by Liz Isaacson
“Feels like it,” Brennan said.
“I didn’t ask how you feel,” Gramps said, a bit gruff around the edges. “I asked if that was it.”
“I don’t know.” Brennan added more sugar to his coffee, as Gramps really liked the dark roast and it was very bitter. “We hadn’t worked out what to do if she got a hotshot job. The assignments weren’t supposed to come through until February. She wasn’t even going to take her physical until the end of the year.”
He felt like he’d been robbed. Robbed of four more months with her. Robbed of the time he needed to figure out where she’d be, and how he could go with her, and if she even wanted any of that.
His breath hitched, and he took another long sip of the coffee, glad it was a little bitter still. It tasted like he felt.
“So what are you going to do?”
“Let it lie,” he said. “She’ll need a few days to get settled, and then…then, I don’t know.” Calling and begging sounded pathetic, though it was what he wanted to do. He’d only told his brothers about the landscape architecture, and that hadn’t exactly gone over well. He could still see Pat’s incredulity and hear the disbelief in his voice.
Gramps nodded, though Brennan couldn’t remember what he’d have said for his grandfather to agree with. “Do you know how Grams and I met?”
“Yeah, sure,” Brennan said. “You stalked her after the strawberry festival and stopped by her house every day after work until she agreed to go out with you.” The smile he’d tried for earlier finally came to his mouth.
“Oh.” Gramps blustered out the word. “I did not stalk her.”
Brennan chuckled. “I know, Gramps.”
“I was persistent though. I thought she was a stunning woman, and I didn’t give up until I got what I wanted.”
Brennan wasn’t so sure that would still work in this day and age, but it was a nice sentiment. “How did you win her over?”
“With my charm and good looks, of course!” He pounded one fist on the countertop, making the coffee in his mug tremble. He laughed, a big hearty laugh that told Brennan he’d lived a happy and full life.
The thought of leaving Gramps and Grams hit him square in the chest. He’d honestly never considered that he’d be leaving his two favorite people behind if he chose to follow Cora wherever her crew went.
It wasn’t a choice at all. He loved his grandparents, but he didn’t need to see them every day. He didn’t get fulfillment from making them laugh. His heartrate didn’t get worked up when they walked in the room. They didn’t make him want to be a better man.
Cora did all of that, and yes, Brennan would follow her wherever she went.
“I have to go,” he said, using the same words Cora had.
“Gonna go talk to Cora, right,” Gramps said.
“Can I leave Sybil here?” Brennan called as he entered the living room and found Sybil and Pops passed out on the couch together.
“Sure thing,” Gramps yelled from the other room. Brennan yanked open the front door and hurried through it. He had no idea what to say to Cora, or how to express his feelings, as deep as they were.
He just knew she couldn’t leave town without him laying all the cards on the table.
“Then we’ll see if she can forget me,” he muttered to himself as he leapt behind the wheel of his pickup.
Two hours later, Brennan had to admit defeat. Cora hadn’t been home when he’d arrived. Her windows still sat in darkness, and maybe Brennan had cupped his hands around his eyes to peer inside her living room window. Her cats were gone. And that huge great Dane too. Pippa barked like a psychopath whenever anyone got too close to the door, so he should’ve known as soon as he knocked that Cora wasn’t home.
He’d settled on the steps to wait, thinking maybe she was over at the station, taking care of things. Her motorcycle wasn’t in the driveway, and no way she could pack everything she needed for a twelve-hour drive to California in a backpack.
She had a sedan she used in the winter, but it sat way back in the driveway where it had been all summer.
When the clock ticked to eleven, Brennan stood from his position on her front porch. Feeling very much like the stalker he’d just accused Gramps of being, he ducked his head and went on home.
The following morning, he headed over to her house before the sun had fully lit the sky. She must not have slept at all, because the bike sat on the sidewalk and the sedan was gone.
Brennan got out of his truck anyway, the mood in the air somber. The house almost felt like it had been abandoned, though that made so sense. His heart kicked around in his chest, unhappy at not being able to say good-bye to Cora properly. Frustrated that she’d left without giving them a chance to have a conversation. Worried that it would never get to see Cora again.
A piece of paper flapped in the wind, lifting off the shiny red helmet where she’d taped it. He walked toward it slowly, almost wanting to leave it right where it was, forget about her, and go about his mowing and raking for the day. It would snow soon in these hills, and all the leaves had to be up before that happened.
But he kept on, pulling his jacket tighter around him as he reached the note. She had his phone number. She could text him anything that was time-sensitive if he chose not to read this memo she’d left behind.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood there staring at it. Long enough for his nose to get cold and his fingers to ache from the way he held them in fists inside his pockets.
Finally, he plucked it from the helmet and opened it.
Brennan,
I’m sorry I had to leave town like this. I hope you’ll be able to forgive me one day. I’ve got my men coming over to box everything up and put it in storage. I gave my cats and Pip to Kent. If you want them, they’re yours. In fact, anything in the house you want, you can have.
He snorted. Like he wanted two shorthaired cats and a dog the size of a pony. He looked up into the sky. “I want her,” he whispered to the clouds, to God. “How do I get her?”
A rain drop fell, his only answer. He turned and went back to the truck, still reading.
I sold my motorcycle to Sergio Reyes. He said he’d come get it later today. The keys are in the seat. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. You’re not going to be around anyway.
He could almost imagine her sighing at this point, her sign that she was about to wrap it up. Sure enough, there was only one line left in the letter, and it said, Once I get my bearings, I’ll call you.
Cora
Brennan crumpled the letter in his fist and tossed the ball of paper to the floor on the passenger side of the truck. He didn’t want anything from her house. He didn’t want her pets. And he certainly didn’t want to wait an undetermined amount of time before hearing from her.
But her meaning had been clear: Wait for me.
Brennan wasn’t sure if he could. Well, of course he could. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. Fury pounded behind his eyes that she’d even asked him to, and red was all he could see as he drove away from her house.
Chapter Eleven
A week had passed since Cora had snuck out of Utah like a thief in the night. Her back ached, and she rolled over on the tiny cot she carried tied to her pack. The air was scented with ash and fire, as usual.
She’d woken before dawn, as usual. Every inch of her skin felt tight like a drum, and dry dry dry. No amount of lotion could soothe the windswept, fire-singed, sunburned flesh on her neck and face.
“You up?”
She turned toward Davy’s low whisper and groaned as she stretched. “Yep. Why are you up?”
He drew something in the dirt where he crouched. “Couldn’t sleep.” He pointed to the orange glow on the horizon. “It’s not slowing down.” He was a few years older than her, and had been on a hotshot crew in New Mexico for a year before coming to California to help with the fires.
There were over eight thousand additional firefighters and hotshots currently in the state, all of them trying to tame the difficult flames
before they destroyed more homes, ruined more land, killed more animals. The crews attempted to get ahead of the blaze and burn out its fuel. Anything to get this fire under control.
“Where’s Jaxon?”
“He was on the first watch, so he’s still asleep.” Davy yawned. “Your morning crew is starting to stir on the other side of camp.”
She nodded and stood, not wanting to be the last of her crew to be up and ready for the day. She’d been assigned to the Del Rosa Hotshots Crew when three of it’s members had been life-flighted out of the area due to a wind kicking up and throwing the flames in their faces, all in under three seconds.
She’d learned quickly that fire was no joke, especially out here, where there were limited medical supplies, limited ways to communicate, and a Mother Nature that didn’t care if you thought you were invincible.
Cora certainly didn’t think she was infallible, and she glanced up as the now-familiar sound of a fire helicopter came closer. The pilots worked day and night, keeping their crafts running and fueled, flying out to the front lines, and dropping buckets of fire retardant and water. Sometimes they even dropped supplies for the hotshots, but Cora hadn’t seen that for herself yet.
She pulled on her too-big boots and clomped clumsily over to her crew. She was the only female hotshot on the Del Rosa crew, and nothing they’d given her fit well. Everything was too big, too long, too bulky. For the first time in her life, she was glad for her boxy shoulders, as they at least held her coat in place while she used a chainsaw to cut back overgrowth that would burn in the blink of an eye.
Her job—along with the rest of her crew—was to clear the way for the fire. Which meant they were in the direct path of the flames, and they worked ahead to try to eliminate all the fuel the fire needed to continue.
She wore heavy-duty fire clothing for sixteen hours a day under the suffocating California sun. She carried a fifty-pound pack with all her clothes, toiletries, fire retardant, first aid kit, emergency supplies, and more. Attached to that, she had her cot, an axe, and as much water as she could carry.
In her hands, she wielded a chainsaw, a skill she’d never thought she’d need as much as she had when she’d first come to California. Some of her crew came behind and cleared the debris she created, and behind them came the soakers. They dumped water and fire retardant on the cleared areas, hoping that when the flames reached them, they’d die.
“We’ve got this fire eighty percent contained,” Gil said as she approached. “A couple more days, guys, and we could have it out.”
A couple more days. That sounded fantastic to Cora. She needed a hot shower and a soft bed. Shoes that fit. And a chance to call Brennan.
She hadn’t spoken to him once in the past eight days, something that ate at her soul and made her heart writhe in her chest uncomfortably. But she didn’t even have her cell phone out here. She’d been given a crew radio, and that was how they kept in touch if things went south. She was never supposed to be alone anyway, so having a personal cell phone was frivolous.
“Cora, you’re on soaking today.” Gil met her eye and waited for her to nod. Passing the heavy chainsaw to someone else for a day would be a relief, though she’d been grateful for the dozens of pushups she’d inflicted upon herself once she’d gotten out here. She couldn’t believe she’d only been removed from civilization for five days. It felt like a lot longer than that.
One day to drive, she chanted as she suited up. One day to complete her physical and get her assignment. One day to get transported to her crew base. On the fourth day after leaving Utah, she’d been on the front lines of the fire, doing exactly what she’d dreamt of doing.
She reminded herself that she wanted to be out here in California’s wilderness. Even with the baggy pants and the floppy gloves. Even with the huge packs and heavy chainsaws. Even with the acrid scent of smoke and death all around her.
Thank you, she sent toward the awakening sky. She learned the value of prayer every day she was out here, and she didn’t want to miss a day of thanking the Lord for the opportunity to be exactly where she was.
Her thoughts lingered on the man she’d left behind, and she added Please help him to forgive me, to her prayer. Then she stuck her hard hat on her head, picked up a bucket of fire retardant and followed her crew toward the untamed wilderness they needed to clear that day.
Cora got exactly twenty-four hours of rest before her next assignment came in. The Del Rosa crew had helped immensely in the Gibbons Fire, but another blaze loomed too close to a neighborhood in the Angeles National Forest. She and her nineteen crew members were shipping out in an hour, and Cora stared at her phone, trying to get up the courage to send a text to Brennan.
Kent had texted to say he’d never come to get her pets. Cora had thought he would, and the fact that he hadn’t sent a very clear message to her.
Sergio had texted to say he’d gotten the bike without a problem. Charlie had texted to say the house was boxed and stored and back up for rent.
Feeling officially homeless, because she was, she hung her head and let her phone drop to the bed beside her. The US Forest Service had put her up in the Del Rosa Hotshots facilities, but a single room with a twin bed was hardly paradise. Still, it was a roof and it wasn’t on fire. There was running water and hot food and good company.
But there wasn’t Brennan. There wasn’t even the hope of Brennan. And she hated that.
“Let’s go, Wesley,” Gil barked, rapping his knuckles on her open door as he passed by in the hallway.
She stood, her opportunity to make contact with Brennan nearly over. Even if she texted now, she’d have ten minutes to get a response. It was the middle of the day, and he could be out working on any number of things.
Men’s voices filtered down the hall to her, urging her to hurry up or she’d be left holding her pack on her lap during the transport. Making a quick decision, and seizing the opportunities given to her, she tapped out a message to Brennan.
Back from my first fire. It was insane. Can’t wait to tell you all about it. Shipping out to the next location. It’s the Thompson Creek Fire, if you want to follow it on the news. Won’t have my phone.
She stared at the words, wondering if she could put how she really felt. Wondering if it would be too unfair to tell him she loved him and missed him.
“Wesley!” Gil yelled.
Her fingers flew and she only added two more words before jamming her thumb on the SEND button and stuffing her phone in her back pocket.
Miss you.
She wasn’t sure if it would make Brennan smile or make him want to smash something. Guilt ate away at her, but she wasn’t good enough friends with anyone on the crew to pour her history out and ask their advice.
She managed to shove her pack into a space two sizes too small for it before she climbed on the bus. Ignoring Gil’s death glare, she found a seat near the middle and turned her attention out the window.
With her phone clutched in her hand so she could feel it when it vibrated, she watched the city go by, clouded with smoke from the Thompson Creek Fire. The crew arrived seemingly in the blink of an eye, and Cora powered down her phone and stuck it in an outside pocket on her pack.
Brennan hadn’t responded, and Cora’s heart settled in her overly large boots as she set about hauling all her equipment toward the shelters.
Have I done the wrong thing? she wondered. She expected to be happier as a hotshot, but one thing was for certain—she wasn’t happier here than she had been in Utah.
“Heads up!” someone called at the same time another man yelled, “Watch out!”
Cora flinched, shrinking into herself at the same time she tried to look up and find whatever had everyone concerned.
The sky held an eerie shade of dark green, but Cora couldn’t see anything else. Someone else yelled, and she threw her hands up to protect her head. Time stilled, and something rushed through the air.
She turned just in time to see the flaming debris, but
she couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. The piece of wood hit her square in the face, and pain exploded up her nose and down her throat.
She gasped and grunted and gagged all in the same breath, and her knees hit the dirt. Everything spun, and she closed her eyes to keep from throwing up. The sound of footsteps raced toward her, along with men calling to one another.
“Cora,” someone said and it echoed endlessly in her head. Cora, Cora, Cora.
“Look at me, Cora.”
She recognized the voice as Gil’s, but she couldn’t make her eyes obey. They were shut and they wanted to stay that way.
“She’s burnt,” she heard Gil say. “Get the first aid kit. Call the med unit. They’ll have to come get her. We’re going out on the fireline in twenty minutes.”
No, Cora screamed inside her own head. She didn’t want to be left behind. She wanted to be on the fireline in twenty minutes. She tried to sit up. Tried to tell Gil she was fine. But the cool darkness she floated in took her further and further from her senses, until all that remained was nothingness.
Chapter Twelve
Missing was not a strong enough verb for Brennan’s agony over Cora’s departure. She’d been gone for eleven days before he got a message from her. And curse his luck, he’d been on the riding mower for hours and thus, hadn’t heard the chime nor felt the buzz.
Back from my first fire. It was insane. Can’t wait to tell you all about it. Shipping out to the next location. It’s the Thompson Creek Fire, if you want to follow it on the news. Won’t have my phone. Miss you.
“Miss you,” he repeated to himself, wondering how in the world he could adequately convey how he felt about her through a text. With the heater blowing on his fingers, he managed to get them working, but he didn’t send a text to Cora. She wouldn’t get it anyway.
No, he swiped and tapped until his phone called his father. “Hey, Bren,” he said, his voice as cheerful and chipper as ever.
