“Wow!” I whispered. “She’s a beauty.” I walked over, reciting the specs I knew by heart. “Sixty-eight horsepower, electric starter, six speed, claw-shifted tranny, APTC anti-hopping clutch.”
“You know your stuff. I’m impressed.” There was a note of respect in Rory’s voice.
I liked that note. When it came to my crazy passion for bikes, I usually got dumped on. “Yeah. I’m kinda into two-wheels.”
“You’re the first girl I’ve met who knows what an awesome ride I have. Very cool.”
“Very cool,” I agreed, feeling my face blush. I don’t handle praise well. I’m not used to it.
Rory and I spent the next hour figuring out what had to be fixed and what could wait. I told him about coming from Vancouver, staying at the hostel and waitressing at the restaurant, and how I hoped to eventually work at the Root Cellar. He told me he was eighteen, had no family alive, was working at getting his mechanic’s certification, and that he rented this house with two buddies.
Finally, after going over all the busted and broken guts on my bike, we had a list of the most essential items.
“Man, this is going to cost a mint.” The words caught in my throat.
I jumped as three guys burst into the garage, laughing and talking.
“Hey, Rory, my man, we need some Monday night party fixin’s and—”
They stopped short when they saw me.
“Robin, this is Kyle and Rat, my roommates, and Jimbo. Guys, this fine young thing had a bit of a crash-o-dent, and I’m fixing her bike for her.”
“Sure, just fixing her bike.” The one called Kyle sniggered.
Rory glared, and Kyle shut up. “You deadbeats wait here. I’ll take Robin up to the hostel. Be back in half an hour.”
Rat snorted skeptically. “Half an hour for a ten-minute ride?”
“Some things are too good to rush.” Rory shrugged out of his coveralls, revealing a sleeveless T-shirt underneath.
I couldn’t help noticing the gun show—the guy’s muscles actually rippled! Gran would say, “the Great Spirit spoiled him.” I slid my battered helmet on and tried not to stare.
Rory, I saw, had a high-end Arai motocross helmet tricked out with navy-and-gold graphics. When he started the KTM, the single-cylinder four-stroke made the walls shake. I could feel the engine vibration through the seat of my pants as I sat behind him, holding on extra tight.
We fit together really well.
CHAPTER FOUR
Invite to the Prom
Instead of rushing off, Rory sat with me on the steps of the staff quarters and we chatted about what I did back in Vancouver, which required more fast thinking. I said I worked as a clerk in a store before quickly switching the topic to him. “How about you? Are you from Banff?”
“Nah, I’ve only been here a few months. I don’t know how long I’ll stay.” He turned his thousand-watt smile on me. “Though I gotta say, now that you’re here, I could be persuaded to stick around.”
He was so friendly; I was really flattered. I didn’t want him to leave and tried to stall him. “Um, thanks . . . for the ride.”
“No big deal.” He lit a cigarette, then flicked the lit match away.
I watched it land in a pile of grass clippings. There was a brief flare before it went out. “Careful, the grass is dry.” It would be typical of my luck if the place burned down before I’d even had my free meal.
He blew a perfect smoke ring and I stuck my finger into the middle of it. “I’ve always wanted to do that.” I laughed.
“You’re something.” His eyes slid over me and I shivered. “How about going to a party with me Saturday night?”
I was so surprised, I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t exactly Miss Popularity back on the rez. This gorgeous guy was asking me out and with my new flame-orange, jaggedly hacked hair, I could hardly be called runway ready.
My new job popped into my head. My lousy luck was holding. I’m finally asked on a date and have to worry about a stupid, minimumwage, no-brainer job! I felt light-headed with excitement but had to be cool. “Sure, if I have the night off.” I used my because-I’m-so-bored-I’ll-let-you-take-me-out voice.
Rory stood and bowed gallantly. “Pick you up at eight.”
He left and I heard his thumper roar off as I walked into Cougar Jack’s, the hostel’s restaurant. I must admit, I was smiling. So much that my face hurt.
“Robin! Over here!”
Anne Collier waved from a back table and it took me a second to realize she was talking to me, Robin Pearce. I joined her, reminding myself of all the fake personal details I’d given her.
“Did you enjoy your afternoon?” she asked, handing me a menu.
My mind filled with images of the bike crash and Rory Adams. “Apart from one little hiccup, I really did.”
“I’ve got your work schedule.” Anne read the sheet on the table in front of her. “You’ll start here in Cougar Jack’s with the morning shift, six thirty until one thirty. It will give you a chance to learn the ropes.”
The thought of schlepping to the restaurant at the crack of dawn made me want to groan. “I’d rather work at the Root Cellar.” I knew tips in the bar would be way better.
“Until you can prove you’re eighteen, I can’t take a chance. If a liquor inspector came in, it would cost me my license.”
I knew better than to push things. I didn’t want to raise any suspicions. “Yeah, sure, I understand.” One good thing about the schedule from hell was that I would have a big part of the day free and—bonus!—I could go out with Rory on Saturday.
Supper was a delicious Fat Cat burger and a side of French fries covered with brown gravy and cheese called poutine. As I ate, Anne told me more about the job and gave me my uniforms, two black shirts with a small Cougar Jack’s logo on the pocket. When she shifted to more personal stuff, I knew it was time to get out of there.
“Thanks for the meal. I gotta go.” I was about to leave when a tall, dark-haired man with a deep tan walked over. I noticed that his work clothes were dirty and there was soot on his face. He smelled strongly of smoke.
“Robin, this is Mike, my husband.” Anne eyed him and wrinkled her nose. “He’s a rapattack hero, and from what I see, he had a hot time at work.”
“You’d be right.” Mike pulled a chair out and sat down. “There was a little problem up on the Smith Dorrien Trail. Some idiot in a truck lights a campfire and drives away. Poof! Next thing you know, the guys and I are earning our paychecks again.”
He laughed, a deep rumbling sound that made me feel happy. “What’s a rapattack hero?” I hoped I didn’t sound too ignorant, but I’d never heard the term.
Mike turned to me. “It’s short for ‘rapid attack,’ and the ‘hero’ part is optional. I work for the Alberta Forestry Service. When a fire starts, a rapattack crew is helicoptered in. We rappel down to the forest floor and put the fire out before it has a chance to turn into something big. In some places, they call us smoke jumpers.”
“It sounds exciting.” And it did. I couldn’t imagine flying around zapping forest fires for a living.
“It can be,” he agreed. “We like it better if the excitement’s kept to a dull roar. How do you know Anne?”
“She hired me to be part of the waitstaff here.” I’d been about to leave, but now I had to stay. I wanted to know more about this rapattack stuff. “Join us?”
Mike inspected his filthy clothes. “I’m not really dressed for dining out, but if you ladies don’t mind, I haven’t had anything since breakfast and I could eat a bear.”
Anne rolled her eyes. “Fine. Just sit downwind of me.”
Mike spent the next hour talking about firefighting. By the time dessert rolled around, I was hooked. It was the kind of thing they should make into an action movie.
“Who wouldn’t want a job like yours? It must be wicked to do all that stuff!” I was truly impressed.
Mike finished his coffee. “Well, sure. But it’s not for every
one. You have to be in really good physical shape and be able to go at a moment’s notice. If some other jurisdiction needs us, we work for them, no matter how far from home. Conditions aren’t soft. It’s tough, dirty, and dangerous.”
His passion was addictive and I listened, mesmerized.
“It’s also worth it, Robin. Stopping a forest fire is an incredible achievement. It can make you feel—”
“Like a rapattack hero,” Anne finished the sentence for him as she leaned over to plant a kiss on his soot-covered cheek.
“Your job is totally interesting and exciting and cool!” I was babbling, and both Mike and Anne laughed.
Anne teased her husband. “I think you have a fan.”
“Hey, I can’t help it if the lady has good taste.”
Mike winked at me and I found myself winking back. It was then I knew I had to get out of there. This wasn’t me. I didn’t do warm and fuzzy. “I’d best be going. Early day tomorrow. I don’t want to be late for my first shift.”
“Smart thinking,” Mike agreed. “I hear your boss is tough.”
“Don’t scare her off. I’m short staffed as it is!” Anne slapped him playfully on the arm.
I grabbed my shirts and walked out feeling like I was leaving the party early.
CHAPTER FIVE
Party Time
Work was an education. I discovered that being a waitress was a lot harder and took a lot more smarts than I’d thought. I had to carefully write every order down (including all the annoying “special changes” the customers wanted). I also had to mop up a million spills, clean slimy tables, keep cranky kids quiet with crayons, figure out the complicated till, and deliver the food hot and to the right table. And I needed to do it all while smiling and making cutesy conversation so I’d get a decent tip!
By the time my shifts were over, I’d be so tired that I usually ended up napping before supper. The other staff were real friendly and I worried about getting too chummy, in case I messed up and let some personal detail slip.
Another benefit of the staff quarters was the laundry facilities. They were coin operated, so my tips came in handy. With so few clothes, I used the washer a lot and would hang stuff to dry. There was a ceiling fan in my room, and I’d tie the wet laundry to a line attached to the fan blades. My delicates would whirl around like flying demons, drying in no time, and I didn’t have to spend precious money on the machine dryer. I had to remember the flying demons when I got up during the night, of course, or else a wet pair of socks would attack me. I thought my airborne clothesline was genius.
Saturday rolled around, and by the end of my shift, I wondered if Rory had remembered our date. He hadn’t called. I went to my room and slept until nearly seven, waking up equal parts ticked off and disappointed. Rory Adams was all smoke and mirrors.
Then I heard it. The rumble of his bike outside launched a squadron of dragonflies in my stomach.
I’d borrowed a colorful scarf and tied it around my neck to offset my worn jean jacket. The girl in the mirror wouldn’t pass for eighteen, so I undid an extra button on my blouse. Better. Wetting my hair, I tried to arrange the chopped orange mess as though it was a new style done on purpose. Nothing helped, though, so I gave up and raced outside.
“Wow! Baby girl, the word for you is hot! Ready to party?” Rory revved his bike. He had on a navy-and-white leather jacket that matched his helmet. I knew what was underneath the jacket and decided he was truly an impressive package.
Suddenly, I felt nervous. Rory thought I was eighteen, and his friends were a little out there. Okay, a lot out there. I shook it off. Being paranoid wouldn’t help my love life. “Party is my middle name,” I bragged, hoping I could live up to the billing.
We rode toward Lake Louise. It was a beautiful night, and Rory pushed his bike full out. Several times he blasted past cars, narrowly missing a collision with oncoming traffic. The guy was an adrenalin junkie, and I found it thrilling. We hurtled through the mountains, me hanging on to his waist and loving the feel of his body so close to mine.
When we arrived, the campground was filled with partygoers waving beer bottles in the air. Rory parked, and when he took off his jacket he revealed a form-fitting, crimson polo shirt underneath. It skimmed over every muscle. Nice.
“Come on, baby girl. I’ll introduce you.”
He led me to the fire. “You already know these three degenerates.” He nodded toward Kyle, Jimbo, and Rat, who’d obviously started the party hours ago.
“Hi,” I said lamely.
“Jeez, the big man brought his Injun princess.” Kyle slurred.
I stiffened.
“Her name is Robin, you loser.” There was no mistaking Rory’s harsh tone.
“He didn’t mean anything, man.” Rat said, defending his wasted buddy.
Jimbo tossed a bottle to Rory, then offered me one. “Maybe the princess wants a beer?”
“Keep the ‘princess’ part and we’ll get along fine,” I snapped, taking the beer.
“Whoa! I guess she told us!” Kyle snorted.
Rory draped his arm around my shoulders. “She’s working at Cougar Jack’s now and will eventually end up at the Root Cellar.” This got the attention of the other three.
“You mean she’d have access to the booze?” Kyle asked, interested.
“Why, yes. Yes, she would,” Rory answered, like it was some kind of joke.
“Could come in handy on a Saturday night,” Rat added, slugging back his beer.
I wasn’t sure if they were kidding, but I didn’t want Rory to think I was a wet blanket. “Yeah, that’s me. OK Liquor: Open 24/7.” They all laughed.
“Bottle counts are out all the time in bars. The leprechauns or booze fairies spirit away their share.” Rory whispered in my ear, his breath hot. “Once you’re in the bar, maybe some of those fairies will show up on your shift.”
I was speechless. This guy moved at the speed of light and I felt out of my depth. My mouth opened and shut like a guppy gulping air.
Rory laughed. “Let’s mingle.”
We joined another group of revelers, which included three girls who must have been about nineteen but who could have passed for thirty with their thick makeup. Who wears false eyelashes to a keg party?
“Ladies, this is Robin. Robin, the ladies.” The girls giggled, a trio of mindless Barbies, I was sure.
“Hi,” I mumbled. No one could accuse me of being too chatty.
“Why don’t you get acquainted? I have to talk to Rat.”
Rory left me standing there feeling incredibly awkward, so I drank the beer Jimbo had given me and a second one. I was soon on my third and knew I’d better get some food or I’d be sorry. “How about a hot dog?” I asked.
“Come on. I’ll show you where the grub is,” said one of the Barbies. I think her name was Twila or Twinkie or something.
“Thanks. I need something solid in my stomach.” I could hear a slight slur when I spoke.
It turned out to be Twila. She seemed like she was all right. She gave me the insider scoop on everyone at the party, even Rory.
“Robin, you gotta know our Rory’s a player. He’s always had an eye for the girls.”
“Yeah, I figured. No guy looks that delicious and sings in the choir. It doesn’t bother me. The old song says it all: ‘I’m here for a good time, not a long time.’”
“You know it.” Twila giggled and handed me another beer.
The fire burned down and was perfect for toasting marshmallows. I’d finished off four when Rory sauntered over. “Hey, baby girl. Cook me one of those?”
I made him a perfect, golden-brown one and he ate it, licking his fingers. “Sweet. Like you.”
He leaned in and kissed me softly, as though he didn’t want to break me. His mouth tasted of marshmallows. It was so unexpected. All I could do was stand there, frozen.
“Hey, let’s heat up this party!” Rory went to the woodpile and grabbed a couple of logs. When he tossed them onto the fire, a hu
ge shower of sparks rose into the night sky. The glowing ash drifted upward, a thousand tiny fireflies, and landed on the pine trees, flaring for a second before going dark.
“Whooo-wee! What a light show!” Rory threw back his head and howled like a wolf.
The pyrotechnics were spectacular, and I joined him in his salute to the tiny lights. We both laughed as he put his arms around me and kissed me again, this time with as much heat as the crackling sparks we’d watched spiral into the air.
Everything was going well until Jimbo staggered over. “Rory, buddy, how’s about we do a little dance in honor of your red-skin princess?”
Lumbering around the fire, he made ridiculous war whoops and pretended to shoot a bow and arrow. It didn’t take long before Rat and Kyle joined in, hooting and hollering. Rory laughed at their drunken antics.
I was so embarrassed I wanted to crawl away into the brush.
Finally, Rory smashed his beer bottle against one of the rocks in the circle of stones surrounding the fire. Everyone stopped what they were doing, including the three ignorant dancers. “Show’s over, gentlemen.”
There was some mumbling before the crowd went back to what they’d been doing. I didn’t say anything. Instead, I mentally crossed all three idiots off my Christmas list.
The rest of the night sort of blurred together, until finally it was time to call it quits.
“Let’s go, baby girl.” Rory motioned toward his bike.
“What about the fire?” It seemed to have burned itself out, but after hearing those stories from Mike, I had to be sure.
“It’s fine,” Rory assured me. “Robin, a fire is like us; it’s alive. It needs three things to exist: something to start it going, oxygen to breathe, and fuel so it can eat.” He tossed a small stick into the fire pit. It glowed, caught, and then went out quickly. “Sure, there are embers to ignite it and lots of air, but there’s no fuel. All it takes is one of those three things to be missing and a fire will do what we all do; it dies.” He sighed impatiently. “Come on. I’m friggin’ tired.”
Fire Fight Page 2
