by Rachel Hanna
Oh, shouldn't have thought that.
But I followed him, caught up to him as the ground leveled out. There wasn't much view where we were walking. The mountain sloped down into the California side of the Sierra range, and I'd be running down into Auburn, even if I wasn't on time. But from where we were we looked mostly into trees making the transition from pine to leafy, two thousand foot elevation type trees. The ground was rocky which made it slick, so I wouldn't have had all my attention on the view anyway.
And then again, there was the view in full firefighter regalia.
Even as I thought that he turned around and waited for me to catch up. "We're about three miles off your trail," he said, swinging down the path in front of me. Warm air brushed my arms and legs. Middle of the night I'd been cold even with the warm up suit I'd discarded at an earlier aid station. Having a pacer would have been nice, someone to run with me, someone to talk to who would urge me along through the rough (and cold) spots. Someone like –
Not this guy, I told myself, and honestly I didn't know anybody else who would even dream of doing this. My friends are all sane. So they say.
"You run anything like this before?" Cody asked.
He moved easily on the scree, surefooted as the mountain goat I'd thought of earlier.
"Not quite." I jumped over a fissure in the rock we were crossing. "I've run in Sacramento and in Reno, couple qualifying mountain races. Just – nothing like this." When he didn't say anything, just kept moving with that grace, muscled, tanned arms swinging, head up as he scanned for any sign of fire, long legs taking the terrain easily, I added, "You're really not a trail runner?"
He glanced at me. "Really. I run, but I get enough trails on the job."
We still had some distance to go, and I felt funny just following him. "So are you a volunteer firefighter? Or a... " I stopped, realizing I had no idea how I meant to finish that.
Cody smirked. Again, that smirk looked right at home on his mouth. "Or a real fireman?" he asked with mocking childish sincerity.
"I didn't say that." Gosh, was he trying to be rude?
"Sure you did." And that was said without a smile or a wink.
OK, yeah, trying to be rude.
Next instant I forgave him.
"My grandmother lives in Roseville, just outside city limits, kind of rural. She's in her eighties, but when she was in her seventies my grandfather developed Alzheimer's."
I made a sympathetic noise. He ignored me, plunging down the hill some more.
"She took care of him, kept him at home even when she had to start using creative
means for getting him on his feet when he'd fall."
"Why did he fall?" I asked, hurrying to catch up as he all but flew down the mountainside, trying to keep from falling myself. Cody's grandmother might help people back up, but I thought Cody might just stand there saying something like, Aren't you supposed to be upright? Overhead, the morning sun was glorious.
"He'd worked for the phone company for his entire career, post-World War II. He ran wire in the war, got communications up and running before a lot of battles in the Pacific, and he just kept doing it." He looked at me, too far into his story to be annoyed at anything I was currently saying or doing. His eyes were a bright, electric blue. From a distance, across the clearing, they'd looked dark. I liked how sharp they were.
"Slid down two poles in his career as a lineman. I mean slid down out of control, hit the ground hard and messed up his knees so bad they were replaced when he was in his sixties."
My own knees, tired from all the downhill, throbbed sympathetically.
"Once he got sick, he'd forget he couldn't walk really well and he was a big, big guy. He'd get up in the middle of the night and fall." His attention left me, returning to the path in front of us. "Every time the volunteer fire department down the road from my grandmother came, got him on his feet, took him to the bathroom, got him cleaned up and back in bed."
He swallowed hard enough I could hear it in the silence on the mountainside and the completely jarring weirdness of the situation slammed home, along with the need to get running again. I'm not any too good with emotion, especially other people's. Where my fingers had been starting to itch to run through that brush cut that looked so soft and kind of fuzzy, maybe trailing from there down his square jaw, along that thick chest, down the arms – now I just wanted to get back to the business of running while there was still a chance of a sub-30 hours race.
Before I thought of anything even remotely intelligent or sympathetic to say, he went on. "They made it possible for him to stay home, for her to keep him with her. So I volunteer in Sac, but up here, I'm a real fireman."
"I didn't say that," I said, mostly to his right shoulder. He was moving faster again, leaving me behind. I started to jog, an easy, non-rushed jog. "It sounds like a really nice way to give back."
I meant it, but he just said, "Give back," scathingly.
That time I felt a prickle of warmth that had nothing to do with how hot he looked. "Listen, you don't know me. I worked in a nursing home all the way through high school. I saw a lot of people who just got abandoned there, so your grandfather? He was lucky."
A light flared in his eyes and died out again. "Worked in a nursing home, huh? But you don't still. Off doing something more satisfying?"
I squinted at him. Had we gone to school or something and I'd been awful to him? Anyway, why did I have to justify myself to him? And what was wrong with a high school job that wasn't at McDonald's? One where I'd – given back. Or forward. Or just given.
I'd liked that job, and I'd worked hard. Did it somehow not count just because I didn't make it my career?
"I'm just saying what I saw. I think what you're doing in your grandfather's honor is nice. And don't snap at me about the word honor." Because he looked like he was about to snap at me about something.
"Never mind," he said abruptly, and went back to plunging at breakneck speed down the mountainside.
I followed, panting, thinking first off that he walked faster than I ran, and that he was one of the hottest guys I'd ever felt simultaneously attracted to and like – well, shoving off the edge of a mountain. And next that I should be able to keep up with him without getting so breathless even if he was fresh and had slept in a firehouse all night, the real fireman, while I ran through the night, careening into trees and generally losing myself.
Last I thought that however far I'd gotten off the path, I couldn't be as far off as it seemed. We'd been walking together for hours, hadn't we? But a glance at my watch showed I'd known Cody the fireman for about ten minutes. Wow. That was a lot of hostility in ten minutes. I wondered if he was this hostile with everyone he met or if I was just extra lucky.
And he was leaving me behind. While I missed my own race. I pushed myself and caught up with him out of sheer pride.
Which was when he glanced at me and said, "So what makes you people think you have a right to go gallivanting all over the damn mountain?" he asked it while actually leaving the ground in a leap that carried him about four feet down the sharp decline, covering a bunch of scree and brush.
What? "I'm sorry, what the hell? Look, I didn't ask you to help me. All I wanted was for you to point me to the trail. If you've got an issue with the race..." My fists were actually balled. Gosh, this guy was getting under my skin.
"Relax. The Forest Service says you can run here, you can run here. But every time someone like you gets lost up here, someone else has to take time and resources away from real forestry or firefighting work to rescue you."
I stopped moving and just stared at him. Race administrators searched first, and didn't call in anyone else until it was necessary, and as for gallivanting – had he really said gallivanting? – around the mountainside, what did he think backpackers and hikers did? What was he doing, even if he was up there to make sure the mountain didn't burn down?
He glanced at me and away again, and said abruptly, "Sorry. It's just the more peop
le in the woods, the more chance of fire and loss. I get protective of things I care about." Something in him then closed off completely, leaving me confused.
Seizing on the bit about protection, and forgetting about the race, I asked, "Does your grandmother still live in Roseville?"
"Yeah. That's why I'm in Auburn. I can. Watch out for her."
I noted the pause there. Something was bothering Cody but I wasn't really up here to hear the deep, dark secrets of complete strangers, nor did I have the time. Besides, he hadn't asked.
"Does she still live alone?" I asked, because my grandmother did, and my mother spent a lot of time trying to convince her to move in with my parents.
Something in that question made his jaw clench so hard I could see a muscle jump in it before he started to snap something at me. But his radio went off, sharply and scratchily, with a series of squawks, and he didn't get a chance to say anything. He yanked it from his belt, said his name, listened, then looked at me. "Right," he said. "Five minutes." He crammed the radio back onto his belt and turned to me. "That's your trail over there."
And there it was, in all its red surveyor's taped glory, still headed precipitously downhill but even with nothing more than a single flare of red, it looked right. Like the entire world had realigned itself to fit in with my point of view, the way it does when suddenly lost becomes oh, right, that's where I am.
"Thank you!" I said happily.
"You're probably no more than three miles from an aid station."
That made me brighten even more. There were only two more I was due as far as I knew – that meant I was within 15 miles of the end. It wasn't even eight o'clock yet. It might be hard, but I might still make the cutoff.
"Just beyond there you'll find a fork. Go left." And he gave me a grin that was obnoxious but not scathing. "Now, which hand is your left?"
I grinned back at him, very happy to be taking my leave, and now that we were parting, grateful for his help. "You do have a way with the ladies, Mr. Fireman."
His mouth twitched. "Go. Run. Win. Make the world safe for other crazy runners."
He was being human again. It made him nearly irresistible. That mouth, those so very blue eyes, the shoulders and forearms and that very nice trail-runners ass.
But I had a race to run, and I found him annoying, and I had to go. I thanked him, and turned without tripping over my own two feet, and ran.
* * *
Whatever everyone thought about my sudden interest in ultra marathon running, I had my reasons for pursuing the sport. It was more than just burning off the last fifteen pounds of post-Jason Ben & Jerry's facilitated weight gain. I'd more than done that; I'd lost twenty two pounds while training and gained some nice muscle in my legs. It was more than the suggestion from Melody that every time I broke up with somebody that I do something to "improve myself." For one thing, this race was more like killing myself than improving myself, and for another, how many guys did she think I was going to break up with? One divorce was probably enough.
Running was the freedom. It was an escape. And if I ran hard enough, even if I wasn't spectacularly fast, if I ran long and hard enough I might be able to outpace the things I needed to leave behind.
So what gave me the right to go gallivanting all over the damn mountain, Cody Green?
I did.
Chapter 2
Thanks to the call, Cody was out of sight before I'd run to the bend in the trail he'd indicated. When I looked back, there was no sign of him, or anyone else. I was alone on the mountain again.
Next time I ran a race like this I was making friends with every runner I could find and bringing them all with me.
Or finding a cute fireman who did like to run trails and would become an unofficial pacer for me. I grinned to myself.
I dropped farther down the mountain. I still couldn't see any other runners around me but there'd been a lot of that during the night. Way, way back when I ran my first trail race, when Jason and I had just gotten together, before I'd taken a whole lot of time off running to spend with Jason, I'd run a race all along the American River in Sacramento. Beautiful fall day, popular race, and there'd been more than three hundred people running it. And still most of the time I was running alone, convinced I was lost, going from orange arrow to orange duct taped arrow in that race and I hardily ever saw another runner. Three hundred other people running. Jason had met me at aid stations, driving ahead and leapfrogging from station to station to meet me, following the highway that looked down onto the trail so sometimes he could see me between aid stations, running. All by myself. He'd been the one to tell me there were consistently entire knots of runners in front of and behind me but never anyone actually near me.
But there were other runners on this mountain. And if I could find the trail, I could run by myself. I didn't need Cody. I didn't need Cody the Fireman. I didn't need anybody.
* * *
Would have been nice to just see another runner, though.
* * *
Most races don't allow mp3 players and Sierra 100 Endurance Run was no exception. It's hard to argue with the logic. You need to be able to hear other runners around you, though in my case that was a moot point. Heading through the mountains, though, even on a beautiful summer morning, I needed to be able to hear everything going on around me.
Unfortunately, having no music left my brain free to head down its usual pathways: loss of job, loss of love, loss of much purpose. Twenty-seven years old and what did I have to show for it? I was running 100 miles I'd trained for and I'd gotten lost. I was probably going to blow the thirty hour cutoff, and the smoldering hot fireman who had appeared out of nowhere had turned out to be Smirky the Chimp and good riddance to him.
Then for the next mile or two I thought about Cody. Damn. I'm a sucker for blue eyes. And broad shoulders. And a nice tight – OK, he had the entire package, everything I look for. Maybe I didn't like being laughed at, but I thought he had been teasing, and I really liked the way he looked out for his grandmother.
What I didn't like was the way he'd suddenly snap and then clam up. Like he had something to hide.
And why was I thinking about this? I was tearing down the mountain now, as if running from my thoughts. I'd told Melody how many times since the whole Jason incident that I wasn't looking for a new relationship. She didn't believe me, but she didn't know the whole story.
No one knew the whole story. And if I could just – run – fast enough – even I wouldn't have to face –
I hit a rock wrong, the edge of my foot catching the edge of the fist-sized rock. It flipped instantly, tilting inward toward my foot, so my foot twisted inward. One minute I was running too fast, nearly out of control when control was everything these days, and the next I was flying, even more out of control, the ground looking a long way down because even though I was falling sideways, twisting ankle throwing me off, I was still falling down the hill.
It took forever to hit the ground. Enough time for a dozen scenarios to go through my head and for my entire body to tighten up because This is going to hurt.
For the first second, it didn't. I sat there in shock, kind of on one hip like some kind of renaissance painted lady, and when the body parts feeling pain reported in, it was surprisingly mild. I'd fallen on my upper arm somehow, definitely better than elbow or wrist, but it was sending up signals that I was lying on a rock. I shifted gingerly, and my hip started aching. It had taken the force of the landing and even twenty two pounds down, there's enough padding on my hip to take a fall. I shifted my legs around in front of me. My ankle and foot going inward, I could easily have sprained that ankle. Textbook sprain is all the force going to the outside and stretching all the ligaments. Because the outside of my foot had gone up, the ankle had collapsed toward the inside. When I found the courage to stand and test my weight, it didn't feel sprained.
Then again, I had a lot more experience with bruises than with sprains.
While it didn't feel sprained, it didn
't feel good, either. I'd twisted it. I could probably run the next 10 to 12 miles on it, whatever was left, or even just get myself to the aid station, but this so wasn't what I had in mind. I'd be damaging it by doing so. Plus finishing would be almost impossible.
With that thought my friends all piped up in my mind, asking me if I was crazy.
Yes, probably. But I'd trained for the race because my life had changed suddenly and in ways I hadn't chosen and I was looking for control, no matter how tough and exhausting exercising that control was. So essentially I'd started running because of the man I lost, and stopped running because I fell while distracted thinking about a man I didn't have. Score. I needed to finish this race.
I took a few steps. The ankle was sore like a bruise, not sore like a sprain. Bruises I knew. I could run on this. I glanced at my watch. If I was really about a mile from the second to last aid station now, that meant eleven more miles. I could do this.
Sucking in a breath, I lurched into a run. The trail lay in front of me, every bit as empty as it had been. Seriously going to recruit every person I knew for the next trail race; this was creepy.
It got worse the next instant. While I'd been taking inventory of bruises and getting moving again I'd been hearing a sound, edge of consciousness sort of thing. I hadn't paid any attention to it while stopped, but now I was running again, I heard it clearly, as if it had just started.
It hadn't. I'd been hearing it for a while.
It wasn't a good sound.
Because it sounded like flames.
* * *
I'd accused Cody of making it up to show off. Despite the fact he didn't even seem to care if I liked him, let alone was impressed by him.
