Burnin' For You: inspirational romantic suspense (Montana Fire Book 3)

by Susan May Warren

  Reuben. Here, right here, yes, she could believe that she didn’t have to be tough, didn’t have to be brave. Could let go, let him hold her.

  Protect her.

  She curled her hand around his neck and sank into him, kissing him back with a hunger she didn’t expect. Didn’t understand.

  But for the first time—ever—she felt totally safe.

  In fact, as he settled his arms around her, she realized… Gone was the shudder of revulsion, the rise of panic, the tumult of horror.

  Just Reuben and his arms around her, kissing her with such tenderness it made her ache. She opened her mouth, deepened her kiss, and it wasn’t long before he pulled away, his eyes wide, trembling a little.

  “You know how to keep a man awake,” he said.

  “I feel it’s my duty as your teammate to do everything I can to help you stay alive.”

  “You’re the best smokejumper I’ve ever met,” he said with a smile.

  Chapter 7

  The early dawn pressed away the shadow from the creek bank, back into the folds of the trees, the smell of pine thick in the morning dew. The faintest hint of smoke hung in the air—Reuben guessed the Davis Canyon fire must be growing. Which meant that his team was even closer to trouble. And although he and Gilly still sat in a pocket of shadow, he could see enough to realize the truth.

  She wasn’t going anywhere on that knee.

  Gilly sat with her back to the boulder, her mouth in a grim line of pain. He’d had to widen the rip in her pants to get a good look at her knee. How she’d walked on it, how she’d half dragged him through the forest, he couldn’t imagine.

  She was a toughie.

  The morning light revealed their battle from last night. Gilly wore the scrapes and bruises of their flight through the forest, grime on her face, her jumpsuit so grubby she might have rolled in the dirt. She had, actually, as she’d fled the cabin. Her dark auburn hair had come undone from her ponytail, but determination lit her beautiful blue eyes.

  Yeah, she would have made a fantastic smokejumper. He wished he’d known her back when she was trying out. He would’ve figured out a way to tap into that fighter inside, get her out the door and into the sky.

  Now, at his touch on her knee, she winced, one eye closing.

  “You should have told me it was this bad. You were holding me up for hours—”

  “I was fine.”

  “You were not fine. I should have been carrying you.”

  Although in his condition, no, he couldn’t have carried anyone. His head still throbbed, but at least the roaring headache had lessened, and he no longer had the urge to retch, the world no longer a whirl.

  He could confess that it’d helped that she’d curled against him all night—maybe for warmth, but he considered it medicinal. A way for him to stay awake, his entire being ultra-aware of holding her in his arms.

  He couldn’t believe how far twenty-four hours had taken them. Just throw in a plane crash, being held at gunpoint, and nearly being burned alive to take the awkward out of their, um—relationship?

  He wasn’t sure what to call what had happened between them. Survival-induced kissing? Moral support? One heck of a fantastic teammate?

  He knew what he wanted to call it, but he’d been halfway to true love before they got on the plane, thanks to the Fountain Lake fire, and especially since that little blue dress.

  Even if he hadn’t been trying to stay alert long after she’d fallen asleep in his arms, he would have sat there watching the moon trace her face, glide over the petite nose, the high, graceful cheekbones, the tiny perfect, kissable mouth. And wow that mouth could kiss. At that thought, a tiny ball of rage formed in his gut. Simmered. Turned to live coals.

  The story of her attack had kept him awake as the night turned to grays, then rose-golds, and finally enough light for him to stir them to action.

  If he ever caught the man who’d…well, he wouldn’t have any trouble figuring out what to do, and he wouldn’t spend one moment letting regret stare at him in the mirror.

  In fact, the entire story and everything she’d done to keep him alive made what he was about to say stick in his throat, a burning snag lodged there.

  He couldn’t leave her behind. But with her knee the size of a prize-winning cantaloupe, she couldn’t walk, either.

  “I need to carry you.”

  She looked up at him, then back at his hands cupping her enormous, whitened knee, and shook her head. “No, I can walk.”

  He didn’t want to, but frankly, Gilly had girl-who-won’t-quit written all over her, so, although it put a fist in his gut, he leaned back, stood up, and held out his hand. “Get up and prove it.”

  Her jaw ground tight, and she reached out, grabbed his hand. Used her other leg to stand up on. Then he let go and backed away.

  And felt like a class-A jerk when she tried a step, cried out, and started to fall.

  He caught her easily, hoisted her up in his arms. “Babe, I think we both know the truth here.”

  “You’re not carrying me.” She pressed her hands to his chest. “You’re still recovering from a concussion, and we’re running out of time. Don’t tell me you’re not a little worried about Patrick and Brownie finding the team.”

  “I’m out of my mind with worry.”

  “Me too. Which is why you have to put me down.”

  He drew in a breath.

  “And leave me here.”

  He stilled, his body going cold. “No. Absolutely not.”

  “Yes, absolutely.” She was wriggling now, pushing against him, and well, she already had issues with being held against her will, so he set her down. Gently. Knelt next to her.

  She might be a little right, because the world could still spin on its axis if he moved too fast. But for now, he was upright, could think clearly—or mostly clearly.

  Because a part of him was seriously considering her words.

  “No—”

  “Shh. I’m fine here. We’re what—a couple miles at least from the cabin? And yeah, we probably made a trail like a bulldozer through the woods, but I doubt Patrick is looking for us. He thinks we’re dead, remember?”

  He remembered most of it. Nodded.

  “So, see, we’re the last things on their minds right now. Whereas the team is in jeopardy every minute we sit here arguing.” She reached into the pack, pulled out a canister of water, a power bar, and her silver fire tent.

  “I’ll spread this out—it’ll be a reflector, and when you call in for help, tell them to look for me. The PEAK Rescue chopper can swing by and pick me up.”

  “I’m not leaving you here—”

  She pressed her hands against his face, her pretty blue eyes staring up at him, and, yes, deep inside he saw a flickering fear. But along with that, a determination and a jaw-tightening courage that reached out to him, wrapped a hand around his heart.

  “Yes. You are. I’ll be fine. Go up the mountain, Frodo, find the lookout tower, call for help, and…” Her mouth edged up in a wry smile. “I’ll be waiting for you when you get back.”

  He started to reply, but she pulled him toward her and silenced him with a kiss.

  Something solid and resolute, and thank goodness he wasn’t dreaming last night. Because although he hadn’t thought he’d fallen asleep, the memory of kissing Gilly, of this woman kissing him back, surrendering herself into his embrace, seemed like some kind of delicious dream.

  But here she was again, kissing him like she meant it. Like she didn’t have a crazy amount of baggage.

  And like she did fully expect him to come back to her. She pulled away and met his eyes. “I know that disaster lends itself to powerful emotions, but Reuben, you’re exactly the man I thought you were. So, please, go up that mountain and bring our team home.”

  And what, really, could he say to that?

  He kissed her again, put his crazy rush of emotions into it, then released her and got up. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “
I know.”

  I know. So much in those two words. He held onto them as he rappelled down the fifty feet into the ravine. Unlike the other ravine into the creek, this edge jutted out, and he free-rappelled down.

  She might have made it, but with her climbing skills, more likely she would have ended upside down.

  Back in his arms.

  Reuben hit the creek bottom, regret like a fist in his throat. The only way we can have peace with our decisions and choices is if we trust God.

  He started down the creek, hearing her voice.

  Okay, God. You’re on point.

  Reuben found a scalable cliff on the opposite side and climbed up. Casting a look at the over the gulf he couldn’t see Gilly—now tucked away in the forest—and it gave him some measure of peace.

  Then, in the hope that she could see him, he lifted his hand in a wave before he started through the trees.

  He settled his bearings first thing—found the Garver Mountain Lookout Tower and headed southeast, affixing its location to the sun, calibrating it as he headed east.

  He moved three times as quickly without Gilly, something he reluctantly admitted as he stopped for a drink. An hour later, he hit a forest road.

  The sun arched overhead, still early morning, and a breeze caught the sounds of blackbirds and chickadees calling, the stir of the wind through the busy white pine, their long needles cradling thick pine cones. It always amazed him, the rebirth of a forest after a fire, the release of seeds into the ground from the cones under heat.

  As if creation was made to flourish even under suffering. Start anew, despite the ashes.

  His words to Gilly hung in his head as he spotted the lookout tower some five hundred yards ahead. Now it’s too late. Dad is dead, Knox is running the ranch. I can’t go back.

  But what if he could?

  Except, where would that leave him and—well, what he’d discovered with Gilly?

  Which was…?

  He could still feel her kiss on his mouth, her small compact body nestled against his.

  Yes, he would definitely take her up on that dance when they got off this mountain.

  The trail had turned nearly vertical, and his breath razored in his chest as he climbed from one boulder to the next, up the trail dissected by lean, towering spruce, mossy boulders, and tufts of red paintbrush.

  It led to a log cabin, the original lookout now squatty and dilapidated, the front porch sagging in on itself. A few yards away, the lookout tower, a square building with a 360-degree view of the Cabinet Mountains, sat on stilts at the apex of the mountain. A set of stairs zig-zagged up to the top, and Reuben stopped for a moment, breathing hard, his head pounding, the rush of blood in his brain thumping with his heartbeat.

  He looked around, getting his bearings. To the east was the ripple of mountains in Glacier National Park, hazy purple along a cloudless blue sky.

  To the north and west, the forested hills dropped off, fell hundreds of feet to the creek, a view filled with thick Fraser fir, white pine, and rolling foothills.

  And above it all, a roiling cloud of gray smoke filled the sky. He tried to calculate Gilly’s position.

  He’d thought the smoke was from the Davis Canyon fire. But if he read the sky and the terrain correctly, smoke scarred the sky from two wildfires.

  One in the distance, due west.

  And one closer, larger, straight down Garver Mountain, over the creek, and headed right for Gilly.

  The Brownings’ cabin had ignited the entire forest.

  And Gilly, sitting in the grove of pine trees, facing east toward the creek, had no idea an inferno bore down on her.

  Reuben’s hands slicked with sweat as he opened the door to the lookout.

  Get help. Get back down the mountain.

  Over the years, the place had turned into a bivouac for campers, an overnight nest for rental. Still, the old fire-lookout equipment remained, including the old Osborne Fire Finder, a type of turning board over a map that helped pinpoint the fires, along with a table, chairs, and a bunk large enough for two. Someone had stocked the shelves with toilet paper, kindling for the wood stove, and water.

  Please, God, let there be a radio.

  The prayer felt wrenched from deep inside and left him hollow a long moment.

  He searched the cupboards, the desk, and the square table under the fire finder. Nothing. He tore apart the bed, searched through the meager supplies, a keen eye on the blackening cloud.

  No radio. He sat on the bed, breathing out hard, his head in his hands. How could the lookout tower not have a radio?

  He picked up the lantern, threw it across the room where it shattered, and gripped his knees, the world spinning.

  He fell and landed on all fours, nearly banging his head on the fire finder table. Sat back against the bed, breathing hard.

  So much for trusting God.

  Because guess what—Gilly was down there by herself in the middle of a firestorm, and he’d hiked up the mountain for nothing. Reuben should have known that he was on his own here.

  He couldn’t breathe as he pushed himself to his feet, one thought carrying him.

  Get back to Gilly.

  Voices. Laughter. They trickled up to him, carried on the breeze. He stepped out onto the balcony and looked over the balcony. Down below, two bicyclers, their mountain bikes perched on their shoulders, stared at the black smoke.

  He wanted to weep with relief. Or at least hope.

  “Hello!” It hurt to yell, but he pulled himself to the edge. “Hello!”

  A man and a woman, early thirties. They wore biking clothing, helmets and backpacks.

  The man looked up at him. Waved.

  “Do you have a cell phone?” Reuben yelled.

  “It doesn’t work up here. But we have a shortwave, handheld.”

  “I’m with the forest service—can I use it to report the fire?”

  They climbed up the steps as Reuben used the fire finder and the smoke from the Davis Canyon fire to line up his best guess of the crash site.

  Then he pinpointed Gilly’s location.

  The man reached the top, breathing easy. His dark hair curled out from his biking helmet, and with his lean, toned body, could probably bike for miles without stopping.

  He looked at Reuben—bloody, filthy, sweaty—and stopped in the doorway. “You all right, man?”

  “No,” Reuben snapped. “I’m a smokejumper, my plane went down yesterday, I have two team members dying, one already dead, and my girlfriend”—yes, he said it—“is in the path of that fire.” He pointed to the closest blaze.

  The man just stared at him, then handed him his radio. “I’m not sure what range you’ll get—”

  Then Reuben’s brain, for what seemed like the first time in his life, went blank. The emergency frequency simply slipped from his mind. Like butter, he couldn’t get a grip on it.

  But, in the space came the sudden recollection of Brownie’s words—Patrick had a portable radio. And wasn’t it Brownie’s suggestion to use the emergency frequency?

  Which meant if Patrick were smart, he’d be listening to the fire service line.

  The only thing Reuben latched onto was a memory of the frequency listed on Conner’s box. He turned to that frequency, listened.

  “CQ, this is an emergency call to WB6KHP from…” He paused, then decided to break a few rules. “Reuben. Conner, you there?”

  He waited, listening. Then again. “This is an emergency call to WB6KHP. Conner, come in.”

  He knew any legitimate ham operator out there would be cringing, but he didn’t have time—or inclination—to care. He moved to the window, watching the smoke.

  “I have binoculars—”

  “Marshall, this is WB6KHP.”

  Conner’s response through the line made Reuben brace his hand on the table, his knees turning liquid.

  “Where are you?” Conner said. “We lost you on radar after takeoff. Sent in two planes—we can’t find you.”


  “We went down just southeast of Davis Canyon, about nine clicks from Pete Creek, between Mushroom and Black Top.” And this was why he’d called Conner. Because if Patrick were listening on the emergency frequency, he’d be heading exactly for his team’s position.

  “Roger that.” Conner’s voice betrayed no shock, but he imagined his friend’s jaw tightening. “Sit rep?”

  “Two injured, one casualty.” He paused and then added, “Cliff O’Dell. We need aerial extraction. Call in PEAK Rescue.”

  “Roger.”

  Static on the line, then. “What is your position?”

  “Garver Mountain Lookout Tower. We—Gilly and I—hiked out. We need a pickup on Forest Road 338 near the Pete Creek crossing.”

  “Roger that, on our way.”

  Reuben closed his eyes, refrained from adding hurry.

  He handed the radio back to the man.

  “Jim Rudini,” the man said. “That’s my girlfriend, Darcy.”

  Reuben shook his hand, nodded to Darcy. “Thanks, man. Reuben Marshall.” He stepped back out onto the balcony, cupped his hand over his eyes.

  It seemed the blaze near Pete Creek had doubled since he’d first noticed it, but that might just be his darkest fears alighting inside him. Still, the flames shot above the trees as the fire gathered strength, burning bright orange. Black smoke boiled up from the middle.

  “That’s quite a fire.”

  Jim held binoculars to his eyes.

  Reuben barely refrained from ripping them from his hands. “Do you—could I—?”

  Jim handed them over, and Reuben scanned the forest for any sign of Gilly’s roost.

  He located Pete Creek, then followed the creek through the trees, down toward the road, back into the forest.

  No—oh—

  As his eyes traveled downstream, the smoke thickened, a storm of flame washing over the cliff’s edge.

  Right where he’d left Gilly.

  Reuben’s throat tightened, a fist clamped around his heart. Especially when he spotted his rappel rope dangling down the edge.

  As he watched, flames crawled out from the forest, chewing at the rope, running a smoky finger down the nylon.

  Then the fire burst out of the forest, candling the trees, consuming brush, trees, moss, loam—