Burning Up

by Anne Marsh

“There won’t be a next time, baby,” he promised roughly. One way or another, this would be the first and last time he trusted his life to a fire shelter. He was literally holding his future in his arms.

  The boys joked that using the silver cocoon meant making a giant shake-and-bake of yourself. They always laughed, but they knew the odds. Fire shelters didn’t always work. They could only withstand so much heat before the glue melted and the shelter started emitting toxic fumes. Gas yourself or burn alive. Not much of a choice.

  Gently he forced her facedown into the little pocket he’d hollowed out. “Breathe slow and easy,” he whispered, lowering his head to cover hers.

  “Thank you,” she said, surprising him. “Thank you for coming back for me, Jack.”

  A frown creased his forehead. He’d always come for her. Hell, he hadn’t been able to stay away when they were growing up, and all he wanted to do now was grow old with her. And wasn’t that a shocker? Bad boy Jack Donovan, who couldn’t wait to shake the dust of Strong from his feet, didn’t want to go anywhere. Didn’t want to leave unless this woman was coming with him.

  “This counts, Lily.” He spoke low, into her ear. “I think this counts in the forever column. You said I never stayed put. I’m not going anywhere this time, not so long as I have you. This is going to get hot, though,” he warned hoarsely. The shelter was already cooking at two hundred degrees inside, but what was outside was far worse. “And loud, baby. But I’ve got you. All you have to do is hold on to me, and we’ll get through this, okay?”

  “You never did lie well, Jack,” she whispered.

  He was fighting to hold the shelter in place, sealed to the ground, against high winds generated by the advancing fire. The heat prickled his skin, searing his lungs. He nudged her face farther down into the small impression he’d hollowed out. That space was a few critical degrees cooler for her.

  “I need to tell you something, Jack.”

  “Whatever you want, baby.” He fought to keep the shelter anchored as the wind pulled at the thin walls. God, he couldn’t bear the thought of holding her, hearing her, as the fire consumed her. “I’m right here for you. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Her little snort of laughter surprised him. “This wasn’t what I wanted, Jack.”

  “Yeah, well, the timing sucks.” The first sudden blast of heat and wind made her flinch, an instinctive jerk she couldn’t hide, not with him covering her. “You keep talking, though. I like hearing your voice.” Her voice anchored him. She was right there with him. Trusting him. And that had him praying like a madman, because he’d pay any price to keep her safe. “You just stick with me, baby.” Pressing a small, tender kiss against the back of her neck, he let himself breathe in the scent of her. This clearing wasn’t a bad place to make a stand, so, if he held on long enough, she’d make it through.

  Even if he didn’t.

  “It’s a terrible thing to say, but I’m glad he’s gone. How could he have started something like this?” The worry and fear in her voice was killing him.

  Yeah, Eddie Haverley was gone, all right. The fire had seared his lungs from the inside out. Jack only hoped the bastard was roasting in an even hotter hell now. She didn’t need those details right now, however. Not when that same fire was about to flash over them. “He’s not hurting you again. Do you know how I felt, watching him pull a gun on you?”

  “No,” she whispered. “But I’ll tell you how I felt, Jack. Scared.”

  “You don’t have to be scared anymore,” he promised.

  “I was scared,” she said, “because he could have turned that gun on you at any point. Scared because you’d just launched yourself out of a plane and right into his damn sights, Jack. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you. You could have been safe. Not here.”

  “This is where I want to be, baby.” He swallowed, listening to the sounds of the fire. Five seconds. Maybe less. Could be the last chance he had to give her the words he’d been keeping for her. For the right moment. Couldn’t be any moment less perfect than this, but he wasn’t going out of this world without telling her the truth. “I love you, Lily. That’s the God’s honest truth. I’m always coming for you, and I’ll always be there for you. You need to do something for me now. No matter what happens in the next couple of minutes, you keep your grip on this shelter, and you don’t let go. No matter what. Things are going to get real hot in here.”

  “God, Jack.” Something between a laugh and a sob escaped her. The dampness on his arm where the side of her face pressed made him want to howl. She was scared, hurting so badly. And there was nothing he could do but hold on to her as tightly as he could and pray even harder. “I want so badly to turn around and kiss you,” she whispered.

  “Don’t,” he said, alarmed. He tightened his grip on her, tucking her farther beneath him. “Don’t move, Lily. No matter what happens.”

  “I love you, too, Jack,” she whispered.

  Then the freight-train roar of the approaching fire drowned out everything else. He pinned her beneath his weight, all his attention focused on sheltering her with his body. Fire wouldn’t get to her. Not while he was here.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Yesterday, she’d come as close as anyone could to dying. She shuddered, but there was no shaking the memories. She’d never forget the thunderous roar of the oncoming fire—or the sudden, heated silence when the flames had surrounded their shelter. She was damned lucky to be alive today.

  She stretched luxuriously in her bed. She’d had luck on her side—and Jack Donovan. He’d done exactly as he’d promised. He’d kept her safe, wrapped in his arms, anchoring her.

  He’d held her for the longest hour of her life, until he was sure the fire had passed. When the wind and the heat had died down, he’d still held her. He’d wanted to be sure, he’d whispered against her hair. Eventually, when a chopper roared in, low and heavy overhead, he’d let her go. The chopper had dumped a jump team over the hill, where smoke still billowed, and then circled back. When it set down, they’d scrambled aboard.

  “Close one” was all Rio said, but his tense face told her the truth. It had been more than close. The hillside beneath the clearing was a hot, smoldering wreck. The fire had swept through that area fast and strong, and there was nothing left of the hunting cabin other than a handful of blackened bricks from the foundation. As they lifted up and headed back toward Strong, she spotted the blackened skeleton of the truck, smoking on what had been the road out. She realized she was looking for some sign of Eddie Haverley, but he was gone.

  “They’ll send in a forensics team,” Jack had said, raising his voice to be heard over the steady beat of the chopper’s blades. “But he’s not coming back, Lily. We both saw him go.”

  “Flashover?” Rio yelled from the controls, tossing headphones back to them. And, at Jack’s tight nod, he’d muttered, “Hell of a way to go, cooking from the inside out.”

  The fire had been an angry orange quilt beneath them, still devouring trees and roads and landmarks. For the first time, she really understood just how close she’d come to losing Jack. And how much he’d sheltered her from, down there on the ground as the fire roared overhead.

  Afterward, there had been the hours spent debriefing in the sheriff’s office, after which Jack had bundled her home. Held her in the shower as those big, strong hands moved lazily, gently over her, wielding the soap and warm water with devastating efficiency. He’d finally tucked her into bed, exhausted, when she was clean and as smoke-free as he could make her. Last words she’d heard had been another promise. “Smoke will be gone in a few days, honey,” he’d whispered against her damp hair.

  Now, after sleeping through the night, she padded downstairs, pushed open the screen door, and went out onto porch. He’d put her to bed in one of his T-shirts. It was too large, the opening dipping down one shoulder, and she’d seen a shorter hemline on the last cocktail dress she’d bought. The way she was going through his clothes, Jack Donovan was going to be
shirtless before too long. That wasn’t a bad thing, though. The female residents of Strong would thank her.

  Jack was waiting for her on the porch.

  She sat down next to him, inhaling lavender and wondering what she should say. What she could say. Instead of saying anything, however, he just gently grabbed her wrist and turned her arm so he could see last night’s damage for himself. The abrasions weren’t bad at all and would heal up within a week or two. But the way Jack had fussed, you’d think both her arms had caught fire. While he made light of the burns he’d taken on a leg and arm. Protecting her.

  “Is everyone else okay?” Standing on the front porch of the hunting cabin with Eddie, she’d seen Jack’s team jumping.

  “The boys are just fine.” He shot her a small, amused frown. “Rio’s swearing he’ll never let Evan or me jump again, claiming that we took twenty years off his life, and Nonna’s backing him up.”

  His hand touched her wrist, turning her toward the light so he could examine it. Again. “It’s nothing.” She pulled her arm free. “You’ll be jumping again by next week, if another call comes in.”

  “You don’t think fire season should be over for me? That I might have pushed my luck as far as it can stretch?”

  She shot him a look. “I hope there are no more calls this summer, but if there are, we both know you’ll be the first one out of the plane.”

  Jumping was simply part of who he was. That job of his wouldn’t ever thrill her, but it was an intrinsic piece of him. That, she could live with.

  “And you’re okay with that?” The concern and tenderness reflected in his eyes was as shocking as it was unexpected. She didn’t want to change who he was.

  She nodded. “I’m okay with you, Jack. If you need to fight fires, then you do that.” She managed a little smile. “Strong certainly needs you on our side.”

  He stood up. ”Come with me,” he said, holding out a hand, and she went. He took her to his truck.

  “I’m not dressed to go out, Jack!” she protested.

  “Won’t matter,” he said.

  She got in, and he drove down the familiar road into Strong, a man with a mission. Impossibly, wonderfully, given yesterday’s inferno, they were both alive. Eddie Haverley was dead, and he wasn’t coming back, and she wanted to be getting on with the rest of her life.

  He didn’t break his silence during the five-minute drive. So she just sat there, her head against the beat-up headrest, watching him drive. She wanted to say something, but what? What did he want? What was he thinking?

  He parked the truck in front of the old fire station. The building still listed like a drunk on Friday night, but there was a pile of roofing shingles and building supplies decorating the brown patch of front lawn. Someone had fixed the porch’s sagging front steps and put a pot of geraniums on the railing. Right now, the flowers drooping from the unexpected transplant, but by nightfall the cheery red blossoms would have perked back up.

  “This is what you wanted to show me?” Coming around the truck, he lifted her out. She let him, savoring the feel of his body pressed against her. What she really wanted, she decided, was to hook a leg around his denim-clad thighs and drag him back into the truck’s cab. Even if half of Strong was watching. “Jack, the old firehouse has been here a hundred years at least. It’s not going anywhere. Except, maybe”—she eyed the place critically—“the demolition heap.”

  “Yeah. She’s a little rough around the edges.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “But I bought the place and made the Realtor a damned happy man. I’m wondering if she wouldn’t make a good home base for me and my team. If that was what you wanted.”

  Foolishly, her breath caught. “Do you want to stay here, in Strong?”

  His fingers tangled in her hair. “I want you to be happy, baby, and Strong’s part of you now. You’ve got your farm. You’ve got roots here.”

  “You’ve spent a lifetime running away from this place,” she pointed out. “So what makes you want to come back and stay put now?”

  He stared at her intently. “You, Lily. You tell me what you need, and I’ll make sure you have it. You want Strong, you want us here in Strong, and that’s what we’ll do.”

  “All I want is you,” she whispered.

  He finally smiled, and she knew everything was going to be okay. A man like Jack Donovan never took to feeling—being—vulnerable. He wanted to protect, to defend. He wasn’t going to give her the words twice a day, but he’d live them. “So I thought I’d base a jump team here. The mountains here are good terrain to practice on, and in our downtime we can man the fire station. Keep a truck or two for local fires.”

  “You’re going to be a fireman,” she teased. Tugging on the cotton of his T-shirt, she pulled him into her.

  He went willingly, pinning her between his hard, lean body and the door of his truck. His thigh slid between hers, and an arm braced above her head.

  “Only part-time,” he grumbled. “I’m not giving up the smoke jumping, not if you can live with it. I love what I do, and I’m damned good at it. But I can base here and go out on jobs when I need to. But you need to be sure, Lily. Be very sure.”

  “And then what? We date while you’re in town?” She was asking questions, but her hands were already sliding up his chest, over his shoulders. He was so big and strong and alive.

  His hands slid up on a journey of their own, cupping her face. His gaze was fierce on her, giving her his weight as he leaned into her. Let her feel every inch of him. This was who she was getting. He’d never be tame, and maybe they’d butt heads too often, but she wasn’t running, and he finally knew what he wanted. “I love you, Lily. I meant every word of what I said yesterday, and I’ll say it again and again until you believe me. I want whatever you can give me. You want to date, we’ll date, but I’m holding out for more. I want all of you, every day. Waking up in my arms. Going to sleep beside me. The rest of it, we’ll figure out.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Marry me, Lily. I want to come home to you, make a home with you.” Those big, strong hands tangled fiercely in her hair. Holding her still for a hard, deep kiss. Exploring her, relearning her. She reveled in the fierce heat and sensual promise of his body. “I love you,” he promised.

  “Yes.” A smile spread across her face. “Yes, Jack.”

  “Thank God,” he grunted. Something cool slid over her ring finger. “I drove like a madman to Sacramento to find a ring.”

  She completed him. Made him whole. He’d run from Strong, run from Lily Cortez, because he hadn’t known what to do with those unfamiliar feelings. He’d thought he couldn’t let himself love her. He’d been wrong.

  “I love you, Jack.” Her hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him down into her kiss. “Welcome home.”

  “Not yet,” he said. “We’re not home yet.” Swinging her up into his arms, he headed purposefully for the staircase that led up to the second floor of the firehouse. “I ever show you the firemen’s quarters? We’ve got ourselves an entire apartment.”

  “Now? Here?” A bubble of amusement lit up her face as she wrapped her arms tighter, pulling him closer. Those brown eyes of hers laughed up at him. Familiar. Right. This was his Lily, and damned if he was ever letting her go.

  “Absolutely,” he growled. “I’m taking you to bed, Lily, and I’m not letting you out.”

  “Hurry up,” she ordered. Her fingers tunneled into his hair as if she didn’t want to let go, either. She didn’t have to. He was all hers.

  “Whatever you want, baby.” Pushing open the door with his foot, he carried her inside. “We have all the time in the world to get this right.” He was so full of love and lust and laughter, he wasn’t sure his feet were altogether on the ground. “We jump together now.”

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  Blackhawk Ranch was running dry. Cabe Dawson had lost one well a
lready and now the second had slowed to a trickle. There hadn’t been enough rain this winter to fill the creek the ranch got its surface water from, and the two surviving wells fought to bring the water up nine hundred feet and into the baking, skin-drying heat of California summer. Now, as he steered his battered pickup over the dark dirt road, time seemed to slow to a heated, sensual shimmer with one driving urge pounding through them all: find water. Cattle needed it. Men wanted it. Cabe Dawson would be damned if he allowed a drought to take what he’d built here.

  Making a living from the land meant fighting every step of the way. Fortunately, Cabe had never minded a good fight.

  He’d planned for this day, already had the solution. There was water underneath the Jordan place. He held the mortgage on the neighboring ranch. All he had to do was foreclose and the land was his. He’d drill. The cattle would drink. They could all live happily fucking after.

  Instead, he was waiting for Rose Jordan to bring her sweet little ass home so he could talk things out with her. For Auntie Dee’s sake, he wanted to hand Rose a check and preserve the fiction he was buying her out—not spring the news about a reverse mortgage he was calling due after the older woman’s death. He sure as hell didn’t want to drag this through the courts. He didn’t have the six months to wait. He needed that water now and he’d get it, but he didn’t have to be a bully about it.

  Unless Rose left him with no other option.

  He owned this particular part of California and the ranch was feudal at heart. His word was law. He had the money—and the land—to back it up. Rose had her time to dally only because he’d decided to give it to her. Soon, however, he’d cut her off.

  His cell buzzed and he flipped on the hands-free. “You track her down yet?” As always, Seth cut right to the chase. His brother had never been patient. Hell, he was more of a heat-guided missile, constantly seeking out his next adrenaline rush. That need made him a star on the rodeo circuit, but piss-poor at waiting for one woman to make up her mind to come back home.