Looking forward to seeing her later, Nick hurried back down the slope toward his camp. Already he could hear the chopper approaching from the command center on Copper Mountain—his ride to work.
“Slow down, Jo!” Hazel teased her friend. “Us old fogies can’t keep up!”
“Us young ones, neither,” Bonnie complained. “Why so gung-ho all of a sudden, Lofton? Are you training for the Olympics?”
The situation now, Jo realized as she stopped so the rest could catch up, was a direct reversal of their first day up here, when she was the one hurrying to keep up with Hazel.
But all this was deliberate. After wallowing in self-pity because of Nick’s sneaky departure from the park, Jo had “bucked up” and transformed her attitude.
Okay, so her torrid tryst with Nick Kramer wasn’t the smartest thing she’d done all year. She was determined to get over it and move on.
Now she was throwing herself into the outdoor activities with a vengeance, bound to forget Nick and justify Hazel’s confidence in her.
Day nine, their last day before the floating final exam, as Hazel called the swoop-for-your-life, had been set aside for confidence-building and wilderness instruction. In the morning the girls ran through a special “circuit course” installed by the state university, a trail with numbered stations including climbing obstacles, balance logs, scramble nets and rope bridges, all safe but physically and mentally challenging.
It all kept Jo mercifully busy and focused on something besides Nick. But the brief break for lunch at midday gave her too much time to recall his face and touch, the feel of him inside her, the crushing rejection as he apparently slipped out of town like a thief in the night. Taking her heart with him, despite her safeguards and defenses against men like him.
“Jo,” Hazel admonished, moving up beside her in the little clearing where they’d stopped to eat, some remote place well over on the western slope of the mountain, “drink some of your water and slow down a little. You’re looking a little peaked today.”
“I thought you brought us up here to toughen us up,” she retorted aggressively. “Not to mother-hen us.”
Hazel, in a rare show of surprise, backed off. That afternoon was devoted to a three-hour hike that took them off the mountain slopes and down into the canyon floor. Their destination was the site of an old Blackfoot Indian summer camp.
“This spot isn’t mentioned in any of the tourist guides,” Hazel explained, “because it was mainly just a work camp where they smoked and dried fish for the winters, not being a tribe that favored pemmican. We’re gonna do it, too, on the same racks they used. It’s fun.”
Jo asked questions and pitched in with an enthusiasm she knew was excessive, yet for her necessary.
The others noticed it, too, and exchanged glances—or so it seemed to her. She hated this self-consciousness she now felt, which left her feeling literally beside herself, as if she was watching herself trying to cope.
And she definitely hated and resented their pity. Hated it most of all.
“Smoke’s not bad at all on this side,” Dottie said to Hazel late that afternoon when they were ready to hike back. “But look how it’s massed toward the river.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Hazel replied. “I meant to follow the fire news closer today, but we’ve been on the move and I didn’t get to it.”
She didn’t bother to add that earlier when she heard all those choppers on the far slopes, it occurred to her Nick might still be in the area, after all.
However, Hazel wasn’t about to mention it. Her instincts advised her to just let this one play itself out.
“We’ll catch up on fire news tonight,” Stella promised. “Any signs of trouble, we cancel the swoop.”
“Oh, there’s signs of trouble already,” Hazel said thoughtfully, her gaze fixed on Kayla. “Human trouble, that is.”
Dottie’s grand-niece was rinsing her hands in the nearby stream, getting rid of the fish gunk, as she called it.
“You and me, Hazel,” Dottie remarked, “have tied our thoughts to the same rail. Ain’t Kayla being a model mountain gal these past couple days? At least, compared to the way she was?”
“Mm. Like maybe she’s nursing a guilty conscience?”
“No fair, you two,” Stella complained. “What do you know that I don’t?”
“Nothing you can burn a brand into,” Hazel admitted. “But something doesn’t quite add up here. I’m thinking we better stand by for a blast, because something is due to blow.”
The last of the day’s sunlight was bleeding from the sky when the tired women finally returned to their cabins on Bridger’s Summit.
Jo was sliding her backpack under her bed when Hazel came in and handed her a scrap of paper.
“Found this on the picnic table,” the older woman informed her without any additional comment.
Her heart racing at the knowledge that he was still in the area, after all, she read the two-line scrawl.
It was a note from Nick. But in her present mindset, the note was not unlike a red rag to a bull.
Sure, he wanted to see her again. He was horny again, no doubt and she was the easiest game in town.
Much later, when none of this would matter, she would realize that it was her strange mood—exhausted, defensive, angry and hurt—which caused the ill-fated night. Despite her relief that Nick wasn’t really gone, her disappointment in him was still too strong.
“Big deal,” she said, crumpling the note into a little wad. “So he stopped by. What’s he want for that—a gold star?”
“No,” Hazel retorted pragmatically. “He wants to see you.”
“‘See’ me? I’m sure he does. I’m just wondering, where was he two days ago?”
“Well, have you asked him that?”
“Why should I have to ask? I was ready, I waited. He’s the one who blew it off.”
“Honey, you don’t know—”
“We’ll need water for supper,” Jo interrupted her friend. “I’ll be right back.”
I sure do know, Jo fumed as she went outside and grabbed the water jug. I know all about being some man’s low priority.
After the physical and emotional closeness she’d shared, or thought she’d shared, with Nick, there simply could not be any excuse for not letting her know why he stood her up. That kind of carelessness, especially after her failed romance with Ned, was intolerable, period, end of discussion. Better solitude than a casual lover.
She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she hardly noticed the gathering dusk along the winding path. As she stepped out onto the stone footbridge, a familiar voice behind her made her draw up short.
“Jo! I just missed you topside. Hazel told me you came down here.”
She spun around and watched Nick approach her, smiling uncertainly. In the grainy, dying light his face seemed pale and curiously incomplete—a blunt reminder she’d made love to a virtual stranger. This misery now was her reward.
She aimed a noncommittal stare at him. “Yes, here I am,” she said casually.
Now that he was closer, out on the bridge with her, she saw how dirty and rumpled he looked, smelled the sweat of labor on him. It made her think a bit more about him, even though she’d had two days to stew in her own juices, and her resentment toward him cut deep.
“Hey, you okay?” she hazarded.
“Yeah. I know I look beat.” He glanced ruefully at his smoky, torn attire.
Reaching for her, he bent to kiss her, but her instincts raged. She turned her head.
He let go. “What’s this?” he asked, frowning, his eyes darkening with worry.
“Nothing.”
He stared at her. “You want to ease off, don’t you,” he stated woodenly.
Inside, she released a moan of frustration. Now that she’d made up her mind to act sane again, he was going to entrap her. But there was no way she was going to tell him how much she wanted not to ease off. That conversation was his responsibility. Until she knew he wante
d more from her than just sex she was going to keep her mouth closed along with her legs.
Hiding her hurt and anger, she moved toward the pump.
He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.
“Hey,” he said, sounding confused, “you got my note, right?”
“Thanks, I got it,” she replied, shaking off his hand. In the waning sunlight, her angry eyes flashed like molten metal.
He stared at her, his expression cloaked. “Then what is it?”
She vowed not to show or feel anything until she was well up the hill and away from his view. “Look, it’s just that I’ve had time to think, and this isn’t what I want.”
“What you want?” he echoed, his voice finally yielding to his exhaustion. “Well, out with it. What do you want?”
“I’m not trying to be unfair here. It’s just that I— I want…” She turned around and faced the brook. Desperately trying to focus her mind on anything but the sting in her eyes, she finally stammered, “I—I want something, I mean, someone, a little more steady, I guess.”
He moved up behind her and pressed her back against him. His arms crossed over her stomach like a steel cage.
Unbidden, need surged in her. If truth be known, she wanted him, right then and right there, dirt, sweat and all, and the world be damned.
But it was clear now that he knew more than she did. He’d predicted they’d never be friends because sex would always be there between them. Unfortunately, sex wasn’t enough when one wanted love and commitment.
“Look,” he groaned, his cheek against her hair, “I know things have never been steady for me.” He paused and his hold grew tighter. “All I’ve ever gotten out of this life was a fistful of air. It’s become the thing I’m used to, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want more. I want you to know I’ll take more if I can get it.”
She couldn’t believe his words. It was as if he was talking about candy, and if it was available, he would take as much as he could grab, whether it was chocolates, or peppermints, or both.
And it was the punishment she deserved for being so impetuous, for giving in to her loneliness. She’d had no business getting involved with any man, let alone this one, who touched her every weakness. Now that she was hurt, she had no one to blame but herself. Nick Kramer was who he was; she couldn’t change him, couldn’t make him want something he didn’t. So it all must end, here and now. She couldn’t give him another chance to lacerate her heart.
Bitterly she confessed, “Well, that’s just it. You see, I don’t want to be your port in the storm.”
Shaking her head, she pulled away from his warm embrace, still unwilling to let him see her face and the silent tears now streaming down her cheeks. “But don’t worry, sailor,” she choked, “there’s always another port around.” Her voice breaking, she began toward the cabins, ready to jog there if she must in order to get far away from him and the hurt.
He shouted to her, his anger and frustration growling through his words, “Napoléon was dead right. ‘The only victory in love is to walk away.’”
Sixteen
Jo gave little thought to the river-rafting expedition awaiting them just past dawn on their last day in the Bitterroot National Forest. She knew, of course, that it was an important and final rite of passage for the Mountain Gals Rendezvous. But mostly she welcomed it for the opportunity to focus on something immediate and demanding.
Something besides Nick Kramer and her emotional torment. She didn’t want to just push him out of her life, yet neither could she make herself open her arms to him and accept his leavings. Need warred with pride, and so far neither one seemed up or down. Just a miserable limbo of indecision.
The women set out for the river and missed hearing the radio news bulletin flashed throughout the region:
“We interrupt regularly scheduled programming for this emergency fire bulletin from the national weather station at Eagle Pass. Contrary to all expert predictions of a routine fire season in the Bitterroot Forest, ideal fire conditions have emerged in the past few hours. Known as an atmospheric inversion, the freak wind currents have already sparked several new and dangerous blazes in the north end of Crying Horse Canyon.
“All visitors to the Bitterroot National Park, as well as residents east of Hanover Creek, are now under immediate evacuation orders. Only essential park employees and firefighting personnel are authorized to remain in the designated area until further notice.”
Shortly after the first broadcast of this warning, ranger Mike Silewski showed up to warn the women personally.
He found both cabins deserted.
Silewski shouted into the surrounding trees, but got no response. Frowning, he tacked an official evacuation notice to the door of each cabin. Then he thumbed on his handheld radio and “broke squelch,” alerting Nick Kramer’s radioman.
“Better put Nick on the horn, Jason,” Mike said grimly. “I think we have a situation developing here.”
“There they go, out of sight around Dogleg Bend,” Dottie reported, watching the younger women’s progress through field glasses. “They’ll hit their first rough stretch soon.”
“They’ll be fine,” Hazel insisted as the three older women headed back toward their summit camp. “I personally think this is the best bunch of gals we ever brought up here. True grit.”
“Well, now,” Stella said. “Will you look who’s headed our way.”
“Nick Kramer,” Hazel said quietly, watching the grim-faced smoke jumper hurry toward them along the path. Three of his men were with him.
“I think I might give that young man a little piece of my mind,” Hazel added.
But Nick gave her no time for that. In fact, he started speaking without even greeting them.
“Hazel, the park’s being evacuated. We’ve got big-time wind inversion over the north canyon, fires breaking out all over down there. Have the girls taken off yet?”
At his words, an icy hand squeezed Hazel’s heart. She exchanged a shocked look with her companions. The north end of the canyon was well out of sight, although Dottie had fretted earlier about the new smoke forming in that direction.
“Oh, no,” Nick muttered quietly, reading the look on Hazel’s face.
“They just went around the bend,” Hazel replied. “No calling them back now.”
“Hazel, I won’t sugarcoat it,” Nick said urgently. “That north end of the canyon is thick with old growth that burns like rocket fuel during a wind inversion. And even being in the water won’t save them, because flames aren’t the chief danger. In a box canyon like that, once the trees higher up start to burn, you get complete oxygen depletion at the bottom.”
So they’ll asphyxiate, Hazel realized in horror. The girls were in a dirty corner, all right, and look who put them there. She thought of the old saying: Success has many fathers, but failure is an orphan. Well, this orphan was her baby, and she owned up to it. She’d had misgivings about the fire signs, yet ignored them. How many times had she told herself to heed that little voice at the back of her mind?
But blame wasn’t the issue right now. Saving the girls was.
“So what’s the plan?” she demanded.
“It’ll have to be Monument Rock,” Nick answered. “That’s the last place accessible along the river before they hit the Chute. Once they pass Monument Rock, they must go on to the canyon floor. There’s nothing but sheer rock walls on both sides.”
Hazel nodded. “Monument Rock it is. We were just now heading up to get our cars and drive there on the fire trail.”
“Good. We’ll go with you. Once we get there, though, you ladies will have to hang back beyond the treeline while we work our way down to the river.”
“They’ll be moving fast by then,” Tom Albers pointed out. “If smoke’s thick down there, they may never see us.”
“We’ll run a rope snare,” Nick decided as both groups, women and smoke jumpers, began hurrying up the path to the summit. “We can’t let them slip past us. The way tha
t timber was going up just before our team was pulled out of the north canyon, no living thing will have a chance on that canyon floor.”
The four rafters had easily weathered two stretches of white-water rapids within their first hour on the river. Now, feeling more confident, Bonnie bent close so Jo could hear her above the roar of the water.
“Piece of cake so far,” the hairdresser said. “But look how thick and dark those smoke clouds ahead of us are getting.”
“Yeah, I didn’t notice those when we took off,” Jo replied. “It’s hard to tell from here just where they’re coming from.”
“We’ll know better in a few minutes,” Kayla shouted from the thwart behind them. “When we get through the bend coming up, we’ll be able to see well into the canyon.”
To her surprise, Jo had quickly learned that Hazel was right; so far, anyway, the “swoop” downriver had indeed been fun. The four women had proved a competent team with their paddles, and the exhilaration of hurtling along, plunging and weaving and bobbing, at times made them laugh like little kids in bumper cars.
Even so, Nick stayed on the fringe of her mind, a presence too important to be forgotten. But at least now, as her confidence built rapidly, she could rationalize the beginnings of acceptance.
A thistle cannot produce figs, she reminded herself, and a narcissist can truly love no one but himself.
“Get ready back there!” Bonnie called as they edged closer to the end of the long S-bend they’d entered. “I hear more rapids up ahead!”
“Oh, my God!” Kayla exclaimed as their raft shot through the last of the turn, giving them a panoramic view of the canyon below them.
And the fire that raged through it like Armageddon.
Jo glanced ahead and felt her heart plummet and her blood seem to carbonate with fear.
“What are we going to do?” Kayla cried.
“We can’t keep going!” Bonnie yelled, close to the verge of outright panic. “It’s like a blast furnace down there!”
Plain Jane & The Hotshot Page 11
