“Thanks for saving us,” she murmured. “You’re my hero.”
As they disappeared toward the waiting vehicle, bitterness welled in my throat like a ball of acid constantly dissolving and eating away at my insides.
I wasn’t anyone’s hero.
I’d failed.
I’d fallen.
Clearing my throat, I glanced around but didn’t see Logan. We shared the same radio, so I knew he couldn’t be far but I couldn’t wait. I needed to get these toys and get to the next house; the water wasn’t letting up.
Taking the steps two at a time, it took three seconds to figure out which room was the little girl’s—painted light blue and covered with cartoon superheroes. Gritting my teeth, I grabbed the three bears sitting on her bed and stuck them in a nearby bag.
“Shay!” Logan’s roar greeted me as I stepped back outside.
“Here.”
Worried anger creased his face.
“I had to do something,” I said, looking to my left to see Bruce several yards away. I’d met Logan’s friend and fellow ranger this morning at the emergency center.
“Bruce!” I hollered as I jogged away from Logan and toward the other ranger who was the next volunteer in the string of people escorting civilians to safety. “Can you make sure this gets on a van to the shelter? They need to go to a little girl named Bella.”
His eyes widened for a second, but then he nodded.
My legs burned. Walking through thick mud all day was about as taxing as running miles through sand.
“I didn’t know where you went,” Logan bit out when I reached him.
Ignoring his frustrated gaze, I continued walking. “I had to go get something for a little girl.”
‘Are you Super Girl?’
I folded my arms over my chest, determined to push through the moment that scratched against an open, bleeding wound.
I should’ve known Logan would see it. I should’ve known he’d try to help me no matter how big I carved Independent into my shiny metal armor.
“Shay.” I froze at the warmth woven through my name. It was the first time since last night where his concern for me outweighed the hurt I’d caused him. “You alright?”
He gripped my shoulder, and I wanted nothing more than to turn and curl into the massive warmth of his chest. “This isn’t easy,” he admitted. “But our shift is almost done.”
I shook my head. It wasn’t that. Well… it was, but it wasn’t.
With a trembling inhale, I turned to stare at the string of now-empty houses and confessed, “I don’t have this.”
“Don’t have what?” A lock of dark wet hair curled onto his forehead and dripped water down onto his nose.
I shook my head. “This.” My arm rose and then fell flat against my side. “A place to regret leaving,” I confessed hollowly. “I’ve never had it…”
Even leaving my apartment on base in South Carolina hadn’t felt like a loss; it hadn’t felt like I’d left home.
“I’d think after today of all days, you’d consider that a good thing,” he drawled slowly, his eyes searching mine for the very thing he simultaneously hoped and dreaded to find.
There was no point hiding anything from Logan; he always saw through my confidence to the heart that longed for all the things my dream prohibited.
I hesitated only a second before replying softly, sadly, “You’d think.”
I don’t have a place to regret leaving.
The words still knocked back and forth inside my mind like an electronic game of pong where the ball would never stop moving, and the words wouldn’t stop ricocheting off the memory of being held against his chest.
In Logan’s arms… A place I regretted leaving.
“Here.”
My attention snapped up to see Logan standing next to the leather lounger I was curled up in, his arm extended holding a glass of amber liquid.
Before I could even raise an eyebrow, he answered my unspoken question. “Whiskey.”
“Not tequila?” I blurted out.
I was direct. Too direct. But wherever this was going—even if it was nowhere—I needed to get there so I could move on.
“I don’t have a taste for tequila anymore.”
I don’t have a taste for you anymore.
He should’ve just said it; the message came through loud and clear.
Still, I refused to let go of his gaze—and refused to let him think I believed it.
There was an electricity between us that charged more dangerously than the live power lines being downed by the flood. Even just the barest brush of my fingertips against his sent more sparks arcing through my skin.
Logan cleared his throat and took a seat in the other leather lounger, spinning them both away from where he’d whipped up a fire in the fireplace, cooking chicken in a fry pan set on a grate over the open flame.
“How does this happen?” I murmured, breaking the somber silence. The sight of the darkened valley a chilling reminder of how lucky we were right now.
“It’s been raining off and on for a week or so now. Soil gets saturated, providing flood conditions,” he explained and even though he wasn’t wearing his ranger uniform, I could hear that part of him coming out as he spoke. “And then you drop in a sitting rainstorm…”
It reminded me of the hike six years ago. Even in those very first moments of knowing him, he effused an air of natural honesty and simplicity, just like the natural wonders he protected.
There was no BS.
There was nothing but Logan and his rules—ones that seemed as immovable as the laws of nature.
And that was why he didn’t want the tequila. Or me.
“Larimer said the National Guard will be here tomorrow?” I cleared my throat and clarified.
Logan nodded. “High water vehicles and helicopters. But we’ll still do what we can with what we have.”
I let out a sad laugh. “You know… earlier…” I glanced at him and shook my head. “I had this thought about how much what I was seeing reminded me of warzones.”
Like a miniature replay of what was happening in the canyon, I watched a flood of tension course over Logan’s features.
“It’s strange… to feel like you expect to see that kind of destruction in those areas but not here. Not like this.” I sighed. “I guess it’s like all our soldiers who come home after surviving two… three tours only to die in a car accident, or something else equally as pointless.”“Nature is both the greatest friend and the most destructive foe.” He sipped from his glass and I sucked in a breath, the vivid recollection of that night in the bar hitting me with full force.
Like it was yesterday.
His lips against the bottle. His lips against mine.
“Is that what you teach to your hikers?” I asked, craving to know more about the man who appeared as immovable and as unchanging as a mountain. Though I didn’t doubt at the core, he was the same ranger I’d met and fallen so easily for that night, I needed to know what happened to him afterward.
I wanted to know that he’d moved on easily so I could tell myself I had, too.
That I hadn’t dreamt about him night after night. The taste of his kiss. The feel of his chest under my cheek.
But selfishly, I needed to know if he’d been plagued by memories of me as I was of him.
That it hadn’t taken brute force and complete life-threatening focus to keep my mind from drifting back to him.
And that, when I realized just how distracting the thought of the man I’d left had become, I’d treated myself to a good portion of a bottle of Patron and finally deleted his number from my phone.
It was too late.
I’d made my choice and there was no going back. There was no going back to Logan.
Until now.
“I do,” he replied, dragging me back from my thoughts and the bitter ache they left in my chest.
“So, you stayed in the Rockies all these years,” I said placidly, ignoring the childlike fantasy that he’d st
ayed here because he was somehow waiting for me.
His lips thinned. “I did. But it’s probably time for a change soon. Too many beautiful things in this world to see.”
My face flushed when I caught the way his eyes flicked over to me as he said the last part and then disappeared just as swiftly.
It was still there—the connection we’d felt the first night. The one that sent us into a world of our own. The one that was equal parts desire and the sense that we’d found a similar soul. Grounded in duty but still longing for more.
It was still there no matter how much I doubted it would be and how much he tried to fight it.
“Really? Even though you’re the head of the rangers?”
I didn’t know much about law enforcement or their ranks, but during the moments when I couldn’t get him off my mind, I’d looked up facts about park rangers wanting to get closer to him in the only way possible. Factually. Fictionally.
“How’d you know that?” His gaze narrowed.
“I saw the title on your uniform the other night when I ran to your truck.”
I ran a hand through my hair, dragging some of the locks over my shoulder. Repeating the motion when I saw the effect it had on his body. Desire clouded the rich warmth of his eyes.
“You saw that through the rain?” His astonishment was clear.
“I have good vision.” My lips flipped up in a quick smirk. “I guess you could say it’s a requirement of my job.”
He drained the rest of his whiskey, needing it for whatever he was about to say.
“Where were you?”
My heart thumped heavily. I didn’t particularly like to talk about my tours overseas; it was hard to describe to someone who could never imagine.
“Iraq, then South Korea,” I replied, sipping down the smooth whiskey from my glass. “To think there, I was the force of nature causing all this destruction.”
The element of force was like chemotherapy. Necessary to kill the cancer, but still equally destructive.
“Tell me.”
“I flew combat missions,” I told him in an ironically drone-like voice. “Today… seeing the destruction on the ground… that was something I never really experienced being up in the air.” I swallowed over the lump in my throat. “Devastation looks smaller from several thousand feet high.”
“I bet you’re one hell of a pilot,” he said, and the sincerity of his voice shocked me.
Almost as much as what that kind of compliment did to my heart—sending it soaring and spiraling.
So many times, I had to question compliments like that, wondering if it was an attempt to get laid. Or worse, if I was being patronized for being a woman and therefore was required to be given praise under the current climate that threatened to sue for sexism and lack of fairness.
I didn’t want to be complimented because I was a woman.
I wanted to be complimented because I was good at what I did, whether I had tits or not.
It sounded simple to say, but I’d found it much harder to find in practice.
So, I pushed myself, needing to feel—needing to know—I deserved their compliments however they meant them.
“You’re one of the best damn pilots the Air Force has ever had, Captain Covington. Mark my words, once you get Stateside, you’ll end up leading that team in no time.”
I shuddered, recalling Commander O’Shaunessey’s promise to me.
He’d kept it.
I hadn’t.
“How do you know?” I stared at him point-blank.
“Higher. Farther. Faster.” My mouth dropped when he repeated words I’d told him six years ago as the sun rose. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”
I had to turn away, overcome knowing this man remembered every word I’d said to him.
“I watched you today. Your alertness. Your reflexes when the pavement caved under. How you saw that couple out on the side of the mountain as we were driving back toward town.”
My throat thickened with shame. I was perfect for my job. But sometimes, even perfect wasn’t good enough. Sometimes, one mistake could change everything.
Too bad my perfect vision hadn’t seen this coming.
“Am I wrong?” He took a sip from his glass.
My head barely moved as it shook. “I’m one of the best pilots we have.” There was no point in denying the truth. “But I sacrificed a lot to become one,” I added with a softer, weighted tone.
After a few seconds of silence, I looked over to Logan who, while looking out the window, appeared to be so lost in thought he’d forgotten to breathe. I opened my mouth to remind him, but then his head dropped.
“I’m sorry for what I said earlier.”
He didn’t have to specify what; we both knew.
“Don’t be,” I told him. “You have every right to be angry, Logan.”
Just like Commander O’Shaunessey had every right to take away my command.
“I made promises to you that I didn’t keep… I lied.” I drained the rest of my whiskey. “And that’s still one of your rules, right?”
The truth was, I remembered every word of what he said that night, too.
I’d just graduated and as though it had been my own little sendoff speech, Logan Daniels had given me his rules and I’d adopted them as my own.
The problem came when you didn’t realize you were breaking one of the rules.
But an unknowing mistake was still a mistake—and one that required a consequence.
His lips thinned.
“And after Iraq?”
My jaw tightened. I wouldn’t lie to him, but I also wasn’t about to confess my shame to a man who, once again, held this innate capability to make me feel perfect right to the very bones of my soul.
“I’ve been in South Carolina at our base there flying in the F-16 Viper demo team,” I told him. “We do aerial shows all over the country.”
“So, that little girl was right to call you Super Girl?”
I sucked in a breath. That one hurt.
I shook my head.
“No. I’m not Super Girl,” I told him tightly.
I rose up from my chair and faced him, repeating the words I’d said dozens of times during my rapid rise to success and fame in military circles.
“Super Girl is fictional. I’m tired of little girls being given fictional examples of women who’ve done incredible things. I’m tired of female heroes only existing in cartoons.” My chin rose, stubbornly. Defiantly.
Superheroes had their place. But so did real ones.
“So, no. I’m not Super Girl. I’m Shay and I’m a real woman who flies super-fucking-fast planes. I’m one of the best pilots in our Air Force. And I became the best to show little girls that they can too—that they can be the best at whatever they want, because I don’t care about being super—I care about being real.”
My chest caved as I came down from my momentary soap-box.
And maybe that, too, was why I felt like such a failure.
Because how could I be their hero now?
My eyes fell along with my spirit for just a second before Logan caught them both. His hand reached out and brushed a strand of hair back from my face, tucking it behind my ear.
“I don’t know about real,” he rasped softly. “But you’re still the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.”
I sucked in a breath, drowning in the amber fire in his eyes as they searched mine.
There was a problem with being real, I acknowledged. Being real meant being susceptible to this—to wanting him.
And it was a notion I would need superhuman powers to resist.
My tongue darted over my lips and I leaned into him, drawn to the warmth of his body like a moth to a fierce flame.
His fingers didn’t retreat. Instead, they trailed against my cheek softly, an army of marching goosebumps following in their path as he cupped my face, his thumb brushing dangerously close to my lips.
My pulse thrummed.
; Was he going to kiss me?
I wanted him to. I needed him to.
I was falling, and I needed his unwavering strength to catch me.
“Shay…” he said my name with a tortured timbre. “Why are you here?”
Like losing thrust in flight and dropping from the sky, my heart tripped and stumbled, trying to regain its balance, and the sudden plummet to reality broke the safe bubble he’d created.
My throat constricted, and I prepared for the pullback my answer would elicit. “It doesn’t matter.”
I couldn’t—wouldn’t—lie. But I wasn’t going to tell him the truth.
He’d never think me incredible then.
Like I expected, his hand dropped, and a chill came over me.
“You should get to bed,” he advised, taking my whiskey glass from my hand and walking over to the sink.
I folded my arms across my chest and stared at my very principled ranger.
I wanted to tell him the truth, but it was too great a risk when it felt like I had the potential to lose so much.
Maybe I was upset. Maybe I wasn’t thinking rationally. But just like I was sure from the time I was eight that I wanted to be a fighter pilot, I was sure that there was the potential for something life-changing between Logan and me.
I’d convinced myself it was a delusion once, I wouldn’t do it again.
There was the potential for something the real woman in me desperately wanted, and I wasn’t going to risk losing what fragile footing I had with him right now by confessing my failure.
By confessing how many rules I’d broken.
I murmured goodnight and headed toward the bedroom, thinking how I might not have known what brought me back to Estes Park when I bought my plane ticket or drove my rental car north of Denver, but now I was sure.
There was something unfinished between us—something I needed to finish.
And surviving this flood and the raging waters of our realities would decide whether or not the connection between Logan and me would sink or swim.
Yesterday had been bad.
Today had been worse.
Houses that were there yesterday were now completely engulfed by the raging river. Passable roads that allowed for evacuation had buckled as the ground supporting them disintegrated.
Tequila Page 7
