Wild Heat

by Bella Blake

  “Finish that sentence, and you’ll be swimming back to the hut,” I say, lunging for him.

  He yells and dodges out of the way at the last second, circling back around to push me on the shoulder, hard enough to get me to shift my weight and take a step toward the hut.

  “Go in there, already, and finish our damn dinner at least,” he grumbles. “I’ll give you a ten minute head start—I’m gonna go check out this canoe of yours.”

  Hugh trails behind me, stopping to look at the river and kick his boot through the grass at the edge as I make my way back to the fishing hut. Our little shack comes into view when I round the bend in the river, and I eye the strong slant of the walls. It’s barely holding together.

  I hope a storm doesn’t roll through anytime soon—both so the winds don’t spread the fire even further and so our shelter doesn’t come down on our heads in the middle of the night.

  No telling how many years it’s stood here against the elements, but with our luck one good gust would bring it crashing down.

  A low, long beam of the setting sun makes it under the clouds and hits the doorway of the hut just as I approach, as though even the heavens are trying to tell me I should be inside with Megan. The light illuminates the interior, and I see that she’s going through both of our bags, separating gear out from the clothing, making various piles.

  I’m temped to linger at the doorway and look at her for as long as I can.

  I’ve never wanted to watch someone just… exist. Not until her.

  Megan must feel my gaze because she looks up, her brows snapping together with concern. I duck inside and crouch down next to the piles she’s made. She’s got the clothing on one side, food to another, and the rest of it still tangled in front of her.

  A lump forms in my throat when she turns those pretty green eyes on me. My mouth is dry, like I drank fistfuls of sand instead of water, but I swallow hard and push the lump down, along with my hesitancy.

  I let the cat out of the bag, so I need to just deal with it, come what may.

  I grab the paracord and one of the shirts, then nod at the small doorway. “We might be able to figure out some type of covering for that,” I say. “It’ll be easier to keep this place warm that way.”

  When I turn back to her, she’s giving me a look that says she knows I’m trying to ease the tension between us. She holds my gaze for a quiet minute, and I wonder if she can see all the thoughts whirling through my mind—and the feelings crushing together inside my chest. It’s damn obvious I’ve got a lot more on my mind than creating a makeshift door.

  But Hugh is right, out here talk is just talk. It’s when we get back that will really matter. If I want a future with her to be a possibility, I better grow a pair and lay the groundwork for it, starting right now.

  “Hey, Megan?” I ask softly.

  “Yeah?” Her voice is tinged with trepidation and hope, and honestly the idea that she might be just as nervous as I am calms the emotional storm raging inside me a little.

  “Do you like Thai food?” I ask, setting the shirt and paracord down to give her my full attention.

  “I’m always up for some drunken noodles,” she answers without a second of hesitation, making my spirits soar as a teasing grin forms on those lips of hers.

  “You like it spicy, do ya?” My body isn’t panicking nearly as much anymore, and I even manage to say the words with a suggestive swagger. But my heart is still pounding because of that sweet, playful smile on her beautiful lips.

  Because of what that might mean.

  She shrugs coyly. “I can handle the heat if you can.”

  Damn. A new mixture of emotions are flooding through me—desire, hope, and a lightness that feels damn close to a giddiness I haven’t experience since childhood.

  “We don’t have as many restaurants here as you do in the city, obviously, but there’s a really great Thai place Hugh and I like,” I say. “You should come with us one night. Then maybe… let us take you to our place for a late-night movie marathon.”

  Christ, I’ve kissed her dozens of times. I’ve slept with her curled up in my arms, and I’ve carried her down a damn mountain. I know every inch of her body intimately. But I haven’t been this nervous to ask a girl out since I was fourteen and asked Lindsey Moreland to the homecoming dance my freshman year of high school.

  It’s only when she puts her hand on my arm that I realize I’d looked away, trying to mask the chaotic energy vibrating through me.

  “I would really, really like that, Chase,” she says, and between the excitement shining in her eyes and the sweet sincerity in her voice, I swear I hear angels singing.

  And then she blushes.

  It’s bewildering and comical and absolutely the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

  After all we’ve been through, all the things that have happened between us, it’s this part that makes me feel like an awkward teenager fumbling around in the dark, no clue of what the fuck I’m doing.

  But that bashful color on her cheeks tells me I’m not alone. We both know something’s just changed between us—all three of us. It isn’t just physical anymore, we’ve finally acknowledged the emotional intimacy that’s haunted every touch, every kiss we’ve shared.

  “Cool,” I say, unable to think of anything more suave as I grin at her like an idiot.

  “Cool,” she echoes with a nod, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as though she’s trying to hide the big smile that comes over her.

  I reach for the meal pouch Hugh had started cooking before I spotted the hut and we packed everything up. “It’s not spicy Thai noodles, but how do you feel about freeze-dried, rehydrated, reheated four cheese lasagna?”

  15

  MEGAN

  I slap my hand against my arm as another one bites me, then grimace as I pull my fingers away to see the black smudge. “How is it, even after a freaking wildfire, there are still mosquitoes?”

  Reaching for my repacked bag, I dig out my bug spray and liberally douse myself. The scent of citronella barely covers the chemical smell. It’s supposed to make it more bearable, so you don’t think about how you’re spraying poison on your skin, but it still creates a cloud of noxious fumes around my head.

  Truth is, the chemical-citrus smell is probably an improvement, given that I haven’t showered in days. The guys were brave enough—or crazy enough—to take a dip in the icy water when we reached the river earlier, but I’m ready for a long, hot shower.

  I offer the bottle of bug spray to them, and Chase takes it from me, applying it just as liberally.

  “It’s probably because we’re so close to the water,” he tells me as he passes the spray to Hugh.

  Hugh coats himself then tosses the bottle back to me. “At least the makeshift door is keeping them out decently.”

  Once Hugh rejoined us, the two brothers had set to work covering the doorway with a clever combination of cord and t-shirts. While they worked, I’d made sure our food was cooked—or rather, cooked again.

  At least that was something I could do while sitting down.

  “I really wish we had champagne,” I say wistfully. “You know, to celebrate making it to the river and finding the canoe. Tomorrow looks like it’ll be our last night in the wild.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” Hugh says with a grunt. “I miss my bed.”

  I eye him quietly as I open the meal pouch, because I doubt a comfortable bed is what he’s truly worried about tonight. It might not be ideal conditions right now, but he could happily stay out here for weeks, just like his brother.

  If I had to guess at what’s really bothering him, I’d say it’s not knowing how the rest of his smokejumper crew is doing. And I bet he’s concerned they might be worried about him, too, which could be a dangerous distraction while their lives are on the line battling the wildfire.

  He’s had a lot of quiet moments this evening, as if it’s weighing heavily on his mind.

  Hugh passes me the two small, round tra
ys that serve as plates, cutting boards, and anything else we need them to be. We only have the two mess kits, since Hugh’s supplies are halfway down a cliff, but it isn’t an issue so long as we’re careful in portioning out the food. Just in case, we’re still rationing as though we might be out here for another week—better a little hungry now than starving later on.

  I debate poking at Hugh’s words and trying to get him to talk about more than just missing his bed, but decide to let it pass.

  We’re all coping with this situation the best we can—even I’m trying not to focus on the guilt tugging at my heart about what my mom and Vanessa must be going through. They must be worried sick about not knowing if I’m okay.

  “I miss my shower,” I say in reply to Hugh, opting to keep the conversation light.

  I’m envisioning standing under hot water for at least an hour once I get home, until every inch of me is relaxed and clean. In my daydream, Hugh and Chase appear just as I’m ready to get out, and the shower turns hotter.

  Earlier, Chase let those three little words slip. It was obviously an unplanned confession of feelings tumbling out of him, but it made my spirits sing. However, it was also so unexpected that it made me freeze up, which probably added to his freak out a bit.

  But it all seems okay now, and I know that I’m at least as far gone as he is. My heart tells me that Hugh feels just the same.

  But I can’t help wondering… once we’re out of here and back to civilization, with no threat of death hanging over our heads, what life will look like for the three of us?

  There won’t be a crisis pushing us together, so will we just slip back into our regular lives? As difficult as our current circumstances are, the thought of returning to my corporate job and going back to spending my nights alone, as though meeting these two men hasn’t fundamentally changed my life…

  I just can’t stomach the idea. My chest aches at the thought of us parting ways, and I draw in a deep breath of resolve.

  Nope, I’m not going to let that happen. We’ve made it this far, and compared to surviving a wildfire, surely we can handle navigating a relationship, even one as complex as this.

  “I miss coffee,” Chase says, adding his item to the list of things we’re all doing without.

  “Oh my God, coffee…” I say dreamily.

  “When I get out of here, I’m going to grab a huge pot of coffee to drink all by myself,” Chase announces, then he gets a teasing smile. “You two will have to fend for yourselves over the next pot, because the first one is all mine.”

  I finish dishing out two portions from the meal pouch and hand each of the guys a plate. I let the guys eat first, since they’ve done most of the hard work today. I tell myself I’m just letting my food cool in the pouch until one of them passes me their spork utensil.

  But truthfully, I enjoy the feeling of taking care of them, even with something as small as making them little plates of camp food and watching them scarf it down.

  “Well, if that’s how it’s gonna go, Mr. Coffee Thief, then I get the first shower to myself until all the hot water runs out, then you two can fight over who gets it next,” I tell him.

  “I have a better idea,” Hugh says as he blows on the food, the steam illuminated by the headlamp we have positioned between us, the light filling the small hut enough that we can see each other. He looks up at me, a cocky grin on his face. “You scrub my back, I’ll scrub yours?”

  I tap my chin as if I’m considering it—as if I haven’t already imagined soaping up every inch of his body, and then his brother’s. “Mmm… maybe. How good are you at washing hair?”

  Hugh lifts an eyebrow at my challenge. “I know my way around shampoo and conditioner.”

  Chase nudges my thigh with his knee as he balances the plate in one hand and gathers a scoop of lasagna onto his spork with the other. “Hey, I’m pretty damn good with a loofah and body wash.”

  I don’t try to hold back the small laugh that escapes, and nod at them with a smile. “Sounds like we’ll be able to work something out then, boys.”

  Hugh scrapes the all-purpose spork against the plate, taking in the last bite before handing the plate and utensil to me. I spoon the remaining pasta and meat sauce out of the pouch, trying not to burn myself on the steam. Quality backpacking food always surprises me with how good it tastes. I don’t know how, but this four-cheese lasagna actually has cheesy strands stretching from the pouch to the plate like cheese on a pizza.

  We alternate mild chatter between bites of our small portions and indulging in gluttonous mouthfuls of water, now that we have a reliable source.

  By the end of our meal, downing that much water has become an issue for me. It was one thing when I was dehydrated, but now with an ample supply of liquid flooding my body, I’ve got a bit of a situation, since I’m not exactly capable of going to the bathroom by myself.

  Chase and Hugh are talking about the canoe and the river trip we’re going to embark on in the morning, and I’m nearly squirming as my bladder begins yelling more urgently.

  Rolling my eyes at myself, I take a deep breath and interrupt. “So. Awkward question.”

  Both of them turn to me. “Shoot,” Hugh replies.

  I chew the inside of my lip, because it’s about the least sexy thing I can think of asking them to help me with, but dammit, if I can tough out dehydration, being hungry, and having a bad sprain, then surely I can suck it up now and ask for help to go pee. It’s that or my bladder explodes.

  “Can one of you help me hobble outside?” I can’t bring myself to explicitly ask, but from the look on their faces, it doesn’t take them long to understand.

  “Totally,” Chase is already standing, unhooking the makeshift door. “I could go for a bathroom break, myself.”

  My cheeks burn as Hugh helps me to my feet—well, onto my one good foot, anyway. He holds my arm, serving as a stand-in for a crutch as I hobble along as fast as I can. But after a few steps he must see from the grimace on my face that the situation is getting desperate, because he bends down and sweeps me into his arms.

  We slip outside, and he carries me far enough away from the hut to give me a sense of privacy. He sets me down carefully, keeping a firm grip on my elbow while he turns to face away from me.

  He keeps me steady as I wiggle my underwear down and squat near the ground. With one leg under me and the other stretched out to keep the weight off my injured ankle, I look like I’m doing a weird balancing act for the Olympics.

  I’m ready to get the embarrassment over with as quickly as I can, but I swear it’s like the Hoover Dam breaks free and it sounds like I’ve turned on a fire hose.

  They can probably hear me peeing all the way in Africa right now.

  And it just keeps going.

  After what feels like an eternity of releasing my bladder, I hear Hugh trying not to laugh. He’s still turned away politely to give me as much privacy as he can, but his shoulders are shaking with a silent chuckle.

  “Shut. Up.” I say through clenched teeth.

  I’m trying to hold back a belly laugh of my own, because Hugh’s snickers are escaping like little snorts and it’s cracking me up. But I know if I clench up or jiggle at all, it’ll end up all over my boots.

  Finally, after I’ve peed enough to flood the Great Lakes, I tidy up with a wipe and stick it in the hike-out bag we’ve been keeping. Leave no trace and all that… well, except for the massive puddle running downhill.

  My bladder is happy, but my cheeks are on fire. I can’t believe I just peed a river, with my bare ass tickling the leaves, right beside Hugh.

  He manages to help me up without a word, but his lips are pressed tightly, and his expression is strained, like he’s barely keeping it together. He picks me up again and takes me back to the hut, where Chase is waiting. After he delivers me into his brother’s arms, he steps back outside.

  “Hey, fair is fair!” I call after him. “If I had to pee in front of you, then you should have just whipped it out
and taken care of business, too!”

  Hugh pokes his head through the t-shirt tarp, flashes me a grin, and says, “Nope, not happening.” Then he disappears outside again.

  “Chicken!” I yell, then turn to dig more wet wipes out of my bag, because I’m missing a shower more than ever now.

  Chase lifts his eyebrows appreciatively as he watches me pull off my shirt and start scrubbing myself down.

  “Good idea,” he says, tugging his own shirt off and then his pants, leaving nothing on but his briefs.

  He holds his hand out for the package of wipes, and I pull out another two before tossing it to him. Hugh finds us like that, in nothing but our undergarments, washing ourselves with the moistened towelettes.

  “I’m missing bath time?” he jokes. After he re-fastens the makeshift door, he quickly strips down to his boxers and snags the wipes for himself.

  “Yeah,” Chase says as he shoves the discarded wipes into the hike-out bag, “definitely looking forward to that shower.”

  “I’m just glad I didn’t leave these in the tent when we abandoned ship,” I say, tucking the rest of the package back into my bag.

  I pull out my last clean t-shirt and slide it on over my head before digging out my toothbrush and grabbing one of the water bottles. Thank goodness with an ample supply of water now, I can give my teeth a good scrub. The lasagna was surprisingly good, but I don’t want my breath to smell like cheese and tomato sauce all night.

  “Can one of you help me outside?” I ask, wiggling my toothbrush in the air.

  “Of course,” Chase says, immediately bolting to his feet.

  He fishes a small toiletry kit out of his own backpack before helping me up. He puts a hand under one of my arms while Hugh claims the other.

  Together, we head outside and stand at the edge of the river, brushing our teeth in the near-dark as though it’s the most natural thing.

  I take a big mouthful of filtered water from the bottle then gargle and swish as I watch them good-naturedly sharing the one set of supplies between them, standing by the river in boxers and briefs. If nothing else, at least our mouths will be minty fresh.