Rescued by Her Rival

by Amalie Berlin

  “Gross.”

  “Or chew coffee beans directly.”

  “Double gross.”

  “When you’re tired enough and the threat of a court-martial rides on you staying awake...”

  She smiled at him then, and he really looked at her. Even in the low morning light, it was the first thing he saw. Malachite. Beautiful. She was girl-next-door cute, but her eyes...

  He took another drink of his coffee. Talk. Ask her something. Just stop thinking. She liked to talk. “You’re not former military.”

  The siren blast that called everyone to morning PT startled her, causing her hand to jerk, and heavily creamed coffee sloshed over the side.

  “Should’ve warned you,” he said, watching her grumble and shake the liquid off her hand. “Every morning. Get used to it.”

  “I’ll get a sippy cup,” she muttered, wiping her hand on her hip.

  He grinned at the image, so opposite from the tough exterior she portrayed. Cute. Funny. Able to laugh at herself. That was something new.

  When he opened his mouth to comment, the sound of movement behind him had him turning. More folks streamed in, but nowhere near as many as there had been yesterday—the teams were still out. Treadwell, however, was back. He walked in from the main buildings.

  “Wasn’t sure they were back,” he murmured to Autry.

  “Looks like he just got here.”

  The observation wasn’t wrong. Treadwell’s hair had the spiky, sweaty quality of a head that had spent hours in a helmet being baked from the outside, and the sturdy, vibrant man from yesterday looked like he could’ve been knocked down with a breath.

  “Does he always look like that after a fire?” She kept her voice low, for his ears only.

  A closer look and the contrast between the man he saw and what he expected immediately concerned him.

  Without another word, he broke away from Autry to catch the chief before he got to the group.

  “Everyone okay?”

  It was indirect, and the least offensive way to find out if Treadwell was well. Start with the crew, work his way back.

  “Had to put Kolinski in charge for this one,” Treadwell muttered, shaking his head. “Never seen one so bad so early.”

  The answer was both oblique and telling. “I can take these guys this morning if you need to catch some sleep.”

  The old man smiled at him, the first time in a long time, and for the moment he felt like he was doing things right. “I can make the morning PT, son. Might take you up on it for the afternoon. I’m passing you lot to the other trainers for classroom time after. We’re hitting the tower.”

  “So soon?” The tower usually came in the second week.

  “I want to make sure everyone’s ready for the season as early as possible.”

  Translation: he thought they might need to pull in some rookies early. The fire must be really bad.

  He looked north, and with the brightening sky, even a forty-minute flight south of the wildfire, he could see haze against the pinks and blues of dawn.

  Treadwell started forward again to begin PT.

  When Beck looked at Autry, he could see the concern still there. He hesitated only a moment, then moved back to her side to continue their quiet conversation. “It’s a bad one.”

  “Did we lose anyone?”

  We. She’d already invested, even not knowing anyone. He could hear it in her voice, and although the same worry creaked down his stiff spine, he knew how to divorce himself from it. To keep making good decisions. It was anyone’s guess whether or not she could.

  “He would’ve said. He didn’t. But we’re hitting the tower for classroom today.”

  “What?”

  Her voice, far more shrill than its usual pleasant timbre, drew his gaze.

  “You don’t want to do the tower?”

  “We haven’t done the pack run yet.” He could see her trying to moderate her reaction, waving a hand as if to dismiss the alarm still there in her features, even though her voice had dropped down off the treetops.

  Afraid of jumping? That would really get in the way of the job.

  Couldn’t be that.

  “You’re getting worked up because the schedule is different than you expected.”

  She cleared her throat, waved her hand again and finished off her coffee. “I’m fine with it.”

  Bull.

  “Wouldn’t be surprised if the pack run was this morning’s PT.” He let her off the hook, but then they quieted to listen as Treadwell announced they’d be doing a body carry around the track this morning.

  “Or not.”

  The chief asked if there were preferences for partners, and he glanced over just in time to see her hand shoot up and point to him once and then at herself.

  “Ellison and Autry.” The chief marked their names on the list.

  “You want me to carry you?”

  “No. I’m going to carry your grumpy butt,” she answered without pause. “Your neck and your night in a trunk would make it hard for you to carry anyone.”

  “I don’t need to be carried.”

  “Shut up, Beck.”

  She used his first name, and rather than annoying him he found himself smiling.

  “You’re pushy, Lauren.”

  “Damned right I am. I grew up in a fire family who still don’t want me to serve. Dad’s chief in our house, and my three big brothers are also all in the same station. I’m surprised you don’t know that.”

  “You’re the one who’s been obsessed with me the past two years.”

  She paled then and in response shoved him with one hand, just hard enough for him to sway a little. “Shut up. I wasn’t obsessed. I just remembered. And then your name was everywhere, like the universe was gloating at me.”

  “I see. I don’t know what you mean about my name being everywhere, but whatever you say.” He didn’t usually tease people. Or play. Or flirt. Crap, he was flirting. What was even being talked about before he started down this alien path?

  Her family at the fire station...

  “Why would I know about your family?” he asked, but Treadwell blew his whistle, calling everyone to the track.

  “Autry’s kind of a legendary name in the fire service. Maybe in the forest service, it’s not.”

  He didn’t pay attention to that kind of thing, which he almost regretted now. It sounded like they’d paid no small part in turning her into a tight little ball of competitive energy.

  Which he hoped didn’t mean she’d over-extended herself by volunteering to carry him.

  “I’m heavier than I look, you know.”

  “You look like you’re made of lead.” She finished her coffee and held out her hand for the empty cup he was also holding. “See if you can make it to the track, iron man. I’ll meet you there.”

  “You know if you drop me or crap out, we’re both in the muck.”

  She turned around, shoulders popping up. “Trust me.”

  Easier said than done. But the truth was, she’d be the one getting a strike if she couldn’t do it, he was already in. If anything, Treadwell would look upon him allowing her to carry him as a mark of his team spirit, especially as it was the most undignified position. Especially when she was almost a foot shorter than he was, and at least sixty pounds lighter.

  Regardless, they were soon both at the track, Treadwell saying, “Once around, Ellison. Don’t drop her.”

  “I’m carrying,” Autry corrected, making the chief pause and look her up and down once, then shift the same measuring but obviously tired look to him.

  “I told her I was heavy.”

  “And I told him to trust me,” she countered, and then slowly turned to look across the track, three lanes in, where two of the guys were snickering, and he remembered the name of neither of them
. It took her turning for him to pick up that they were laughing at her. At the idea of her carrying him.

  This was it. This was what she’d been talking about last night.

  They weren’t snickering out of concern, it was a joke to them. They didn’t think she could do it.

  He felt a whiff of shame as the next thought crystallized: he’d questioned whether she could do it too, even after she’d said it. Still questioned it, had only made a decision to trust her, which was something he’d never do with the bozos, now doing the far more obnoxious version of what he and Treadwell had just done.

  After his offer, he couldn’t let it stand, regardless of the state of his neck.

  Beck surged forward, ignoring the stiff, pinching pain in his neck, and didn’t stop until he was chest to chest with the one who had laughed the loudest. “Problem?”

  The man stood up straighter, meeting his gaze and holding it, a challenge there. Briefly, then he took a step back, not saying anything in response.

  It was always a gamble in a crowd of tough guys, going straight for the most aggressive maneuver, but whether it was Beck’s seniority or the amount of disgust dripping off him, the man backed down.

  “She’s really small,” he said. “If she can carry you around the track, I’ll buy her a case of beer.”

  “Yeah, she’s shorter than you, and she’s probably tougher,” Beck replied, not backing off yet but not escalating things. “Don’t bet against someone on your team, jackass.”

  “All right, you two.” Treadwell sounded weary, but the chief’s words were enough to bring them back to their corners, which was when he noticed Lauren looking at him strangely. Like she either couldn’t believe what she’d just seen or didn’t want to.

  “Runners, pick up your wounded. Once around the track,” Treadwell called, and then added to Lauren, “Don’t drop him, no matter how annoying he gets.”

  “Yes, Chief.”

  Was she annoyed? He’d told her he’d have her back if someone started giving her grief.

  He didn’t have time to ask, or even to suss it out. She grabbed one of his wrists to control the lift, planted her shoulder a little roughly right in his middle to fold him over, and slowly began to lift.

  It didn’t take more than a second for his density to become apparent. There was a moment where it seemed she wouldn’t be able to straighten her knees, but with a grunt and a wobble made it fully up.

  His natural reaction was to make sure she really wanted to do this, but even thinking the words made him feel like the jerk who’d been laughing.

  There was nothing funny about this. Her butt was perched right there in front of his face because of the way his longer torso hung over her shoulder, and he got a really good view of it, up close and personal.

  She’d chosen gray gym shorts that were loose enough to allow free movement—not exactly baggy but not tight either. Short enough for active freedom but not indecent. They were perfectly ordinary cotton shorts, but up close they might as well have been a bikini. He could do nothing but look, because talking had been hard enough when they’d just been running through the woods, but now with her carrying his heavy weight? The best thing he could do for her would be to shut up.

  And the best thing he could do for himself was ignore the way her bum jiggled as she began to walk. To walk too fast.

  “Not a race,” he reminded her rear end.

  “You’re heavy, need to hurry.”

  Her voice showed strain, but she still kept going, and any thoughts for his own dignity faded against the jiggling reminder of her femininity taking up much of his vision.

  There was a mole at the top of her left thigh, just below the hem of her shorts. The tingling resumed in his...

  Damn it.

  He closed his eyes to picture less pleasant things. Moldy bread. The smell of roadkill...

  They needed to make it around the track once, the regular track. One quarter mile. But by the first bend she shook with the effort and he’d grown tense all over, trying very hard not to let his body show how pleasant he found hers.

  Her stride became shorter and her steps less quick. No matter how fast she wanted to go, physics couldn’t be ignored.

  Focus on that. Being dropped and her washing out of camp weren’t sexy.

  “Easy.” He should help somehow. There was nothing he could do about his weight, but he could make himself more stable and easier to carry. Decision made, he wrapped his free arm around her hips to stop bouncing around and she wouldn’t have to engage her core so deeply to carry him.

  “Hard.” She grunted the one-word response.

  He was significantly heavier than the pack she’d likely trained for. He was also awkward. This was a harder test than the pack, even at the drastically shorter trek.

  “Your dad would be proud of you doing it.”

  It seemed like the supportive thing to say. Call on fond feelings, a desire to make people who loved her proud of her accomplishments. And it did seem to bolster her strength, though the grip she now had on the back of his thigh suggested it wasn’t with warm, happy feelings.

  Dad wasn’t a good subject. Dad who was a chief in her firehouse. And this suggested he wouldn’t be proud of her or she didn’t want him to be.

  This was going to be a spite victory. If they made it around.

  She made it to the second bend, and three quarters of the way around the track on determination, but made it the rest of the way with far quicker steps, and with one foot over the line, bent to let him down.

  And then kept on bending, to sprawl on her back on the packed earth and fine gravel.

  “Good work,” Treadwell said, just as Beck reached down to drag her back to her feet.

  She clearly didn’t want to get up, despite how uncomfortable it had to be, lying on little rocks, and he had to drag her.

  Once on her feet, he returned the favor, wedging his good shoulder into her middle until she folded over, and carried her a short distance onto the grass to let her down again.

  “Still the first around.” He nudged her once again prone body on the still-dewy grass.

  Her breath was great, chest-expanding gulps, and she could’ve probably blown up a Zeppelin in one go. But it was slowing. “Yay, us.”

  She went to clap, highlighting the trembling, uncontrolled quality to her movements.

  “Do you get low blood sugar?” he asked, suddenly concerned she’d exerted herself too much before breakfast.

  “No.” She held her hand up to him again, and he took it to help her sit back up. “Just over-exertion. I think I was wrong. You’re not an iron man. You’re that hairy one with the metal bones.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HER WORDS MADE Beck laugh, even if it smacked of a slight rebuke to his grooming habits. “I’m the hairy one?”

  He was touching her again. He couldn’t seem to stop doing that. The carry had been outside his control, but was this the second time he’d touched her hand? Third? He wasn’t inexperienced with women, but he’d long since given up on the concept of relationships. His celibacy was a choice, and not one that usually required conscious thought. He normally didn’t have to think about the way touching a woman made his perception shift.

  Celibacy was easier than this, generally. Not something he kept thinking about. Touching her when she was teasing him? Confusing.

  “Tell me you shave regularly when you’re going into the field. Can’t imagine a respirator making a seal over that scruffy face. And the hair on top of your head? You’ve really let that grow wild since you left the Marines.”

  “My hair doesn’t make me heavier.” He wrapped his fingers more tightly around her hand and hauled her the rest of the way up, then let go. “Walk. It’ll help.”

  “I think you’re full of crappity-crap.” She wobbled but still began to walk and he walked with her.<
br />
  Three steps and her upper arm impacted his, and she stayed there, slightly leaning, taking the steadiness he had to offer.

  She was sweating, and he could feel the bone-deep shaking transferring through the shoulder pressed against his upper arm, and all he wanted to do was sling his arm around her waist. Not just to help but to anchor her there against him. Close. Keep on walking until they were alone, and find out if he could distract her as well.

  “If I fall, tell Treadwell you tripped me.”

  Not currently distracted, still joking.

  He should follow her lead and get his mind out of the gutter, but her mention of Treadwell did that just as well. His eyes landed on the chief, and the warm, fond feelings he’d been experiencing turned due to the general colorless, almost sagging quality of the man. “He needs to sleep.”

  “He looks bad...”

  There was a grayness to his face that had both of them heading closer, her steps straightening so that she no longer leaned, they no longer touched. It helped him focus, or maybe the alarm tightening his shoulders did that.

  “Chief?”

  Treadwell held up one hand to make him wait and Beck held his tongue as the last two teams staggered across the line. Treadwell marked his clipboard and immediately handed it to Beck, as he had done yesterday.

  “Partner assignments.”

  “Partners?” Beck repeated.

  “We’re buddying up this year.” Treadwell topped his answer with a look that added weight. “Everyone is safer in a team, son.”

  Oh, hell.

  Beck wasn’t prone to thinking the world revolved around him, in fact he knew the world overlooked him more often than not, but with the specific complaints Treadwell had about Beck’s performance within a team? His lone-wolf tendencies and this change, this year?

  He’d heard the everyone’s safer speech at least ten times now. They were buddying up because Treadwell wanted to teach him.

  This was about him.

  “If someone fails because they’re physically incapable, that’s one thing. If they fail due to a failure of partnership, then both get a strike. Then it’s baseball rules.”