Prairie Fire

by Tessa Layne

  “Right. I should have waited for the ambulance to come tell me I’m okay? Not.”

  “I should haul your ass to jail for how fast you were going. At the very least, cite you for reckless driving. Take off your helmet, and try not to move your neck.”

  “I wasn’t going that fast. Honest.” Okay, maybe she was going way too fast. But she’d never had a wreck before. And she’d controlled her crash… Mostly.

  He gave her the stink-eye and held up a finger. “Follow my finger.” He moved it left, right, up, and down.

  “You’re overreacting. I’ve been through worse. You probably have too.” She leaned back on her hands. “Look, I appreciate the drill, but I’m fine. We Soldiers are tough, right?” She flashed him a smile.

  “You’re incredibly lucky, you know that?”

  Her smile broadened. “Of course I am. The gods are with me.”

  His face grew thunderous. “Until they aren’t. Then what? Do I get the pleasure of knocking on your parents’ door telling them you’ve flamed out? Or worse, on the door of some hapless victim of your stupidity and selfishness? You’re not invincible. Even if you’ve survived combat.”

  Ouch.

  Shame licked at her conscience. “I’m a safe rider, Travis. You know that.”

  “Like hell you are,” he bit out. “I’ve been watching you for weeks. I know exactly what you’re doing, and none of it’s safe. It’s dangerous, and it’s gonna get you and or somebody else killed.”

  “How dare you say that?” she fumed. “My safety record is impeccable.”

  “Not on the ground, and you know it. I see how you zip around on your bike, and how you put yourself in risky situations for the rush of it. I get it. The problem is, out here, you’re a danger to yourself and others.”

  Resentment simmered in her gut. “I’m fine. I just need to walk it off. And if it will make you happy, I’ll slow down.”

  A muscle ticked above Travis’ jaw. “I don’t think you understand me. You won’t slow down. I know that look in your eye. I’ve seen it before. Speed won’t help you find that high you’re looking for. Or get back what you’ve lost.”

  Fuck him. What did he know about her life? About her situation? “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You can lie to yourself, Cassie, but you’re not fooling me. Call it survivor guilt or the need to feel alive like you did downrange, but you’re taking larger and larger risks with your life and with the lives of others.”

  “Help me up. I want to see my bike.”

  Travis extended his hand, and she winced as he pulled her up. She’d tried to hide it, but the way his eyes narrowed told her he’d noticed. “You’re deflecting, Cassie,” he said harshly. “Classic tactic.”

  Her insides were as jumbled as her outsides. Why was he pushing her this way? Sure, he’d been special forces, but that didn’t give him the right to lecture her like she was a kid. Like she couldn’t handle herself or make sound decisions. She was a decorated aviator for fuck’s sake. She took a step and gasped as a flash of pain streaked up her right leg.

  “Need help?”

  I will never surrender. “I’m fine.” She shook out her leg, then hobbled over to her bike, her heart sinking as she took it in. The front tire of the bike was lodged completely under the trailer, the front fender cracked. Oh God, what had she done? Her baby. A split second of inattention had resulted in its demise.

  Still, she could salvage it, right? Still ride it with a broken fender? Panic rising, she leaned over and yanked the handlebars, straining to pull it free. No luck. It was stuck.

  “Last time, Cass. You need help?”

  She studied her boots, shame burning her skin. Fuck him and his holier than thou demeanor. She was just riding her bike. She pinched her nose, taking a deep breath. She would not cry. Warriors didn’t cry. She would not let him see her break down. It was just a bike. It was her baby. “Yes,” she whispered, unable to see the pavement through the mist of humiliation. “It’s stuck.”

  Travis joined her, studying the wreck. “Damn, Cass. How fast you reckon it was going when it hit the trailer?”

  Judging from how firmly it was lodged underneath the trailer, fifty? Which meant she’d shed a ton of speed. But even she knew that if she’d laid the bike down at fifty, she could have crushed her leg. Leather wouldn’t have saved her. She glanced down at her shredded pants. The leather had protected her from the worst, but her knee was clearly beat up.

  Travis’s face softened. “Look. Here’s the deal. You can keep speeding, and I’ll write you up as soon as I get to town, or you can come out with me to the Hansen ranch tomorrow and spend some time with Hope and me working to gentle a new crew of mustangs.”

  She hadn’t seen Hope Hansen since high school, but her mother had filled her in about Hope marrying Ben Sinclaire and working with horses.

  “What will that solve?”

  Travis glared at her in a way that looked downright fatherly. “The point is,” he punctuated, “you’ve destroyed a vehicle and damaged a trailer. What next? You? Someone else? Consider this your friendly intervention. I don’t think your Guard unit or commander would look kindly on an arrest record.”

  Panic spiraled through her. “You wouldn’t.”

  Travis’s eyes glittered. “Try me. I give no shits about your military record.”

  Cassie’s hand fisted. Shame and anger raged through her, spinning up through her chest and threatening to explode. Who the hell did he think he was, using his position like this? He was her neighbor. He’d been her friend. What about loyalty? Solidarity?

  “You’re an ass, Travis.” Her voice caught in her throat. It didn’t matter that he’d been like a big brother to her growing up. A role model. Right now, he was an asshole.

  His eyes softened. “I’ve been where you are. I know what you’re going through. You can run, but your memories run faster.”

  “You don’t know shit about me, Travis,” she yelled.

  He stepped into her space, eyes on fire. “Bullshit. You fly around in your little helicopter playing the hero, extracting assets. Shooting your weapons at faces you can’t see because all you have to do is look for a flare, a confirmation and a direction of enemy fire and you can unload your ordnance. Talk to me after you’ve looked a man in the eyes then slit his throat,” he yelled, turning away and pacing.

  Cassie gulped, shame coursing through her. He was right. What was wrong with her that she was having nightmares? The guys on the ground had it so much worse than she did.

  Travis looked back at her, hands on his hips. “You don’t have a fucking clue about me either, Cassie. And I may be off-duty, but I can still haul you up on charges.”

  She froze.

  She would die if his charges ended up grounding her. Her hands started to shake again. “Please, Travis. No.” Her voice came out hoarse and scratchy. Oh God, anything but that.

  “You have a choice. You can show up tomorrow at the Hansen ranch and help me out, or you can sit your ass in jail for a day and explain this all to your C.O.”

  He’d do it too. She was well and truly fucked if she didn’t agree to his terms. “Fine,” she ground out. She yanked at her bike again, throat tightening at the awful scrape the plastic made when it moved against the road and the trailer. And then it hit her.

  Parker would be at the Hansen ranch. Tomorrow was his day off from the fire station. He’d be working at the ranch all day. How could she face him? And the horrified look in his eyes when he realized she’d nearly killed herself today?

  CHAPTER 16

  Parker paused his work in the hayloft to lean over the handle of his pitchfork and look out the hay door. The late afternoon sun had turned the Flint Hills gold. The view was incredible here, encompassing barnyard and the surrounding pastures. Parker’s shirt was soaked, and his muscles ached from lack of sleep, but that never stopped him from appreciating his surroundings.

  Truth be told, he hated the hayloft. But Gunnar had as
ked him to move hay, and so move it he did, tossing forkful after forkful down through a hole in the second story floor to use the next time they mucked the stables. But since he was alone, he took a moment to admire the vast expanse of prairie that shone in the distance, a tapestry of green and gold.

  Immediately below stood the new and improved mustang arena he and Gunnar had finished building the other day. All week they’d worked on expanding the previous arena in preparation for the four new horses Hope had rescued at auction. Last fall, his cousin had gentled a mustang and liked it so well, she’d gone on to train in natural horsemanship. This time, she was teaching them her methods. And in a move that had surprised him, Travis Kincaid had asked to learn too.

  Parker shook his head. Travis was one of the toughest guys in Prairie. He made an excellent police chief. Even the roughest ranch hands gave him a wide berth because of his presence. He commanded respect. No one wanted to cross Travis. What could he possibly want with learning to gentle wild horses?

  As if on cue, Travis pulled up in his beat-up old truck, and hopped out, checking his watch. Parker turned and finished tossing the last of the hay to the floor below.

  A few minutes later, he climbed down the ladder and joined Travis and Gunnar in the yard. Travis looked positively murderous. “Where’s your girlfriend?” he barked.

  “Cassie?”

  “Do you have another one I don’t know about?”

  What the hell had gotten into him? He wasn’t used to hearing people call Cassie his girlfriend. Although, now that he heard it, he liked it. He shrugged. “I think she’s out mending fences with her dad. Why?”

  And why did he have his britches in a twist about her?

  “Did you see her yesterday?” Travis’s voice was clipped. Impatient.

  Parker’s radar went on high alert. “Nooo. Something wrong?”

  Travis scowled and crossed his arms. “Nothing that a little chat won’t fix.”

  Except his tone of voice didn’t sound like a little chat would fix anything. Something was definitely wrong.

  He opened his mouth to ask, but a horn honked, and Hope pulled up with a horse trailer, arm hanging out the window. “You ready? We’ve gotta get these beauties into their new home.”

  Damn. Conversation would have to wait until later.

  By the time the three men had helped Hope sort the horses into their respective pens, everyone was hot and sweaty.

  “Don’t get comfortable, boys, the work starts today.”

  Travis grumbled something about Cassie under his breath.

  “What’s your problem, man?” Parker asked, ready to come to Cassie’s defense.

  “That’s between Cassie and me.”

  Parker stepped toe to toe with him. If Cassie wasn’t here to defend herself, he’d do it for her, and he didn’t care if he had to put a fist in the jaw of Prairie’s police chief to do it. “What’s going on, Travis?” he growled, angry tightness fisting in his belly.

  Travis’s eyes went steely. “Nothing that involves you, Romeo.”

  The air crackled between them. Parker had never been in a bar fight. He’d never needed to. He’d always been the one to make sure cooler heads prevailed. But if he had to, he’d take on Travis.

  “What in the heck is going on here?” Hope stormed over. “You two are supposed to be on the same team. What gives?”

  “Yeah, what gives, Travis?” Parker echoed, vibrating with adrenaline.

  A muscle ticked just below Travis’s temple. For a long minute, no one spoke. Then Hope broke the standoff. “Whatever it is, leave it outside the pen. We’re working with scared wild animals here. They’ll pick up on whatever emotion you bring into the ring. And they’ll take our complete focus, got it?”

  Both men nodded.

  “Travis, you first.” Hope motioned to him. “Follow me.” For the next hour, Gunnar and Parker stood on the ring slats, watching Hope coach Travis through greeting and haltering one of the mustangs. By the time they were through, the horse was following Travis around the ring on a lead line.

  Travis didn’t have the kind of horse experience he and the other Hansens had. And yet, after watching him for the better part of an hour, Parker glimpsed a side of the man he’d never seen before. The hard edge that seemed to define Travis had softened. The harsh lines in his face melting away as he bonded with the horse he affectionately started calling Flipper.

  Parker had watched Hope work with her mustang, Buttercup last fall, and he never ceased to be impressed with the way she read horses, and as a result, how she read people. If only he could read Cassie that well.

  As Travis exited the ring, Parker extended a hand. “Great job in there.”

  Travis flashed him an easy smile, their previous tension seemingly forgotten. “Thanks. You can’t hide from a horse, you gotta put it all out there for them.”

  “Right?”

  “I’d forgotten how much I love spending time with them.” Travis’s face clouded. “I don’t have much time for them anymore, and I hate that.”

  The chip on Travis’s shoulder seemed to have dissipated. So much so, that Parker recognized the guy he’d been before the tornado. Travis wasn’t someone you’d ever call easygoing, but he’d been approachable. Until the tornado. No one, it seemed, had walked away from that day unscathed. Parker should have expected that, he’d seen it in plenty of people around town. But Travis had always seemed invincible. Completely in control.

  “And I heard you’re running for sheriff?”

  Travis’s face tightened. “I see the rumor mill is fast at work.”

  “No one would be better.”

  Travis snorted as he fisted his hands on his hips, toeing the dirt. “Not a done deal. Not sure I want the job.”

  Ask him.

  If he was going to ask Travis for help, now was the time. Given Travis’s demeanor, he might not get another opening. Taking a deep breath and hoping for the best, he spoke. “Can I ask you for a bit of advice?”

  “Do I look like Dr. Ruth?”

  “Not that kind of advice.” He draped his arms over the top bar of the pen. “I’ve seen some shit in my life.” More than he’d ever admit to Travis or Gunnar. Or anyone else for that matter. “But not like I’m guessing you and Cass have.”

  Travis grunted and stared at where Hope stood conferring with Gunnar.

  “I just want to know how to help her.”

  Travis leveled a hard look at him. “You can’t.”

  “What do you mean? Of course, I can.”

  Travis shook his head. “You can’t man. No one can. She has to help herself.”

  “She just needs to talk about it.”

  Travis laughed harshly. “That’s the last thing she needs to do. And get used to it now. If she talks about it at all, it ain’t gonna be with you. It’ll be with people who get it. Who’ve been there.”

  Parker’s stomach churned in jealousy. How could they have a relationship if they couldn’t confide in each other? “But she can trust me.”

  “It’s not about trust. It’s about shared experience. Who do you talk to about all the ugly you’ve seen? You gonna tell Cassie? Or another medic?” Travis narrowed his eyes. “You gonna tell her what it was like to give your uncle Warren that shot of morphine knowing he was on his way out and all you could do was make his last moments comfortable?”

  The horror of the aftermath of the tornado twisted up through him. The grief of that moment, the sick recognition that it was Warren’s limp body they were pulling from the rubble, the gray color of his face, the feeling of utter helplessness came slamming back into him. And then fear. What if his mother was next? Or his brother? Or Cassie? How much more loss could a person take before they lost their shit entirely?

  Parker could only nod in understanding. He got it now. “But I know I can’t save everyone, even if it’s my job to try,” he finally said after a long moment.

  “And we’re no heroes. Try coming home to a place like Prairie and being told by
everyone and their granny that you’re a fucking hero, and having them look at you like you’re goddamn Captain America,” Travis said bitterly. “The best I can do is pretend to be normal. And someday, if I go through the motions enough times, maybe I’ll get there.”

  Parker didn’t know what to say. Most of the men in town who were his age looked up to Travis. Wanted to be like him. What was he supposed to say? What could he say? Sorry didn’t cut it. “So how do I help?”

  “Be there for her when she crashes and burns.” Travis tipped his hat back and squinted at the horses. “And don’t judge her too harshly when she does.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Travis was going to kick her ass. But she had a hard time bringing herself to care. At the moment, all Cassie wanted to do was try and salvage her bike. She sat on the floor of her old playhouse, laptop open, screwdriver in hand, trying to make sense of the diagram she’d found online. It might as well be Greek.

  Ask her if she knew which lights came on in the cockpit and in what order in an emergency? She could do that in her sleep. But ask her where the wires went underneath those buttons, or how to disable the fuel line from the auxiliary tank, or any other number of things, and she’d point to her crew chief. Those guys were worth their weight in gold, and she’d never fly without one.

  Cassie had half a mind to call up Parker and beg him to come over and help her. Parker was as good as a crew chief when it came to mechanics. The man could fix anything. How many times over the years had he helped her fix her dad’s vintage Yamaha? But if he saw the state of her bike or the enormous purple bruise on the outside of her knee, he’d go through the roof. Cursing in frustration, she tossed the screwdriver into a corner. It was probably time to ice her knee again anyway.

  Struggling to her feet, she hobbled across the yard to the back door. Fortunately, her dad was out in the far pasture, finishing mending the fences, and wouldn’t be here to ask questions. Same with her mother. She’d stayed in bed until Dottie had left for the food truck at dark early. Grabbing an ice-pack from the freezer, she propped her foot on a chair, strapped on the ice-pack and grabbed her phone.