Sunrise Fires

by LaBarge, Heather

  Sunrise

  Fires

  Heather LaBarge

  Exalted Peacock

  Copyright © 2012 by Heather LaBarge

  All rights reserved. Published 2013

  Printed in the United States of America

  An Exalted Peacock Book

  Exalted Peacock, LLC

  www.ExaltedPeacock.com

  About The Author

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, recording, scanning, or otherwise - without the express written permission of the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-0-9888203-0-2

  eISBN: 978-0-9888203-1-9

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2012951697

  Acknowledgements

  This journey has been an eye opening, soul freeing experience but the process could not have happened without the love and support of so many.

  To each person who is a character namesake, thank you.

  Ryan, you were ever my champion, encouraging and supporting me long before the process began – your kindness is indelibly inked on my creative spirit.

  Kelsea and Zion, your patience and love are my heart song; I love you both beyond measure and am humbled to call myself your Mom.

  To Talia, I’ve lately called on the reader in you but I’ve relied on the strong supportive best friend in you for years. No words can express the depth of love, warmth and trust I have for you.

  Thanks to Jackie, John, Magie and the others who suffered through the advance copies – you helped me iron out the wrinkles and smooth away the rough edges so that the warm heartfelt moving love story could shine through.

  Christene, and the community of authors and support staff – you made the ‘work’ parts of this so much more bearable and kept the train moving forward even when I wanted to jump the tracks.

  And Charlene, when the finish line approached and I thought I had nothing left to give this marathon, you appeared, supported, reinvigorated, and inspired me such that finishing became a breeze.

  And last to Exalted Peacock, LLC for giving me a platform from which to dive.

  Chapter One

  “Hey you,” the deep bass in Ryan’s voice, cut with its gravely rumble, always made me melt.

  “Hi, love.” I smoothed a spot for him on the cool cotton blanket beside me. “Sleep well?”

  “Right until the very end there…that little part where I woke up alone.” He leaned into me, his lips brushing mine as he settled on the blanket next to me. The sun was still low on the horizon, its light barely beginning to cast the yellow hues of morning across the California sky.

  This place, particularly at sunrise, felt divine and magical to me. I dug my feet deeper into the cold damp sand and continued to gaze out across the ocean swells. I breathed in deeply. The smell of seaweed and salted air revived me and filled my lungs with air fresher than any I could get in my home in the desert of Las Vegas. Sometimes I was still shocked at how different it felt to breathe in air that wasn’t laced with fine desert dust.

  My hand absently massaged the cotton blanket under me as I said, “I love the beach — you know that. I had to see the sunrise.”

  “I’d have watched it with you.” He draped his arm around me, and I leaned into him settling against his shoulder.

  “Tomorrow morning then. We still have one more day out here. I promise I’ll wake you tomorrow.”

  He smiled. “So have you decided?”

  “Ugh, don’t bring that up. Let’s just enjoy the morning here.” A gull swooped down to say good morning — I returned the greeting. “Hello, Mr. Gull,” I told him, and then to Ryan, “How could anyone not love it here?” I smiled at him. “Thanks for bringing me.”

  “How could anyone not love you?”

  I smiled even broader and my cheeks hurt. “Stop that,” I said, feigning surprise.

  “Stop what? Loving you? Okay. The beach then. The beach and my dirt bike. Maybe I’ll ride off into the sunset with my motorcycle.”

  “Hah! Your dirt bike and all the guys you ride with — they’d never let you go.” I poked his ribs, chiding him.

  He brought his other arm around in front of me and tackled me to the blanket. “Is that so? And what will they think when I decide that it’s me and you to the end?”

  “Pppsshhhaww — they’ll love it — of course! I’m a great cook.”

  “That’s not the only thing you’re great at.” And he kissed me, his lips warm and sensuous on mine, plying, pressing, wanting for more. And I gave him more. My tongue forged into his mouth, seeking his as my hands roamed the frame on top of me. He had a wrestler’s body, muscular and stocky. I loved the feel of his muscles in my hands, strong and sinewy. I traced his outline until I reached his ass and pulled him more fully onto my body. As he settled between my legs, he pulled away from our kiss. I reached for his cheek, cupping his jawline. “I love you, Ryan Riverton. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah. I know. I can feel it.” He smiled as he leaned to the side and his hands moved over my body. “I can feel it here,” his hand settled on my sternum, “in your heart. And here…” He squeezed my right breast.

  I exhaled sharply and slapped his hand. “Ryan!”

  “…and here!” He cupped and squeezed my pubic bone.

  I cringed and laughed as we rolled together on the blanket, him kissing me and me fighting him. “Right there, huh? Is that your favorite place to feel my love?”

  “Come back to the tent, and let’s see if it is.”

  We lay there kissing and playing for a few more minutes before I did exactly as he asked. But isn’t that what I always did?

  * * *

  A shrill trademark cell phone ringtone woke us from a beautiful beachside slumber. “Yours or mine?” Ryan asked as we both scrambled from our shared sleeping bag bed, ignoring the fact that we were naked as each of us searched for our phones.

  “Definitely yours,” I replied, “mostly because I don’t want it to be mine.”

  “That’s because they’re expecting an answer, and you don’t have one.” I hated it when Ryan was right.

  Three high-pitched frantic rings later, I found my phone amongst the pile of my clothes that we’d hastily peeled off and discarded just a few hours earlier. “Hah! Not mine,” I said triumphantly as he fished his out of the back pocket of the jeans he’d been wearing.

  “Hello?” he said, slightly winded from the scramble. I poked him in the ribs, as he tried to be serious on the phone. “Yeah, Johnnie, yeah, it’s me.” His earnest tone on the phone was such a contrast from our playful morning on the beach and the sexual romp we’d just had. “What’s up?” Teasing him and keeping playful embers burning in him was fun. I ran my fingers along his bare skin and delighted as his body responded, goose bumps rose, and he tensed and released his cock, making it jump. I loved seeing his body respond. Smiling, I took his still soft cock into my hand and began to stroke it, teasing him specifically because he was on the phone, but also hoping to continue the playful theme of the day. “What!?” He jerked away from me and waved me off with his arm. Turning back to our sleeping bags, I laid back pouting and feigning hurt feelings, folding my arms across my chest. “What hospital?!” He frantically pulled
on his boxer shorts and reached for his shirt.

  I threw on a pair of comfortable old jean shorts and a soft cotton T-shirt before rolling up the sleeping bags and beginning to pack up the contents of the tent. Whatever this phone call was about, it wasn’t going to be good. It was ten minutes before he clicked off his cell, and then he set to helping me pack up the rest of the tent in silent fury.

  “Do you want to tell me?” I ventured.

  The golden rims that lined his brown irises were nearly glowing as his eyes met mine, and when he spoke, the words that shot out of his mouth were tight compact statements of fact, “It’s Chris. He might be paralyzed.”

  Chapter Two

  We’d been camped on the soft sand dunes of the beach; it was one of our favorite pastimes. Being here always brought a sense of joy, playfulness, and relaxation to both of us individually and as a couple. We made some of our best memories on beaches like this one. But now, as we stepped outside the empty nylon tent, the sunshine that normally brought a smile to my face somehow seemed out of place. The cackle of the gulls and the splash of the waves all seemed far too fun for the stark somber mood change at our campsite. Ryan’s concern was etched into his face, making him look angry. His brow furrowed, casting a shadow over his normally bright eyes, and his jaw flexed and released over and over again. He moved methodically as we packed the remainder of camp and pulled the tent down in near silence. Ryan gave some direction here or there, guidance on what he needed next, but there was no real conversation.

  “We can talk later,” he had said. “It’s a long ride to Vegas. Let’s get this shit packed up.” And now, hours later, heading north up the interstate, we were still in a tense haze so thick that I felt uncomfortable. His old American pickup seemed cavernous. He’d bought it specifically for camping so that he could always bring his dirt bike and still have room for everything else, and at the moment, I thought that ‘everything else’ might’ve included an elephant sitting on my chest. Ryan was distant, his eyes glassed over. I felt miles away from him, sitting all the way over on the passenger side, eyeing him as he stewed in the driver’s seat. I tried to bridge the distance, reaching across the gap between us and placing my hand on his thigh. “Baby, no matter what it is I am sure it will be okay.”

  The warmth of his hand settling on top of mine was instantly reassuring, but his words slapped. “You don’t know that. Johnnie said he couldn’t feel his feet when they put him in the helicopter.” He didn’t look at me as he spoke.

  I unbuckled my seat belt and slid across the aging canvas bench seat. “I am here with you. It will be fine. No matter what it is.” I settled my head onto his shoulder.

  He put his hand on my thigh. “Buckle up. How about we don’t have two motor vehicle accidents in one day?”

  I straightened up and buckled, tensed and irritated that I was unable to help soften this tension hanging over us. He glanced in my direction and his face softened. He reached for me, putting his arm behind my head and drawing it down to my shoulders, pulling me into him. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m just worried about him. Chris is the least experienced rider among us. I think he’s only twenty-two. And he works construction — it’s not like he has a desk job.” He told me about what Johnnie had said: the guys had been riding and Chris tried to do a move well beyond his skill level. He ended up hurting himself bad enough to need to be medically evacuated on a helicopter.

  The group of guys that Ryan rode with had been friends, some of them since high school, and they’d taken up this hobby together, gradually meeting and making friends with more people whom they occasionally rode with as well. They had a sense of camaraderie and friendship that was more like family than men who enjoyed the same hobby. An event like this was likely to be distressing to all of them. And Ryan, in particular, took responsibility for things. It was his nature and something that endeared me to him. At times like this, though, it was even more stressful for him than perhaps for the others.

  With the flat of my palm against his chest, I pressed into him and breathed deeply. I matched my breathing to his and stayed settled into his body. “I love that you are so concerned about him, hun. It is one of the things I love the most about you — how protective you are when you care.” We exhaled deeply together, and I think I saw his lip quiver a little.

  * * *

  I had met Chris only once; we’d been out at the usual dirt track where Ryan rode. I watched from the sidelines and fed the guys when it was done, usually something I’d brought that was recently home cooked. On this day, we had had lasagna, and Chris was so flattering that I couldn’t help but remember him. He was young looking and slim, with baby blond hair and sky blue eyes. I’m not even sure he grew facial hair, and if he did, it would have been an easy shave.

  There was a core group of six or seven men who were Ryan’s closest companions in life and in the riding world, and among them, Chris fell into the little brother role. The men took care of him, not only coaching him as he learned the ropes of dirt biking, but also coaching him in life. Chris was predictably exuberant and excited at times, making him reckless and foolhardy. He had had girl troubles, hadn’t planned accordingly to pay his bills, had taken irresponsible risks at the blackjack tables, or had made other foolish mistakes, and each time, Ryan and the guys rallied around him to educate and support him in ways that only trusted peers can.

  When I’d met him, he nearly effervesced with enthusiasm, his cheeks pink with excitement as he took his helmet off. He barely introduced himself before raving about some of the jumps and runs he’d done.

  “Didja see me? That ridge right there,” he pointed toward the track as if I would differentiate one ridge from the next, “I got some air there — real air. I bet I was ten feet up.” His eyes scanned the group expectantly. His energy was infectious as he continued to rave about one hill or another and how he’d moved around the track. And he didn’t stop raving on once he was eating — he was just as excited about my lasagna as he had been about the ride.

  I could see why the guys had adopted him. Hell, even I had a soft spot for him.

  * * *

  Despite the fact that traffic was in our favor, the drive from LA back to Las Vegas was interminable. It was an hour and a half before we reached Fontana — a really good time, considering what typical California traffic from the beaches was like, but not fast enough when racing to get to the hospital after a catastrophic event. As we passed the last few Fontana/Riverside exits, I thought of the times I’d driven down to California to meet Ryan when he lived here — our first uncomfortable date for coffee and a movie, his old bachelor pad with comfortable furniture but not a speck of décor, the first time he took me with him dirt biking, the smell of the gas, the engines, the kicked up dirt and dust, and the smell of Ryan, musky and happy, sipping a Bud light at the end of the day. The thoughts carried me well into Death Valley as the sun beat down on the windshield.

  And now, sitting here beside him, my head on his shoulder and his arm loosely around me, it felt like eons ago when we had been such strangers. He absently stroked my arm as he drove or fumbled with a strand of my hair. His tension was so evident, but his warmth and love seemed the persistent undercurrent to everything, always. I wondered how I could ever go even one day of the rest of my life without him. I looked up at his profile, stoic and determined. I kissed his cheek and then wiped my fingers over my kiss…rubbing it in or wiping it off, I was not sure. He glanced over at me and smiled, “I love you, babe; I’m not trying to be distant, but this drive is killing me, and I just want to get there and be sure he’ll be okay. He’s like a kid brother to me…”

  “I know, hun. I know.” I kissed his cheek again and settled into his side with one arm behind him at the small of his back, and the other draped across his chest. I traced small designs in his T-shirt with my fingers, and then erased them with my palm.

  * * *

  We finall
y arrived at the hospital hours later, and Ryan nearly ran inside. By the time I met him in the emergency room, he was nearly frantic. “They won’t let me back.” The grayish-blue hues of the fluorescent lights made him look ill, pale, and weak.

  “Okay, hun,” I placed my hand on his shoulder and rubbed in small circles, “the guys probably weren’t allowed back either. Have you looked around the waiting area and snack bar for them? They can at least tell you what happened.” This place smelled of antiseptic; the wire seating stood screwed to the floor, ready to hold up the ill and their loved ones; and medics and doctors bustled about in the background with medical charts in hand, calling names of patients and discussing cases in hushed tones.

  Ryan scanned the faces of people in scrubs and of the random passersby, his eyes narrowed to slits as he searched the area. And in an instant, his eyes flew open wide and his mouth rounded in recognition. I turned to see Johnnie approaching.

  He had seen Ryan, and made his way across the room toward us. He was tall, at least four inches taller than Ryan, thinner, and more businesslike. His sharp jawline, always shaved baby smooth, stood out even more now as worry settled into it. His camel brown hair parted to the side made it hard to believe he’d been wearing a helmet not so long ago, though I suspected he kept a comb at the ready to ensure he always looked his best. He was something of a ladies’ man, always sought after but seldom taking women seriously. His friends and his professional future were his primary motivators, and today, one of them was in trouble.

  As soon as they were within comfortable earshot, Johnnie began, “It doesn’t look good, man. He said he couldn’t feel his legs, and we definitely couldn’t get him up after he landed.” Even this debonair chiseled man looked grey and ill in this environment under these circumstances. We all exchanged hugs and sat down on the nearest of the wire bench seats.