“I heard a little bit about what you do from Kitty, but that’s about it,” Izzy said, as we reached our campsite and began stacking the wood. I set about building a fire in the ring.
“So, you’ve got firefighter crews that work for the US Forest Service, right? But then you also have two sets of elite units that do different jobs. The hotshots are guys you hear about a lot, especially lately with all the wildfires in California. They make up the front lines of the worst wildfires. They’re true badasses, those guys. Tough as hell, fit, and ballsy. But they’re a tight unit, you know? Regimented, orderly, sort of quasi-military in a way. They drive as close to the fire as they can get, and then hike in the rest of the way, carrying whatever gear they need with them, and they attempt to contain the fire. Smokejumpers, on the other hand—we’re a wild, rowdy bunch. Cowboys, renegades. A little crazy, adrenaline-junkie types. Gotta be, because our job is to parachute into the middle of wildfires in places so remote that even the hotshots can’t get there. We jump in, and we fight the fire from the inside until the hotshots and forest service crews can get to us.”
“That sounds…insanely dangerous.”
I had the fire going by this time, and sat back to let it build up to a nice hot blaze. “Yup. About as dangerous as you’d think, and then some.”
“Did you like it?”
I nodded. “I loved it. It was challenging, and a constant thrill. If we weren’t fighting a fire, we were training, because for that job, you have to stay on top of your skills and at peak fitness, so there’s no downtime.”
“What brought you here to Alaska? You’re not fighting fires anymore.”
“Our dad had a heart attack, and he’s an alcoholic. He’s the only family we had left, so we had to go back down to Oklahoma to take care of him. We had enough money saved that we could take a few months off and just focus on him. But then Roman saw our cousin Xavier on TV or some shit, and got a wild hair up his ass about coming up here. He had this idea that we’d haul Dad up here, get to know all the Badd cousins we had never met, open a bar, and rake in the money while hooking up with all the hot tourists. Basically, he thought that’s what our cousins were doing and he wanted to give it a go. Only, Dad wouldn’t go. After we got him healthy and sober, we knew we needed to get on with our lives. Then Roman convinced Remington and me to come with him up here. Neither Rem nor I had any better ideas, so we went along with it.”
“If your dad was healthy and sober, why didn’t you go back to firefighting?”
I sighed. “We needed a break. We had a pretty bad experience. A fire got out of control and took an unexpected turn. A good friend of ours got killed—a friend of mine. It…um.” I poked at the fire, because this was one of those things I didn’t like talking about. “It was bad.”
“What happened?” Izzy asked, sitting on the log next to me.
I eyed her. “You really want to know?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
I’d set a big flat rock in the ring, outside of the fire but close enough to absorb the heat, and, after seasoning the salmon, I placed the packet of fish on the rock.
“We’d split up into three teams. Rem and Rome were together, working along the base of a ridge, and Jameson, Kevin, and I were on the opposite side of the ridge working toward the end of it, with the intent of connecting with Rem and Rome. Two other guys, Peterson and Mackie, were heading along the ridge from the north—the worst of the fire was on the top of the ridge heading north, and we were trying to stop it from spreading any further. What happened was just…a freak accident. In fires that intense, trees fall all the time. You hear it happening and know to get out of the way. It’s just part of the job. But sometimes, shit happens. Jameson, Kevin and I were working together heading south along the base of the ridge, establishing a perimeter. And, …this giant Jack pine just…toppled over. No warning, nothing. There was so much other noise around us we just didn’t hear it.”
I was silent again, remembering. I could almost feel the heat, see the flames all around us. Hear the crackle and roar. Jameson off to my right, Kevin in the middle, me on the left.
“It was just…wham. Forty tons of mature pine crashing down without a single goddamn warning. It clipped me, sent me flying. Left Jameson on the far side of it, and Kevin right underneath it.”
“Oh, my god.”
“Yeah.” I scrubbed my face. “Kevin was a fourth brother to the three of us. He was with us when we first joined the US Forest Service, went through training with us, and we all got into the same hotshot crew and ended up transferring together to the Redding smokejumper crew. Kevin was…he was a great man. A good friend.”
“I’m so sorry, Ram.”
I shrugged. “It was…bad. I went sorta crazy, I guess. Started attacking that tree with my fucking ax like I could somehow save Kevin. And I mean, I knew he was gone. When forty tons of wood hits you full force, you don’t survive. He was dead at first impact, but…I had to save him, had to get to him. All I could think at the time was I should’ve seen the tree falling, we should’ve taken a different route, and a million other things. Rome and Rem had to pull me off before the fire swallowed us. We’d gotten behind it trying to get to Kevin, and we almost didn’t make it out in time.”
She pulled her hat off and freed her hair from the ponytail, running her fingers through it. She was quiet for a few minutes.
“I wish I had some meaningful words for you,” she said. “I’m sorry you and your brothers went through that. I’ve never really thought about what it takes to fight a forest fire, and now I have a new respect for those guys.”
“Yep. I still think of Kevin every day. We all knew what we were getting into when we joined the Fire Service, but it was hard to lose a friend like that.”
“So…what are you going to do now, if you’re not going back to firefighting? Are you planning to continue with the saloon and work with your brothers?”
I flipped the packet of fish over with the tip of my knife. “This,” I said, gesturing around our campsite.
She laughed. “I didn’t know you could be a professional backpacker.”
“I meant taking care of places like this. Park ranger, I’m thinking.”
She set her hat on the log beside her hip, gathered her hair behind her head, and began plaiting it into a thick braid. “Seems to me you have perfect qualifications for a job like that. What’s stopping you?”
“Rome still needs my help at the saloon.”
“And that’s not your scene, I’m guessing?”
I snorted. “Ahhh, no. Not even a little. I hate bars with a passion. I hate drinking in them, eating in them, hanging out in them. I’m a man who belongs outside. I need the sky over my head, open air around me. I feel like I’m choking when I’m in the city.”
“It does feel different out here,” she said. “Open. Free.”
I nodded. “Exactly. So no, owning a bar, that’s definitely not my scene. It’s Roman’s for sure—he loves that shit. He thrives on the attention, the crowds, the energy, and the atmosphere. To me, I just feel hemmed in. Might as well put me in jail as stick me behind a bar. But …”
“But?”
“But Roman needs me. He’s my triplet, so I have to be there for him. I can’t just…up and leave right now. And if I were to do what I really want, I’d be out here more often than not, working in forest management. Hiking or riding these trails, maintaining them, watching the timberline, evaluating tree health, monitoring wildlife, all that. I’d basically have to leave Rome and Rem to run the place themselves, and I know Rem is pretty much done with it, too, now that he and Juneau are doing the tattoo thing, which leaves me…” I rubbed the back of my neck. “I don’t have any specific answers, it’s just what I’ve been chewing on for a while.”
She was quiet, then, tracing lines in the dirt with the toe of her boot. “I like blogging. I love clothes, and fashion.”
I caught a note of hesitation in her voice. “And?”
She did
n’t look at me. “I don’t know.”
I pulled the foil packet off the rock, unfolded it, and checked the fish inside—it was done. I grabbed a few cans of fruit and a bag of trail mix, divided the filets in half, and handed her a set of utensils.
“Dig in,” I said.
For the next few minutes there was no conversation, just us eating. The fish was piping hot, almost too hot to eat at first, but then once it had cooled off, Izzy devoured it without pausing for breath.
I grinned at her. “So, fisherwoman. How does your first fresh-caught fish taste?”
“It’s amazing!” she said, around a mouthful. “It’s so good I can’t stand it.”
“How’s it feel knowing you caught it and cleaned it yourself?”
She licked the juices off her fingers, and there was something so stupidly erotic about the way she licked her fingers clean that I had to rip my eyes off of her and focus on my food.
“It’s…I don’t know how to put it,” she answered.
“A sense of accomplishment?”
“Yeah, sort of.” She shrugged. “I dunno. I guess I just…I feel…connected to nature, somehow. Like, I have this whole new appreciation for how people had to live before civilization made everything easy.”
I laughed, nodding. “Totally, I totally get what you’re saying. That’s part of why I love being out here. I have never fit in, anywhere or with anyone except Rome and Rem. It’s not about my size or the way I look, it’s just…I’ve always felt out of place around people.” I wadded the tinfoil up and took a handful of trail mix, tossing nuts and M&Ms into my mouth before handing Izzy the bag. “Out here, it’s just me. Nature was here before me; it’ll be here after me. The trees, the bears, the elk, the stars, the insects, the fish, the birds…none of that cares about me. I don’t have to fit in. I don’t have to have a college education, or be good at math or taking tests, or talking to people. I can hunt and fish for food. I can gather berries and wild roots and herbs. I can survive in the wild with not much more than my knife, some fishing line, and my own wits. I can be just me out here, and there’s no one to care. I find comfort in that.”
Izzy was eying me with curiosity and interest. “I think I understand that, actually.”
“So. What about you?”
She blinked. “I…I don’t know.”
“You said you like blogging, and that you love clothes and fashion.”
“I do.”
“You don’t sound convincing.”
“I wasn’t trying to convince you of anything.”
“I guess I was asking if it was your future, but it seemed like you were avoiding the question, so you got me talking about myself instead.” I watched her reaction carefully.
She closed down, her eyes hardening, her expression going distant, her body language shutting down and turning inward—arms crossing, legs pressing together, turning away from me, head lowering, chin going to her chest, a frown creasing her lovely features.
She didn’t answer.
“Izzy, you don’t have to talk about it,” I said. “I’m sorry if I’m pushing something you don’t want to share. Forget I asked.”
She gave a minute lift of one shoulder. “I…um. I’m gonna go for a walk down by the creek.”
“Make sure you’re paying attention to where you’re going and what’s around you. Be aware, and be present. If you need to be alone, fine, just maybe find somewhere out of sight but close by. I don’t want you wandering too far.”
She stood up, giving a mocking two-finger salute as she did so. “Yes sir, Mr. Ranger, sir.”
“I’m just trying to keep you safe,” I muttered, stung.
“Sorry, Ram. I just need to…” She shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”
I watched her go, braid swinging, hands shoved in her back pockets, head down. For a lively, vivacious, spirited, opinionated, independent woman, she was suddenly subdued and withdrawn. Clearly, I’d accidentally stepped in something smelly.
Evening was falling, and I was worried Izzy would wander off, lost in her thoughts leading her to get lost in the woods, so I banked the fire, sheathed my knife, grabbed a rod and reel and bait, and followed her at a distance, making sure to stay out of sight and earshot, but able to keep an eye on her.
8
Izzy
That man asked the most annoying questions. And by annoying, I mean questions I had no answers for, because I’d spent years avoiding thinking about things like…the future. Like…careers.
Gah. I didn’t want to think about this. I wanted to have my head stuck blissfully in the sand, my emotional faucet very firmly shut off, the past in the past where it belongs.
Ramsey Badd had a way of dragging things out of me that I hadn’t thought about in years, and that I didn’t want to think about now. Damn him.
He’d gotten me to talk about Mom, and I hadn’t really talked about Mom, even with Kitty or Juneau. Same with Dad.
Next thing you know, I’ll be telling Ram about running away.
Ha. Not likely. I NEVER talk about that with anyone, ever.
I found the creek easily and meandered upstream, passing the place where I’d caught our dinner. God, that had been so fun. Thrilling, exciting, and rewarding. This whole trip wasn’t at all like I thought it would be. I’d jumped headfirst into this without thinking, and really hadn’t had any idea what I was getting into, or what it’d be like. I just know I’d expected to hate it…and Ram.
Turns out, I don’t hate either one.
In fact, I was finding myself liking both the experience of hiking, and the man, a lot more than I had thought it possible to like anything or anyone.
I kept walking along the banks of the creek, staring into the water, lost in thought as I watched it ripple and churn, occasionally narrowing to a swift, white-water rush of water, other times widening to a wide, calm creek. Trees overshadowed it in places, brush thick against the banks here and there, forcing me to pick my way carefully through it, following the creek so I wouldn’t get lost.
I paused and really looked around me. How far had I walked? I wasn’t sure. Would I know how to get back to the campsite?
Crap, crap, crap.
I looked back at the way I’d come. I didn’t recognize anything, and I could see nothing but forest. Suddenly, the chirp of birds and the chuckle of the creek seemed somewhat less peaceful. I knew all I had to do was follow the creek back downstream—if I could find the place where I’d caught the fish, I’d know I was close to the campsite.
Only…
The spot I was standing in looked almost identical to that fishing spot. And, now that I thought about it, I’d passed by a few places where a big tree leaned out over the creek to spread a pool of shadow.
Shit.
I forced myself to breathe calmly, and not panic.
I had bear spray.
I had a compass.
I had no idea how to use the compass, though—knowing which way was north wouldn’t do me a damn bit of good if I didn’t know where I was supposed to go.
The wind kicked up, making the tall trees around me sway and sigh, dappling the sunlight and cooling the day. It was evening, at this point—the sun would be down soon. How long had I been walking? An hour? Shit! If I had to walk another hour back, it might very well be dark by the time I got anywhere near the campsite…assuming I could find it again in the first place.
“Don’t wander off too far,” Ram had said. “Be aware, and be present.”
Ramsey would have a shit fit if he knew what I’d done. Hopefully I could make my way back to camp before he began to worry. I’d given him a mocking salute and promptly ignored his advice, and now I was lost. Well, not lost, just…misplaced. This creek had to cross the trail at some point, because we’d crossed it on the bridge. That was miles and miles back downstream…or upstream? I wasn’t sure, anymore.
Fuck.
I was starting to panic.
Lost in the woods.
Where there were bears.
I’d heard stories of cougars, too, thinking back to sitting in a dive bar with the girls, giggling as we listened to tourists exchange fish stories, and the locals swapping legends and tall tales.
Did cougars attack people?
If a bear attacked me, Ram had said, it wouldn’t eat me…just rip me apart and leave me there to be eaten by other scavengers.
I pulled the bear spray out of my pocket and held the cool canister in my sweaty palm as I headed back downstream. Stay close to the creek, I told myself, and pay attention so I can spot familiar landmarks.
And stay calm.
Stay alert.
And hope Ram comes looking for me.
I was trying my damnedest to not hyperventilate as I hugged the creek’s edge, watching the sunlight fade. If I was still out after sundown, would I freeze? How cold did it get out here at night? Would more scary stuff come out after dark?
Oh god, oh god.
The sighing of the trees sounded frightening now. The chirp of the birds was threatening. The chuckle of the river was mocking laughter. Squirrels scampering across branches was the crackle and stomp of a hungry grizzly bear on the hunt for silly, lost city girls with no business in the forest alone.
And then, as I rounded a bend in the river, I saw the most welcome sight in the world: Ramsey, a fishing pole in his hands, calmly casting his line out into the water, neatly plunking the baited hook underneath an overhanging section of brush. Tight jeans, boots…shirt off. The evening sun shone red-gold on his tanned skin, limning every muscle and curve and plane. He’d removed his hat and the wind was ruffling his long, loose, shaggy, messy blond hair. His arms rippled as he adjusted his rod and wound the reel.
Badd Medicine Page 15
