Torch

by Roxie Noir

  “But it might catch, and if it does, it’s gonna flare up those steep slopes faster than a cat with its tail on fire?” I say.

  Talking to Randy makes all my colorful phrases come out.

  “You got it,” he says, chair creaking. “We can’t risk sending anyone in on foot because of that, and we can’t call in the cavalry for a lightning strike that’s almost definitely gonna burn itself out in twenty-four hours.”

  “Which is why I’m staying here and keeping an eye on it,” I say.

  I look at the column of smoke again, but then I look down at Hunter, almost at the top of the boulders.

  Staying here another night is completely fine with me.

  “You got it,” Randy says. “If you’re feeling up to it, there’s a nice hike to a waterfall nearby, up high enough that you should be able to keep an eye on the smoke from there. Good swimming hole on a hot day, never anyone around. Just take the trail out of the lookout meadow and head north a ways...”

  He gives me directions to the waterfall, and I trace the route on my map. The lookout cabin is already getting stuffy and hot inside, even though I’ve got the windows open as far as they’ll go.

  Randy rambles a little more before finally signing off the radio. I put it down on top of the spinning firefinder map and take a deep breath, reveling in the silence for a moment, because that man can talk.

  I look down at the spot on my map where the lightning strike is: twenty-five miles away, basically inaccessible. I want to believe Randy that it’ll burn itself out, because he’s been doing this for thirty-five years, so he’s probably right. The Spires are mostly rock, and lightning strikes rarely turn into raging fires anyway.

  But I still have a weird, bad, gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I don’t know why. It’s not as if I know more about fires than anyone else, and none of them are worried.

  It’s your first time spotting a fire, I tell myself. It’s normal to be nervous.

  I shake my head, slug down the rest of my cold instant coffee, put on my boots, and head down to suggest a waterfall hike to Hunter.

  18

  Hunter

  “I thought Randy said this was an easy hike,” I say.

  I look up at a long stretch of boulders, leading to a plateau. I can hear the waterfall, and there’s a creek winding down the other side of the rise, but it’s too choked with underbrush to even consider getting up that way.

  “Randy’s got a different definition of easy than... well, humans,” Clementine says, her hazel eyes flicking over the gray rocks. “Why, are you tired already?”

  She glances at me, her eyes dancing. I cross my arms.

  “I eat climbs like this for breakfast,” I say. “But I’m not the one with a half-busted ankle.”

  “It’s not half-busted,” she says. “I’ve been totally fine this whole way.”

  She hops up and down a couple of times on her right foot, like that’s gonna prove that she’s fine to scramble up a bunch of boulders.

  I don’t like letting her do this, but I’m fully aware that I don’t let Clementine do anything. I can have opinions, but the minute I suggest that I might not let her do something, look the fuck out.

  “Can I talk you out of this?” I ask.

  She stands on her tiptoes and kisses me.

  “I’ll be fine,” she says. “I’m not made of glass.”

  I want to point out that she did turn her ankle yesterday while all she was just walking, but she’s not gonna change her mind, so I don’t. Instead I climb about ten feet behind her, close enough that if she slips, I can catch her.

  I can also watch her ass, which looks surprisingly good in her hiking pants, which aren’t generally very flattering.

  About halfway up, her foot slips a little, sending a small shower of debris my way. My heart just about stops, but she finds her footing again half a second later and keeps climbing.

  “Sorry,” she calls.

  “It’s fine,” I call back.

  I don’t remember this from before, this intense, powerful need to protect her. When she turned her ankle yesterday, I felt like the ground had fallen away from under me, even though she’s pretty much fine now.

  It’s a primal, bone-deep drive to keep her safe that I’ve never felt before. Not even with her.

  I just hope we don’t run into any aggressive bears on this hike, because I swear to God, I’ll fight a bear for Clementine. I’ll fight two bears, and I’ll lose, because I don’t have claws or teeth.

  She gets to the top without slipping again. I follow her, and then we both stand there, staring.

  It looks like it could be in a Visit Montana! brochure or something, because it’s picture-perfect. The waterfall isn’t big, especially right now with the drought, but it’s about fifty feet high, falling from a semi-circular outcropping of rock above, overhung with moss and some kind of climbing plant.

  In front of us, the basin is the sort of deep, perfect blue you can only see in the middle of nowhere. It’s surrounded by flat gray stones, and the whole place feels perfect, secluded, so totally out of the way that it’s hard to believe we even found it.

  “Damn, Randy,” Clementine breathes.

  Then she glances up. The column of smoke is still visible above the trees, and we both examine it for a moment. It hasn’t changed since this morning. If anything, it’s gotten smaller.

  That’s good. Usually, around this time of year, fire season is wrapping up. I’m ready for it to end, and to make sleeping in a regular bed and taking regular showers a fixture in my life again.

  “Think this is where Randy takes the ladies?” I ask, walking toward one of the flat gray rocks.

  “I think the only lady in Randy’s life is Mother Nature,” Clementine says.

  “If this is one of his favorite spots, I see why,” I say.

  Clementine takes off the hiking fanny pack she insisted on wearing instead of a backpack and puts it on a rock. It’s a hot day, in the mid-eighties at least, and we’ve hiked a couple of miles, so there’s a big dark splotch of sweat over her lower back.

  I take off my backpack, and even if I can’t see it, I can feel the matching sweat spot on my back, so I take my shirt off too and lay it out on a rock.

  Then I glance around, just to make sure there’s no one else around, and take off my pants and boxers too. Barefoot, I gingerly walk over to where Clementine is, just watching the waterfall, and put one hand on her back.

  She looks over at me and yelps.

  Then she starts laughing, and I raise my eyebrows.

  “You see something funny?” I ask.

  “Sorry,” she says, gasping. “I wasn’t expecting you to be naked. I’m just surprised.”

  “I didn’t exactly bring a swimsuit, so I don’t see what other option we’ve got,” I say, grinning.

  “Naked?” she says. “Here?”

  “It’s hot as hell out here and I bet that water feels good,” I say, dragging one finger down her spine. “Right now, you’re hot and sweaty, but you could go for a quick, refreshing swim.”

  Clementine just laughs at me.

  “I was teasing,” she says. “You’d be surprised how much time I spend naked in the woods.”

  I lift one eyebrow as she shrugs off the button-down shirt she was wearing over a tank top. She tosses it on a rock, then gives me a sly look.

  “There’s no one around and it’s hot,” she says, shrugging. “Why not be naked?”

  “I wish I’d known that there were hot, naked forest rangers out fixing trails when I was thirteen,” I say. “I’d have done nothing but hike.”

  She laughs again and pulls off her tank top. Now all she’s wearing is a sports bra, the underside dark with sweat.

  “Turn around,” she says.

  “Seriously?”

  “You don’t need to watch me get a sports bra off,” she says. “I promise it’s not sexy.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  She just shru
gs, then grabs the band of her bra, takes a deep breath, and yanks up on it. It comes up a little, just enough to trap her upper arms, and then both her breasts suddenly bounce free.

  Not sexy my ass. I’m at half-mast already, and things are looking up.

  Clementine sort of wriggles back and forth, both arms still over her head, the bra awkwardly around her shoulder and upper arms. She hops a little, then takes another deep breath.

  “You need—”

  Suddenly the thing pops off, over her head, and she shakes out her hair, tossing it next to her other clothes before glancing over at me.

  “Yeah, I don’t think I can have sex with you after seeing that,” I tease. “I especially hated the part where you hopped up and down.”

  “Hunter, get in the water,” she says, unbuttoning her pants and pulling them down, kicking her boots off.

  “Ladies first,” I say.

  She walks over to me, at the edge of the perfectly clear, blue pool, and sticks one foot into the water.

  Then she pulls her foot back with a gasp.

  “Fuck that’s cold!”

  “Are you wimping out?” I ask, taking a step into the water.

  It’s fucking cold, so cold I instantly can’t feel my feet, but I force myself not to react in front of Clementine.

  “No,” she says. “I’m just taking it slow.”

  “That’s gonna make it worse,” I say.

  She scrunches up her face and dips the toes of one foot in. I force myself to wade deeper, up to my knees, hands on hips.

  I’m not looking forward to my balls going in. They’re already clenching at the thought, but I can’t back out now.

  “You want help?” I ask.

  She looks at me like I suggested murdering Trout, and I laugh.

  “Just do it,” I say, wading a little deeper. My balls clench tighter.

  “How about you just fucking do it,” she mutters. Now she’s up to her ankles in cold water, her fists clenched at her sides.

  I look at the center of the pool. I can see the gravel bottom from here, it’s so clear, and it’s four, maybe five feet deep.

  Deep enough. I start wading back out, toward Clementine. She looks at me and laughs.

  “Who’s wimping out now?” she teases.

  “Me,” I say, coming to stand next to her. “Definitely me.”

  Clementine frowns for a split second, but it’s too late. I grab her under the shoulders and behind the knees and lift her off the ground. Her arms go around my neck automatically, but she kicks her feet as I walk her further into the pool.

  “No no no no no no no,” she squeals. “Hunter. No. No no no, I swear to God—”

  “What’s that? Put you down?” I ask, grinning.

  “I’m going to kill you when I get out of here,” she says.

  I take a deep breath. Clementine screws up her face.

  I plunge us both into the deepest part of the pond, and Jesus pogo-sticking Christ it’s cold. So cold it knocks the wind out of me and for a moment I actually panic.

  Then I stand up, because it’s four feet deep.

  We surface at the same time, and Clementine is already shouting, but it’s just a string of curse words, mostly directed at me. I think my balls have retreated inside my body, but I grin at her anyway, trying to look like I don’t mind.

  “I am actually going to kill you,” she says, gasping for air as she shoves her hair off her face. “Jesus, it’s so cold I can’t even think. I think my brain went numb. I think you killed my brain cells.”

  She takes a step toward the edge, but I grab her around the waist.

  “NOOOoooooo — oh,” she says, as I pull her in, her head against my chest. She puts her arms around me, her nipples hard as diamonds against my chest.

  I just kiss her on top of her head, laughing into her hair.

  “You’re the world’s worst boyfriend,” she mutters.

  That word, boyfriend, makes my heart skip a beat. Or maybe it’s the cold.

  “There’s no way that’s true,” I say.

  “You’re not even warm,” she says, burrowing harder into me.

  “Just give it a minute, it starts to feel warmer,” I say.

  “That’s because your skin is going numb.”

  “Still feels warmer, though,” I say. “I’m gonna go in again.”

  Clementine lets me go and backs away quickly, like she’s afraid I’m going to grab her and take her with me, but I don’t this time. Dunking her once was all I wanted.

  After a few minutes we both warm up a little, though I think she’s right and our skin is just going numb. We splash around for a while, dare each other to go through the trickle of the waterfall. Clementine tries to dunk me but it doesn’t work until I finally let her, and then we float on our backs for a few minutes, just looking up at the sky.

  “Okay, I’m getting cold again now,” she says, and looks at one hand. “And my fingernails are turning blue.”

  She walks out and I watch her as she wrings water out of her hair, then lays back on a big, flat, gray rock in the sun. I wait until I think her eyes are closed to follow, because I’ve been in barely-melted ice water and I think my dick is the size of a gummi worm right now.

  “I didn’t bring a towel,” she murmurs as I sit next to her. “We’ll have to lay here in the sun until we dry off.”

  She’s got her arms over her head and her eyes closed, her whole naked body stretched out on a rock. I swear it looks like a pinup calendar one of my buddies had in Afghanistan, except it’s real. And spectacular.

  I glance over at the column of smoke. It looks the same. Maybe a little bigger, but it’s hard to tell.

  “I hope that fire stays exactly the same size for another couple of days and then goes out,” Clementine says. “There’s plenty of supplies in the lookout, and I could use a vacation.”

  “They’d call me back before that,” I say, lying down on the rock next to her. “Utah’s on fire, and if we’re not needed here we’re going down there.”

  She opens her eyes and looks over at me, her expression unreadable, like she’d forgotten I was going to have to leave.

  “When’s fire season usually over for you guys?” she asks.

  I slide one arm around her shoulders. She’s still cold, but drying quickly in the heat, and she wriggles toward me on the rock.

  “About now,” I say. “That is, unless there are still big fires in the southwest. Then we get called down to help with those, like we did last year. In that case, late September, early October.”

  “That’s a long season,” she says.

  “Six months,” I say.

  She just gives me a yeah, I can do math look.

  “...Which is a long time to sleep in a tent,” I finish.

  “And then the other six months is a long time to live with your parents,” she says.

  “Only when you say it like that,” I point out. “I prefer to tell people that I’m a part-time fireman, part-time cowboy.”

  “If you get a friend who’s half cop and half construction worker, you could have your very own male strip show,” she teases.

  “I did always want to wear a thong so strange women could stick dollar bills in it,” I say.

  “It’s usually briefs,” Clementine says.

  I raise myself up on one elbow and look at her.

  “What?” she says, her eyes crinkling with laughter.

  “Apparently you’re an expert on male strippers,” I say.

  “I’m not an expert,” she says, rolling over and resting her chin on my chest. “But if you wanted to give me a show, I’d be happy to offer some pointers.”

  My dick is warming up much faster now.

  “Well, I’ve got one move where I dig fire breaks for fourteen hours a day, sleep, then get up and do it again,” I say. “And another one where I shovel horse shit out of stables for a couple of months. Am I ready for Vegas?”

  Clementine slides her leg over my thighs so she’s straddl
ing me, her face above mine, and I put my hands on her still-cold hips.

  Cold water be damned, I’m rock hard in seconds.

  “Maybe,” she says. “But then strange women would be staring at you all day, and shoving money into your underwear, and trying to cop a feel, and I’d probably get pretty jealous.”

  “Shoveling shit it is, then,” I say, grinning.

  She leans down and kisses me, a slow, lazy kiss as I stroke her back. She’s still on her knees over me, and as we kiss, I open my eyes to check out her ass in the air.

  Yeah, it’s nice.

  Clementine bites my lip as she pulls away, her eyes dark like she’s up to something. I have the urge to pull her hips down and sink myself into her in one long, hard stroke, but I don’t. I didn’t even bring condoms on this hike.

  “This is more like what I’m used to,” I say, my voice coming out in a growl. “Getting naked somewhere we could get caught.”

  She laughs and leans over again, and this time she bites my earlobe, then trails her lips down my neck to my collarbone. Past my collarbone.

  “You’re still cold,” she murmurs, her lips moving against my skin.

  I realize what’s happening as she takes my cock in one hand, and I swear I think my skin might split, I get so hard.

  “Your cock’s warm, though,” she says, her lips on my stomach, her hand stroking me.

  She looks up at me, her hazel eyes teasing as her head moves down until I feel her teeth on my hip, and I gasp. Clementine laughs, but I don’t even breathe, my whole body rigid with anticipation.

  She strokes me again, straddling my knees, looking at me.

  “Relax, Hunter,” she teases.

  I don’t, but I watch as Clementine bends her head. She licks the underside of my shaft and I exhale explosively, groaning as she folds her tongue over the tip and then swirls it around the head of my cock.

  I know she’s just teasing me, but I already feel like I might explode. I put my arms behind my head so I don’t grab her hair, because I know that’s rude, and I watch her as she lowers her warm, wet mouth onto the head of my cock and swirls her tongue around it.