by Jill Shalvis
“Like what?” she asked, annoyed now. She never did anything stupid.
Except kiss Griffin. That had been really stupid. Wonderful, hot…but really, really stupid.
Sam dove into the water ahead of her, and then resurfaced, tossing back his hair as he turned to face her. “Like actually let yourself feel for someone.”
She opened her mouth, then slowly closed it, because what could she say? He’d nailed it on the head.
She rarely let herself feel for anyone.
She never let herself feel for anyone. Things were better that way; cleaner, easier. Safer.
Sam splashed her. “Am I right?”
She offered him her middle finger, then dove in the next wave and came up near him. “And just so you know, I feel for plenty of people.”
“Really? Name two.”
“You.”
“Two.”
“Okay, you and…”
“Yeah? Me and…who?”
“And everyone in San Puebla.” Pleased, she ticked them off on her fingers. “Tom, Nina, Rosa…”
“Oooh. Four whole people.”
With a frown, she dove into another wave, and when she came up, Sam was bodysurfing next to her. “You know, I changed my mind, it’s only three people,” she informed his cocky grin. “Tom, Nina, and Rosa.”
Sam laughed and shook his head at her, spraying saltwater in her face before he went for the next swell, his long sleek body taking the water like he’d been born for it.
She went for it, too, and prided herself on the fact she rode the wave better than he did. She liked to be the best, it made her world right for that one moment, and she came up with a smile.
“That’s such a classic Lyndie move,” he said.
“What is? Looking better than you out here?”
“Pretending you don’t give a shit when you know you do.”
“I give a shit. The waves are perfect.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about people.”
“Oh.” She patted his cheek with her wet fingers. “Don’t worry. I give a shit about you, too. A little, anyway.”
“You know what, baby?” He floated on his back, arms spread wide. “Someday you’ll admit you want me. You know you do.”
She laughed good and hard over that one, then splashed him. “I’m not getting in line for a piece of you. I don’t compete for a man. Ever.”
“Too bad. You don’t know what you’re missing.” He dove under again, but when he came up, Lyndie was waiting.
“I care about people,” she said, unable to let it go. “I just don’t always feel like wearing my heart on my sleeve, that’s all.”
“Hey, we all have our little quirks. Some are more stupid than others.”
With a sigh, she dove back into the water. She sure wouldn’t be wearing her heart on her sleeve in a few days’ time, when she picked up Griffin. Even if she had wondered how he’d fared after his first fire in a year; wondered if he’d had any trouble thinking about it.
Wondered if he thought of her, or even cared.
16
Two days later, Lyndie readied for takeoff. Sunset had always been her favorite time of day, but this evening she didn’t take the time to enjoy it as she moved around her plane.
The fire in San Puebla had jumped the lines again. This afternoon it had taken out another ranch. Two ranchers had suffered serious smoke inhalation and were on a train to the closest hospital.
She flipped through the preflight papers on her clipboard, not really seeing any of it. What she saw, out of the corner of her eye, was Griffin striding toward her, wearing soft, faded jeans and a white T-shirt she knew would have a firefighter logo over his left pec. It offset his tan, telling her that whatever he’d been doing all week, it’d involved the sun.
There were other people milling around as well, but only Griffin stepped close, blocking her view of anything or anyone but him. Slowly she lifted her gaze from his long, tough body to his face.
He pushed his sunglasses up on his head. “So we’re doing this again.”
“Define this.”
A hint of a smile touched his mouth, though in his eyes she saw the tension. “I didn’t know it would be you.”
So he probably also didn’t know what had happened in San Puebla today, about the fire jumping the lines, the loss of both another ranch and his hard-earned containment. He wouldn’t take it easily. “Would you like a different pilot?” she asked.
He looked startled at that. “No. God.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Listen. I wanted to tell you I’m sorry for the way I acted Sunday night.”
She began to walk past him. “Forget it, I wasn’t any peach either.”
He stopped her with a hand to hers. “I can’t forget it. I didn’t even thank you—”
“There was nothing to thank me for.”
“Are you kidding? You were there for me every time I began to fall apart.”
“I said forget it.” She pulled her hand free. “People fall apart on me all the time. It’s because of where I take them, which is usually a world beyond what they know, and the things we see and do—”
He took her hand again, looked into her eyes. “So you kiss all your passengers?”
Uh…“No.” She squeezed her eyes shut to the memories reflected in his. “Griffin, I don’t want to do this now. I can’t do this now. Let’s just…start over, okay?”
“Lyndie—”
“Please.”
He hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, but finally nodded. With one last long look that might have melted her if she’d been a melting sort of woman, he moved past her and got on board. She watched him go, then rolled her eyes at herself for watching, and followed him, only to run smack into him when he stopped short. Pulling her hands back quickly from where they’d landed on his back, she opened her mouth to ask him to use brake lights next time.
Then she saw what he was looking at.
The kitten sat curled up on one of the seats, fast asleep, looking deceivingly adorable, for something that had destroyed her house in a matter of a short week.
Within the close confines of the plane, Griffin turned, shooting her a knowing look that also had quite a bit of heat in it. “You kept him.”
They were close enough to kiss, not that she was noticing. “No one else wanted him.”
“So you’re not attached at all. It’s just another humanitarian gesture on your part.”
“Except he’s not human,” she quipped. “I guess that makes it an animaltarian gesture.”
But he refused to let her joke her way out of this. “You’re looking me in the eyes and telling me you’re not attached,” he pressed.
Nope, not attached. And not even under the threat of death would she admit that she liked how Lucifer’s little kitty bowls looked on her bare kitchen floor, or that she didn’t mind sharing her bathroom with his litter box.
In fact, the thing had slept on her feet the past two nights, pouncing her well before dawn, attacking her if she so much as twitched in her sleep…reminding her with his every move that she wasn’t entirely alone. “That’s what I’m saying.”
“Liar,” he chided softly, and tugged on her hand until she stepped so close their toes touched. “Why can’t you just admit you’re attached to something?”
“Look, the thing eats more than he’s worth.”
“The thing? You haven’t even named it?”
“Sure. I call him Lucifer. Especially when he’s hanging off my curtains, swinging back and forth and hissing at me.”
Griffin scooped the little guy up against his chest and stroked him beneath his chin.
Lucifer mewled softly as he woke up and began to purr.
Purr!
Lyndie bit back her growl but couldn’t take her eyes off the sight of Griffin nuzzling the kitten, completely oblivious to the fact that he was coming off like a marshmallow. “Put the devil down and get ready for takeoff.”
Still cradling the
cat, he let out one of those slow, sure smiles that had an annoying effect on her pulse. “If you’re so unhappy with him, why don’t you let me take him off your hands for you?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“It’s the least I can do.”
Lyndie looked down at Lucifer, who was practically drooling in bliss and rapture, and felt her heart crack just a little, tiny bit. She couldn’t believe it, but somehow she’d actually grown fond of the little idiot. “I said I’d keep him.”
Lifting his free hand from Lucifer, Griffin stroked a strand of hair off her cheek. “Tough to the end, aren’t you,” he whispered. “Why is that?”
“I’m just…independent.”
“Have you really never let yourself lean on another person, ever?”
“Haven’t needed to, not since my grandfather died.”
“So you have it all covered, all by yourself.”
“Yep.”
He slowly shook his head. “Everyone needs something else once in a while. There’s no shame in that.”
“You want me to lean on you? Really?”
He stared at her, torn between saying “Hell, yes” and backing away for fear of hurting her because he still had no idea where the hell his head was at. “I’m attracted to you,” he said quietly. “You know I am. But I don’t trust my feelings yet.”
“Yeah? Well that makes two of us.”
“But I can say I want to trust my feelings.” He shot her a wry grin when she just looked at him. “I take it you can’t say the same.”
“No. And don’t think I don’t see the irony. You’re willing to risk and I’m not. But leaning on you isn’t in my plans, Griffin.”
“What is?”
“I’ve been wondering that myself.” Her gaze met and held his, and she licked her lips in a nervous gesture that made him groan.
“God, Lyndie.” He touched her face, moved even closer. “I—”
But another man stepped on board right then, one who looked shockingly like the man already standing there. Not quite as tall, and a little beefier, he shared Griffin’s see-all light blue eyes, sun-kissed light brown hair, and rugged facial features.
At the sight of him, Griffin dropped his hand from Lyndie’s face and sighed.
“I’ve got great timing, huh?” the man said with a grin.
Griffin set the kitten down on a seat. “Lyndie, meet my brother. Brody’s gotten himself invited to come along by promising Sam a whole plate of donated supplies. He thinks I need a keeper.”
“Nah.” Brody shook Lyndie’s hand with a charming smile. “What he really needs is a personality transplant.”
Lyndie, whose heart was still leaping from the almost-kiss with Griffin, found herself smiling. “I think I like you already.”
“You like him but not me?” Griffin said in disbelief.
“He’s quick,” Lyndie said to Brody.
“That’s my Grif, quick as lightning,” Brody agreed. “Mom always said it’s because she didn’t eat enough protein when she was pregnant with him. So really, it’s not his fault.”
Lyndie smiled, and it was a real one. “Are you really coming along?”
“Is that all right? I thought I could volunteer as well.”
“Are you trained?”
“Nah. Grif here, he’s the overachiever in the family. I’m not equipped for such tremendous dedication.” He toed Griffin’s bag at their feet. “His pack alone must weigh eighty pounds. That’s a lot of carrying.”
Lyndie glanced at Griffin, who wore a perfectly inscrutable look on his face.
“Actually, I’m skilled differently than my brother,” Brody said easily, and picked a seat. “In a little bit of everything.”
“You mean in a little bit of nothing.” Griffin sank to a seat as well. “He majored in napping.”
“And that’s a fine skill, I might point out,” Brody said.
Oh, this was going to be very interesting, Lyndie decided. “You have any reason why leaving the country would be illegal?” she asked Brody.
“Not at the moment. Sam said it would be no problem.”
Lyndie checked her pager, and indeed she had a text message from Sam, approving Brody. “Well, then. Buckle up, boys, we’re in for a bumpy ride.”
Brody looked excited.
Griffin groaned.
And oddly enough, Lyndie found herself feeling alive—extremely, beautifully, vibrantly alive.
* * *
The weather for the flight behaved itself, and the night sky opened up in front of them, with mid to high humidity and little to no winds.
Perfect, for both flying and for the fire. But as if he’d read her mind, Griffin shook his head, “We won’t be so lucky in San Puebla.”
Lyndie glanced over at him. The cat was sprawled upside down in his lap, exposing his scrawny little body and full tummy for scratching, which had caused him to fall in a deep sleep. “It could happen,” she said. She was not going to comment on her silly little kitten and how at home it was in his hands. “And if it stays like this for a few days, we could get back to one hundred percent containment, no problem, right?”
“Get back to?” He tensed. “I thought it was contained.”
“The wind kicked up and the flames jumped the fire lines. It took out another ranch.”
“Jesus.” He looked devastated. “Anyone hurt?”
She didn’t want to tell him. “Two ranch hands suffered serious smoke inhalation, they’re on their way to the hospital.”
Silent, he stared out the window for a long moment, looking at nothing really, since night had fallen and they were flying over high desert. A muscle in his jaw bunched with whatever dark thought he was having.
And she had that urge to soothe again. “But if the weather stays this good tomorrow…”
He broke off her words with a slow shake of his head, only his eyes revealing that he knew far too much about such things. “That’s where people go wrong. They gauge the weather too soon, or from too far away. Then they get content, or worse, confident. Trust me. The fire creates its own weather. At the very least, we’ll have winds, low humidity, high temps—”
“Ever the eternal optimist,” Brody said.
“It’s just the nature of the fire, not my nature,” Griffin protested, and after that, they flew in silence for a while. Brody brought out a deck of cards and tried to coax his brother into a game.
But Griffin wasn’t in a gaming mood.
“If you stay too intense for too long, Grif, you’re going to get wrinkles. Didn’t you ever listen to Mom?”
“I did. I’m just surprised to find out that you did.”
“Yeah, I always was the one in trouble, wasn’t I?” Clearly trying to lighten the mood, Brody grinned at Lyndie. “My mother said ‘You’re the death of me’ so many times I thought that was my name.”
Lyndie found his grin contagious. “You two look alike, but you’re not.”
“That’s because I got all the good traits,” Brody said.
“If you call sleeping through life a good trait,” Griffin offered.
“Not this past year, I haven’t been sleeping through life.”
“Really?” Griffin arched a brow. “What have you been up to? Besides fly-fishing, that is.”
“I’ve been taking care of Mom and Dad, for one. And keeping up with all the friends you deserted. In fact, big brother, I’ve been doing all the things you should have been doing but haven’t, not since you vanished on us.”
Griffin turned to the window.
“Yeah, I can see you’re glad you asked.” The laughter and teasing had left Brody’s face. Serious, he looked even more like Griffin.
“You…vanished?” Lyndie asked Griffin.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
His rough, low voice took her aback.
“Of course you don’t,” Brody said. “Because if you don’t you can continue to dwell.” He looked at Lyndie. “There was a wildland fire in Idaho l
ast summer. It was terrible, you probably heard about it on the news.”
“I should have never let you on this plane,” Griffin muttered.
“I heard about that fire.” Lyndie remembered she’d thought how courageous and amazing the people were who fought fires like that.
“Twelve died.” Brody sighed. “Twelve wildland firefighters.”
Griffin, still turned to the window, closed his eyes.
“Grif was on that fire,” Brody went on. “In fact, he was in charge of one of the ground crews. They were his friends. One of them, Greg, had been his best friend since kindergarten.”
“God damn it,” Griffin said.
“You’ve got to be able to hear it out loud, man. It’s time.” Brody’s voice softened as he finished his story. “Afterwards, he up and walked away from all of us: me, my parents, his friends—including Greg’s wife, whom he was also close friends with. Moved across the country and sat on a beach in San Diego. Moping. Sulking—”
“Brody—”
“Quiet, Grif. I’m telling a story.”
“My story.”
“Yes, well, it’s an important one and should be told.” Brody leaned back, put his hands behind his head, and sighed. “So I had no choice. I got motivated. I tracked him down, told him it was time to move on. Time to stop blaming himself when it wasn’t his fault. I got his ass in gear.”
Lyndie flew in silence for a moment as any remnant of temper at Griffin drained away.
Neither brother spoke. There was nothing to say, no possible way to make anything better for Griffin. He’d lost twelve of his crew—My God, and his best friend—and just thinking it made her heart stutter at the magnitude of his loss.
So much about him suddenly made sense. “Griffin…”
“Don’t,” he said, still looking out the window. “Don’t say anything. Unless it’s how to open an escape hatch so I can dump Brody out.”
“See?” Brody’s smile was a bit grim. “Brotherly love at its finest.” But he put his hand on Griffin’s shoulder and squeezed, his worry and love reflected only in his eyes. “I’m proud of you, you big idiot. I’m so damn proud of you.”
“What for?”
“For being here. For trying again. For doing what you do so well it’s always made me want to be a better man.”
