I last heard her voice. After a hundred yards or so, I can just make out the form of someone. From the way they’re moving, they don’t appear to be injured—no broken ankles or legs, anyway.

  The thick cloud of smoke shifts and the moon peeks out for a brief moment, highlighting a shadowy female form, ponytail whipping in the wind. She crouches down beside a large, dark object, and a spike of adrenaline hits my veins.

  I really hope that’s not a person she’s kneeling next to, because the dark shape isn’t moving.

  Making my way to her, I squint into the dark, straining to assess the scene in the fading moonlight. As I get closer, I see that the object is a backpack, and I let out a breath of relief.

  I call out to her, but the sound that escapes my raw throat is a low hiss that’s instantly lost in a gust of wind cresting the ridge. My throat is so dry I can’t speak. So much for polite introductions.

  The last of my manners take a flying leap off the mountain as I see her pull out a water bottle and take the top off. Striding forward the last few feet, I grab it from her hand and gulp it down, my body crying out in relief at the taste of the crisp, cool liquid.

  Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I look down at the woman I’ve stolen the water from. The rapidly moving clouds part again, and the moon’s glow illuminates her face, giving me a good look at her.

  Holy shit.

  I take in her expression, a mixture of shock and indignation, but that’s not what catches my attention—it’s those gorgeous green eyes staring up at me.

  I’ve had a hell of a rough few hours since jumping from the plane, one clusterfuck after another, but as I drink in her pretty features, it seems like my luck might finally be turning around.

  7

  MEGAN

  Holy shit, there’s two of them.

  I think I’m hallucinating for a moment—that I’m in a state of shock from the fire and so dehydrated that my mind is imagining things. Squeezing my eyes shut doesn’t change the view in front of me when I open them again.

  He’s still right there, looking like Chase but… not Chase.

  He isn’t an exact look-a-like, I realize as I drink him in. Where Chase is bristling with thick, hard won muscle that bulks up his frame, this guy is all lean muscle. Same broad shoulders, same dreamy blue eyes and kissable lips, but from the way his clothes cling to him, I can tell his body is finely sculpted and toned, like a swimmer—or a skydiving firefighter.

  My heart pounds in my chest as I remember Chase telling me about his brother yesterday while we were hiking. I don’t think Chase ever mentioned his name, but he did call him a smokejumper. Said he was the elite of the elite, a special type of firefighter that parachutes into wildland fires.

  But he didn’t mention that they are twins.

  Chase’s jaw is a hard line, with a sexy scruff of stubble covering it in the perfectly rugged way that I expect from a man who makes his living surviving in the wild. But his brother’s jaw is chiseled and smooth, as if it’s carved from marble. Both of them have looks that would turn all the women’s—and some of the men’s—heads at my office.

  Between the two of them, damn.

  They tick off every box on my fantasy man list. I’m fighting my inner cavewoman as I stare at him. I’m in the middle of the wilderness with not just one sexy guy, but two of them.

  I was only joking when I told Vanessa she’d be jealous of me if my guide turned out to be cute. Now, I think she’d burst into a poof of green vapors if she knew.

  Add in the ash and dirt covering the guy’s face, his forehead damp with sweat, and I want to climb him like a tree. I want him and his brother to throw me over their shoulders and take me to their cave.

  When he looks at me, it removes any lingering doubt that this man is Chase’s twin. Just like his brother, his eyes are all-consuming as they rake down my body.

  I can practically hear Vanessa’s voice whispering in my ear like the Devil, telling me to take advantage of this. She’d be cackling with joy while dragging them into her bed.

  I hear fast, hard footsteps crunching along the ridge in front of me then Chase slams into his brother, wrapping his arms around his shoulders.

  “Damn, is it good to see you, man,” Chase says as his twin hugs him back, relief evident in both their expressions.

  I look away, letting them have their reunion, and take the chance to shove my cavewoman self back into her unholy, primal cave. Doesn’t matter how hot they are, there’s a real fire burning its way up the mountain toward us and I’ve gotta stay focused.

  I feel something nudge my shoulder and I look over to see Chase’s brother extending my now half empty water bottle toward me. Right, I was really thirsty a few minutes ago—for water. Now I’m thirsty for a lot of things.

  “Sorry about that,” he tells me. “Rough landings and crawling up the side of a mountain tend to ruin my manners.”

  “No problem,” I squeak out before clearing my throat and taking a drink out of my bottle at last. I try to talk again. “You’re covered in scratches. Are you okay?”

  His eyes drag over me again, a longer assessment this time. He must like what he sees, because there’s a curl of approval at the corner of his mouth, and I fight the urge to squirm under his gaze.

  “Yeah,” he says finally. “I’m good.”

  “I saw someone get separated from the crew during the jump. I was wondering if it was you. But, dude, where’s your gear?” Chase asks.

  I realize he’s right—his twin is empty handed. He doesn’t even have a backpack. Which explains him stealing my water.

  “Had to take off the pack to get over the ledge there, then the fucking thing rolled down the mountain,” he says, bitterness filling his voice.

  Chase walks to the edge of the ridge where a rock ledge juts out and peers down, even though his light’s too dim to shine more than a few feet. “Ah, damn. Any chance of retrieving it?”

  His brother shakes his head, his jaw tight with frustration. “It’s a good forty feet down, so not without a fuckton of rope or a long slide down that steep-ass slope.”

  Kneeling down, Chase sticks his head over the rock ledge to get a better look at the slope below. “I’ve got paracord, but nothing that long. And a slide down that terrain would strip off every inch of your hide.”

  “Exactly,” Chase’s twin says with a sigh, then he looks back at me, where I’m still sitting on my ass from falling back on it when he surprised me. “Looks like we’ll have to handle introductions ourselves, since my lesser half is being rude.”

  Chase stands up with a snort and rolls his eyes at his brother. “I believe I saw you snatch her water bottle away without a word, but okay.”

  His twin strides over to me and reaches his hand out. “I’m Hugh. Older, wiser, and a damn shade better looking, too.”

  “You must have gotten knocked in the head during that landing,” Chase scoffs.

  My hand is halfway out when his name registers and I come to a full stop, frozen in disbelief. Hugh? Like as in my vibrator’s name? The universe must be pranking me. Or I’m still asleep in my tent on the plateau, and this is all a dream.

  Hugh takes another step closer, bridgi
ng the gap between my half-extended hand and his. I swallow hard as his palm slides against mine. God, it’s hot, rough, and strong—just like my impression of the man himself. I manage to shake his hand, wondering if he can feel my fingers tremble as we make contact.

  “Megan,” I tell him, plastering what I hope is a friendly smile on my face. I probably look a little bit psycho. “Chase told me a bit about you.”

  “Whatever he told you, don’t believe him,” Hugh says, his lips turning up in a smirk.

  Geez… what is it with these guys and their ability to slay me with a sexy smile? Now it’s not just the forest on fire.

  Wind bellows over the ridge, dry and hot and carrying ash. A timely reminder that this isn’t the time to fall for handsome faces and kissable lips, especially when there’s two of them. I bet the rivalry is intense between them, and I realize I’d be happy to slip right in the middle of that fierce competitiveness and let them battle it out, with me as the prize.

  I blink and shake my head to rid myself of those thoughts. Not the time, Megan, and definitely not the place.

  Hugh reaches his hand out once more and I gladly take it. He pulls me up, and together we join Chase at the edge of the ridge.

  “How bad is it?” Chase asks as we look out over the churning inferno.

  The fire is so vast, so all-encompassing, so overwhelming I can’t find the understanding to be afraid. The fire isn’t a scary thing out there anymore, it’s here. It’s everywhere. It’s just the way our world is now.

  “Bad,” Hugh answers, his voice grim enough to twist my stomach. “Best we can figure, it started from a lightning strike in the middle of the night and just took off—it’s been too dry the last few weeks, and this wind is a beast.”

  “Damn. This storm could’ve dropped a long, hard rain on us and given the forest a good soaking. Instead, it’s been more lightning and wind than rain. Right at peak fire season, too,” Chase says with a grimace.