Or a book. The idea popped into her head and expanded exponentially. A first-hand account of this life-or-death job.
Better, it gave her a reason to stay, to go back to the fire line. She would finally be committed to a job, like the people she wrote about.
After the cave, she’d sworn she was through. But the thrill of facing death and beating it pulsed through her. She loved the uncontrolled feeling of it. No safety nets here. You mess up, you’re toast. Literally. She wanted to experience it again and hoped to discover it had only been a fluke, that she didn’t love danger the way her husband had.
Or was the book idea only a reason to stay close to Gabe Cooper? She wasn’t so shallow, to let interest in a man dictate her actions.
Yes, interest in a man. She admitted it to herself now. Every minute they spent together, he was becoming more and more his own man in her mind, not an article for a story, not a reminder of Dan. Someone with his own strengths and foibles and heartaches.
Someone she couldn’t afford to let any closer. Maybe if she stayed, Jen would put her with another crew. But the thought took some of the shine from her idea.
Gabe had said they were only allowed five minutes in the shower, but surely no one would notice if she took a little longer. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.
A disturbance near the showers caught Gabe’s attention as he made his way back after dodging a horde of reporters who had staked out the mess tent. The usually orderly line of tired filthy firefighters waiting for a shower had shifted into a mob, shouting at one of the semis.
He ambled over, hung back as several of the more irate men banged on the metal wall of the trailer. “What’s going on?”
“Some rookie’s using up all the water.” One of the men scowled, not looking at him.
He scanned the group for a blonde ponytail, already pretty sure who the culprit was. “Anybody try shutting it off?”
“There’s other people showering too.”
He sighed and strode to the front of the crowd to knock on the door.
“Peyton? You in there? Peyton?”
No answer. He pressed his shoulder to the door and pushed open the cubicle.
Peyton shoved herself away from the wall with a cry and flung one arm across her breasts, plumping them up like an offering, and her other hand over her crotch beneath the slight swell of her belly. That left her with no hands to throw the soapy hair out of her face, so she glared at him through wet hanks of hair.
He leaned against the doorjamb with his arms folded over his chest and grinned at her. He should end every adventure with such a treat. Weak water pressure trickled over her white skin, slightly chafed from her washcloth. He had to shift to hide his reaction to the sight.
“Do you mind?” she demanded, her voice the growl of a hostile cat, at odds with all that softness.
She threw herself back when he reached in to shut off the water. He picked up the towel from the rack and shoved it at her.
“You’re pissing off the troops, Peyton.”
She glanced from the towel to him with a kind of hopelessness. If she reached for it, she’d have to move one of her strategically placed hands.
After another appreciative perusal of the curves she’d hidden beneath her shapeless clothes, he took pity. A shame, really, to hide breasts like that, legs like that. But the flush now covering her whole body told him it was time to retreat. He hooked the towel over the rack again and backed out.
“I’m just telling you if you turn the water on, we’ll have a riot out here. Now get dressed. My crew is taking us to town for some real food and maybe a real bed.”
Her head snapped up and his jaw snapped shut. More embarrassed than he would have expected by the inadvertent suggestion, he closed the door.
Chapter Eight
Peyton should be scandalized that Cooper had seen her naked. She grabbed the towel and rubbed it vigorously over her body. His high-handed attitude, pushing into her shower, should piss her off. She would be pissed off, as soon as she ate a hot meal and slept in an honest-to-God bed.
That was what he’d meant when he mentioned a bed, wasn’t it?
That was what she wanted him to mean.
It was.
Her extra clothes had been lost in the fire and she grimaced as she put her filthy clothes on her mostly clean body. She slicked her soapy hair back into a ponytail. Surely there was a Wal-Mart or something nearby where she could at least get some underwear, some T-shirts.
Of course facing Gabe after he’d seen her naked added to her stress. He’d also seen her sniveling, panic stricken and crying, so at least he had the whole picture.
Not that it mattered.
She walked out of the shower looking nearly as bad as when she walked in, her hair clumped with shampoo, black streaks still on her skin. Head held high, she passed the line of firefighters who scowled at her for making them wait for their turn under the spray.
The long van Gabe’s crew had commandeered for the drive into town sat near the command tent. Though Gabe had a seat beside him in the front, she chose the middle seat, wanting distance from him, not only because of the shower incident, but because of the mountain. Kim happily sat beside Gabe. Great. As if Gabe wasn’t enough, she had to deal with Kim for the first time since the rocks in the backpack. Fun time.
Peyton stared out the window at the smoke billowing from behind the mountain. Would she feel the same way if she hadn’t learned the history of him and Jen, if she hadn’t been the one to bring such painful memories to the surface?
The charred face of the mountain was so far away. How had they come such a distance in just a few hours? Had any crews been sent out with the smokejumpers to battle it? As tired as she was, she felt guilty for not being out there herself.
She didn’t see a Wal-Mart on the drive into town. Hell, it wasn’t much of a town, just a cluster of wood-shingled buildings with hand-lettered signs. The people who lived and worked here were no doubt thrilled the fire was miles away, or their little wooden town would be ashes.
One shop was labeled The General Store. Please, God, let them have underwear. As soon as Gabe parked the van, she hurried over as the rest of the crew headed for the restaurant.
At least she’d had the sense to keep her money in her fire pants. She dug it out to count it. Unless they charged outrageous prices for panties, she was in good shape.
Near the entrance, she grabbed a couple of souvenir T-shirts proclaiming the splendor of Montana, then hunted for underwear and socks.
The only socks in stock were brightly colored and very girly, but the grit in her boots right now gave her little choice. Panties were easier to find but expensive. Still, she bought two packages and vowed to throw her current pair away. The only bras available were the armored variety, like her mother used to buy her, the cheap ones from Sears that made her boobs look misshapen, but she didn’t have the luxury to go without.
She carried her selection to the checkout, counting out her money. The heavyset elderly man attending the store had risen from his stool when she’d walked in, watched her progress throughout the store. Maybe he suspected she was a shoplifter, so she made a show of having money.
Instead, he waved his hand at her offering. “That’s no good here.”
Discouragement weighed her down. She couldn’t bear being in these filthy clothes one minute longer. Just looking at the clean cotton made her itchy. “But I need this stuff. I lost my pack—”
“Good. Take it. I’m not taking your money.”
She frowned, confused. “But—”
“You guys work your asses off up there protecting me and mine. It’s the least I can do.”
He thought she was a Hot Shot. Well, she was, but hadn’t really considered herself more than a reporter doing a Hot Shot’s job. Everyone at camp saw her as a reporter too. That this stranger thought she was a hero like Gabe and the others gave her a strange sense of pride.
“I have the money,” she insist
ed, holding it out to him.
“And I told you.” He closed his hand over the drawer of the register. How could he afford to offer her what was easily fifty dollars worth of merchandise? He couldn’t have the kind of business in this area that would give him the luxury to ignore fifty bucks. “It’s no good here. I’m too old to do what you do. This is my way of saying thank you. Now be a good girl and accept a gift graciously.”
She reddened at his scold and accepted the bag he held out to her.
“Thank you,” she murmured, humbled by his generosity.
“No, dear.” He smiled at her, taking away some of the sting of his earlier gruffness. “Thank you.”
Gabe didn’t see Peyton come into the rustic bar and grill. He searched for her as the other firefighters dragged tables together and sat noisily around them. The exposed redwood beams, the rusty metal signs advertising products no longer manufactured, the peanut shells on the floor made the bar appear to be carved from the mountain itself. They were the only customers. A young waitress, the only one on duty at this midafternoon hour, greeted them with an armful of menus and a cheery smile.
“You must’ve just got on,” Gabe remarked as he took a menu.
“I get off in two hours.” He almost missed her wink as Peyton walked into the dining room.
She’d shed her yellow shirt and was wearing a cheap ill-fitting tourist T-shirt. The shoulders of her T-shirt were dotted with water and droplets fell from the end of her ponytail. He grinned. She’d gone and finished washing her hair in the restaurant bathroom.
Now she sat shivering at the other end of the table as the waitress took their drink orders.
“I’ll take a longneck.” Gabe’s order was echoed around the table.
“Coffee,” Peyton said through chattering teeth.
“Coffee’ll just keep you awake,” Gabe warned as the waitress walked away.
“As if anything could,” she muttered.
“Hey, Gabe, you going to tell us what happened out there?” Kim shouted from across the table when the waitress returned with their drinks, all but the coffee.
He knew this was coming, the price he had to pay for his reputation. He’d downplay this, not wanting to add to his legend. The only one to dispute him was Peyton, and she didn’t appear to have the energy. He squared his shoulders and lowered his eyes to the beer label. “It got pretty hairy for a while there.”
“Tell us what happened,” Mike urged.
“God, it must have been something.” Howard’s voice held a touch of longing, like he’d missed out on something.
Gabe glided his beer across the puddle of condensation on the scarred table, from one hand to the other. He felt an odd reluctance to share his latest adventure, a reluctance beyond having his ass pulled out of the fire by Doug. Telling the others what had happened on the mountain was like revealing something that needed to stay private.
Peyton watched him, her eyes hollow with fatigue, dark with an emotion he couldn’t identify. What would she remember as he told their story?
So he told about their run from the camp, their stay in the cave, their separation from the helo. He skimmed over their time on the mountain, their night in the tent, though, damn, those were the things that stuck in his memory the strongest. Peyton’s bravery, her determination. The feel of her in his arms. He moved on to the blowup, holding her gaze as he spoke of the run for their lives, the impact of the slurry. He skipped the kiss, but saw the memory of it in her eyes. He wanted to skip over the bit about Doug, but they’d all seen him escort them to camp. And a few had been with him long enough to know their relationship.
“The smokejumpers showed to escort us home, late as usual.” Gabe wasn’t ready to give Doug any credit, and his crew made sounds of agreement.
“I wish I’d been there,” Kim said, awe in her voice, toasting him with her beer. “I knew you’d be the hero of the day.”
Damn, he hated that word. “This week,” he muttered, reaching for his beer.
Peyton hadn’t thought she’d be cold again after working up on the fire line, so she wouldn’t complain in the air-conditioned restaurant. The place was probably quite comfortable when crowded, but miserable for someone in a damp T-shirt and wet hair.
She warmed her hands around her coffee cup and wanted to dive in. Her tremors were almost uncontrollable, her sandwich falling apart before reaching her mouth. Part of her problem was fatigue. All she could think of was how good a bed would feel.
She watched Cooper with his crew, saw he was almost humble before them. When Dan had gotten with his SWAT buddies, there had been a lot of chest beating, a lot of testosterone. Gabe, on the other hand, sat with his arms folded on the table, his concentration mostly on his beer, and he listened more than he talked. When he had told the story, he’d almost seemed embarrassed. That was so at odds with what she knew of him, and it only made her want to know more.
To distract herself, Peyton turned her attention to the man sitting beside her. Howard, the sawyer who’d worked with Gabe cutting down the trees the day before yesterday. A good-looking kid with buzzed blond hair and twinkling blue eyes.
“You had quite an adventure on your first fire assignment,” he remarked, saluting her with his beer, like he envied her.
Of course. That was probably why he was here too. For the thrill of running for his life. And she’d gotten it instead of him. She’d almost exchange the experience with him. Almost.
“I don’t think I’d care to relive it,” she said.
He laughed. “Don’t kid yourself. You’ll be telling your great-grandkids how you escaped the dragon.”
“If I live long enough to have any.”
He laughed again, more heartily, a big, booming laugh.
She shifted to face him, intrigued by his friendly attitude all of a sudden, after the rock incident. Had the mountain been some kind of initiation? And if she had passed, did that mean she was part of the group, though she didn’t plan to stick around?
Her job was solitary for a reason. She’d been an only child after the death of her sister, left alone by her mother after her dad moved out, left to her own devices. Once she’d reached adulthood, she’d gone from job to job, not quite fitting in, never a part of something bigger than herself.
Until Dan.
And again now.
“So why did you become a Hot Shot?” she asked.
He pulled himself straight and grinned. “No choice. Dad was one, Grandpa was one too. I grew up hearing about the summer battles.”
So thrill seeking was genetic, unlike ambition. Good thing she and Dan never had kids, if that was the case. Being married to an adrenaline junkie had been hard enough—being mother to one would be a nightmare.
“So you’re following a family tradition.” She tried to infuse her voice with some cheer.
Howard laughed. “God, I hope not. Grandpa was on the Mann Gulch fire, have you heard of it?”
She had. Just the words sent a ripple of fear over her skin. “Back in the 40s, where the fire blew up the gully and killed—how many?”
“Thirteen, because they wouldn’t go into the burnout of the escape fire the foreman set. They thought he’d lost his mind,” he answered before she finished the question. “And Dad was at Angel Ridge. So was Cooper.”
“God, the one in Colorado where all those Hot Shots died?” She looked past Howard to Gabe, who was surrounded by his crew. Sensing her gaze, he met her eyes, held them.
Beside her, Howard nodded. “They had to identify some of the bodies. Dad said he wouldn’t go out on a fire again. He never did.”
But Gabe did, after seeing that. No wonder he didn’t understand why she walked away when jobs got tough. As others talked to him, Gabe continued to watch her, and she didn’t turn away. It was as if he was daring her to.
What had he seen up there? She could only imagine what fire could do to a human body, had come too close to finding out firsthand today. But Gabe had returned, again and again. Why?
She gave her attention to Howard. “And yet you decided fighting fires was for you.”
He grinned, his eyes holding some interest. But his grin did nothing for her the way Gabe’s did. He was just a boy.
“What can I say?” he teased. “It’s in the blood.”
Peyton bit into to her sandwich, considering. What could make a man see the consequences of that brutal death and face it every day? Had he been thinking about Angel Ridge today when they were running for their lives? She sought him, only to discover he’d left the table.
One of the Hot Shots dropped coins in the jukebox and whining steel guitars and twangy lyrics filled the place. The cracked casing did nothing to dull the sound. Some of these crazy kids actually had the energy to get up and dance.
“Here.”
A sweatshirt was shoved beneath her nose. Gabe stood over her, holding it out. She gazed up at him stupidly. Only a few hours ago, they’d been the only people in the world. As she sank her fingers into the soft fabric, she felt that connection, wanted to cling to it.
“Go take off your wet shirt and put this one on.”
“I’m fine, thank you.” She let go of the shirt.
“Your lips are blue.” He tapped his finger against his own mouth and pushed the shirt closer.
She snatched the sweatshirt from him with an embarrassing lack of grace and coordination, and stood. “You’re probably just going to walk in again.”
“Nah, I saw what I wanted to see,” he drawled with a wink that was little more than a reflex. “And you’re welcome.”
“Where was this last night?” When she’d invited him into the tent to keep warm.
“In the van.”
“Good place for it.”
At her snippy tone, Gabe lifted his eyebrow. Kim, more than a bit tipsy, surged forward and linked her arm through Gabe’s possessively, glaring at Peyton. “Let’s dance, big guy.”
He glanced down at the girl with an amused smile, then followed her onto the scuffed wooden floor, but kept his gaze on Peyton like he didn’t want to leave her alone.
Hot Shot Page 10
