“Why is your helmet a different color?”
The way she tipped her head when she looked at him seemed familiar, and then an eyebrow arched between her sunglasses and helmet.
“Female of the species…” came out half statement and half gasp. It was his woman from the bakery this morning. Firefighter. Wilderness firefighter.
He also recognized the half smile that tugged at her left cheek as she acknowledged him.
“Helmet is blue because I’m a foreman.”
“Foreman? Wouldn’t that be the male of the species?”
“Assistant superintendent if you prefer. The superintendent is the one over there under a hot pink helm. Also a female of the species, though she’s taken.” He had little more than the impression of someone moving quickly toward the inferno until he lost sight of her in the smoke.
Then he glanced once more at her. She’s taken implied that the woman he was talking to wasn’t, and had made a point of it. He was about to ask, but he saw the look of chagrin at her own statement, so he went for a subject change.
“Shouldn’t there be helicopters and smokejumpers here?”
She glanced over her shoulder and shrugged, “It’s just a baby. I wouldn’t want it getting an over-inflated sense of importance. We probably wouldn’t even be on it except it’s a good training opportunity for a new crew.”
If this was a baby, he was completely out of his league. His knees felt loose, so he sat down on a handy rise in the ground. It felt warm through his pants. Even..Hot! He jumped to his feet and brushed hastily at his butt; his hand came away black.
That smile was pulling up the side of her mouth once more.
“Okay, don’t play with fire. Got the idea.” The ground looked burned and black here just like anywhere else in the vicinity. He reached down to touch the ground by his boots. It felt cool by comparison.
She didn’t look so amused anymore.
The woman eased him back a step and then moved forward and kicked the spot where he’d sat. A small flame burped up and was gone.
Sam swallowed against a dry throat.
She was signaling her people to come over, “Okay. See this spot?”
Her crew nodded and studied it.
She waved them back a step and used the flat hoe-like blade on the back of her fire axe to drag a gouge in it. Flames leapt upward taller than she was.
“That’s what you’re looking for during mop-up. Doesn’t look like much, but they can be a real pain when they reignite, especially if they’re behind you. Now, give me some water from the hose.”
One of the people had a hose the size of their wrist that trailed back toward the stream.
As she dug into the mound, flames leapt, water shot in, steam erupted.
Sam backed off slowly, finally turned back downslope and headed away. But he kept looking back at the woman casually mopping up a fire, as fearsome as a witch on Hecate’s Heath stirring her caldron.
A world of fire and steam he’d never imagined.
7
Patsy hadn’t meant to ignore the man, hadn’t meant to be rude, but he’d been gone before she finished the training opportunity. And fire always took precedence. They’d done well and were, indeed, back down off the mountain in time for pizza and a beer.
Candace had led them to Maxine’s Pizza, a hole in the wall that had no hint of Bavarian from the outside. The insides only confirmed this was a strictly locals’ joint. No waitresses in cute Bavarian skirts, no pomp and oom-pah-pah from the jukebox; the Stones were rocking it over the speakers. She went up to the faded “Order Here” sign, and saw that the options were slices or a whole pie and a pint or a pitcher. No burgers, no soups or salads, just pizza that smelled incredible. Worked for her.
Twenty hotshots, first day on the fireline, she ordered eight large pizzas but only three pitchers—they were big here. Maxine returned her change with a smile.
“One beer each, maximum,” she told the team. “You never know what tomorrow has for us.” She took a diet Coke and a slice of pepperoni to wait for the pizzas to come up.
Patsy was looking for the logistics needed to pull a bunch of tables together in the crowded dining room when she spotted him. She threaded her way through the noisy area, dodged aside before one of Jess’ crew took her out with the back end of a pool cue, and made it to the small table close by the stairs to the upper dining area no worse for the wear.
“May I?” He was reading something in German. Might have been a cookbook.
He blinked up at her in surprise, “Female of the species.”
“Patsy Jurgen.”
He said something in German that her grandmother might have understood, but was meaningless to her.
“I speak English, bad English, and worse Spanish.” It wasn’t that her Spanish wasn’t fluent enough, it was that while she’d started her education in that language during high school, she’d finished it on the fire line. Vulgar would be putting it politely.
“Oh, sorry. Sam Parker.”
“Nope!” she told him as she sat and took a bite out of her pepperoni slice, which really was as good as it smelled.
“What do you mean, nope?”
“You read and speak German, and you bake the best apricot almond bear claw I’ve ever tasted. Does that sound like a Sam Parker to you?”
“Can’t say that it does,” he sipped a beer. “However, Patricia Jürgen,” he said it with a thick German accent, “sounds like a wildland firefighter.”
“Thanks, I think. By the way, only Grandma ever called me Patricia.” Conversations with attractive men often stumped her, but this one with Sam Parker…
“So, that was really a ‘baby’ fire?” he waved in exactly the right compass direction indicating a good sense of where he was both indoors and out. He had strong arms, looked very fit; give her a month and she could make him a damn fine firefighter.
“Good for training. This crew was only formed up five weeks ago and the season is just starting up here. Arizona is the one being hammered right now. New Mexico and Colorado will be next. Nevada and Utah don’t really have enough to burn. But that’s only general patterns. We could light up tomorrow. Normally we would have let the locals deal with something the size of this morning’s fire, maybe send a couple of guys to assist.”
He looked right and left. Looked down at his beer for a moment.
Patsy had seen this reaction before. Despite Candace’s falling for a guy on her crew, that had never been her style. The problem was that someone who wasn’t a firefighter never knew what to do with a woman who was.
“So you fight wildfires?”
Why did they always state the obvious before the brush-off. She nodded. Here it came.
Patsy got her feet under her so she could stand and go back to her crew. There, at least, she fit in.
Then Sam grinned at her, “Did I mention that I’m a baker? That’s pretty dangerous work you know. Leave out the baking soda and you can be in a world of hurt.”
In general Patsy didn’t laugh much, but Sam made it easy to join in.
8
Sam wasn’t quite sure how it had happened.
“Sleep deprivation, gotta be,” he told the cold strudel dough he’d put in the fridge yesterday, and now pulled out onto the marble slab.
“Up way past my bedtime,” he mentioned to the ovens as he lit them off so that they’d be ready for today’s bake as soon as he was.
“Damn but that was a hell of a kiss,” he told no one and nothing in particular.
Sam usually hit the sack at seven or eight at night and was up and in the kitchen by three at the latest. It was four now and he was behind.
Last night at eight o’clock he’d been watching Patsy risk her life as she went to snag several pieces of pizza from the ravenous group at the hotshots’ table. He noted that she picked them
up easily though they were still oven hot, usually a trick that only a baker could do. That she returned from her raid unmaimed by the hoard made her all the more impressive.
They’d spent most of the evening bumping knees at his small table and discovering quite how different two people’s pasts could be. Even her mom had been in the fire business; the fire house clerk who had married the captain. Both her brothers rode city engines—he noted the slight scoff in her voice—in Seattle and Boise.
He’d never been to Montana, or was it Idaho. Idaho he decided during his second beer around ten at night. He was the only son of a Boston lawyer and a socialite mother who had married into a prominent Rhode Island family, and then gone to court to get out of it much to his father’s dismay.
They spent most of the evening laughing together. By eleven p.m. and his third beer, it was harder to stop laughing that to start. He noticed she nursed only one glass through the night, but in the laughter department she’d kept right up.
Maxine’s Pizza was closer to the fire hall than his small apartment above the bakery. So, he’d walked her through the chill night air, cold enough in June to see his breath despite the lack of streetlights. They were few and far between off the main tourist strips. Whether the city fathers were being cheap or maybe they were trying to encourage tourists to stay in their part of town so that the locals could have some peace and quiet; he wasn’t sure which yet. He suspected the latter.
The nearest light had been a block away when they reached her door.
He’d considered saying some cliché about enjoying the evening.
Then he’d considered a different cliché about she was welcome in his bakery any time.
Then he’d kissed her and she’d met him halfway.
It wasn’t even a first date, and he’d known her name for only three hours. But he had wanted to discover the taste of her. And though he could still scent the day’s fire in her fresh-washed hair, he’d tasted the merriness of her kiss. It was as neatly hidden beneath her serious exterior as the hotspot had been beneath the char this afternoon.
It hadn’t started as a friendly little kiss and it certainly hadn’t ended like one. They had shared a mutual hum of pleasure before it was done.
“Good night, female of the species.”
“Sleep tight, not Sam Parker.”
He hadn’t noticed the cold at all last night on the five-block walk home from the hotshot’s barracks front door—which might have been closer to ten by the time he and his third beer were done with it at midnight. He’d been feeling very mellow and a little lost, in several ways.
For one thing, his ex-wife had left him pretty well convinced that no woman would ever want him. He’d convinced himself that he’d never again risk being with a woman. Yet he’d been here less than two months and just kissed one.
Last night. Just over that way. He glanced in the direction of the hotshot barracks and saw his walk-in refrigerator.
The three a.m. alarm had been a shocker, but he soon lost himself in the dough and a date filling, the flavor and texture, trying not to think about how much he’d like to kiss her again.
9
Patsy was unsure if she was disappointed that the fire season was off to such a slow start, or pleased that it allowed her to pursue her new morning ritual.
That second morning, returning to the bakery, had caused her to hesitate. She didn’t hesitate around men, but Sam Parker’s kiss the night before had been as sweet as his confections and as powerful as his flavors. It was the power of him that had surprised her, baker’s arms and hands meant something, as much strength as a firefighter.
Like a good hotshot, she’d forged ahead through the door and Sam had put her at ease with his immediate smile.
Their initial greeting had been interrupted by an early jogger wanting their coffee fix.
His invitation to come to the back door the next morning had her climbing out of her bunk while the night still ruled the valley and the stars burned above.
A morning kiss, a tall hot chocolate, and the first baked good out of the oven all served on a flour-dusted counter, while she perched on a high kitchen stool was an excellent way to start the day. He was smart, funny, and enjoyed hiking. She loved his childhood memories as he prepped and baked. Day after day she’d leave him at sunrise to roust the team.
During the evenings, rather than joining the other hotshots, they would wander around town together, as if they couldn’t get enough of each other. Trying out different restaurants from waffles to schnitzel. Sometimes they’d go for hikes through the lower hills in the softness of the late light once the sun had plunged beyond the tall peaks to the west. Other times they poked through the souvenir shops, marveling at the things that tourists seemed so eager to own.
There was even a year-round Christmas store right on the main square that was unbelievable. Towering trees, so thick with ornaments and lights for sale that the fake needles were barely visible except as a green backdrop. Vast Christmas villages of tiny ceramic buildings and figurines, even a miniscule skating pond with skaters. It soon became their favorite shop, as there were always new layers to discover. They would meet there before heading off to find a new place to eat. A town of two thousand people and two million tourists boasted an incredible variety of food.
Last night they had visited the animal ornaments display corner of the store and later shared a surprisingly authentic Mexican fajita. Their goodnight kiss had been the third and best element of the evening, parting at sunset as she’d adapted to his hours.
This morning Patsy had woken very early and was at the back door waiting for him when he wandered down the stairs from the apartment above the bakery.
He looked warm and sleepy and rumpled—irresistibly delicious. So she didn’t resist.
Sam awoke quickly enough at her welcoming kiss in the kitchen. There was a need that had been building in her over these last weeks, gathering heat and starting to burn.
“I want to take you upstairs,” he whispered against her neck.
“I want you to take me right here.”
And he did. She wasn’t sure what had inspired her to slip some protection in her pocket that morning, but she was glad she had. With her back against the warming ovens, his heat filling her until it felt as if she was burning as brightly as a flame-wreathed tree. His powerful hands were not gentle, but neither were hers. After they’d initially sated their bodies in a fast, bright flare, he moved his mouth over her. As he did, he tasted and tested like she was a fine treat until she climbed once more over the delicious peak and long slow waves of heat rolled over her.
He was late to start his baking that morning, but neither of them was complaining.
10
It was their first real call up of the season and it was a hot one. Patsy’s pager went off just as she was leaving the bakery feeling particularly loose and pleased with herself—and with Sam Parker.
A quick jog to the fire station and she’d found the whole crew loading up into The Box. Patsy made sure that all the gear was stowed properly from yesterday’s trail-clearing work and climbed aboard with her team.
Three hours of jostling around in the back of the heavy truck later, they arrived at the base of Mt. Rainer National Park and looked up. The glacier-topped dome of the mountain was a shining beacon of light as the mid-morning sun glittered off the snow.
The fire wasn’t on the mountain, but rather on the neighboring Silver King Peak. The fire had at least six heads, probably from multiple lightning strikes, that had already joined into a burn of a thousand acres. They couldn’t just let it burn, because if it climbed up and over the mountain, it would take out the Crystal Mountain Ski Resort, the largest one in the state.
The primary approaches were already engulfed in the fire.
Patsy had been gearing up for the long hike in, seething with frustration at how long it woul
d take them to get to the fire going over rough country on foot. There were no roads for The Box, not even bad ones.
Candace took one look at the situation and pulled out her radio.
“Incident Commander. This is Cascade Hotshots requesting helitack.”
Of course. That’s why she was the boss. Candace rocked.
Minutes later a pair of big, black-and-flame painted Firehawk helicopters from Mount Hood Aviation descended through the smoky sky and landed in the same clearing as The Box.
A man jumped down and moved past the rotors quickly, pausing just a moment to snap their photo. He looked like a goof with the two cameras—a handsome goof—but he walked like a hotshot. MHA was a top outfit, maybe he was both.
“Hi, name’s Cal. Ten of you with Jeannie and me, ten with Emily,” he waved at the other helicopter. “Rugged terrain up there, so you’re going in by rope.”
“Harness up,” she shouted to the team. As soon as she had hers on, she checked her team, pleased with how little she found to correct.
Now, they were soaring aloft, packed in the back of the Firehawks like firewood, and Candace asked her, “Who is he?”
“I—” Patsy closed her mouth, unsure what to say.
“Oh, yeah. I recognize that look,” Candace shouted over the helicopter’s roar.
Patsy studied her boss’ face, but couldn’t read what was there.
“Same thing happened with Luke. There I was, going along ever so happily, and then snap!” she made a twig breaking motion. “The whole world changed.”
Patsy didn’t know about the whole world, but certainly a portion of it had.
She surveyed the fire as they climbed skyward alongside the steep ridges, looked at how it was moving along the hills.
Patsy pointed and Candace nodded, their first point of attack was obvious from this height—a few hundred meters from the north flank of the fire; keep it from going any wider here. Candace leaned forward between the seats to tell the pilot.
Firelights of Christmas Page 2
