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Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520
Macon GA 31201
Hot Shot
Copyright © 2008 by M. J. Fredrick
ISBN: 1-59998-954-9
Edited by Anne Scott
Cover by Dawn Seewer
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: April 2008
Hot Shot
To my two heroes, Fred and Josh---thanks for seeing me through to this point.
So this was Gabe Cooper.
Peyton Michaels stood at the edge of the group in front of the mess tent to watch the legendary firefighter step up to brief his crew.
Stories about Gabe Cooper and the Bear Claws, the best Hot Shot crew in Montana, had abounded during Peyton's training to become a wildland firefighter. Most of the stories had been cautionary tales from the instructors, but even some of the trainees had heard about this crew. And when Peyton had been assigned to the Bear Claws, well, nervousness didn't touch her jitters. Cooper didn't take rookies, and he didn't take to reporters. She was both, and would have to work hard to prove herself.
Was she ready?
Scratching her arm beneath the brand-new itchy Nomex shirt, she turned her attention back to the crew leader.
Movie-star handsome, with a long jaw, lean cheeks, deep-set brown eyes framed by long lashes and broad shoulders hugged by a black T-shirt. She'd forgotten how the sight of a handsome, confident man could kick up her pulse.
Cooper's posture defined self-assurance. The lines that fanned from his eyes and the silver flecking his brutally short hair spoke of his years of experience. His tires-over-gravel voice conveyed his weariness, though it was only July, not quite the middle of the fire season.
The topographical maps on the bulletin board behind him were veined with different colored lines, and Cooper had marked their route in black Sharpie. He traced over it for emphasis, his hand square but oddly graceful as he dragged his finger down the line. The path appeared pretty darn straight, and with all the brush and gullies and boulders, that couldn't be the easiest way.
Part of his legend was that he didn't do things the easy way.
Peyton scanned his crew, most of whom cast curious glances in her direction. She could learn a lot about the man by his crew.
A young redheaded woman stood at his shoulder and faced the rest, arms folded, a white bandage on one hand. She wasn't quite one of them, but also wasn't in charge. Every time the young woman glanced at Cooper, admiration glowed in her eyes. Cooper didn't appear to notice. Perhaps he was accustomed to it.
Peyton was a little surprised to see almost a third of the crew were women. Five women besides the redhead, all midtwenties, not unattractive, proved he had nothing against women.
The men who rounded out the crew ranged from farm boys to rock-band rejects, teenagers to men near her age, some with tattoos and earrings and others with wire-rimmed glasses. All gave Cooper their full attention. He was without question the stuff legends were made of.
Peyton had had her fill of mythical creatures.
"Any questions?" Cooper asked, directing the question at her, sending her nerves skittering.
When none were forthcoming, he dismissed them to get their gear, and moved straight toward her.
The skittering nerves started a mambo, and it took everything in her not to step back. The rest of the crew moved slowly as they gathered their gear, watching Cooper.
Not taking her eyes from him, she reached down and hefted her pack onto one shoulder.
"There's been a mistake." He flicked his gaze to the freshly stenciled name on the pocket of her fire shirt. "Michaels." His tone had softened a bit from when he was addressing his crew, but still had a take-no-crap edge to it. "I don't take rookies on my crew."
She straightened. "I'm not. I mean, I am. A rookie. But I'm Peyton Michaels from Up to the Minute magazine. I've been assigned to your crew."
A reporter. Gabe scowled. That explained everything but the fire shirt that bore no crew insignia. Maybe she'd borrowed it to get into camp. What the hell was she talking about, though, assigned to his crew? He glanced toward the media tent. "I beg your pardon?"
His harsh tone made her draw back, but only a little. "I'm going out with the Bear Claw Hot Shots. Jen Sheridan said you were the best."
Jen Sheridan. The name kicked him in the chest.
He studied the reporter in front of him. Her elegant features, slender nose, high cheekbones, pale skin, hinted at a privileged upbringing. Her cleanliness pegged her as a rookie. The odd thing was, she was no young girl. Her sharp eyes, the slight creases near them and also around her mouth, made him think she was in her thirties. What kind of job did she think she was walking into?
"The last thing I need is some reporter following me all over the mountain asking stupid questions and getting in the way," he said.
"I assure you, I've done my research and gone through the necessary training."
"I assure you, I could give less than a damn," he drawled. "I'm here to get a job done, and I don't intend to let anyone slow me down."
"I'm here to get a job done as well," Peyton said, shifting her pack. "I have my fire card. I can pull my weight."
He expelled a doubtful snort. "Pulling your weight on my crew isn't the same as making it through the Forest Service's sorry course. The Bear Claw Hot Shots are the best of the best, and they're that way because I don't tolerate slackers."
She rolled her shoulders back and lifted her face. "I can understand being the best. That's what I want, and that's why I wanted you."
He took a step closer, dragged his gaze over her. A beautiful woman saying that to him shouldn't raise his temper. "Ego stroking is not necessary."
She didn't move away and returned the inspection. "No, I can see that."
A smile quirked his lips at her boldness.
"Who assigned you to me? Jen?"
She blinked up at him. "Yes. Do you know her?"
Did he know her? When Kim had told him that Jen was IC on this fire, he'd considered asking to be sent to another fire. But to ask would be to admit defeat, to admit working for his ex was too difficult, that his feelings for her were too strong.
If he took the reporter without a fight, Jen would think he was avoiding her.
He gave the reporter---he had to think of her as that and not as the compact little blonde who glared up at him with big brown eyes---a last glance and turned toward the command tent.
Jen was alone in the tent, behind a folding table, her attention on the maps spread in front of her. She looked up at his approach, and her expectant expression froze, morphed into something bland, distant, like she didn't know him. Way to hit a man right in the ego.
The past three years had been good to her. The healthy tan set off her streaky blonde hair. She appeared---softer, her face fuller. Damn.
"Gabe," she said quietly, easing back in her chair. "I heard you were on your way out. Good to see you."
To fight the stab of pain at the encounter, stronger than he'd expected, he slapped his hands on the scarred table between them and glowered down at her.
"Just how much do you hate me?"
Jen returned his gaze unblinkingly, long past being intimidated by him. Hell, why should he intimidate her now? She'd left him without a backwards glance, and here she was, incident commander, his boss on this fire. She'd hold that over him till he got out on the line.
She folded her arms over the maps in front of her and tilted her head back to meet his eyes. "I don't hate you at all. What are you talking about?"
"The reporter," he ground out.
"Ah." She sat back, looking a hell of a lot more relaxed than he felt. "Ms. Michaels wanted the best and I'm giving her to you."
Her choice of words gave him a moment's pause, but only a moment. She didn't hate him, but he'd spent the better part of a year hating her before shutting off all feelings completely. That they'd return now in full force had him reeling. He pulled himself back to the fight at hand.
"She's a rookie."
"You've taken on rookies before."
"Not by choice."
The way she regarded him carried him right back to the last days of their marriage, cold and condescending. "What makes you think you have a choice now?"
"You're putting my entire crew in jeopardy to get even with me."
She blew out a breath and leaned forward again, not releasing his gaze, unwilling to give him that victory. "This has nothing to do with you. With us, anyway. It's about which crew would benefit her the most."
"To hell with fighting a fire."
She narrowed her eyes. "Careful, Gabe. You're sounding misogynistic. Peyton can do the job. And it won't be the whole season, just for this fire. Her story's on wildland firefighters. Once it's done, she's gone."
"Great. As long as she's invested in the job," he said contemptuously.
"She's trying to experience the job. It's no big deal. There's nothing scandalous coming out of this."
He voiced his opinion of that in a few succinct words.
"Jesus, Gabe."
"One shift, and then you find another crew for her."
Jen inclined her head. "We can discuss it." She turned back to her maps. "Is that all?"
Was it? What else could he say to the woman he hadn't seen in three years? He couldn't let her go without a parting shot. "Give Doug my best."
The shocked expression on her face gave him a millisecond of pleasure before he shut that down as well. "You mean it?" Her voice was breathless with hope.
He wished he could be the type of man who would mean it, but he was a bastard. "No. He already got it."
He pivoted and strode out of the tent.
Fire season was usually hell, but damn, what had he done to deserve this?
Maybe this was God's way of telling him it was time to get out of the Forest Service. Sure, great, but after punching line for twenty years there wasn't another job he knew as well.
He swore he wouldn't live in a city again, so being an EMT full time was out. The only way he could bear his time in Albuquerque now was knowing that once spring arrived he'd be back in the mountains. He'd be damned if he'd sit behind some desk in the Bureau of Land Management and send kids into situations out of his control. He was a Hot Shot till the end. Nothing would take him off the line.
So God could just keep on sending those messages. Gabe Cooper was sticking it out.
Peyton Michaels---what kind of name was Peyton, anyway?---sat smugly on a picnic table, waiting for him, her pack still over one shoulder, her ponytail over the other.
He jabbed a finger at her. "If I agree to this, it's for one shift and one shift only. You do your job without question, understood?"
Those chocolaty eyes went wide. "Yes, sir."
"I mean it, Michaels. My crew is the best for a reason, and I'd like to keep them in one piece. The way we work is they do what I tell them to do. Got it? And you call me 'sir' again, the issue is off the table." He slashed his hand through the air for emphasis.
"Of course. Gabe." She even said his name with a smile in her voice.
He lifted his eyebrow. She had guts. Hell, how could she have anything less, walking into a fire camp and asking to go on the line with the best crew? But as a reporter for Up to the Minute weekly news magazine, she knew something about being the best too.
"I meant the part about questions. I don't give interviews."
She angled her head in a way that made him feel like an idiot for saying it. "I wasn't going to ask for one. This is a look-see assignment."
He grunted. "You have gear?"
She nodded and he could practically feel the energy, the excitement rolling off her. Her body all but quivered with anticipation but her expression remained cool.
"Let's go," he said through his teeth, and ignored the little skip of triumph as she followed him to gather his own gear before they met his crew at the edge of the camp.
Peyton joined the middle of the disciplined single-file group. They headed out of camp on the dusty path curving up the mountain between rocks and shrubs. They'd be walking to a remote site. While the energy pulsed through her now, she hoped to maintain her strength up on the line.
As they got farther up the mountain, the unit shifted into bunches of three and four, and made their own path through the high grass and scrub, their excitement growing as they drew closer to the fire. Other crews had been this direction; someone had pounded down the grass before them.
Peyton turned her attention to the man who held such respect from the firefighting community, his crew, yet kept himself apart, plunging through the knee-deep brush alone.
His matter-of-fact, unapologetic manner reminded her of Dan. The recognition had hit her like a blow to her chest, bruising her heart and making breathing difficult. In her mind she saw her husband standing before the brass at his last debriefing, so handsome in his dress blues, so confident as he justified his SWAT team's decision to invade that warehouse without a search warrant to stop the drug deal. If only he'd been reprimanded, had suffered some kind of consequence, maybe he'd still be alive. Instead, he'd been applauded, rewarded, and had returned to the job that killed him a year later.
Her "In the Line of Duty" articles had quickly gained recognition and popularity. She'd gone from Coast Guard rescue cruisers to EMT crews stationed in bad neighborhoods to this mountain. But still, nothing she'd written so far had shed any light on what the job fulfilled in Dan that life hadn't.
The story on Cooper was a departure. Her other articles focused more on the jobs than on the men and women who performed them. She'd probably lost a lot of depth taking that route, but had needed the emotional distance as she grieved for Dan. Could she afford to give it up now?
While she worked up the nerve to invade Cooper's space---she couldn't very well write his story from this distance---she zeroed in on a conversation between two of the men who walked with chainsaws slung over their shoulders. Her own pack was heavy with her tools, weighted with bottled water, and these guys carried the machines like they were made of Styrofoam. Sheesh. Their ability so impressed her that it took her a minute to tune in to their conversation.
"You've been with him long enough to know how he feels about reporters."
They were gossiping like old women about Gabe. Calling him an old man. Please. Still, intrigued, she moved closer.
"Why would she bust his balls after, what's it been, three years? Hell, she married someone else."
Who? Who? Who? Peyton willed them to give her a name.
"Women are like elephants, man. They don't forget anything."
Peyton wanted to take exception, but it was rude to interrupt an eavesdropped conversation.
"I hear she dumped him."
"She had to have a reason."
"I thought the smokejumper was the reason."
Peyton eased back. Who had dumped Gabe for a smokejumper? What was his punishment? Her?
But gossip wasn't her purpose here. If she wanted a real story, she needed Gabe. He was her purpose.
Gabe's mind cleared on the way to the line. He threw back his shoulders and sucked in a deep breath. Up on the mountain, the smoke wasn't as bad as it had been at the camp. It skimmed over their heads to settle in the valley like a rumpled blanket.
The incline grew steeper, the dust-dry brush thicker, slowing their progress. From this altitude he could see the orange glow of the sun that had been obliterated in the valley. Above them floated the wisps of cirrus clouds preceding a front.
He swung around to inspect his unit strung along the trail, the loose gaits, the flashing grins, and suddenly felt very old. The next oldest in his crew was a decade younger. He turned to walk a little faster. He'd be damned if these kids could out-hike him.
Peyton trudged along with the others. She had to be in excellent shape in order to get her fire card, but endurance didn't concern him. Training was nothing compared to facing the dragon up close.
She saw him looking at her and trekked on over, leaving the group in order to angle up the mountain toward him. She had guts, he had to give her that. If she'd been on more fires, she'd know better than to try to talk to him. Even Kim, who had been with him more summers than anyone else, didn't talk to him on a hike. Beyond Michaels, his team watched with interest, waiting for him to shred the new girl.
But his heart wasn't in it. Maybe it was curiosity about this woman. That was all it could be.
"I agreed to this for one shift only," he said. "After this fire is contained, you're out. You do your job without question, just like the rest of my crew. Got it?"
Her chin had tightened stubbornly as he spoke and he prepared for an argument, but she merely nodded. Okay. Something was not quite right with her not saying anything. After all, she'd come over here. So why was he the one wanting to ask questions?
He settled on, "You drinking plenty of water?"
"I'm fine." She stumbled, belying her words, and he resisted the urge to reach out to assist her. She wanted to see what the job entailed, she better stay on her feet.
"You'll be more comfortable on the trail."
"I'll be all right."
Damn, she was hardheaded. Determination, he understood. Stubbornness just to prove she could do it was something else. "This is the easy part. We have a thirty-degree incline ahead of us."
She grimaced. "And when we get there?" she asked, a little out of breath.
He showed no mercy, couldn't afford to. Besides, if he kept up this pace, maybe she'd go back to the others. How long could he keep up the curiosity excuse?
"You know the drill. We cut line, cut down trees, stop the fire and go home."
"As simple as that?"
This time he stumbled. "Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn't."
She snatched her hand back from where she'd reached out to steady him. "You really love this, don't you? The whole 'my crew can do what no other crew can do' mindset."
He cast her an incredulous glance. "Are you giving me attitude, rookie?"
"I wasn't aware you needed any."
Now she was giving him mouth. No one in fire camp---outside Jen---had ever spoken to him like that. He kind of liked the awe with which most of the firefighters regarded him.
He kind of liked the attitude too.
He slowed to get a look at her. She already appeared exhausted. She'd removed her fire shirt and wore a white T-shirt so fitted it couldn't be cool. Her lacy bra was visible through the thin knit. She'd pulled back her hair and locks of it fell toward her face, brushing the skin of her cheek, her throat. He thought, just for a second, to push her hair back into place but tamped down the urge, instead thinking her exposed skin was going to blister all to hell.
He gave his attention back to the trail where it belonged. "So why are you doing this? There are easier ways to get the story."
"Do I seem the type to take the easy way?" She sidestepped an outcropping of rock with an agility he hadn't expected.
"I don't know," he drawled. "I haven't seen enough of you to know."
He bit back a chuckle when she blushed. Had he stumbled onto some guilt over their sexual attraction?
"Put your fire shirt on, Michaels, and go back with the crew." He kicked at the smoke hanging low on the ground. The smoke could hide the fire; they could come up on it without warning. The sheer challenge of the lethal hide and seek thrilled him. "It won't be long now."
The dragon was close.
The heat slammed into Gabe the moment he stepped into the forest of towering lodgepole pine. Through the smoke burning his eyes and nose he saw it, creeping along the carpet, gobbling leaves but leaving the undergrowth alone.
The fire that had blackened the face of the mountain above him hadn't moved in such a benign manner. Gabe looked up into the branches. No flames there. The fire could be dying out, but experience told him that was unlikely.
A few feet deeper into the trees his suspicions were confirmed. This was a spot fire, just a small area, but it could grow to encompass the trees and grass where his crew waited. The head fire roared up behind and would reach the edge of the trees in a matter of hours. Once it left the trees it would hit two acres of the drought-dry grass they'd just hiked through, and would burn faster than a man could run. As the winds grew stronger in the afternoon, bringing the cold front, the more apt that scenario became.
He had to stop this flank here and now.
Peyton watched the Hot Shot crew moving sure-footedly among the flames, assessing the situation. She couldn't muster the confidence it took to move through fire like that. Just watching them had a lump of fear closing her throat. When she was training for her red card, the instructors had advised caution. These people treated the fire so matter-of-factly. They got to work without Gabe reiterating the plan he'd relayed to them in camp, a sign they were what Gabe said they were, the best. They found a rhythm working together, hacking grass away from the earth. The camaraderie and courage sparked envy in her. Other than reporting, she'd never been at a job more than a year, had never formed those bonds of friendship. Had never longed for it before now.
Her previous subjects, the Coast Guard search and rescue, the EMTs, the hurricane hunters, had been at their jobs for years, had risen through the ranks, had dedicated their lives to being the job. She couldn't fathom it for herself, had a hard time understanding it in others. There had to be a common denominator in people who could do that.
Gabe came into sight again and she didn't care to analyze her sense of relief. She approached him, skirting the fire. "What should I do?"
He all but rolled his eyes and pointed to a spot fire. "Put it out."
Okay, a test. She squared her shoulders and walked over to the flames that took up an area no bigger than a campfire. She unstrapped her shovel from her pack and threw dirt on the flames, making sure it was completely out before turning to Gabe triumphantly.
He gave her only a slight nod and turned away. Her smile of accomplishment faded. Why did she expect more? She was merely doing what she'd been trained to do. And he'd said he didn't take on rookies, so her accomplishment meant nothing to him. She glanced about, then joined the line of firefighters pulling grass away from the earth to create a fuel-free barricade for the fire.
When she stepped back from the line for a water break, the sun was directly overhead, peeking through the skimming smoke. Her arms ached from swinging the Pulaski, the part-hoe, part-ax tool the Hot Shots carried. And this long-sleeved shirt was hot. Still, the Bear Claws didn't slow down, so neither would she. She had something to prove, not to Gabe Cooper, but to herself. Dan had been so brave, had challenged her to do the same. Did she have the same courage?
Every muscle in her body tensed as the roar of the fire grew louder than the growl of the chainsaws, the thud of the axes. The fire crept up the trees to feed on leaves and branches. A ball of flame floated from a tree to a patch of grass not ten feet from her. She shouted as it caught in the high dry grass, but one of the crews was alert. They surrounded the fire without speaking, shoveled dirt on it till it was out.
So elemental. They saw what had to be done and they did it. No talking, no suggestions, no analysis. They just accomplished the job in a matter of minutes. What a feeling of gratification. How many fires had these guys fought together before they could read each other so easily? She'd imagine such bonds were more important on a job like this. God knew Dan loved his teammates on the SWAT team. She'd never had a connection like that, had always been an in-between person, an observer.
Which was why she thought reporting might be the right job for her.
"Peyton!"
She jolted guiltily and turned. Gabe pointed to a section of the line he wanted her to take. She nodded an acknowledgement, moved toward it, and dropped her pack beside her. Gripping the handle of her Pulaski made her want to cry. Beneath her thick gloves, the skin of her palms felt tight and inflexible. She hadn't had blisters the last time she removed her gloves, but now they wanted to burst free at all the points of friction.
Pain shot down her back, turning her shoulder muscles to fire when she lifted the Pulaski over her head. She didn't have the strength to do more than let it fall, letting gravity do the work. She was lucky to retain her grip on it. A lot of good she was to the crew.
"What's the problem?" the little redhead, Kim, asked, gaining her attention by touching her sleeve.
Unwilling to admit a weakness to the younger woman, she shook her head. She would not fail so soon. "I'm fine." A fit of coughing doubled her over, making her words a lie.
Kim regarded her with disgust and blew out a breath through her nose before glancing around, hands on her hips. "All right, I'm taking you off the line. You can be a lookout."
"Lookout for what?" She straightened and resisted the urge to press her hand to the small of her back.
"For spot fires, see if it goes up in the crown of the trees, up in the branches, kind of a safety inspector."
Another Hot Shot, Mike, working beside her, straightened. "No way. She doesn't have enough experience to see what's coming."
"She doesn't need experience to watch and holler."
Peyton almost agreed with Mike---she wouldn't know what to be on guard for. But her body rebelled at the idea of picking up the tool one more time.
When Cooper walked over, all business, she wanted to walk into the fire.
He folded his arms over his chest and flicked his gaze from one to the other with smoke-reddened eyes. "What's going on over here? No time to stand around gossiping, ladies."
"Michaels can barely hold her shovel." Kim's tone was derisive.
"I can dig," Peyton muttered, humiliation washing over her as Cooper turned those astute brown eyes to her. She wanted to crawl under the ashes.
Kim ignored her and continued, "I want to post her as a lookout."
"I say she's too green to know what she's doing," Mike interjected.
Cooper hadn't turned away from her as the two Hot Shots voiced their opinions. He didn't need to speak, so powerfully did he wield those eyes, daring her to look away. She didn't, afraid to even swallow. He was assessing her and she couldn't be found lacking. Not by him.
"Hmph," he grunted finally. "You said you can cut line?"
"Yes, sir, I can cut," she lied.
He studied her a moment longer. "Damn it, there's nothing like a stubborn woman. Come with me, Peyton."
She cast a glance at Kim and Mike, wondering what kind of trouble she was in, but their smug expressions told her nothing. With confidence she didn't feel, she hefted her pack and followed Gabe. He stopped only long enough to pick up a chainsaw one-handed and sling it over his shoulder. The display of strength sent a very female thrill through her. She savored it only a moment before jerking back to the reality of what he was. A firefighter. A man married to his job. His dangerous job.
No, no. She'd admire his ability, but would not think about him as a man. She couldn't.
"I can dig, Cooper," she said, trotting beside him.
"Can you watch?"
She blinked some ash from her eye, lifted her gloved finger to wipe it away before stopping herself, winced when the irritating speck was joined by dirt. "What?"
"You're a spotter. Yell if anything falls out of the tree while I cut it." He stopped where another Hot Shot was waiting, swung his saw in front of him and checked the chain.
She stumbled to a halt a safe distance back and rubbed at her eye with her shoulder. "Like what?"
"Branches, snakes---"
"Snakes?" she squeaked, taking a step back.
He handed her a pair of goggles and earplugs. "They climb up to get away from the heat. The vibrations from the saw knock them out."
"What kind of snakes?" she asked cautiously, standing where he directed her.
He winked at her before lowering his goggles. "All kinds." He revved up the chainsaw and went to work.
Nerves jittering, she slid on her own goggles and watched him. He didn't slash straight through the tree. Instead he made two shallow, angled cuts on the downhill side of the tree, then another on the back of it. The smell of sawdust seared through the smoke, burning her nose, but it wasn't unpleasant. He shut off the saw and picked up a sledgehammer to knock out the wedge created by the cuts in the front of the tree. He took Peyton's arm and drew her back with a firm grip.
The tree swayed in the drafts created by the fire before it fell with the whining sound of tearing wood. Ash, embers and pine needles whirled up in a cloud, mingling with the smoke before scattering over the ground. The vibration rattled her bones up to her knees.
Gabe released her arm, and he and another man with a saw approached the burning tree. Each braced a foot against the trunk and started cutting it into chunks to kill the fire. Two others joined them and started hacking at the burning branches with their Pulaskis. How could they stand having their feet against a log still aflame?
Only then did Peyton realize she hadn't done what he'd asked her. She couldn't allow herself the luxury of watching him as he worked, observing his grim face, his sure movements. His life depended on her vigilance.
She followed him to the next tree and craned her head back dutifully, holding her hard hat on.
After the cuts were made, Cooper showed her how to use the sledgehammer to dislodge the wedges. With her assistance, this tree fell faster than the last and his breathtaking grin curled right through her.
The job, not the man. The job, not the man, she chanted silently.
The audacity of his white teeth in his filthy face matched the audacity of his victory over the tree, and Peyton felt dizzy for reasons that had nothing to do with the smoke or the altitude. Creases at the corner of his eyes told her those smiles weren't as few and far between as he wanted her to think. She hoped he'd wield such a powerful weapon with the utmost care. Especially around her. She didn't have the resources to counter it.
Suddenly her earlier aches disappeared, and she followed him to the next tree.
A yawn caught her off guard, and she opened her eyes in time to see a flaming branch as big around as her waist hurtling end first, right toward Cooper. She screamed and grabbed his arm, pulling at him. He calmly shut off the saw and ducked out of the way. The branch landed right where he'd been standing. Peyton stared at it while Cooper picked up his saw again, as if he hadn't almost been incinerated.
Was that the type of job this was, where near-death experiences were a matter of course? The thought made her want to understand the man---the people who did this, she corrected herself---even more.
Because they were Gabe's crew, they were the last to leave the line, fourteen hours after they'd arrived. The fire had jumped their line, so they'd fallen back and cut another one. It jumped that one too, the bastard, and his crew was wearing down. A tired crew was a dangerous crew, so he called Jen to send replacements.
Now as they hiked back, the sag of their shoulders told him they shared his frustration at losing the ground they'd gained. More time, more resources---there was never enough of either.
Gabe made a habit of walking at the back of his crew after a shift, staying between them and the fire. The person directly in front of him on the hike down, moving in slow motion, was Peyton Michaels, her cute little butt dragging. The relief he felt knowing she'd stuck out her first fire was alien to him.
"You okay?" he asked, pulling along beside her. It seemed rude not to say anything to her; he'd ask any rookie the same question on their first fire, on his crew or not.
She smiled and wiped a dirty hand over her dirtier face. "I could sleep standing up."
"You ever work around a shift this long before?"
"I stayed up all night to cram for an exam, but it's hardly the same."
He grinned despite himself. "Well, let's get you back to camp and into bed, then."
Her head snapped up at his words, her eyes wide. But he just pulled away. Whistling.
Peyton's saving grace was that camp was downhill. Every step was excruciating, from the soles of her feet to the base of her neck. Gravity pulled her forward because her brain and her muscles no longer communicated. No wonder so many of the firefighters were so young. Kids could blow off pain. No matter what shape she'd kept herself in back in Chicago, she was in no shape for this.
She empathized now with the firefighters who'd crashed in the middle of the campground in broad daylight yesterday. Even as the sun set, turning the smoke around them a gorgeous mauve, she wished for nothing more than flat ground and a prone position.
She envisioned her nerves shooting messages from her brain to her muscles, begging them to move, and her muscles responding with shrieks of pain. She couldn't work up the energy to cry, and anyway, there was no moisture left in her body; she'd sweated so much.
Her arms ached from the relentless swinging of her Pulaski, her back ached from the weight of her backpack, which felt heavier, even with most of the bottles of water empty. Her eyes burned, black mucus ran from her nose. One more day of this would be the end of her.
At the first flat spot, she veered off the path and opened her pack for another bottle of water.
And saw two big rocks inside. No wonder it had been so heavy. She lifted a rock in each hand, looked up to see Kim, Howard and some of the others had stopped to watch and laugh.
"Very mature," Peyton muttered, hefting the rocks into the grass behind her, struggling not to cry. She hadn't come here to fit in. What did it matter if she was leaving anyway? Still, it was damn mean.
None of her other articles had been so demanding. Was this what she had to do to understand her husband's death? There was no guarantee this story would answer all her questions. If it didn't, she'd have to do another. She was putting her life in danger, as Dan had, but she didn't have his emotional strength, certainly not his level of commitment. Even staying on an assignment was hard, when he could risk his life for his job. The same thing came up again and again in her stories. She just didn't stack up to the people she wrote about.
Relief emerged in a sob as she stumbled into camp. The other firefighters looked at her with disgust, muttering things like "rookie" and "Told you she wouldn't make it." It didn't matter what they thought. She wouldn't be around much longer.
So she was a quitter, got going when it got tough. So what? One shift gave her enough information for her story. Maybe this wasn't the place to find her answers.
"Well, Michaels, we've got our spot staked out by the ninth hole," Cooper said by way of parting. "I imagine you'll be heading back to the motel now."
His implication that she would rent a room, for a nice shower and a soft bed raised her hackles. Oh, good. At least some part of her body could move. "I have a tent. I'm up for the whole experience." Only moments ago she'd been ready to call it quits, had been fantasizing about a shower and a bed, the easy way out. Why did Cooper have to be the one to get her fired up again?
And what did it matter? She couldn't just react to challenges. She had to find the commitment in herself. But for now, she'd take his challenge.
He nodded. "You know where the mess is, and the showers are in the trailers out by the road."
As wonderful as being clean sounded, she didn't want to stand as long as it took to get all the grime off her body. She would hardly be the only dirty person in this camp. She staggered away in search of a flat place to lose consciousness.
The next morning, after just enough sleep to leave him groggy, Gabe shoved out of his sleeping bag fully dressed and crawled out of his tent. He never used to wake up so stiff. Golf courses were free of rocks, but who knew such pretty green grass could mask such hard ground?
He staggered toward the mess tent with one word on his mind---caffeine. He didn't glance left or right until he got to the big overworked coffeepot and only then to find something larger than those pathetic Styrofoam cups for his coffee. Facing a definite lack of choices, he poured two cups and downed one in a single swallow before refilling it and heading out.
"Gabe!" Behind him, Jen's voice was panicked. Christ, he didn't have the energy for her now, and her tone was familiar enough for him to realize she didn't have good news for him. Hell, she rarely sought him out period.
He kept walking.
"Gabe!"
She ran up and grabbed his arm. If he'd been in a better humor he might have taken solace that she appeared more exhausted than he felt.
"Hey," she said, looking up at him, worry darkening the eyes he'd once known so well. "I have some Girl Scouts trapped about five miles up the main road. Sheriff Bosquez tried to raise them and can't get through, and the fire's blocked our way in."
"Maybe they got out."
"Maybe," she conceded with a nod. "But they're unaccounted for at any of the evacuation sites. It's some kind of scout camp. You know, with kids. You'd think if they got out they'd notify the parents. You have to go in and make sure they're out."
Adrenaline chased fatigue from his body as the surprise of the request wore off. His feet itched to move out. He couldn't let her see it, though. He couldn't let her know he still felt the thrill.
She'd never seen it when they were married, always pushing him toward a supervisory position, but he'd wanted to stay in the field. Year after year his friends left for full-time office jobs and grew sticks up their asses, but he couldn't do it, couldn't confine himself inside four walls.
Jen hadn't understood his lack of ambition. His satisfaction with his life looked like complacence in her eyes. She'd wanted her husband to be more than a mere ground pounder, even if he was one of the best. The harder she'd pushed the more he'd resisted and the more they fought.
"Fine, all right." He braced his feet apart. "Give me what you've got."
She spun on her heel and he followed her into the strategy tent, pulling his map from his back pocket.
"We've got fifteen girls and three counselors trapped at McIntosh Ridge." Jen walked around the table and gestured to the map pinned to the bulletin board. "Trees surrounding it, dirt road going in. The road is useless, though. The fire's hooked below."
"Got it." He scanned the map once again and compared it to his.
"Did you hear me, Gabe?" She put her hand over the map, trying to force his gaze to hers. "The fire's hooked below."
"I heard you." She was emphasizing the danger so he had the whole story, but the truth was, he didn't have a choice. He had to go in. "If they're still up there, we'll get them out."
He pushed out of the tent and collided with the soft body of Peyton Michaels. She must have found the showers, because her hair was no longer black with soot, and some fruity scent floated up from her, but he couldn't stand around smelling her, thinking of her as a woman, as anything other than a reporter. His mind already moved ahead to the mountain. He acknowledged her with a nod and set her aside.
She hurried after him and touched his arm. He stopped, glanced from her hand to her bold brown eyes. "Can I help you?"
She didn't drop her hand away despite his pointed look. "I want to go with you."
"Go where?" As if he didn't know. Just like a reporter. This was not something he wanted to deal with now, on the heels of dealing with Jen. His shields weren't all the way back up.
"To the camp."
He glanced back at the tent. Of all the people to overhear, it had to be her. "Eavesdropping?"
She merely lifted her brows. Always challenging him. "I have ears."
"We had a deal. One shift." He sliced his hand through the air in a gesture of finality, not wanting the responsibility for her a minute longer. "Your shift is up."
"But this---rescuing trapped children!" Her voice shook with excitement as she trotted after him. "This is exactly what I'm writing about."
He scowled. "I'm not doing this for your amusement, Michaels."
She looked stricken he would think so, and he felt an uncharacteristic stab of regret. Hell, what did she think, making statements like that? That she was going to improve his opinion of reporters?
"No, of course not. But you have to see how important this would be to me."
All the wrong reasons to go up on the mountain. He shook his head. "And just what makes you think that matters to me?"
Her temper brightened her eyes. "Is it just me, or all reporters?"
He didn't hesitate. "All reporters."
She huffed out a breath. "Here I was all a-tingle, thinking I was special."
Here he thought he was starting to like her wise mouth. He didn't dignify her remark with an answer.
"What happened?" she pressed, hovering at his elbow. "Someone get on your bad side?"
"Did you hear I had a good side?"
A surprised laugh burst from her. Damn, she was cute, all dimples and white teeth. "You know, you're right. An assumption on my part."
"Comes with the job," he muttered, and she laughed again.
"What is it?" Her voice was breathless as she tried to keep up with him. He wouldn't feel sorry for her. "What makes you hate us so much?"
"It couldn't be the constant questions," he said.
"Sure, it could be, but that would be an annoyance, not downright hatred."
He stopped then and faced her. "Will you tell me, right here and right now, what your angle is?" She opened her mouth and he lifted one finger to silence her. "Not what your story is, but what spin you're going to put on it?"
"Is that it? You've been burned by interviews so all reporters are bad?"
"See? You can't even answer a damned question without a question. I need to go get my crew together." He turned on his heel.
She came after him, edging around a cluster of firefighters to look up at him. "All right. My series is on heroic jobs and the people who live them. People want to read about real-life heroes."
He snorted. "Then you're following the wrong guy around."
"I don't think so. You forget I watched you out there."
No, he hadn't forgotten. Her presence had been more of a distraction, and not only because of the reporter thing. Distraction on the fire line because of a woman had almost killed him once. He wouldn't give the dragon another chance.
"I wasn't being a hero." He dismissed her claim with a shrug. "I was doing my job. I'm good at what I do, but I'm no damned hero."
"It's the real heroes who don't see what they are," she said, her voice low.
He stopped to give her a warning look. "What'd I tell you about the ego stroking?"
"Come on, Cooper, I can hold my own up there. Let me come with you. I did fine on the fire yesterday."
Damn, he used to be better at intimidation. Maybe he wasn't trying hard enough. "Yeah, I remember how good you were at complaining."
"It was my first fire," she said in her defense.
"And this isn't going to be your second." He started toward his crew's tents again, hoping she would take the hint. Of course it would be too much to ask for. Damn, what had made this woman so determined? "It's not a walk in the park, Peyton. We are facing a big fire here. I don't want to have to worry about those kids and you."
"I see your point." He could see her puzzling it out and the working of her mind fascinated him. "So, you have a lot of experience with kids?"
He ducked his head to hide his smile. "As a matter of fact, I have none."
"And your crew? Are they family people?"
"Not as far as I know."
A frown flickered across her face. "Really?"
He shrugged.
"I happen to be great with kids."
"Is that a fact." It wasn't a question.
"It is. I have"---she paused and looked into the air to think of a number, then pretended to count on her fingers---"six nieces and two nephews. I'm their favorite aunt."
"You realize I don't believe you."
"You realize that doesn't surprise me."
God, she was quick. He admired that, couldn't resist stepping closer to her to see her reaction. She didn't move back, but wariness flickered in her dark eyes. "So you really know kids?"
"Enough to know those girls are going to be terrified and having a bunch of big bad firemen come in, all decked out in your gear, will not improve the situation. I think I'll be able to keep them calm, at least relate to them a little bit."
He moved back, considering, and she let out a breath she'd been holding. Did he smell that bad, or did he affect her that much? He was pretty sure he had the answer, and he didn't want to dwell on the repercussions of it. "Go get your gear and meet me back here."
Suspicion replaced wariness. "You aren't going to head out without me."
Now that hurt. "I can be a mean bastard, rookie, but I'm not a sneaky one. You got five minutes."
Gabe held thirty-seven lives in his hands. The thought remained uppermost in his mind as his crew moved up the mountain, farther north than they'd been yesterday. The slope wasn't as bad, the trees up to this altitude were saplings, but ahead of them was old growth, and the scout camp. The fire was below them, and now his crew and the campers faced the risk of being caught in the bottom of a horseshoe, with fire all around them. Fire moved fastest uphill.
He stopped just below the old-growth tree line. Smoke hung low, obscuring the sky, the tops of the eighty-foot-tall trees, and no birds, no insects around. No noise. Nature had perfected the concept of bugging out.
If the kids were still there in all that smoke, they'd be hysterical. Michaels claimed she could calm them. He was more worried he'd have to keep her calm. She stood apart from the others, hands on her hips, looking toward the forest, ponytail whipping against her neck beneath her hard hat. The fire yesterday had been a backyard barbecue compared to what they were walking into.
His crew gathered around, eager to get to work.
"We need to split up," he announced to his unit, the place and plan clear in his mind, sight unseen. He pointed to his four most experienced crew members. "I'm taking Kim, Chris, Tony and Mike into camp with me. Howard and Laura, you start clearing trees from the camp, moving in this direction, parallel to the fire. It'll get us out safely, and hopefully slow the fire down. Everyone else, you know what to do."
"What about me?" Peyton asked, the only one to question her place. Big surprise.
Experience told him to put her on the line as far from the fire as she could get. Instinct told him to take her with him. He'd spent a lot of years honing those instincts. He crooked a finger at her to join his group.
"Maria, flag us in." The young woman tied pieces of tape around several branches in a line. This was their escape route out of the camp if the smoke got too bad. Gabe turned to his crew. "The minute you see the fire you retreat. In this smoke, once you see the fire it will be right on top of you. I don't want any heroes here today."
As they moved in, his crew strung out to cut line, his newer crew farthest from the fire, his most experienced closer, where they would have to work fast. He didn't stop to consider they might fail.
This fire was different. Peyton could feel it already, the urgency of the Hot Shots, the intensity and speed of the flames. Yesterday's blaze had lain low on the ground. This one was---aggressive.
The Hot Shots stumbled into the clearing of the camp, only visible to each other through the smoke by their yellow shirts and headlamps. Pulses of heat washed over them. They heard the fire crackling and popping on the mountain below them. If she stopped to think about what they faced, she'd run back to camp. So hot, and the waves of heat brought scents, blistering and terrifying, singeing her nostrils.
A phwump, like fireworks going off, shook her out of it.
"What's that?" she shouted to Cooper.
"Trees exploding," he said grimly without a glance in her direction.
She scanned the camp, the forlorn-looking picnic tables, the snug little cabins ringing it. Not a camper in sight. Had they gotten out? Where could they have gone? Across the clearing, a yellow bus sat in the smoke, so they hadn't driven out. She pointed it out to Gabe, who nodded. Of course he saw it too.
With a gesture from Gabe, his crew dispersed to look in the cabins. He reached for Peyton to keep her with him but she shook him off and approached the sixth building.
The door was wedged shut, and she peered through a dusty window to see what could be blocking it. The light from her helmet fell on the terrified children and their counselors huddled inside. The campers screamed and scrambled back when they saw her headlamp shine through the window. What were they thinking, locking themselves in here? That the fire would blow over?
Her throat raw, her heart doing its damnedest to run down the mountain without her, Peyton gestured them toward the door and called for the Hot Shots.
One of the counselors inside came to her senses and lunged for the door. Smoke poured into the cabin through the open door and Peyton stood in the doorway and waved them out. Two women and several children ran to the center of the clearing, where the Hot Shots encircled them.
Peyton turned to join them.
"Michaels! We're missing an adult and a kid---are they in there with you?" Gabe called.
She opened her mouth to deny it, then turned. Sure enough, in the corner, a counselor crouched near a cot. Peyton hesitated, surveying the cabin through the smoke that filled it. She couldn't make herself step any farther in.
"Are you all right?" she shouted.
The older woman's terror lit her eyes in the dark room. "Carrie is under here---she won't come out!"
From her spot near the door, Peyton crouched to look. Her headlamp reflected the pale face of a small girl.
"Michaels!" Cooper barked from behind her. "What's the hold up? We've got to move."
She whirled on him. What was he thinking, scaring everyone with his impatience? "There's a scared kid here and your shouting doesn't help!"
Gabe swore and strode into the cabin. He grabbed the end of the bed, lifted it to expose the little girl, who screamed and scrambled into the corner.
"Get her," he ordered.
Peyton forced herself forward and picked up the child, who added kicking to her screaming. Peyton blinked against the flailing fists that knocked back her helmet, gasped against a blow to her stomach from the small feet. The flurry of movement made it hard to see where she was going as she headed for the door. She tripped, and Cooper caught her arm and dragged her with him.
In the clearing, four girls in various pieces of fire gear hunkered together. Two were wrapped in Gabe's fire shirt; she only now realized he wasn't wearing it. Two others held his silver fire shelter about their shoulders, one of them balancing his large helmet on her small head, the other with his bandana about her nose and mouth. The sweaty fabric couldn't smell good, but it would keep some of the smoke from her lungs.
Gabe stopped in front of the oldest one. "Why are you still here?"
The little girl's lip stuck out. "You told us not to move!"
He rolled his eyes as Peyton came up beside him.
"Where is everyone else?" Peyton asked.
"I sent them out already. We need to get going. Now."
Gabe couldn't hear the saws anymore and didn't know if the noise was drowned out by the encroaching fire or if his team had been forced to retreat. Embers rained down on them, and his skin prickled with dread. Before the intuition had time to fully form, the wind kicked up and the flames jumped into the canopy.
God help them, it was a crown fire, fast and loud. At least the smoke rose off the ground and he could see. He lifted the smallest child into his arms.
"We're going out under the fire!" he yelled. "It's in the crown, but it could drop down, all right? So we've got to go fast. Michaels, bring up the rear to push them along. Can you run with her?"
"God, I hope so." Her eyes were huge in her soot-dusted face as her gaze followed the leaps of fire through the treetops.
"Don't look at it. Just move forward as fast as you can."
The child she carried still fought her, the strain of it showed on her face. He leaned down to the girl, watching her eyes widen in terror. He must appear monstrous to a small child, with his dirty face and glowering expression, and he used that to his advantage.
"Stop it. Now," he said in his sternest voice.
The child froze, staring at him, and he nodded his approval.
"All right, here we go. Follow me!"
He tucked the head of the child he carried under his chin, grasped the hand of the hard-hatted girl and hoped he could trust Peyton to shepherd the others after him.
The fire hit the camp's bus then, over near the road, and ignited the gas. The concussion from the explosion hurtled them forward. Gabe lost his balance and threw himself onto his back to protect the child in his arms. Rocks gouged between his ribs; the combination of hard ground and the child's solid body knocked the breath from him.
He couldn't slow down. They should have been out of here five minutes ago. There was no margin for error now. He scrambled up to check on his charges, his arm banded tightly around the little girl. Screams rang in his ears. He glanced at Peyton, his most likely suspect, and saw her trudging grimly along.
The counselor was on her hands and knees, screaming. The two girls wrapped in his shirt watched her, sobbing so hard they couldn't catch their breath. Gabe wrapped a hand around the woman's skinny arm and dragged her to her feet, hoping the force didn't snap her bones. He spun her around to check for flames or blood, but saw nothing. She was just terrified. Hell. The quickest way out was a slap to the face. She blinked at the rough contact, but stopped screaming before she panicked the children worse than they were.
"You're all right." He glanced at Peyton. "You all right?"
She actually laughed and raised a hand in front of her, palm out. "Yeah, I'm good. I promise."
"Let's go!"
The fire cracked and sizzled over their heads as they ran through the trees. Falling debris could rain down on them. They had to keep moving. Gabe hated being in the lead---he checked over his shoulder every few seconds to ensure his group followed him. He lost time, but couldn't trust Peyton to lead them out.
The child he dragged stumbled, jerking his arm and throwing him off balance. He kept her upright by sheer strength of will and propelled her forward.
The fire was at their back, the heat incredible, the smoke blinding. He could smell singed hair. The slightest delay would kill them.
A flaming branch hurtled through the air and crashed in their path. Gabe threw his body back to block the others from running into it.
Damn, this would ignite the floor fuels. He dodged to the right and kept running. He glanced back to ensure his charges were following, registering their terrified, tear-streaked faces.
They could be terrified as long as they kept up with him.
When the hard-hatted child stumbled again, he swung her into his arms. The weight of two children weighed him down, strained his muscles, exhausted him. He couldn't go much farther like this. He shouted for the counselor to take the other girl who had been wrapped up in his fire shelter, slowed only until she took the child before he started running again.
They burst out of the trees but had no time to rejoice. The fire blazed at their heels and moved fast. If the branch ignited the floor fuels, they couldn't outrun it. He veered east, back toward the fire camp. The plan had been to hike around the flank of the fire to the black area already destroyed by fire, presumably fuel free. The thing was, he wasn't sure where the flank was, if the fire had moved faster around the camp than through it.
His crew had left no clue about which way they'd gone. He'd feel better if they were here where he could keep an eye on them. He just had to trust in his training of them to keep them safe.
Then he saw it, the fire racing uphill between them and the fire camp. He slowed for a moment, reasoned out the next step and turned down the hill. If the fire burned fast enough, it would leave a gap so they could escape through to the black.
"Cooper!" Peyton shouted, alarm in her voice.
He whirled and saw her framed by fire that had left the trees to pursue them. His heart slammed against his ribs and he fought the urge to go and drag her up the hill. He couldn't lose time.
He swung back uphill and set the child in his arms down, pushing her ahead of him. "Run!" he shouted, and pointed the direction they'd been heading. "That way."
He shoved the counselor after the kids and reached back for Peyton's hand, then pushed her ahead of him, putting himself between them and the fire. The slope was treacherous, with granite and scrub brush jutting out, and they couldn't gain much speed. Peyton set down the child she carried, but held her arm firmly. Ahead of him, one of the girls in the fire shirt stumbled and cut her shin on a stub of a juniper bush. The counselor knelt beside the crying child and tried to staunch the bleeding.
Gabe stopped, while every instinct screamed at him to keep moving. He wasn't getting out of this one by running. He yanked his map out of his back pocket and spun Peyton around to spread it out on her back, dragging his finger over it as he scanned.
"What are you doing?" she asked. Her urgency to escape made her whole body quiver.
"What'd I tell you about questioning people who know more than you?" he demanded. "We can't outrun this thing."
He felt her shudder, but didn't hear a trace of fear in her voice. "So what are we going to do?"
"I remember seeing something on the map. There! Caves."
"Caves?" she echoed.
He slapped the map back in some semblance of its former shape, already moving again, pulling her sleeve to urge her along. "Ed Pulaski kept his crew alive in a mining shaft during a blowup. It won't be comfortable, but we won't be running." He scanned the alien landscape. "Now if I can just get a fix where they're at---"
"I know where they are," the counselor said, looking up at them.
"Can we get there from here?" Gabe asked.
She nodded once and took the lead. "Follow me."
The black ground boiled, fire pushing up through the brush and leaves it had already devoured to feed anew. The smoke was low and heavy and caught in Peyton's throat. She couldn't stop coughing.
The terror lodged in her chest didn't help her catch her breath. Every step strained her thighs, shot throbbing pain up from her blistered feet. Smoke choked her with every wheeze, and the sweat rolling over her skin felt on the verge of boiling. She could think of nothing but water, yet didn't dare stop to reach for it. Stopping meant death. So she bit back whimpers of fear, tears of pain and trudged on, dragging one child and helping the counselor shepherd the others.
Gabe moved tirelessly, though he should have been exhausted. In addition to his pack, he carried the child with the injured leg. He wasn't wearing his helmet or fire shirt, so the embers snowing down on them burned his skin. He didn't so much as twitch. He was either too focused or too scared, and she doubted it was the latter. Men like Gabe Cooper didn't feel fear.
"There!" the counselor cried, and Peyton saw the outcropping of rocks through the smoke.
Peyton stalled for a moment. These weren't caves like she expected, open mouthed and welcoming, like on Yogi Bear cartoons. These were more like crawl spaces. Crawl spaces underground.
She caught Gabe's arm. "The kids are going to be scared going down there."
He leveled a look at her. "The kids? Or you?"
She kept her gaze on the narrow opening. "I won't lie. It does not look like a good time."
He glanced over his shoulder. "Better than out here."
"How do you know we can get back out again?" Her voice rose in panic. They could be stuck down there. Buried. God.
"We'll get out." He shrugged off his pack. "I'll go in first and you pass the girls in to me."
"And the packs?"
He nodded to the counselor. "Get her to help you. If you run out of time, leave them here."
Not a good plan, she decided as he disappeared head first into the cave.
The fire was so close, so loud, she almost didn't hear him call for the kids. Peyton hefted the biggest girl by her shoulders and lowered her cautiously in. A tug on the child's legs told her Gabe had the girl, and she reached for the next child.
She couldn't pass them in fast enough. The children whimpered at the approaching fire. The rocks on which they stood heated and when the girls went down on their bellies, they cried in pain. Peyton noticed with horror that the soles of the counselor's cheap tennis shoes were melting and sticking to the rock beneath them.
Finally, only the counselor was left and the fire practically licked their heels. Peyton shoved Gabe's pack at the counselor, who took it and pushed it ahead of her through the opening. Peyton dove in with her own pack the moment the counselor's bubbling rubber-soled shoes were out of sight.
The passage was both rough and steep, so she half slid, half stutter-stopped, letting gravity do most of the work. Her helmet tumbled down before her, and then the tunnel was pitch dark.
The last little bit of the passage was almost vertical and she lost her grip and tumbled into Gabe. He caught her, but with her pack added to her weight, she knocked him on his butt. He went down with his arms around her, still in protective mode.
For a moment, Peyton let herself stay there, her cheek against his chest, listening to the thundering of his heart telling her he'd been as frightened as she. They'd made it. By working together, they'd made it. For the first time she realized how close they were to dying. He squeezed her a bit, as if to remind her she was safe, before he released her.
"I bet you wish you hadn't begged to come," he murmured, setting her aside to see to the campers.
"I haven't decided yet." She reached for her helmet, and saw the surprise on his face in the dim light from her headlamp.
The cave wasn't tall enough for the adults to stand, and the section they were in was too narrow for them to sit. After giving everyone a drink of water, Gabe took the lead to find more comfortable quarters. Exhausted, tears streaking their soot-blackened faces, the children followed.
The floor by the entrance had been littered with stones, but as they moved deeper, the floor became smoother, washed by rainwater over the years. Peyton wondered how far in they'd have to go to satisfy Gabe, and how the hell they were going to get out.
Fortunately for his charges, Gabe didn't need to go much farther. He found an eye-shaped "room", narrow at each end, open in the middle, where they would all comfortably fit. He scoured the room with his flashlight, searching for dangers before declaring it safe.
The fatigued children dropped to the floor in a heap. Peyton plopped down and rummaged through her pack. To Gabe's amazement, she pulled out about a half-dozen bags of cookies and passed them out to the girls, who came to life to devour them ravenously. She handed over a bottle of water for them to share as well, gave another to the counselor.
"Cookies, rookie?" he asked skeptically.
"Hypoglycemia," she said without a glance.
"Glucose pills are better and don't take as much space. Those have to be crumbs by now."
When she realized he wouldn't ream her for her secret, she lifted her head and studied him through the gloomy light. "But pills wouldn't do us any good right now with hungry kids, would they?" She tossed him a pack of sugary crumbs.
He grinned and tossed them back, opening his own pack. "I prefer beef jerky."
"Tough guy," she muttered. "Like you couldn't use some sweetening up."
He laughed, then noticed the counselor leaning against a rock on the edge of the floor, slowly peeling off her ruined shoes.
Gabe hadn't realized she'd been wearing thin-soled tennis shoes, but at her cry of pain, he carried his pack over and knelt by her. He handed her the flashlight and tugged off his gloves to inspect the damage. The rubber soles had not only melted outside, but inside around the insole, and stuck to her socks, which weren't very thick themselves. She had to be hurting, but how the hell would she get down the mountain with no shoes?
An afterthought, he reached for the radio at his belt and yanked his hand away with a yelp. The supposedly fire-resistant tool had melted into a gray clump. Useless. He looked over at Peyton, who was pouring the last of the cookie crumbs down her throat and wadding up the cellophane bag.
"Hey, rookie, you wouldn't happen to have a cell phone in your magic pack, would you?"
She gave him a withering stare and reached into a pocket in the front of her pack. Damn, if she had one, it'd be melted to hell too.
The shiny silver job she held out to him was intact. "It won't do us any good in here."
"No, but once we go up, we'll call a medevac chopper." He took the phone and placed it by his pack, then turned back to the counselor. "This is going to hurt, but probably less now than later when the rubber cools and hardens again."
The woman nodded and braced herself against the wall. Without being asked, Peyton slid over and put her arm around the woman's shoulders. Observant was good. He sent Peyton a glance of appreciation, which she acknowledged with a small smile.
"What's your name?" she asked, and when the woman focused on Gabe, Peyton tilted her face toward her and repeated the question.
Stubborn could be good too.
"Josie."
"Josie, you were so brave out there." Peyton's soothing voice, already low and now roughened by smoke, reached out to calm his nerves as well. He hadn't realized how tense he was until he started to relax. "You never even slowed down. And you found these caves---probably saved all our lives."
Josie cried out and jerked as Gabe peeled one sock off. He saw Peyton take her white-knuckled hands in hers, tuck her head against her shoulder as skin came with the sock. He also noticed Peyton didn't look at the injury illuminated by his headlamp.
"Have you been a counselor here for long?"
The counselor squeezed her eyes shut and tensed her muscles beneath his hands as the pain constricted her body. "Uh! Yeah. Twenty-seven years. Used to come here when I was a girl. I can't believe---oh! I can't believe it's gone."
Gabe quit listening to the conversation, only grateful Peyton had distracted her. How had the woman walked on these feet? The soles were literally one big blister. Fear must have driven her. Fear and bravery.
He treated her the best he could with the supplies on hand, wrapped her feet in gauze and a clean pair of his own socks and ordered Peyton to pass around the water again. He sat back against the cave wall and toyed with the switch of the flashlight.
While he watched her move, he waited for resentment to come. He was stuck here with a rookie, a reporter, no less. But he couldn't blame the situation on her. No, she'd held up just fine on the run up the mountain. Hell, it was almost like having a partner.
He did not work well in pairs.
"Come here," he said when she moved back to the corner she'd claimed for herself.
She considered him warily. "Why?"
So she didn't trust him anymore than he trusted her. He wondered why. She'd trusted him well enough to save her life.
"You're limping. I want to look at your feet."
"They aren't burned." And she had some defensive issues of her own. Was it him she wasn't willing to admit weakness to, or herself?
"Blistered, though, aren't they?"
She stammered, glanced away. "A---yeah."
"First fire, new boots?"
"I have on two pair of socks," she said. Yeah, definitely some defensive issues there.
He leaned forward and crooked his finger. "Let's look at those feet."
"They just...I..."
Her discomfort amused him. He wasn't asking her to strip, for crying out loud. Why was she so skittish? "Sit and take 'em off."
She did, grumbling more now than on the trail. Delayed reactions were fine with him. She'd done what she'd been told, and had done a fair job of it. Maybe that's why he couldn't dredge up any resentment.
She thrust her feet toward him and immediately he saw the outer sock, blackened on the top from soot, had been worn through.
"Peel."
"I can take care of my own feet."
He couldn't tell if she was blushing under all the soot, but her jerky movements told him she was embarrassed as she stripped off the socks. He motioned for her to place them in his lap for inspection, which she did with more force than necessary, near a place a man wanted as little force as possible.
He picked up one foot, was amused by the hot-pink toenail polish, amazed by the softness of the skin. Calluses hardened a few places, the rest was city-girl soft. He allowed himself a brief picture of what she might be like on her own turf. Would she wear girly dresses? High heels? Fix up her hair? Hard to tell what she'd be like dressed up, the way she looked now, in her baggy fire gear and covered with ash. But he'd imagine she wouldn't be too bad.
Of course, sandals wouldn't be very flattering. He could see some blisters forming, traced a testing finger over the high arch of her foot. She jerked and shouted, the sound startling the girls as it echoed off the cave walls. He grinned.
"Ticklish?"
She scowled and tried to pull her foot away, but he tightened his grip on her heel.
"I have some cream in my pack."
"So do I," she said through her teeth.
Stubborn wasn't as bad as most people made it out to be. It would keep her alive till he could get her back to safety. He wanted to smile again, but her other foot was still free and dangerously close to where it could do damage.
He released her and she scrambled to her side of the cave.
"Fine. Then put your clean socks on and put the dirty ones still in one piece over them."
He watched to make sure she followed directions, then shut off the flashlight and closed his burning eyes.
Gabe dozed, his head against the wall. How could he relax when Peyton's heart still drummed a mile a minute? The terror of the past few hours only now hit her. She'd understood it was serious at the time, but the pure audacity of their victory kept her mind churning.
Woman against nature. Considering the huge force she was up against, she felt damned lucky to come out even.
In the dim light of her headlamp, she saw the children were asleep, piled together like puppies. Josie curled against the wall, her back to them. So Peyton watched Gabe.
His strength was apparent in every aspect of his body, his broad shoulders and muscled arms accented in the black T-shirt, his wide callused hands, his stubborn jaw, black with both stubble and soot.
He was handsome, rescued women and children, true hero material.
God help her.
They'd be out of here in a few hours, back at camp, and Peyton would leave. She had her story, if not her answers. But she couldn't afford to look for them in Gabe Cooper.
In all the stories she'd written in this series, no one had come as close to being the man Dan had been as Gabe did. She'd thought she was ready to deal with the feelings the comparison dredged up, both the familiarity and the resentment, but now everything was all tumbled up with a longing, a loneliness.
"A guy could get a complex," he said, his voice a low rumble, his eyes still closed.
She hid her leap of surprise well, she hoped. She was sure he'd been asleep. Sneaky bastard. "Pardon?"
"You're staring."
"Sorry." She took off her helmet, switched off the headlamp, leaving them in the dark. Something she should have done before, to conserve the light bulb. No telling how long they'd be down here. "You remind me of someone."
"Who?"
His voice sounded closer, softer in the darkness, but she hadn't heard him move. Just her imagination.
"I'm figuring it out," she hedged.
She was not going to discuss Dan with him. The further she kept him at a distance, the safer she would be.
"A mix between Cary Grant and John Wayne."
"What?" She went cold.
"That's who people say I remind them of."
"John Wayne?" Dan's team had called him John Wayne. She'd hated the nickname, no matter how apt. What grown man wanted to remind people of a dead movie cowboy?
"It's the macho thing, I guess," Cooper said, as if answering her thoughts.
"Is that why you came out here? Became a Hot Shot? Because you're some kind of cowboy?"
"I didn't think about it at the time and I've never done anything else. Does that make me a loser?"
"No. You're exactly what you need to be to do the job you do."
A moment of silence. "What does that mean?" he asked, his voice tight.
She sighed, exhausted. She had no desire to explain a man to himself. "I mean, I've been watching, wondering what kind of people do this job. Most are kids, and they probably think this is very exciting. But you, you're---"
"Not a kid," he finished for her and she heard him shift forward. She saw, as her eyes adjusted to the dim light from above, that he rested his elbows on his knees. She resisted the urge to shift herself.
"No, you're not just a kid, which makes you harder to pin down."
"And yet you think you have."
"As far as being a firefighter goes. I mean, how many people have a job with a name like 'Hot Shot'? There's an inherent arrogance there."
"So I'm arrogant."
She didn't dignify that with an answer. "I think you like the danger associated with the job. You'd rather be on the line than in charge because there you can see results right in front of you."
A slight hesitation. She'd hit the nail on the head. "Ah, but there's the arrogance, right? Needing to see the results of my work?"
"Very probably. And I get the feeling you are the job. You are the Hot Shot. That's why people talk about you, tell stories about you."
He sat back with a groan. "Nothing I like better than being psychoanalyzed by a reporter, but I'm going to see if I can find another way out."
She bolted upright. "So soon? Do you think the fire's passed? That it's safe?"
"No telling till I look."
Next to Gabe came a small voice from the darkness. "I have to go to the bathroom."
Cooper flicked on the flashlight and winked at Peyton. "See? I knew there was a reason I brought you."
Peyton woke with a start and looked into Gabe Cooper's hard-hat light. She blinked, taking a moment to realize he'd wakened her. His hand remained on her shoulder until she sat up against the cave wall.
"You curl up like a damned snake when you sleep. Doesn't your back hurt?" he asked, close enough that his breath stirred the opening of her shirt.
Annoyed when he didn't move back, she took a quick inventory. "Everything hurts. What's wrong?"
"One of your campers has run off."
Panic at his words chased the cloud of exhaustion from her mind, and she reached for her helmet. Why the hell had she let herself fall asleep? He hadn't. These people were as much her responsibility as his. "What? When?"
"About thirty minutes ago. Don't worry, I've found her," he added, moving back before she could get up and crack him in the jaw with her head. "But I can't get her and she won't come to me. She's lodged herself up in a crawl space."
Blood drained from her face. "Oh no" slipped out before she could stop it.
"Problem?" Suspicion darkened his tone.
She shook her head, swallowing hard. Gabe wouldn't allow himself a weakness, she couldn't show him hers, especially not with a child in danger. Not when she'd used the children as a reason to come up here. "Not at all. Show me."
He nodded. She followed him out of the main "room" at a crouch.
"How long did it take you to find her?" She took the flashlight he offered and jammed her hard hat on.
"About ten minutes. This cave isn't very big and she isn't exactly quiet. On the plus side, I found the only way out is the way we came in."
She narrowed her eyes at him though he'd turned away. "How is that a plus?"
He pointed to a skinny tunnel, something only a child would think to climb in. "She's in there."
Peyton's ribs refused to expand with her breath, and her throat closed. Only because Gabe watched her did she nod once and brace her hands against the opening.
"I'm going up to the surface, see if we can exit safely." He turned away.
"No!" Her shout made them both jump as the word bounced in the small space. She released his arm as soon as she realized she'd gripped it. "What I mean is, can't you wait till I get her out? Then you can go. There's no hurry, right?"
He opened his mouth to argue, then looked at her and closed it. Heat crept up her throat to her cheeks as he evaluated her weakness and judged her on it. He probably saw "Not Hero Material" stamped on her forehead.
"I'll stay right here," he said in the calmest tone she'd heard him use.
She shouldn't get mad at him for patronizing her when he was working in the best interest of the group to keep her calm. But something in his tone grated over her already-raw nerves. She used her anger to work up the courage to crawl into the tunnel.
The tunnel was just a hair wider than her shoulders, but she pushed the thought aside. She crept along on her belly, her chin brushing the limestone, and nausea welled up in her throat. She'd only think about Gabe and his "there, there" tone of voice and of the child whose legs were illuminated by her headlamp.
Even though she was not much smaller than Gabe, he couldn't have fit in here.
Lucky her.
"Hi, sweetie," she crooned, and was surprised by the quaver in her voice. Some comfort she'd be to the child. Taking a deep breath only reminded her of the narrowness of the passageway. She dropped her head to her hands on the floor of the tunnel, refusing to hyperventilate in front of Gabe.
Something touched her ankle, and she almost kicked out before recognizing the warm touch of Gabe's hand.
"Peyton? You doing all right?" he asked from the nice roomy cave, his voice uncommonly gentle, which only freaked her out more.
She sucked in a breath through her nose. "Peachy."
"I couldn't hear you anymore. I thought something was wrong."
"I'm fine. I see her."
"Can you reach her from where you are?"
Peyton judged the distance to the child's legs. "If she'll reach out to me."
"Okay. Don't go any farther. Stay where you are and make her come to you, all right? I'll stay here."
Like it or not, his hand on her leg was reassuring, a connection to the real world. Okay. She could do this.
She tilted her head a bit so her headlight illuminated the girl's face. The child whimpered and threw her hand up in front of her eyes, so Peyton quickly lowered her head.
"Hey, whatcha doin', all stuffed back in there?"
The girl didn't answer.
Great. The kid was going to keep her in this coffin forever. She struggled for a breath and tried again. "What's your name? I'm Peyton."
A soft sound that might have been "Mary".
"Mary? Or Terry? Or Cherry? Or Harry?"
Another sound, a giggle, then more clearly "Carrie".
"Hi, Carrie." She edged forward on her elbows, buying time while figuring out what to say. The girl's chin came into view. "Are you scared?"
"Uh-huh."
"Of the fire?"
"Uh-huh."
Join the club. "Well, it's not going to get us in here, you know. And Cooper? He's going to take you to your mom and dad, okay? So come with me."
The girl's face was buried in her arms. "He's mean. He yelled at me."
Peyton snuffled a laugh. "I just think he doesn't know how to act around girls."
"Hey!" Cooper squeezed her ankle, almost playful. Again out of character. Why was he being nice when she was in this coffin, when he couldn't be nice to her face? "I heard that."
Peyton had almost forgotten where she was and had to smile.
She reached a hand out. "Let's get out of here so Cooper can take you home. I promise he'll be nice to you. He'll even buy you an ice cream." She said the last over her shoulder and it earned her another ankle tug.
"Promise?" Carrie crawled slowly toward Peyton.
"Cooper? You promise?" Peyton relayed.
"I promise," he said gruffly, and Carrie linked her fingers through Peyton's.
With Gabe guiding her, Peyton eased out of the tunnel, leading Carrie, using the child's face to focus her as she took even breaths through her nose.
Then Gabe's hands were on her hips and he pulled her out. She leaned back against him for a moment, gulping in oxygen and absorbing his strength, still holding Carrie's hand. The girl eyed Gabe, but Peyton gave her an encouraging smile and she dropped to her feet.
"You did great," Gabe murmured into Peyton's ear before releasing her, his fingers flexing on her hips in a show of approval.
She nodded, then tugged free of his touch that felt too good, stirred her blood, made her want to stay in his arms. She took Carrie's hand and walked back to the others, then sat before her knees gave way.
Gabe dropped to the floor beside Peyton with a grunt. "I didn't really believe you when you said you were good with kids."
Together they watched Carrie enfolded by her friends, by Josie. He was still trying to work out what the kid had been thinking by crawling into the tunnel. Even at such a young age, the female mind was unfathomable.
"I know you didn't." Her voice was higher than normal, tighter, and he didn't think it was completely from her scare in the tunnel.
He blew out a breath. "I'm trying to pay you a compliment here."
She folded her legs up and rested her arms on them, turned her head toward him. "I lied."
Gabe felt a smile tugging at his mouth. As apologies went, it wasn't much, but at least she didn't play with words the way most reporters did.
"I figured."
She lifted her head. They were close enough that he could feel the surprise running through her. "Then why did you let me come?"
A question he'd been asking himself regularly. He pushed to his feet. Yeah, he was avoiding the question, so what?
"When I figure it out, I'll let you know."
Gabe edged back through the passageway they'd entered, bending lower as the ceiling angled down. He had hoped to find an easier way out of the cave, but all the passages were too narrow for him to squeeze through. After a demonstration of Peyton's claustrophobia, well, that had to be a consideration. The way they'd come in was the quickest exit, the shortest tunnel. Still, sliding kids down a nearly vertical hole was one thing. Pushing them out was another.
He got himself out by digging his elbows and knees into the sides of the tunnel. Cautiously, he placed his gloved hand on the outside of the entry and tested the ground for heat. It was hot, but bearable. He pulled himself out the rest of the way, squinting against the brightness of the overcast sky after the darkness of the cave, and looked around.
He'd seen the moonscapes before, the desolation a fast-burning fire left behind. So why did the grayness of the scene before him have him bending double, bracing his hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath?
Because the people he'd been responsible for this time hadn't been Hot Shots, trained to understand fire behavior and how to stay safe in a blowup. This time two inexperienced women and five children had been his responsibility. He could have lost them all.
No. He didn't think like that, didn't allow himself to. He whipped out Peyton's phone. Thank God she had one of those good services with reception even out here. He made the call.
Gabe lay on his stomach and shouted down the hole. "Michaels!"
No answer. He swore, then remembered how sound carried in the cave and how young some of the ears were down there. He coughed some of the smoke out of his lungs and shouted again.
Her face popped into his field of vision, pale against the darkness of the cave.
"What?"
"Bring the campers over. Time to go. Helicopter's on the way and we gotta go fast. We still have some hot spots out here that could flare up."
He couldn't see her hands, but he'd bet they were on her hips as she considered the exit. "How are we going to get them out this way? It's almost straight up."
"What did I tell you about questioning orders?" he asked, exasperated with her endless desire to understand the whys and hows. "You pass 'em up, I'll pull 'em out."
She looked doubtful, like she was about to ask another question, then turned and walked away.
She reappeared a few moments later, bowed under the weight of the counselor. The passage was too narrow for one woman, so both crouched low, Peyton's arm under Josie's shoulders to support her, their faces nearly pressed together, Peyton's grim, the counselor's pale with pain.
Then Peyton disappeared and Josie started rising toward him. The lack of light in the cave gave her ascension a surreal aspect and Gabe took a moment longer than usual to react. Josie started clawing at the rocky walls before Gabe reached down and pulled her out.
Only then did he see she'd been straddling Peyton's shoulders. He snorted in appreciation and got soot up his nose. He was still laughing and choking when he reached down to lift out the first child.
The helicopter's rotors beat above the fire-created clouds, but after relief, Gabe's first thought was of the soot it would stir up, blinding his campers.
There was still the danger of a blowup; embers glowed at the bases of trees and snags, but he couldn't urge Peyton along without transmitting his fear to the children and the counselor.
Arms trembling from fatigue, he pulled up the last child, then climbed to his feet with effort. He ushered them all together in a huddle to shield them from blowing soot as they moved to intercept the landing chopper. The dust swirled up beneath the rotors and Gabe sheltered the kids with his body, hustling them into the bird before turning to run back to the cave.
Peyton's panicked shrieks pierced through the noise of the rotors. She was alone in the cave and terrified.
He hadn't forgotten her, but his first responsibility had to be evacuating the campers. Still, in her fear she wouldn't see it that way.
He dropped to his belly at the opening. She stared up at him, her face pale and drawn. He shouldn't have left her alone without explanation. He had just been thinking about getting the others on the helicopter.
"Peyton!"
Her eyes snapped into focus. "You didn't leave me," she said, her voice breathy like it had been when he pulled her out of the tunnel.
"No, I didn't leave you." He prayed for the strength to pull her up as he stretched a hand to her. She handed him their packs first, smart girl, standing on her toes to push them up the tunnel. He tossed them aside, ignoring the shouts of the helitack crew.
He reached down and she gripped his forearms. The strain tightened his back, his buttocks, his shoulders, his throat, even the back of his head as he lifted. He opened his eyes to see her feet dangling. He was bearing all her weight on his shoulders. His ribs felt like they'd crack against the rocks.
Her swinging legs found purchase in the tunnel and he felt the relief instantly in his chest. She scrambled up, releasing one of his arms to grab the rim, helping him help her out.
"Good girl, good girl," he murmured, and dragged her free.
She lay on her belly, her face against the hot ground as she fought for breath; he rolled onto his back, one hand on his chest as he gulped air into his aching lungs.
"You're out," he managed at last.
"Thanks." Her voice was muffled against the ground.
Then he heard the sound. He snapped his head up and looked around.
The helicopter rotors had masked the noise of the fire, and now a wall of flames rose between Gabe and Peyton and the helicopter.
The dragon was back on the mountain.
He leapt to his feet, dragging her with him, forgetting his earlier pain. No time to gauge her reaction, to worry about her fear as he scanned for a way around the flames to the chopper.
What the hell was the fire feeding on? Nothing but soot and blackened grass had been between them and the helicopter. The soot must've been covering something flammable because flames shot up between the rocks where he and Peyton stood and the hillock where the chopper waited.
He dragged Peyton back from the fire, farther onto the mountain, aware of the fresh fuel available in the cracks between the rocks. Tension radiated up her arm, resistance as she tried to head for the chopper.
"We're going the wrong way!"
"We're not going to make the helicopter." Why did she make him say it? Damn, putting it into words meant he had to think of another escape route.
"What? No. We can go down and circle back." She pointed.
"Uh-uh, we can't." He fought to keep his own desperation from his voice, but he had to be realistic. "Waiting for us will just put them in danger."
He raised his arms in a signal to the helicopter. The helitack pilot nodded an acknowledgment and lifted off.
Peyton wailed her despair. "Wait! Don't do that." She started for the chopper but he jerked her back. She whirled on him, eyes unfocused in her anger and fear. "What about us?"
Gabe couldn't take time to answer. He released her and hopped down the rocks to retrieve their packs before the fire did, not allowing himself to watch as the chopper took off. Did she think he wasn't exhausted? But their primary purpose had been rescuing the campers and they'd accomplished it. That was something to be proud of.
Now they had to get back to the fire camp on their own.
"We hike." Gabe handed Peyton her pack.
She turned her head sharply, but not before he glimpsed tears in her eyes. Her attempt to hide them reassured him. As long as she was strong enough to hide her fear, she would keep up. Her pride outweighed her terror. She was going to have to be tough these next few hours.
"We have to get off these rocks. They're heating up fast." He hoisted his own pack on his shoulders. "Let's go."
"Where?"
He'd already found their escape route on his first assessment, years of training kicking in. "Up the hill."
She followed his gaze up the steep, rocky mountainside. "I thought fire moved fastest uphill," she said, only the slightest quaver in her voice.
He blew a breath out through his nose. "Again with the questions. If we stay on this rocky face, we'll eventually reach a spot where we can work around the fire and go back down to camp."
"Why didn't we do that with the campers?" Her words huffed out. But she pulled on her pack, buckled it over her breasts. "We could have been back by now."
He considered a moment before deciding to tell her the truth. "It's rough going. They wouldn't have made it."
"Oh God."
The forest was at their back, on their left. The fire had burned through fast, not taking all the fuel, their biggest risk. To their right was a burned-out meadow, but Gabe couldn't be confident that all fuels had been consumed, so they stayed on the rocks. Farther up, the forest veered west, the meadow east, leaving them a greater expanse of rock, a safer barrier. But a steeper climb.
The footing over the big, smooth rocks was tricky. He remembered her blistered feet, but they couldn't stop. The fire moved like a living thing, snaking around rocks to nibble greedily at fresh fuel. The heat pounded at their backs, under their feet. When the mountain got steep enough for them to climb on all fours, the heat radiated from the rocks beneath their hands. At least the smoke was below them, and they didn't have to fight it as well as altitude and exhaustion.
Peyton kept pace with him, so either he was slowing down or she was scared spitless. Determination tightened her face and he hid a grin. Who said pride was a sin? It was damned sure going to save her life.
"Break," he croaked once the rocks started to feel cool to the touch. He swung his butt around to plop it on an outcropping. "Got water?"
She mimicked his movement, swayed a little when she stared back the way they'd come. The treetops were deceptively green, and every now and then a flicker of fire moved beneath them. On the far side of the trees was a stretch of black, probably the route his crew had taken back to camp. He'd asked when he called for the helitack---they'd arrived at camp safely.
He pulled his water out and tossed the pack behind him. "Looks harder than it was, right?"
She slid him an incredulous glare. Good, she hadn't lost her sense of humor in her scramble up the mountain. She'd need it tonight. He grinned and offered her his bottle. She shook her head and reached for her own. He had to fight his growing admiration. Most rookies would be crying, complaining, but she did neither. That it gave him a sense of pride disturbed him. So he turned his thoughts away.
"At least you're not climbing up through a tunnel."
She grunted and raised her water to her lips.
It went against everything ingrained in him, but he had to know. "What was with that? You get lost in a cave as a kid?"
She shook her head. "Nope. Never been in a cave till today. I hope I'm never in one again."
"So what happened?"
She glanced at him, then turned her attention downhill. So she'd decided to ignore him. It wouldn't surprise him. She had stubborn down to an art form.
"You know what a hope chest is?" she said at last.
"Hope chest?"
"A cedar chest, maybe four feet long, two and a half feet deep?" She pulled off her gloves, inspected her blistered hands, but she'd probably rather look at anything but him right now. "In my family, all the girls got one at a very young age, to store quilts and stuff for their house once they got married. Very old fashioned, but there you have it."
"Okay, sure." The image of young Peyton planning her wedding amused him.
"I got locked in mine when I was eight." She shrugged a shoulder as if the words didn't mean anything.
"What, were you playing hide and seek?"
She took off her hard hat and passed a dirty hand over dirty hair. He sensed her nervousness and wondered if it occurred to her not to answer the question. "No. I wanted to see what it was like to be dead."
Like a coffin. Jesus. Her nonchalant tone hid the very real terror the young Peyton must have experienced, and the bravery in her voice reached inside and grabbed him.
"It had a latch on the outside and there was no way I could get it open. I was locked in for an hour before my mother found me."
Her voice was hollow, like her cries for help must have been inside the cedar coffin, and nausea rolled in his stomach as he imagined her fear. Jesus. What would an experience like that do to a person? The scars didn't stop at claustrophobia.
But there was something more. She hadn't thought of climbing into the chest on her own.
"Why did you want to know what it was like to be dead?" He kept his voice controlled, not letting her see the effect her story had on him.
She put her helmet back on. "My sister died. She was hit by a car doing some idiotic trick on her bike. One minute she was there and the next she wasn't. The rocks are starting to get warm." Her tone changed from melancholy to matter of fact as she pushed to her feet to avoid any more questions. "We better keep moving."
Why had she told him all that? Peyton got herself a good foothold and pulled herself up the rock, ahead of him, like he insisted. Her family didn't discuss her sister's death. She hadn't told Dan that story till they'd been married.
Of course, Dan hadn't seen evidence of her claustrophobia the way Gabe had. She owed Gabe an explanation for freaking out on him back there. Telling him the story was better than him thinking she was a wimp.
Which she was. But with a reason.
That was it. It was the situation, not the man. If only she could keep her mind on her purpose, look for the humanity in the hero, without showing him hers. The sympathy in his eyes when she told him her story unsettled her. She had to protect herself, because right now she was feeling just too damned vulnerable.
The confession had the effect of emptying her mind. Only motor skills remained, putting one foot in front of the other. She couldn't comprehend her own exhaustion, only that the fire was coming up and the sun was going down.
"We're not going to be able to see much longer," Gabe said after what had to be an hour of silence. She didn't remember ever experiencing such a lengthy silence with another person. Of course, forming words took brainpower and she'd depleted the last of hers. "I'd hoped to reach that ridge before sundown." He motioned upward, and the place he was pointing to seemed unreachable. "We'll keep going till the batteries run out."
"Mine is already winding down." Even talking took too much energy.
He chuckled. "I mean in the headlamps. The flashlight won't do us any good since we need our hands."
"What'll we do if the batteries run out?" Her words came slow and slurred.
"Stop. Are you going to be okay? Are you hungry?"
She waved her hand at him weakly, too scared to eat. But if she didn't get food, if they didn't rest, she couldn't keep up much longer. Still, she lied. "I'm fine."
"You've got food in your pack, right? You didn't give it all to those girls?"
"I've got food."
"Then eat."
She studied him a long moment before plopping down and pulling an MRE out of her pack. He knew two of her weaknesses and hadn't revealed one of his. She tore into the pseudobeef. "What about the fire?"
"If it gets close enough, we'll see it."
"Very funny. We can't sleep. The fire could come up on us." She hated the pathetic tone of her voice but was too tired to muffle it.
"You can sleep. I'll keep a lookout."
Good Lord, how could the man think he wasn't a hero if he was willing to go without sleep so she could rest? He had to be more tired than she was. She couldn't allow that sacrifice. "I'm not going to sleep if you can't."
He rolled his eyes, not hiding his disgust that she was arguing with him. Again. She felt a small twinge of guilt for irritating him, but she needed him to see her as an equal, as he had in the cave.
Of course, if Gabe Cooper had an equal, she wouldn't be doing this story.
"You'll sleep if I tell you to."
"You can't make me," she said, realizing too late how childish that sounded.
He snorted. "I don't think I'd have to, but do you have to argue about everything I tell you?"
"No, but---"
"Peyton." Though his tone was soft, the underlying intensity alarmed her more than his temper would have. "We will get out of here. Just not tonight. Going down the mountain will be harder than coming up."
She didn't want to wait. As bone weary as she was, she wanted to put miles between her and this fire, all the way back to Chicago, if possible. "But we'll have gravity on our side."
He kept his voice calm, though her questions tested his patience. "What about forward motion on rocky terrain? I don't want you falling on your face going down the mountain. We'll find a safe spot, I promise, and wait till morning."
"We should've stayed in the cave," she muttered as they trudged on.
He stumbled a bit, as if doubting his decision to move up the mountain. "If I'd acted sooner, we could have. I'm sorry we didn't make the helicopter. By the time I realized we wouldn't make the chopper, we couldn't have gotten to it."
"If I had been faster getting out of the cave, if I hadn't freaked out that you left me alone, we'd be back at camp by now." Despair and exhaustion made her petulant, and while the knowledge shamed her, she didn't have the will to battle her own faults.
"Peyton." He stopped, turned her toward him, his own eyes intent in his grimy face. His responsibility for her must weigh on him and her questions were making his job harder. "We'll get out of this. It'll be hard work, but we're going to get out of here."
"I know." She tried to smile, to show her appreciation of his encouragement. "I'd just kinda like to skip the middle part."
"Come on." He released her, leaving her bereft for a moment, floating, before she took steps to follow him. "We've got to take advantage of the light while we have it."
After the sun went down, their headlamps put out miserly light in the pitch blackness. The only light was the glow of the fire beneath them; the smoke had obliterated the moon and stars. It was too dark to tell if they were still in the open or if they'd gone back into the trees. The ground had leveled off so it felt like they were moving sideways instead of up. She hoped Gabe knew where they were. She was pretty sure he did, at least in relation to the camp.
Though she couldn't see him, she sensed him, and not just because of the noise he made as he climbed, as he breathed. It had to be because they were the only two people on the mountain, right? She would feel this way about any person she was running for her life with, this connection, this need.
It wasn't because he was a man, a strong man. A handsome man. A hero.
Her muscles trembled with every step. Her head didn't want to stay upright on her neck, and sweat soaked her T-shirt through the fire shirt he insisted she wear.
Ahead of her, Gabe crouched and she almost tripped over him. She caught her balance with a touch to his back, damp with perspiration, hard with tension. He stumbled a bit, then stood slowly. She dropped her hand away.
"We'll camp here," he announced abruptly.
"Camp?" She turned back to where the fire glowed below them, reflecting off the smoke in an eerie red light. "But the fire---"
"We're in the black. No fuel."
Where had she heard that before? "We thought we were in the black where the helicopter landed."
He sighed. Another question he didn't want to answer. Then the ground around them was illuminated. She shielded her eyes from the sudden light of his flashlight. He walked around the area, kicking up burned grass and clouds of ash.
"It's cool," he assured her. "No embers."
She was afraid to trust nature, but she did trust Gabe Cooper. In relief, she sank to her knees, fatigue quivering her muscles. "I'm so tired but I don't think I can sleep."
He dropped his pack beside her, sending up particles of soot and making her cough. He lowered himself to the ground next to her with a groan and switched off the flashlight. The darkness beyond the pale beams of their headlamps was overwhelming and silent, and she reached for him, then stopped herself. He wouldn't interpret the touch as being a means for her to regain her balance, like on the climb. He'd attribute it to female hysteria, to cowardice, and that she couldn't bear, for him to find her lacking in any way. She closed her fingers around her pack instead.
"Got any water left?" he asked, oblivious.
"A little."
"Make it last."
She dug out her bottle by feel, shook it to gauge how much water was in it. Less than half, probably. She would only take a sip to wash the dust from her throat. But when the tepid water touched her lips she wanted to gulp it down. Gabe pulled it away from her. In the dark, his fingers brushed hers, bare now, no gloves, and she almost dropped the bottle. At least he couldn't see her fumble as she secured the container and stuffed it back in her pack.
"Tomorrow will be a long day without water." He pulled his pack in front of him and pawed through it.
"I know."
"Ever sleep outdoors?"
"Not in the middle of nowhere."
He turned toward her. "Even in a tent?" he asked, disbelief in his voice.
Was he was teasing? So what if she hadn't slept outside? She hadn't had the desire. Did that make her weak?
"Do you have a tent?" she asked.
"A little one-man job. No sleeping bag, but it'll be some protection."
"From what?"
He paused. Then as if it was obvious, explained, "The temperature's falling fast."
"What do you mean, falling? I'm sweating like a pig."
"Lovely," he said, laughter in his voice. "As high up as we are, it will probably get down to the upper thirties. The tent will be some protection for you."
Upper thirties? In July? "For me? What about you?"
"I'll be fine outside. I've done it before."
"Without a sleeping bag?" she asked skeptically. "Or a fire shirt?"
"Well." He swallowed. "No."
"Then you're in the tent too."
He paused again, giving her time to consider what she'd just offered. She was going to sleep in the same tent as a man she'd known a---was it only two days? How could this all have happened in two days?
"It's real small, close quarters," he said. "And I said I'd keep watch."
Was it her imagination or did his voice sound huskier than it had a minute ago? Imagination or reality, it sent skitters down her spine to places long ignored.
Okay, get a grip, Peyton. Yeah, he's a hunk. Yeah, she'd be sleeping next to him, but they'd both be fully clothed and too exhausted to act on any interest. If there was any on his part. Which there probably wasn't.
Not that it mattered.
"Don't be ridiculous. You're exhausted too, and you said we're safe here. In the tent, at least we'll be warm." Okay, her voice was definitely huskier. Probably all the smoke they'd breathed today. Uh-huh, that was it.
The tent couldn't be that small, could it?
Okay, it was. Um. Gabe straightened up from driving the last spike. The tent was no bigger than a coffin and she was going to share it with him. No way they were both going to fit. Maybe she could sleep outside. Hypothermia had nothing on sleeping next to a man who oozed virility. But she was already shivering, though earlier she could have sworn she'd never be cold again.
"Um, I think I'll sleep outside."
She heard him suck in an impatient breath, but couldn't look at him.
"We can sleep with our heads toward the opening, can even leave it unzipped a bit if you want."
He thought her claustrophobia made her hesitate. And she had to admire his patience. She didn't realize he had the resources. He couldn't understand---she wouldn't admit---his size, his undiluted maleness had her heart hammering in her chest.
"It won't be bad, Peyton. You'll be asleep before you know it. And it's going to be too cold out here."
Come on, Peyton. You ran from a wildfire today, crawled through a cave. You can sleep next to a man you hardly know. She squared her shoulders and nodded, though he'd turned off the flashlight and couldn't see her.
He took her arm, urging her into the tent. When she crawled inside, feet first, the nylon stretched over hard ground was like the bed of a five-star hotel.
Then Gabe crawled in and sucked all the air out of the tent. Her skin tingled with awareness as he tried to fit in beside her. She scooted toward the seam and still felt the press of him against her back. She held her breath, heard him clear his throat in obvious discomfort as he settled on his side also.
"This, ah, this isn't going to work," he said gruffly, his breath grazing her ear.
She couldn't turn around to look, didn't want to see how close he was, though his shoulder bumped hers as he tried to find a spot for his arm. "Um, what?"
"Maybe you could put your head on my arm. There doesn't seem to be any other place for it."
She lifted her head in surprise and he took that as agreement and slipped his arm beneath. She settled back down, at first hesitant to let the whole weight of her head rest on it. He grunted her name and she tried to relax. His arm was hard and warm and smoky. Just when she thought she was used to the smell, her senses had to come back in full force.
All of them. The change in position brought his chest against her and she wished for the extra layer of his fire shirt between them. His Tshirted chest felt naked and she cursed her fertile imagination.
He flipped her hair over her shoulder away from him and she immediately tensed.
"Sorry. It was tickling my nose." His voice was so close, his words teasing the back of her neck. She tensed all over again.
"Oh." She smoothed the ponytail against her throat so no stray hairs would bother him. Then she shifted her hips and bumped her bottom into his groin. Both of them went perfectly still. Then, as if not to draw attention to her movement, she eased her hips away infinitesimally.
"We both have to, ah, relax," he murmured at last.
He placed a hand on her hip and she flinched. He shushed her and slid his arm about her waist, drawing her against his body, spooning her against him, careful to keep their lower bodies apart, which of course only made her focus on it. Had her little bump aroused him and he didn't want her to realize it?
No, she was being ridiculous. She was filthy and sweating and still wearing her boots, for crying out loud. Hardly arousing.
No one had held her since Dan died. She squeezed her eyes shut at the memory of the intimacy they'd shared every night, even the night before he died, but her eyes were too dry for tears. Good thing, since she didn't want Gabe to think she wasn't tough enough.
His heart beat against her back, strong and sure. One arm over her body, the other under her head, almost made her forget the tent wall inches from her nose.
And made her remember with an alien longing other things that happened in the dark.
She'd forgotten how wonderful a man's strong arms about her felt, how safe. The thought terrified her. She took awhile to relax against him.
"That's more like it," he said against her ear. "Good night, Peyton. You did real good today."
Pride rose at his words, almost blocking out the awkwardness of their sleeping arrangement. She'd hung in, she'd proven---
Proven what? That she was as tough as the people she wrote about, as Dan? Not yet.
Gabe's breathing evened out almost immediately, but as tired as she was, she couldn't sleep. Her mind snapped from one thought to another, from the fire to the campers, from Gabe to Dan, back to Gabe. Always back to Gabe.
He wasn't as much like Dan as she'd first thought. Though both men were heroic, Gabe's confidence didn't come at the expense of caution. His mistakes were quickly rectified. He hated to be questioned about his decisions, but never failed to answer her. He was pure hero material, decisive, tough, intelligent. Just the right combination for her story.
So why was this the first time she'd thought of her story in hours?
Peyton woke alone, light glowing through the yellow nylon of the tent. Was it the fire coming up on them? She scrambled through the opening, pricking her palms on the burned grass poking through the flimsy floor of the tent. Where had Gabe gone? He hadn't left her, had he?
She'd barely calmed herself when he walked out of a grove of trees the fire had burned under, blackening trunks and undergrowth, but not reaching branches. How he'd managed to find a clearing in the dark just added to the mystery of Gabe Cooper.
She had trouble untangling herself from the tent opening before finding her feet to stand and confront him.
"Where were you?"
"Went to see a man about a horse," he said cheerily, raising her suspicions. He hadn't used that tone before. "I have a signal on your phone. I told them where we are and that we're okay."
Relief sagged her shoulders. "Are they coming to get us?"
He shook his head and she was glad to see his face again, to be able to read his expressions.
"They can't spare the manpower to rescue two healthy firefighters. We'll be fine." Okay, maybe she wasn't as glad to see his face, since he seemed to pity her for her naïveté.
"Yes, but---" She hadn't realized how much contact with civilization would raise her hopes. "I thought maybe you were too integral to be gone all day."
He laughed, moving past her toward the tent, and her hope deflated.
"Nice try. Now you go talk to that man about that horse and I'll pack up."
Well, a little sleep did Gabe a world of good. Peyton changed her socks as he folded the tent and repacked it without seeming to realize what had gone on in there. Apparently the emotions awakened by sleeping in such confines didn't torment him. Wouldn't it figure. She was all twisted with what-ifs and why-nots, and he was whistling. Whistling.
Annoyed he had viewed last night as nothing more than a necessity, she snapped at him. "What are you so cheerful about?"
He didn't blink at her tone. "Jen told me the fire burned past us while we slept. It's all downhill from here."
"But you said downhill was harder," she reminded him.
"Yeah, but we've had a good night's sleep." He swung his pack onto his shoulder. "Everything looks better after that. Ready to move out?"
Was she ever. She couldn't wait to get back to other people and her right mind, the one that didn't wonder what might have happened last night if she'd turned around in his arms.
"How long do you think it will take us to get back to camp?" She hefted her own pack.
"We won't have to spend the night in a tent again."
Like that was a bad thing. Oops, where had that thought come from? So she had liked sleeping against his chest, with his arm across her. It made her---secure. Something she hadn't thought to experience again.
He made her feel something else, but she wasn't quite ready to put a name to it. It was beyond desire, beyond tenderness, almost...trust.
How could she trust a man who could hurt her most? How could she let herself be vulnerable to him in any way? Because once she was open to him, it was only a short step to fall in love.
But that wouldn't happen. The two of them were stuck in a life-and-death situation. It was simple. And once they got back to camp she'd head home and remind herself why she was writing these articles.
"How come it only took a little while to get to the Girl Scout camp and it's taking so long to get back?"
"We sort of circled around behind the fire camp, adding a few miles to the return trip." He squinted at the sky. "It'll be hot today, since we're hiking across the burned-out section with no shade, so we'll have to pace ourselves."
They headed down the hill, slipping and sliding on the brittle grass, every step stirring up black ash. Gabe crabbed sideways ahead of her, one arm raised toward her to catch her. She tried not to depend on him, but a touch of their gloved fingers now and then helped her keep her balance. At least physically.
She should have known better than to volunteer for this trip. She recognized Gabe Cooper for the dangerous man he was, not only in the work he did, but in his appeal to her. She'd thought he reminded her of Dan, but it was Gabe himself, his confidence, his strength.
Okay, his handsomeness. The virility that had her still feeling the heat from his body.
No, no, no, Peyton. He's no good for you.
But he made her feel good about herself, in a way all the stories she'd written hadn't, despite her best efforts.
She'd be damned if she gave a man that kind of power. Especially a man who could leave her alone again.
She'd suffered the loss of two people she loved more than anything. She wasn't strong enough to go through that again.
The day warmed up quickly and their earlier progress slowed. More soot coated their already filthy skin, clung there, glued with sweat. Peyton licked her chapped lips, grimaced at the taste. She took out her water, sipped enough to clean off her lips.
"You hanging in?" he asked, his eyes dark with concern.
"Thirsty."
"You can have some of my water." He reached for his pack.
Her heart did a little trip at his generosity, but she couldn't let him make the sacrifice. She shook her head. "I'll deal."
"Peyton," he began, his tone chiding.
"If I need it, I'll get it, all right?"
Gabe slowed, held a hand back to stop her.
She skidded behind him, scanned past him, pulse racing in anticipation. "What? What is it?"
"The wind is coming up."
She felt it now, saw the blackened earth skittering along the ground toward them. A chill that had nothing to do with the breeze ran over her skin.
"What does that mean?" she asked through chapped lips, but already had a good idea.
"Any embers left behind could flare up, or the fire could start heading back this way."
"There's nothing for it to burn." The shrill note of panic in her voice made her cringe.
"You saw yesterday how it can find something to feed on." His face was set in a grim line, but he didn't slow down.
"So what do we do?" He'd gotten them safely this far. She waited to hear his plan.
"We keep going till we can't go anymore."
Some plan. "That's it?"
He grinned over at her, the defiant face-the-devil smile she'd seen the day before at the Girl Scout camp. "That's it."
"And then?"
"Then we'll see."
The plan did not sound promising. She had to distract herself. Her thoughts wandered back to last night, but that proved to be the wrong kind of distraction as she remembered the way his arm had tightened around her in sleep, the way his hips pressed against her bottom. The way his body had reacted to their proximity.
She shook the thought away. She'd get information from him for her story.
"So do you work for the Forest Service all year?"
"This isn't an interview, is it?"
"You don't give interviews," she replied tartly. "Do you talk?"
"Am I talking to you, or a reporter?"
"Does there have to be a difference?"
"That's a question," he pointed out.
"You know?" She lifted her hand in exasperation, let it fall against her thigh with a slap. "I knew that. I can't believe you won't answer any questions. Why?"
"Another question." But a smile quirked the corner of his mouth.
She picked up her pace till she was in front of him and could look back up at him. He swerved to go around her, but if he thought that would deter her, he had another think coming. "Come on, Cooper, what you do is amazing. People are fascinated by it."
"I thought your story was about the job."
"The job, and the people who do it." She skidded, bumped her butt against the side of the mountain, but was on her feet again before he could turn to help her. "Will you just tell me if you're a full-time Forest Service employee?"
"You'll just keep asking questions."
"That's my job." But she fought back a smile. How she had missed this since Dan died, the quick-witted exchanges, the low sexual hum beneath. She'd just have to watch out that she kept Gabe in focus and didn't overlap Dan's face over his in her article.
He took a deep breath and rolled his shoulders. "Nah. I don't work for the Forest Service year round."
"No?" There was a surprise, part that he answered, and part at the answer. "What do you do?"
"I'm an EMT."
That only surprised her a little. Another high-risk, intense job. While she couldn't imagine him sitting behind a desk during the winter, or flipping burgers, she couldn't imagine him working in a one-on-one situation with real live people. He kept so much to himself. "That's convenient to have those skills on this job. Where?"
"Albuquerque."
A country apart from her home in Chicago. Not that it mattered. "So why don't you work for the Forest Service all year? You've been a Hot Shot for a lot of years, right?"
He continued forward, eyes ahead. "Yeah. I'm not much for the indoors and I hate the Park Ranger hats, so I go home to Albuquerque."
"And come back to the mountains every summer."
"Yep."
"Why?"
"Because I'm good at it."
A slice of familiar envy went through her, but she battled it. "Are you good at being an EMT?"
"Yep."
Like he was going to shock her by being modest. "Is there anything you aren't good at?"
He looked at her then. "Conversation."
She laughed as he passed her on his way down the mountain.
Gabe had always depended on his instincts. They'd never failed him. A good thing in his line of work but a bad thing now. He was leading Peyton into danger and he wasn't sure how to avoid it.
They'd left the black a few miles back, in favor of easier terrain, gently sloping, grassy, with young trees. The barren black challenged them, without shade, with so much ash in the air and no water to wash it from their throats. He'd fooled himself into complacency with the knowledge that the fire burned past them last night, but now he regretted his decision.
Behind him, she was uneasy and the distraction made him irritable. Okay, he'd be honest and admit it wasn't her uneasiness distracting him. It wasn't that she was a reporter.
It was that she was a woman.
He'd gotten through the previous day by thinking of her as just another one of his crew, like Mike or Howard. That had mostly worked.
But in the tent last night, he'd been glad as hell she wasn't one of the men. She'd been so soft against him once she relaxed, so female. And when he'd awakened to find his mouth pressed against the skin of her throat and her bottom cradled against his erection, well, any thoughts of her as one of the guys was gone for good.
The last time he'd let thoughts of a woman distract him on the fire line, he'd ended up in the hospital for three days. He didn't want to land there again.
So he had to remind himself what he didn't like about her and quit wondering what she looked like under all those clothes. Especially when he'd woken up with a hard-on pressed against her gorgeous butt.
He wasn't lying; he stank at conversation, which was why he lived alone. But he wanted to keep Peyton's mind off the lack of water and the long hike back.
"Jen says you're a big-time reporter."
His voice must have startled her, because she misstepped and skidded down the hill past him, her arms extended like a surfer's. He grabbed the back of her shirt and jerked her upright. She stumbled, but found her feet beneath her.
"You okay?"
"Sure, great." She rubbed the front of her throat where the collar had caught her.
"Trip?" he asked.
She scowled at him and snuffled back a giggle. "Yeah."
"Want to sit down?"
The anxiety in his eyes calmed her down. "No, I'm okay. Can I take off my fire shirt now?" She lifted her ponytail off her face, having long since hooked her helmet to her pack.
He gauged the wind, the distance. He didn't smell fire, but he didn't depend on that abused sense anymore. "Yeah, I guess. Keep it ready, though. Don't pack it away."
He watched as she unbuttoned the shirt, waiting for a glimpse of the T-shirt she'd worn the other day.
Today's T-shirt was pale green, and cut lower than the white one had been. Thinner fabric too, her lacy bra more pronounced, her nipples pressing against the fabric.
So the whole reporter conversation hadn't helped much.
She tied the shirt around her waist and glanced at him. Busted. He turned abruptly and headed downhill.
Once they found surer footing as the ground flattened out, he repeated his question. "So, are you? A big-time reporter?"
"I wouldn't say that. I write for one of the bigger news magazines, but I'm nowhere near the caliber of some of those writers. I'm certainly not the best. But I have a talent."
He looked sideways at her. "You're big enough that you can survive on your income for however long it takes to do this story."
His reasoning must have surprised her, because she raised her eyebrows at him. "I do all right."
When she didn't elaborate, he asked the question plaguing him since she'd walked into the strategy tent, shiny haired and clean nailed. "So how did you end up going through training and getting on a crew?"
"How can you understand something from watching it?" She swung her hand about to indicate the forest as her voice grew stronger, no longer out of breath. "I wanted to get on the inside, to see how it felt to be up against the fire, to know it could turn on you at any time."
The passion in her voice made him wonder what it would be like for her to channel her passion in other areas. "So now you know."
"Now I know." Footing grew tricky, leaving her a bit breathless. "Is this the worst thing that's ever happened to you?"
Uh-uh, he wasn't falling for that. She was trying to turn the conversation back to him again. Not going to happen.
"Being saddled with a reporter? Probably."
"Har-dee-har-har." She tossed her head, freeing her ponytail from the collar of her shirt, baring the graceful line of her throat. The dirt smudging it only reminded him of how she didn't belong here. "I mean being stranded, unable to get back to camp, running low on water."
"We're not stranded, we will get back to camp today. And no, this isn't the worst I've faced."
"What is?"
He shook his head. He didn't talk about it. But this was nowhere near as bad.
"So what would you do if you couldn't be a Hot Shot anymore?" she asked blithely.
"I don't think about it." He spoke more sharply than he intended. He was superstitious about damn little, but this was something he believed without question.
"What? You aren't serious."
"I don't think about it," he repeated. "It's bad luck."
"But surely---you aren't a kid. You can't think of doing this forever," she said, her tone disbelieving.
He spun on her. "Cut it out, Peyton. The minute a Hot Shot starts thinking about getting out, he gets hurt. So we don't think about it. Period."
"You're kidding." She tucked her thumbs in the straps of her pack and tilted her head, like she was studying some animal in a zoo. "You don't seem the superstitious type."
He couldn't waste his energy on the anger swelling in his throat, so he cut it off like a burning snag. Not an easy job, but necessary. "I'm not. But why take the chance?"
"What are you scared of?" she pressed.
He snorted. "Not a damned thing."
"Right. You can't tell me you weren't scared yesterday."
"I can tell you all I want." He headed down the mountain again.
"It just wouldn't be honest." She skidded after him. "Come on. I told you about my claustrophobia."
He chuckled. "Like I hadn't already figured it out."
"Why do you love it so much? I mean, you come back year after year, right, so you have to love it."
As long as he kept her talking, she wouldn't think about being hot or tired or thirsty. And if he was going to be featured in a national magazine, a good sound bite wouldn't hurt. Yeah, he was proud. Shoot him. "I like facing the dragon and kicking its ass."
"The adrenaline," she said with an ah-ha tone in her voice. "The ultimate man against nature."
"Yeah, I guess. You walk right up to the fire and think, this is where we stand. Right here." He held his hands out in front of him like a photographer framing his shot. "You aren't going any farther because I'm going to stop you. You can't walk up to a hurricane and say, screw you, you aren't going to reach the coast. Or a tornado. But a fire, yeah, I can stop it. I know how and I'm good at it." Suddenly embarrassed at revealing so much, he dropped his hands to his sides and moved on. "You aren't writing this down."
"I think I can remember," she said. "Providing we get off this mountain."
"Just think of this as an adventure."
"Let's hope the adventure part is over."
He wouldn't count on that.
Apparently she sensed his discomfort at his revelation because she took over the conversation. As they hiked on, she told him of her various experiences before she became a reporter. He couldn't picture the woman beside him working as a bartender, a zookeeper. She'd even gone to EMT school. Now her decision to come fight fires made sense. She blew wherever the wind took her. It would carry her off again.
He envied her, in a way. While he'd stayed in one job and gained experience, she'd flitted from place to place and gained experiences. But she'd never be good at one thing. And Gabe liked being the best. He wouldn't settle for less.
"So why all the different jobs?"
Surprisingly, she shrugged. "I haven't found anything I was good at. Or liked enough to become good at."
"You know, you learn how to be good at something by sticking to it."
"That's what I've heard," she said lightly. "Nothing ever seemed worth it to me."
Now that, he didn't get. Why try something new if you didn't want to learn from it? And why learn from it if you didn't want to be good at it? "So when the going got tough---"
"I got going." Her flip tone was gone, and she moved farther away from him.
"It's not like you settled on an easy job. How long have you been a reporter?"
And a little farther away. "Almost three years."
He arched a brow. "Not long to be a journalist before getting on at a national magazine."
She tossed her hair back. "Some of my stuff got noticed early in my career. I was lucky."
No such thing as luck. You were good, or you weren't. Still. "Maybe if you had to work harder to get where you were, you'd appreciate it more."
She stared, wide eyed, open mouthed. Not the argumentative Peyton he expected. She was speechless. Well, look at that. Never thought he'd see the day.
Then he heard it. He stopped and threw up a hand. She nearly collided with him, caught his shoulders to balance herself.
"What? What is it?"
"Shut up!" he growled.
Peyton snapped her head up at his sharp words, dragging her mind back from the path he'd set her on, the revelation that success took commitment---no, she understood that. It was the other thing, the other way around that surprised her. Commitment creates success.
She heard it then, a sound like the rumble of far-off planes. "What is it?"
"Fire."
A thrill of fear raced through her at the single word and she released his shirt to come even with him. She'd nearly forgotten the reason they were on the run, had let thoughts of the fire slip from her mind. Big mistake. Gabe wisely hadn't made the same one.
"Maybe it's west of us," she said hopefully.
He shook his head. "No, it's in front of us." He gestured to the thickening trees ahead of them and glanced over his shoulder at her. "Put your fire shirt back on."
She untied it from around her waist, shrugged her pack to the ground to do as he instructed. She resented the warmth of the garment but couldn't risk going without. "Can we go around?"
"I hope so, but it's impossible to tell from where we are," he said grimly, his eyes not leaving their path, as if concentrating hard enough would reveal the fire's location. "I don't know how the fire has changed in our absence."
"What about the cell phone?" She picked up her pack again, fastened it over her breasts. They didn't have to depend on instincts, not when they had modern conveniences, right? "Can you call the base camp and get the latest?"
He gave her a look of grudging admiration and fished the phone out of his breast pocket. He dialed for information to patch him through and started shouting in the device, pressing his hand to his other ear, walking away from Peyton as if trying to find a stronger signal.
He was able to give their location---how he knew, Peyton had no clue---and ask about the fire before yanking the phone from his ear and glaring at it. She thought he'd throw the offending piece of technology into the forest.
"It cut out." He shoved the cell at her. "Damn it."
She slipped it in her own front pocket for safe-keeping. "Were they able to tell you anything about where the fire is?"
"Not exactly, because Jen was too damn busy yelling at me about not coming back with the campers. But yeah, there's been another flare-up between us and the camp."
Jen. There was a woman who found success through commitment.
"Call her back." She reached into her pocket.
He shook his head. "Too much interference to do us any good."
"Maybe if we go back up the mountain we can get a clearer signal."
He shook his head more vehemently. "Why backtrack and give the fire a chance to gain on us? We'll keep going. Stay close." He started down at a faster pace.
Like she'd go off on her own. Her heart thudded in her throat. "How far do you think it is?"
"Hard to tell."
"And camp?" She was already breathless as her adrenal gland went into workout mode again.
"On the other side of the fire. Once we get around it, we'll probably run into some crews." He didn't sound terribly concerned. That was good, right? "I'm surprised we don't hear any planes."
"Maybe the smoke is too bad. So who's Jen?" she asked, though she knew.
His jaw tightened. "You know Jen Sheridan, Incident Commander. She gave you to me."
"You've worked with her before?" Something in the narrowing of his eyes made her pretty sure the bad feelings went deeper than he let on, so she eased into her real questions. He had a way of sliding right past direct inquiry.
He cast her a glance. "You could say that."
"I guess that happens a lot, you end up working with the same people again and again."
"Yep."
"So does it happen often that a woman is the incident commander?"
"Nope."
Hm. Back to single syllables. She must have hit a nerve. She didn't want to irritate him, much, but did wonder why this was a sensitive subject.
"I guess some people would have trouble taking orders from a woman."
"Some do."
A smile quirked her lips. He was so careful about what information he let out. "What about women on the crews? Do a lot of guys have trouble with that? Are there women crew chiefs?"
"Why? Looking to move up after your first week?"
She smiled. "Maybe, if you think I'm good enough. Are there a lot of romances on the fire lines?" Crap. Why ask that? Would he think---she didn't want him to think she was interested. She didn't want herself to think she was interested. In any case, she wasn't doing anything about it.
He didn't latch on to any hidden meaning. "There's not a lot of privacy."
"Still, life-and-death situations, close proximity..." Like last night in the tent. The warmth she felt now had nothing to do with hiking a mountain in July.
"People find ways, I guess, if they really want to."
He was so oblique about it, she couldn't tell if he'd had any personal experience. Her curiosity was purely objective, of course. "Have you? Wanted to?"
He stopped and turned to face her and she skidded to a halt at the dangerous tilt of his eyebrows. His impatience was palpable in the line of his body. "What do you want to know? Quit beating around the bush and just ask."
She took a deep breath, but couldn't quite meet his eyes, unable to convince herself about the real reason for her need to know. She focused on a rivulet of sweat washing a path through the grime at his temple. "How close are you and Jen?"
"She's my ex."
Whoa. Stunned, she set her feet apart to keep her balance, and used the rest of her energy to snap her jaw shut. "Ex as in married?"
"Ex as in divorced." He started down again.
"Wow." The word jolted her heart into beating again. She'd expected a connection, but a marriage? Gabe married, domesticated? Apparently it hadn't taken. "Is this the first time you've worked with her since the divorce?"
"It's the first time I've seen her since the divorce."
"Wow," she said again, truly at a loss for words. Almost. "That's gotta be tough. What happened? I mean, if you don't mind my asking."
He snorted his opinion. "None of your business."
Like he would be forthcoming on a personal item when he wouldn't tell her if he worked for the Forest Service. As usual, he didn't notice or care, instructing her to be quiet so he could listen for the fire.
They trudged in silence for what seemed like hours, the roar of the fire rising and fading, raising fear and then hope. Finally Peyton could be silent no more.
"I have to stop."
He paused, glancing at her, his brows lowered in concern. "Are you thirsty? Feeling sick?"
"I have to---see a man about a horse." She borrowed his euphemism.
He relaxed marginally. "All right. Go back the way we came. I don't want you walking into the fire. And stay where I can see you."
She stopped cold. "You've got to be kidding me."
"Nope. If I can't see you, I won't know if you're in danger."
Her face was hot and her bladder was full. "Never mind. I can wait."
"Not for the next few hours, you can't. Go ahead and go. You can hide behind a tree. I won't look. I just have to be able to see you in relation to the fire, all right?"
Her bladder tapped its foot impatiently as she weighed modesty against necessity. "You promise you won't look?"
He rolled his eyes. "You think I want to watch you pee?"
"I don't know what kind of a perv you are."
He grinned and winked. "A totally different kind. Hey, Peyton!" he called as she walked off.
She turned.
"Got TP?" He tossed a roll at her.
She caught it one-handed and turned, red faced, to find a big fat tree.
"We're in trouble."
Gabe's voice from the other side of the big fat tree made her jump as she fastened her pants.
"Jesus, Cooper!" How had he snuck up on her?
"We got a blowup. No time for modesty. We've got to move. Have your gear?" His voice was the sharp businesslike tone she'd heard in the camp, not the lazy drawl she'd grown used to today.
She came around the tree pulling on her pack. He nodded his approval.
"Let's move!"
"Gabe, what---?"
The words were no sooner out of her mouth than she saw the wall of flames not a hundred yards from where they stood. The fire advanced fast, faster than the flames at the camp yesterday. She watched in fascination, all the lovely colors, not just the expected warm colors, but flickers of blue and green and purple. It devoured the ground as it moved toward them, the grass and brush blackening and curling, flames licking at trees, igniting branches and needles, heating sap until the trunks exploded into torches. The heat rolled in waves, increasing in temperature.
"Don't look at it!"
Gabe grabbed her hand firmly and started down the hill, the opposite direction from where they'd been heading, back toward the Girl Scout camp.
"What are you doing? We're going the wrong way!"
He didn't stop, didn't slow, didn't expend the energy to explain. She wouldn't have heard him above the roar of the fire anyway.
Each breath seared her throat and lungs as the heat washed through the air. Firefighters died by breathing in the superheated air. She squinted against the ash and embers floating toward them on every fire-created gust.
Gabe dragged her across the rough terrain, and she finally realized his intention. The fire had moved past them, between where they were now and the Girl Scout camp. He was getting them to the burned-out area, and safety.
As her shock subsided, she hurried forward, more sure-footed, but didn't relinquish her hold on Gabe's gloved hand. As the smoke thickened around them, his hand became her only connection, became her lifeline. She focused on following him, on trusting he would get out of here safely. He hadn't failed her so far.
Gabe managed to cover his mouth with his spare bandana, turned to motion for Peyton to do the same. He felt her struggling behind him. She was having trouble getting the kerchief in place one-handed, but she refused to release his hand. Not stopping, he reached back, yanked it up from her throat to under her eyes. Good thing she'd left it on, and put on her fire shirt. He couldn't allow her to stop.
His fire shelter---he'd given it to the little girls. He staggered with the implication. No fire shirt, no shelter, no radio. Firefighting had gained many advantages in the last twenty years and he was without all of them. If the fire overtook them, he was toast. Peyton still had her shelter. Maybe, if they squeezed together, they could both fit. If not, well, maybe the end would come quick.
The smoke obscured his vision, the noise so diffuse he couldn't tell where the fire was. His instinct, his sense of direction would get them to the black.
Peyton cried out and he turned to see her batting at her bandana. He saw the flicker of flame and yanked off the burning fabric, threw it aside. The emotion in her eyes was pure relief, but he couldn't allow her even a moment of relaxation. They had to keep moving.
The flames moved faster than the wind in the dust dry fuels. Even if Peyton deployed her shelter now, she'd be fried if only one ember got inside. They had to get back to the black. It was the only hope for her safety.
"Drop your pack!"
"What?"
He shrugged out of his pack and dropped it to the ground, motioning for her to do the same. She stared at him in shock, but did as he instructed. Their load lightened considerably, they started running.
The roar got louder and Gabe tensed. He hadn't thought the end would come today. He wasn't ready. And Peyton---he'd promised to get her home safely. Did she have someone at home who'd be destroyed by her death? Who would mourn her and curse him?
He gripped her hand harder and looked up. He dragged Peyton under his arm before pushing her to the ground and dropping over her.
The slurry hit him with the force of a speeding truck, knocking the air out of him, damn likely leaving bruises the size of baseballs on his back, but the air temperature dropped palpably as the fire in the immediate vicinity slowed, beaten back by the pink foam dropped from the airplane overhead. He rested his head on Peyton's shoulder for a moment as realization sank in. The pilot had cut it damned close this time, but Gabe was in no mood to complain. He wouldn't even question how Jen had known just where they were to direct the slurry.
He wasn't going to die today. He'd beat the dragon again.
Joy sliced through him and he eased off Peyton, rolled her onto her back. He grinned at the puzzled surprise in her eyes. He wiped dirt and slurry off her face and kissed the question off her mouth.
She stiffened with surprise or protest---he didn't have time to recognize it before she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down to her, taking the heat of him into her.
Her mouth stretch into a smile beneath his. She released him and raised her hands above her head triumphantly. He drew back to hear her laugh, to watch her eyes shine up at him as she reached up to wipe slurry off of him.
"Pink is definitely your color," she decided.
He laughed, throwing his head back to let the sound carry. "Yeah, I think I like it."
He grinned down at her, his pulse slowing to a languid beat. How could a woman covered with soot, sweat and slurry be so beautiful? They had to take advantage of the reprieve to get out of here, but before they did, he needed to kiss her again.
Her expression told him that she knew his intentions and welcomed them. Her lips parted. A thrill of desire went through him and he kissed her.
He didn't taste ash, didn't taste sweat, only tasted hot, willing woman. Peyton. Pleasure curled through his blood, unfurling feelings he'd forgotten. They flared to life, more powerful for being dormant.
"Gabe!"
It took a moment for him to realize Peyton was not the one calling his name, which would have been difficult with his tongue in her mouth. He lifted his head, which Peyton protested with a whimper.
Through the smoke Gabe saw a group of firefighters striding toward them, clad in smokejumper gear. His elation evaporated and he sat up slowly, thoughts of Peyton pushed aside as he focused on the jumper in the lead, a man he recognized at this distance.
Jen had sent her new husband to bring her ex-husband home. Son of a bitch.
Gabe climbed to his feet, ignoring the aching muscles, the popping joints, as he brought himself face to face with his former best friend. He hadn't spoken civilly to Doug since Jen announced she was in love with him and planned to marry him. The memory made bile rise in his throat, but he refused to drop his gaze.
"Doug."
His fists clenched, his shoulders tightened. Last time he'd tensed up like this, he'd busted Doug's nose. He swore, rolled his shoulders and reached down to help Peyton to her feet.
"You guys okay?" Doug asked.
How could the bastard be so civil? Oh, right. He had what he wanted.
"We're just dandy. You didn't have to jump out of a plane on our account."
Beside him, Peyton brushed off her butt, an odd gesture since she was coated in filth, and reached out a hand to Doug. Gabe resisted the urge to slap her hand away.
"I'm Peyton."
Doug took her hand in a brief clasp, his own bandaged, but he didn't wince when Peyton gripped him. "Doug. You're both in good shape?"
"We wouldn't be if the slurry hadn't hit," Peyton replied, her smile a little too friendly. What did women see in the man? He was balding and skinny, and he had to wear a bridge because he'd knocked out his front teeth in smokejumper school. Apparently women weren't as shallow as rumor had it.
Doug grinned at Peyton and Gabe wanted to drag her behind him.
"Yeah, old Pedro nailed it, didn't he? He's been flying fires for longer than you've been alive." He turned to Gabe. "We've got a route for you to get back to camp. I would've called for a chopper but you hate to fly."
Gabe ground his teeth hard enough to pulverize his molars. Peyton glanced at him in surprise. How dare Doug expose his weakness to a stranger? He realized his reaction was adolescent, but he struggled to get past it.
"Yeah, well, we don't need an escort. You and your crew can hold this line."
Doug cocked his head like there was nothing wrong at all. "I got orders to bring you straight to Jen."
"Well, you know what you can do with those," Gabe muttered, backtracking to see if their packs were salvageable.
"Gabe," Peyton chided, and he scowled, not needing her to remind him of his manners. She moved toward Doug again. "I'm sorry." At first, Gabe thought she was apologizing for him and he spun around in fury. Then she said, "But do you have any water?"
"Yeah, yeah, of course." Doug dug into his pack and presented two bottles, condensation dripping from them and making Gabe salivate at the thought of cool water. Doug held one to each of them. Gabe ignored the offering, so Peyton took them both. "Don't drink too fast now," Doug warned.
Peyton waved aside his warning, feeling like an old pro after her brush with death, though adrenaline still raced through her blood. And yeah, a little lust accompanied it. What would have happened if the smokejumper crew hadn't shown up?
Gabe returned with one pack, his. "Yours is toasted. Sorry, Peyton."
She shrugged like it didn't matter, though a shudder ran through her. Danger had been imminent, but knowing her pack was gone when she'd dropped it only a few yards back turned her guts to ice.
"We cut it close, huh?" she said with a shaky laugh, wanting to collapse against him.
He turned his back on the jumpers and squeezed her arm. Something akin to tenderness was in his eyes when he said, "But we made it."
They had, and the kiss celebrating their survival still had her quivering. She hadn't kissed a man since Dan and she'd been ready to tear off her clothes in broad daylight for Gabe Cooper. The sex would have been incredible. She'd never felt so alive as she did after her brush with death.
Good Lord. She almost had to die before she understood why her husband had done what he did. The rush of beating death, of outwitting a force larger than herself was intense, almost sexual. To live through something like this once was incredible. To go to work every day knowing your life could be put on the line and you could beat it---yeah, it could be addictive. The realization stunned her, and humbled her, but didn't dim the excitement still coursing through her.
She wondered how long the thrill would last.
Doug left his crew punching line around the slurry-dampened fire and the three of them headed through the healthy forest to the black. From there it was smooth sailing. They'd been so close, Peyton realized, and almost hadn't made it.
Gabe again protested the need for Doug's escort, but Doug insisted he had orders. Peyton sensed there was more going on. The tension between the two men was more stifling than the heat. She thought Doug might want to say something, but Gabe's sullenness prevented him from doing so.
She glanced from Doug to Gabe. What was she missing here? A rivalry of some kind, but over what? A Hot Shot-smokejumper animosity? The two men seemed to know each other. Gabe was downright hostile, and she didn't think it was because Doug had interrupted their kiss.
Gabe could almost see the questions hovering on her tongue. She was going to ask about him and Doug. He was actually impressed with her restraint so far as she hiked between the two of them. They'd cleared the trees and the view was open, sloping terrain leading down to the camp. Fire couldn't creep up on them now. They'd see it coming.
Doug seemed to have something he wanted to say. Good Lord. It was like being on frickin' Oprah. Not for the first time Gabe wished he was the hell alone. He walked ahead, leaving Peyton with Doug, hoping to discourage her curiosity, but kept his ear tuned to the conversation.
"So what's going on here?" Peyton asked, and Gabe envisioned a bundle of dynamite having its fuse pulled in the nick of time. She'd been bursting with the question since she'd laid eyes on Doug.
"You know Jen?"
Gabe hadn't expected Doug to be quite so forthcoming. He heard an understanding tone in Peyton's response.
"The incident commander?"
"I'm married to her."
"And---oh."
Gabe slowed, let them catch up as anger boiled in him, as violent as the fire they'd just walked away from. "Maybe you'd like to tell her how you ended up married to her."
"I don't think..." She looked from one man to the other.
Hell, no. He wasn't letting her off easy. She'd started this. He took a step toward her, and a small part of him was glad she didn't step back. He didn't want to pull any punches, and if she could stand up to him, more power to her. "You mean you don't want to hear about how the three of us were always together? Best friends? How Doug was the best man at our wedding?" The questions rolled out of him, one after another, and he didn't take his eyes from her face.
Peyton sucked in a breath and broke eye contact. Doug had stopped too.
"I was a smokejumper for a few years when I first came out here, before I got sick of jumping out of planes. The best of the best, Jen called them. She wanted me to leave the Hot Shots to go back to it, and when I wouldn't, she turned to my best friend." Saying it aloud for the first time threatened to choke him but he went on. "You don't want to know that on our fourth wedding anniversary she told me she'd fallen in love with Doug and wanted a divorce?"
"Gabe, I---" She tried to stem the flow with an ineffective raised hand, but he waved it off. Her questions felt like a betrayal after their night on the mountain. Why had he expected anything different? Doug inspired betrayal.
"No, you wanted to know. You ask questions, that's what you do."
He had to walk away before his temper took an uglier turn. She reached out but he shook her off, putting distance between them again.
"And then he decided he'd show her. He went up with another crew and jumped one more time, damn near killed himself on the mountain," Doug said. "Landed in a tree. He was in the hospital for three days."
Gabe spun on the other man. Betrayal. That was all the man understood.
"Gabe," Peyton said, but Gabe barely heard her over the roar in his ears. He pivoted and started down the mountain.
"I'd like us to be friends again." Doug raised his voice to cover the distance.
Gabe slowed a bit but didn't look back. "That can't happen."
"It's been three years---"
"It could be twenty." Gabe turned to face the man he'd once loved like a brother. "You made your choice. Live with it. Now if we all want to get back to camp in one piece, we better keep our mouths shut and walk."
Peyton was more miserable on the short hike back to camp than she'd been crawling through the tunnels of the cavern, than running for her life up the mountain. Gabe walked apart from them, tension and anger clear in the line of his body. She hadn't improved matters by asking Doug about the rift; worse, she'd lit a fuse with her damned question.
Gabe had almost died after Jen asked him for a divorce. What was it with alpha men wanting to prove themselves?
Doug tried to be nice, staying even with her, trying to distract her with conversation, but her gaze strayed again and again to Cooper. Her heart ached for hurting him, for bringing his pain to the surface. Where were her reporter instincts where he was concerned? Apparently she'd left them back on the mountain.
Those thoughts were pushed aside when camp came into view. Despite her aching feet and fatigue-numbed muscles, she wanted to run the rest of the way. She passed Gabe in her eagerness. He caught her arm and eased her back.
"Hold on there, Tex," he said, a trace of humor in his voice. "It's farther away than you think. You don't want to give out so close to the goal."
"You won't carry me?" she teased, testing his mood.
He snorted, a good sign. "Fat chance."
"Gabe, I'm sorry---"
"Don't." He jabbed a finger toward her. "Don't say another word. I don't want to talk about it."
"Okay, all right, I understand." She sucked in a deep breath, then added in a rush, "I didn't mean to hurt you."
"Sounds to me like you're still talking about it. Let's just forget it."
She nodded once, pressing her lips together in frustration, and hiked on.
A shout went up as they approached camp, and yellow-shirted firefighters swarmed out of tents and hurried toward them, cheering. They circled Gabe, everyone reaching for him, trying to touch him, whether to see if he was real or as a good luck charm, Peyton didn't know. He accepted their greeting with tired grace, less the conquering hero than a guy who'd done his job.
The crowd parted and a little blonde ran forward and launched herself at his chest, tucked her head under his chin and wrapped her arms around his waist. Peyton saw the shock on his face, saw it was Jen just as he gave in and wrapped his arms around her.
"I thought I'd killed you," Jen said, her voice muffled against his chest.
He held Jen in his arms. For the first time in three years everything he wanted was right here. She'd come to him, had worried about him, when her husband stood only ten feet away. He couldn't stop himself from folding his arms about her, feeling her against his body one more time, bending his head to smell her hair.
Knowing she was no longer his.
One last time. He put his hands on her shoulders and set her away from him sadly.
"We're fine. Tired, and Peyton needs something to eat."
He looked over Jen's head at Peyton, who watched him with a mixture of horror and fascination. Behind him, Doug's expression was probably the same. Before today, he would have been rejoicing for causing Doug pain. Today, revenge just felt pathetic and sad. Like he'd shed a skin on the mountain and come back ready for a new life.
"Go to your husband," he said quietly to Jen, the woman he'd craved for three years, the woman he still thought of as his wife. "You sent him to get us. Make sure he knows he's done good."
The hurt on her face made him tighten his grip on her shoulders for just a minute as he resisted the desire to pull her into his arms. Then she stepped away, toward her husband, and Gabe turned, not quite man enough to watch their embrace.
He found himself face to face with Peyton, who watched the little scene behind him with avid interest. He took her arm firmly and steered her toward the mess tent.
"Let's get something to eat and you can shower."
"Cooper!"
Gabe staggered back as Kim launched herself against him. In reflex, he caught her as she hooked her legs about his waist. Beyond her, Peyton quirked a brow. He scowled in response to her silent question.
"We were so worried!" Kim blubbered against his shoulder. "We shouldn't have left you!"
"You had to get those kids out of there." He patted her back awkwardly, before resting his hands on her hips and wondering how to dislodge her. "You did the right thing."
"We thought we'd left you behind to die. It came up so fast."
He drew back to look at her. It was tough as hell being a hard-ass with a female hanging on your front. "Did all the kids get back in one piece?"
"Yeah, they were real troopers."
Finally realizing the brashness of her greeting, Kim climbed down his body, swiping at her face, trying to regain some dignity. Gabe watched her matter-of-fact maneuvering with some amusement.
"I'm, ah, sorry. Got a little excited." Her face was only a shade lighter than her hair, and she studied the ground.
"Don't worry about it," he said with more joviality than he might have ordinarily shown, disguising his embarrassment as well as hers. "Just be glad you'll get the next twenty-four hours off."
"We should celebrate," she said, then brightened. "Let's celebrate! I'll round up the crew and we'll go into town for drinks."
Gabe glanced over her head at Peyton, who stood nearby with uncharacteristic uncertainty in her bearing. "What do you say, Peyton? Sound good to you?"
"Um, sure." She sounded surprised at being included.
Gabe nodded to Kim. "All right, good. You round everybody up. We'll get cleaned up some so we don't scare the locals." He stepped around Kim toward Peyton. "Let's see about your shower, huh? Line's over there." He gestured to the yellow-shirted arrow pointing at a line of semitrailers. "You get five minutes. I'll meet you back here."
Oh God. Oh heaven. Okay, maybe the water was tepid, but it was wet. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back so the soot wouldn't run into her eyes. Black rivulets ran down her body as she lathered her hair. It had been flat with sweat and positively black when she took off her hard hat. What she wouldn't give for a razor.
The sad trickle of water was her refuge. She deserved it after the last thirty-six hours.
She had her story, and then some. What she'd experienced, what these men and women were capable of, could keep her in articles for a year.
Or a book. The idea popped into her head and expanded exponentially. A firsthand account of this life-or-death job.
Better, it gave her a reason to stay, to go back to the fire line. She would finally be committed to a job, like the people she wrote about.
After the cave, she'd sworn she was through. But the thrill of facing death and beating it pulsed through her. She loved the uncontrolled feeling of it. No safety nets here. You mess up, you're toast. Literally. She wanted to experience it again and hoped to discover it had only been a fluke, that she didn't love danger the way her husband had.
Or was the book idea only a reason to stay close to Gabe Cooper? She wasn't so shallow, to let interest in a man dictate her actions.
Yes, interest in a man. She admitted it to herself now. Every minute they spent together, he was becoming more and more his own man in her mind, not an article for a story, not a reminder of Dan. Someone with his own strengths and foibles and heartaches.
Someone she couldn't afford to let any closer. Maybe if she stayed, Jen would put her with another crew. But the thought took some of the shine from her idea.
Gabe had said they were only allowed five minutes in the shower, but surely no one would notice if she took a little longer. She leaned against the wall and closed her eyes.
A disturbance near the showers caught Gabe's attention as he made his way back after dodging a horde of reporters who had staked out the mess tent. The usually orderly line of tired filthy firefighters waiting for a shower had shifted into a mob, shouting at one of the semis.
He ambled over, hung back as several of the more irate men banged on the metal wall of the trailer. "What's going on?"
"Some rookie's using up all the water." One of the men scowled, not looking at him.
He scanned the group for a blonde ponytail, already pretty sure who the culprit was. "Anybody try shutting it off?"
"There's other people showering too."
He sighed and strode to the front of the crowd to knock on the door.
"Peyton? You in there? Peyton?"
No answer. He pressed his shoulder to the door and pushed open the cubicle.
Peyton shoved herself away from the wall with a cry and flung one arm across her breasts, plumping them up like an offering, and her other hand over her crotch beneath the slight swell of her belly. That left her with no hands to throw the soapy hair out of her face, so she glared at him through wet hanks of hair.
He leaned against the doorjamb with his arms folded over his chest and grinned at her. He should end every adventure with such a treat. Weak water pressure trickled over her white skin, slightly chafed from her washcloth. He had to shift to hide his reaction to the sight.
"Do you mind?" she demanded, her voice the growl of a hostile cat, at odds with all that softness.
She threw herself back when he reached in to shut off the water. He picked up the towel from the rack and shoved it at her.
"You're pissing off the troops, Peyton."
She glanced from the towel to him with a kind of hopelessness. If she reached for it, she'd have to move one of her strategically placed hands.
After another appreciative perusal of the curves she'd hidden beneath her shapeless clothes, he took pity. A shame, really, to hide breasts like that, legs like that. But the flush now covering her whole body told him it was time to retreat. He hooked the towel over the rack again and backed out.
"I'm just telling you if you turn the water on, we'll have a riot out here. Now get dressed. My crew is taking us to town for some real food and maybe a real bed."
Her head snapped up and his jaw snapped shut. More embarrassed than he would have expected by the inadvertent suggestion, he closed the door.
Peyton should be scandalized that Cooper had seen her naked. She grabbed the towel and rubbed it vigorously over her body. His high-handed attitude, pushing into her shower, should piss her off. She would be pissed off, as soon as she ate a hot meal and slept in an honest-to-God bed.
That was what he'd meant when he mentioned a bed, wasn't it?
That was what she wanted him to mean.
It was.
Her extra clothes had been lost in the fire and she grimaced as she put her filthy clothes on her mostly clean body. She slicked her soapy hair back into a ponytail. Surely there was a Wal-Mart or something nearby where she could at least get some underwear, some Tshirts.
Of course facing Gabe after he'd seen her naked added to her stress. He'd also seen her sniveling, panic stricken and crying, so at least he had the whole picture.
Not that it mattered.
She walked out of the shower looking nearly as bad as when she walked in, her hair clumped with shampoo, black streaks still on her skin. Head held high, she passed the line of firefighters who scowled at her for making them wait for their turn under the spray.
The long van Gabe's crew had commandeered for the drive into town sat near the command tent. Though Gabe had a seat beside him in the front, she chose the middle seat, wanting distance from him, not only because of the shower incident, but because of the mountain. Kim happily sat beside Gabe. Great. As if Gabe wasn't enough, she had to deal with Kim for the first time since the rocks in the backpack. Fun time.
Peyton stared out the window at the smoke billowing from behind the mountain. Would she feel the same way if she hadn't learned the history of him and Jen, if she hadn't been the one to bring such painful memories to the surface?
The charred face of the mountain was so far away. How had they come such a distance in just a few hours? Had any crews been sent out with the smokejumpers to battle it? As tired as she was, she felt guilty for not being out there herself.
She didn't see a Wal-Mart on the drive into town. Hell, it wasn't much of a town, just a cluster of wood-shingled buildings with hand-lettered signs. The people who lived and worked here were no doubt thrilled the fire was miles away, or their little wooden town would be ashes.
One shop was labeled The General Store. Please, God, let them have underwear. As soon as Gabe parked the van, she hurried over as the rest of the crew headed for the restaurant.
At least she'd had the sense to keep her money in her fire pants. She dug it out to count it. Unless they charged outrageous prices for panties, she was in good shape.
Near the entrance, she grabbed a couple of souvenir Tshirts proclaiming the splendor of Montana, then hunted for underwear and socks.
The only socks in stock were brightly colored and very girly, but the grit in her boots right now gave her little choice. Panties were easier to find but expensive. Still, she bought two packages and vowed to throw her current pair away. The only bras available were the armored variety, like her mother used to buy her, the cheap ones from Sears that made her boobs look misshapen, but she didn't have the luxury to go without.
She carried her selection to the checkout, counting out her money. The heavyset elderly man attending the store had risen from his stool when she'd walked in, watched her progress throughout the store. Maybe he suspected she was a shoplifter, so she made a show of having money.
Instead, he waved his hand at her offering. "That's no good here."
Discouragement weighed her down. She couldn't bear being in these filthy clothes one minute longer. Just looking at the clean cotton made her itchy. "But I need this stuff. I lost my pack---"
"Good. Take it. I'm not taking your money."
She frowned, confused. "But---"
"You guys work your asses off up there protecting me and mine. It's the least I can do."
He thought she was a Hot Shot. Well, she was, but hadn't really considered herself more than a reporter doing a Hot Shot's job. Everyone at camp saw her as a reporter too. That this stranger thought she was a hero like Gabe and the others gave her a strange sense of pride.
"I have the money," she insisted, holding it out to him.
"And I told you." He closed his hand over the drawer of the register. How could he afford to offer her what was easily fifty dollars worth of merchandise? He couldn't have the kind of business in this area that would give him the luxury to ignore fifty bucks. "It's no good here. I'm too old to do what you do. This is my way of saying thank you. Now be a good girl and accept a gift graciously."
She reddened at his scold and accepted the bag he held out to her.
"Thank you," she murmured, humbled by his generosity.
"No, dear." He smiled at her, taking away some of the sting of his earlier gruffness. "Thank you."
Gabe didn't see Peyton come into the rustic bar and grill. He searched for her as the other firefighters dragged tables together and sat noisily around them. The exposed redwood beams, the rusty metal signs advertising products no longer manufactured, the peanut shells on the floor made the bar appear to be carved from the mountain itself. They were the only customers. A young waitress, the only one on duty at this midafternoon hour, greeted them with an armful of menus and a cheery smile.
"You must've just got on," Gabe remarked as he took a menu.
"I get off in two hours." He almost missed her wink as Peyton walked into the dining room.
She'd shed her yellow shirt and was wearing a cheap ill-fitting tourist T-shirt. The shoulders of her T-shirt were dotted with water and droplets fell from the end of her ponytail. He grinned. She'd gone and finished washing her hair in the restaurant bathroom.
Now she sat shivering at the other end of the table as the waitress took their drink orders.
"I'll take a longneck." Gabe's order was echoed around the table.
"Coffee," Peyton said through chattering teeth.
"Coffee'll just keep you awake," Gabe warned as the waitress walked away.
"As if anything could," she muttered.
"Hey, Gabe, you going to tell us what happened out there?" Kim shouted from across the table when the waitress returned with their drinks, all but the coffee.
He knew this was coming, the price he had to pay for his reputation. He'd downplay this, not wanting to add to his legend. The only one to dispute him was Peyton, and she didn't appear to have the energy. He squared his shoulders and lowered his eyes to the beer label. "It got pretty hairy for a while there."
"Tell us what happened," Mike urged.
"God, it must have been something." Howard's voice held a touch of longing, like he'd missed out on something.
Gabe glided his beer across the puddle of condensation on the scarred table, from one hand to the other. He felt an odd reluctance to share his latest adventure, a reluctance beyond having his ass pulled out of the fire by Doug. Telling the others what had happened on the mountain was like revealing something that needed to stay private.
Peyton watched him, her eyes hollow with fatigue, dark with an emotion he couldn't identify. What would she remember as he told their story?
So he told about their run from the camp, their stay in the cave, their separation from the helo. He skimmed over their time on the mountain, their night in the tent, though, damn, those were the things that stuck in his memory the strongest. Peyton's bravery, her determination. The feel of her in his arms. He moved on to the blowup, holding her gaze as he spoke of the run for their lives, the impact of the slurry. He skipped the kiss, but saw the memory of it in her eyes. He wanted to skip over the bit about Doug, but they'd all seen him escort them to camp. And a few had been with him long enough to know their relationship.
"The smokejumpers showed to escort us home, late as usual." Gabe wasn't ready to give Doug any credit, and his crew made sounds of agreement.
"I wish I'd been there," Kim said, awe in her voice, toasting him with her beer. "I knew you'd be the hero of the day."
Damn, he hated that word. "This week," he muttered, reaching for his beer.
Peyton hadn't thought she'd be cold again after working up on the fire line, so she wouldn't complain in the air-conditioned restaurant. The place was probably quite comfortable when crowded, but miserable for someone in a damp T-shirt and wet hair.
She warmed her hands around her coffee cup and wanted to dive in. Her tremors were almost uncontrollable, her sandwich falling apart before reaching her mouth. Part of her problem was fatigue. All she could think of was how good a bed would feel.
She watched Cooper with his crew, saw he was almost humble before them. When Dan had gotten with his SWAT buddies, there had been a lot of chest beating, a lot of testosterone. Gabe, on the other hand, sat with his arms folded on the table, his concentration mostly on his beer, and he listened more than he talked. When he had told the story, he'd almost seemed embarrassed. That was so at odds with what she knew of him, and it only made her want to know more.
To distract herself, Peyton turned her attention to the man sitting beside her. Howard, the sawyer who'd worked with Gabe cutting down the trees the day before yesterday. A good-looking kid with buzzed blond hair and twinkling blue eyes.
"You had quite an adventure on your first fire assignment," he remarked, saluting her with his beer, like he envied her.
Of course. That was probably why he was here too. For the thrill of running for his life. And she'd gotten it instead of him. She'd almost exchange the experience with him. Almost.
"I don't think I'd care to relive it," she said.
He laughed. "Don't kid yourself. You'll be telling your great-grandkids how you escaped the dragon."
"If I live long enough to have any."
He laughed again, more heartily, a big, booming laugh.
She shifted to face him, intrigued by his friendly attitude all of a sudden, after the rock incident. Had the mountain been some kind of initiation? And if she had passed, did that mean she was part of the group, though she didn't plan to stick around?
Her job was solitary for a reason. She'd been an only child after the death of her sister, left alone by her mother after her dad moved out, left to her own devices. Once she'd reached adulthood, she'd gone from job to job, not quite fitting in, never a part of something bigger than herself.
Until Dan.
And again now.
"So why did you become a Hot Shot?" she asked.
He pulled himself straight and grinned. "No choice. Dad was one, Grandpa was one too. I grew up hearing about the summer battles."
So thrill seeking was genetic, unlike ambition. Good thing she and Dan never had kids, if that was the case. Being married to an adrenaline junkie had been hard enough---being mother to one would be a nightmare.
"So you're following a family tradition." She tried to infuse her voice with some cheer.
Howard laughed. "God, I hope not. Grandpa was on the Mann Gulch fire, have you heard of it?"
She had. Just the words sent a ripple of fear over her skin. "Back in the 40s, where the fire blew up the gully and killed---how many?"
"Thirteen, because they wouldn't go into the burnout of the escape fire the foreman set. They thought he'd lost his mind," he answered before she finished the question. "And Dad was at Angel Ridge. So was Cooper."
"God, the one in Colorado where all those Hot Shots died?" She looked past Howard to Gabe, who was surrounded by his crew. Sensing her gaze, he met her eyes, held them.
Beside her, Howard nodded. "They had to identify some of the bodies. Dad said he wouldn't go out on a fire again. He never did."
But Gabe did, after seeing that. No wonder he didn't understand why she walked away when jobs got tough. As others talked to him, Gabe continued to watch her, and she didn't turn away. It was as if he was daring her to.
What had he seen up there? She could only imagine what fire could do to a human body, had come too close to finding out firsthand today. But Gabe had returned, again and again. Why?
She gave her attention to Howard. "And yet you decided fighting fires was for you."
He grinned, his eyes holding some interest. But his grin did nothing for her the way Gabe's did. He was just a boy.
"What can I say?" he teased. "It's in the blood."
Peyton bit into to her sandwich, considering. What could make a man see the consequences of that brutal death and face it every day? Had he been thinking about Angel Ridge today when they were running for their lives? She sought him, only to discover he'd left the table.
One of the Hot Shots dropped coins in the jukebox and whining steel guitars and twangy lyrics filled the place. The cracked casing did nothing to dull the sound. Some of these crazy kids actually had the energy to get up and dance.
"Here."
A sweatshirt was shoved beneath her nose. Gabe stood over her, holding it out. She gazed up at him stupidly. Only a few hours ago, they'd been the only people in the world. As she sank her fingers into the soft fabric, she felt that connection, wanted to cling to it.
"Go take off your wet shirt and put this one on."
"I'm fine, thank you." She let go of the shirt.
"Your lips are blue." He tapped his finger against his own mouth and pushed the shirt closer.
She snatched the sweatshirt from him with an embarrassing lack of grace and coordination, and stood. "You're probably just going to walk in again."
"Nah, I saw what I wanted to see," he drawled with a wink that was little more than a reflex. "And you're welcome."
"Where was this last night?" When she'd invited him into the tent to keep warm.
"In the van."
"Good place for it."
At her snippy tone, Gabe lifted his eyebrow. Kim, more than a bit tipsy, surged forward and linked her arm through Gabe's possessively, glaring at Peyton. "Let's dance, big guy."
He glanced down at the girl with an amused smile, then followed her onto the scuffed wooden floor, but kept his gaze on Peyton like he didn't want to leave her alone.
She turned away, digging her fingers into the warmth of the thick sweatshirt, part of her regretting the interruption, another part of her grateful for it. She locked the outer door of the restroom, but went into a stall, just in case.
The shirt smelled like the man when she pulled it over her head, musky and smoky. Though Gabe wasn't much taller than her, his sweatshirt fell to the tops of her thighs and the sleeves covered her hands. She fisted them in the material, warming her fingers.
She left the stall and inspected herself in the wall-length mirror, swallowed in another man's shirt.
God, he was like Dan, reeking of testosterone, drawing people to him. Everyone had admired Dan.
The pain came, still sharp after nineteen months, and she rubbed the heel of her hand against the football emblem over her sternum. When Dan had been at work, which was most of the time, she'd kept close to him by wearing his shirts. After he died, she'd continued the practice until the fabric no longer held his scent. The implied intimacy of wearing another man's shirt almost made her take the sweatshirt off. Maybe the warmth was the deciding factor, but she couldn't convince herself that was all.
She was wildly attracted to Gabe Cooper. She was a grown woman, a widow for almost two years, alone all that time. Cooper was movie star handsome, with an athletic body that came from hard work instead of a gym, sexy eyes that snapped with intelligence, and he rescued women and children with stunning regularity.
The problem was, that wasn't what attracted her. God help her, his courage was what drew her, the courage that carried him into the forest to bring fifteen girls to safety. That had brought her to safety. The trait made him the man he was, made him the man she couldn't have.
She was determined to never get another phone call telling her the man she loved wasn't coming home.
If she went to the front desk and rented a room, snuggled under a pile of covers, she could block out the sounds of the party, the uncomfortable thoughts of Gabe Cooper, of her new feelings for him, the fear of being alone with him now that they were in civilization.
The party was just getting started when she emerged from the bathroom. More fire crews had arrived, and the poor little waitress was running her tail off. Peyton made her way through the yellow-shirted men and women to the table, only to find her barely touched plate had been cleared.
She edged toward the bar and waited to draw the waitress's attention.
"I want to get a room," she told the now-harried girl.
The young woman tossed her head in the direction of the dance floor. "We just rented out the last one. Sorry. You want to pay the tab?"
Peyton reached for her money. "Sure. What is it?"
The number the waitress named floored her, and she dropped the money on the counter. "Why so much, exactly?"
"They said you were paying for the whole table."
"Who said?"
"The redhead."
Of course. Kim really had it in for her, and after seeing her with Gabe, Peyton understood why. Jealousy was an ugly thing. "She was mistaken."
The waitress grimaced at her in sympathy. "Are you a rookie?"
"Pretty obvious, huh?"
"Just a joke I'd seen played before." The younger woman swept her with a glance. "Funny, I didn't think Gabe Cooper took rookies."
Wow, even the waitress in this tiny town knew his reputation.
"Don't worry about the bill." She waved Peyton off. "I'll get it divided up."
"No chance on the bed, though, huh?"
"Sorry." The waitress moved off, her arms loaded with plates again.
Great. So now she was tired, stranded and bedless. It wouldn't have been so bad if Gabe hadn't gotten her hopes up. She'd ask for the keys so she could sleep in the van. At least it would be quiet out there.
Gabe and Kim still danced, backing around the floor in shuffling steps, his hand at the small of Kim's back, his thumb stroking mindlessly. Peyton followed the movement of his thumb, felt it against her own back.
Their hands were clasped and folded between their bodies, Gabe probably not thinking about what the gesture would mean to the girl. He laughed at something she said and his eyes crinkled handsomely even as he hid his teeth.
No wonder Kim was in love with him. The attention he gave had to make her feel like the only woman in the room. Kim rubbed her free hand up and down his arm and Peyton could almost feel the contour of his muscles beneath her own palm. Memories of last night, pressed against his body, safe in his arms, resurfaced, flooding her with longing.
If only she'd had the courage to turn in his arms. Kim would have.
All thoughts of finding a bed left as she watched them. The waitress brought her a beer and she slid her fingers over the condensation on the bottle as smoke and noise whirled about her. Yellow shirt after yellow shirt asked her to dance, like they were betting which man she'd accept, but she brushed each off. She had one thing on her mind. One person, one overwhelming need.
As a slower song played, Gabe parted from Kim with a shake of his head. Kim did a little bounce of frustration, trying to convince him, alcohol loosening any inhibitions she might ordinarily keep in place so Gabe wouldn't see her true feelings. He just smiled, shook his head again and turned away. He moved with such confidence Peyton couldn't take her eyes from him as he led with his shoulder through the crowd.
Firefighters and locals alike stopped him at every table, congratulated him, offered him beer, quizzed him about his narrow escape. She liked the way he brushed off the adulation, as if his skill and know-how had no bearing on the outcome of the day. Since when could Gabe Cooper be humble? She never saw evidence of it when he dealt with her.
"Hey." He reached the bar and edged closer to her than necessary. "Hanging in?"
The scent of smoke clung to him, probably was a part of his DNA after so many years on the fire line. She'd attributed the odor to the place, and now would always recognize the scent as Gabe. He was so close she couldn't take a breath without smelling him. It didn't stop her from breathing.
She tried to shift away for her own sanity, but the bar was too crowded to go far. "No. I left my will to stay upright on the mountain."
His low, sexy laugh curled around every nerve in her body, coaxing them to the surface of her skin, where they shimmered with anticipation.
"Good thing we don't have far to go." He dangled a motel key from his fingers. So he'd gotten the last room. And he wanted to share. "The room's right upstairs. Thought you might enjoy a long hot shower."
For God's sake, a thirty-two-year-old widow should be able to control her blush. Was she embarrassed because the bartender overheard, or because a gorgeous man handed her a line?
That was all it was, right? A fresh line? God, she couldn't think with his thigh pressed against hers.
"One room?" she asked, and hated the shakiness of her voice.
"That's all they got. Take it or leave it."
"Do you come with it?"
He smiled into her eyes, amusement and arousal a breathtaking blend. "Is there a problem?"
"I don't---"
Before she could answer, the bartender set an unordered bottle of beer in front of Gabe and he glanced up questioningly. The bartender pointed to a table of local men who waved when Gabe looked their way. He saluted them with his bottle and took a long drink. Peyton was so close to him she could feel him swallow.
"Dance?"
The twang of music had changed to something softer, slower, sexier. On the dance floor, couples shifted closer together. Her body hummed at the thought of being up against all that maleness. It had been so long.
Time to step into the fire.
The minute he folded his hand around hers, she could imagine the rough skin of his palms on her body. She wanted him to smooth away the goose bumps his touch raised.
What the hell was she doing? She knew where this would lead.
He eased them through the crowd to the dance floor and turned her to him with just a shift of his hand on hers. She faced him for a beat before putting her hand on his shoulder, willing it not to wander, and he put his hand on her waistband, under the hem of the sweatshirt, and slid a finger through an empty belt loop to anchor her. The possessiveness of the move sent a shiver of longing through her, and she struggled to mask it.
The pounding of her heart, the rhythm of his breathing drowned out the music. She wanted to look into his eyes, but was afraid what he would see in hers, so she lowered her gaze to the column of his throat, below her eye level. His thumb rested on the edge of her waistband, and if she bent to the right, just a little, his fingers hooked through her belt loop would be against her bare skin. Her entire consciousness focused on the imagined pleasure.
She bent, and his breath caught as he encountered flesh. The scrape of his finger over her sensitive skin sent heat spiraling downward, making her muscles weak. But she wasn't ready to lean into him.
"What kind of name is Peyton, anyway?" His voice was a growl vibrating in his chest. She should have known better than to toy with an alpha.
She glanced up to see him watching her, his eyes crinkled in amusement, completely at odds with her thoughts. Damn, that was sexy. "A family name."
"What, like a last name?"
His words brushed warm over her skin as he turned her to avoid another couple. "Mm, my mother's."
His eyes were still crinkled, but they'd twisted more toward shrewd than good-humored. He'd figured it out; they all did as soon as she explained. Only wealthy families had the audacity for that pretentiousness. Poor little rich girl.
What did she care what he thought? She wasn't sticking around. She never did. And that made it easier when he released her hand to press his against the small of her back, brought her against his body, which made it easier to tilt her face up to see his descending. Made it easier to part her lips in anticipation as her nerves skittered from where he touched her to where she wanted him to touch her. So close, she could already feel his kiss.
She expected to feel guilty for wanting this man, but the guilt didn't come. Maybe she'd been alone too long, maybe her connection with Gabe was stronger than she credited. Maybe her anger with Dan for dying had killed her love for him. Sleeping with Gabe Cooper wouldn't be a betrayal of her husband, but it might be a betrayal of herself and all she wanted.
"What's happening here?" she asked breathily.
A teasing smile curved his lips. "You know, the whole life-in-peril thing, adrenaline transfers to arousal. Danger is a big turn-on. You said so yourself."
Her breath hitched and she tried very hard not to focus on his mouth, or how it felt against hers as he leaned closer.
She swallowed, hoping it would make her voice stronger. "They say danger, or escaping danger, is like a sexual rush. Is that why you do what you do?"
He brushed his cheek against hers, the stubble an erotic caress on her suddenly sensitive skin. Peyton struggled to keep her eyes open and her knees locked.
"I don't have to almost die to get turned on."
"But it doesn't hurt."
"If I waited for that, I'd have some long dry spells. Not that this one was short." His low, husky voice sent shivers through her as they swayed, though the song had changed to a faster pace. Maybe he thought she was still cold.
Then she realized what he meant. "What?" she asked incredulously.
"It's been awhile."
She pulled her head back to look up into his eyes. "You're kidding."
"No."
"Have you seen yourself? Just today I saw two women throw themselves into your arms. You are not what I'd call the celibate type."
"Yet here we are." He leaned close, let his breath fan her mouth. "Maybe I'm ready to end the drought."
She forced her eyes to his instead of giving in to the urge to kiss him. The flirting was delicious, but a kiss would be anticlimactic now.
"Good luck with that," she teased, and ducked away.
Gabe came after her but was waylaid by another crew of firefighters demanding to hear his story. Peyton grinned over their heads at him and saluted him with her beer. He jerked his head toward the stairs, signaling escape.
"Shower," he mouthed exaggeratedly.
Her heart pounding, she resolved not to think about what she was doing and hurried down the hallway. He broke away from the other firefighters to follow, then caught her hand and led her through a group of women waiting for the restroom. Gabe was brought up short by a pair of very young female Hot Shots in matching tight Tshirts.
"Hey, Gabe, want to party?"
He nodded toward Peyton. "No thanks, ladies. I have plans of my own."
"The more the merrier," one called after them as they headed up the stairs.
"Three women?" Peyton asked, shock forcing out a giggle. "How is that even possible?"
He waggled his eyebrows at her, startling her with his playfulness. "You pair off."
"That doesn't seem fair."
"Yeah, well, two of them aren't there for the guy anyway."
Peyton laughed out loud and Gabe hushed her, one finger over his frowning mouth.
"How many women in this building right now have you slept with?"
He considered. "None."
She let her eyes slide the length of him, assessing, felt the thrill of arousal that she was the one he wanted tonight. "I find that hard to believe."
"Well, about ten years ago, the answer would have been different. I probably slept with a lot of these girls' older sisters."
"And their moms."
He gave her an evil grin as they reached the top of the stairs.
"My heavens, Gabe, no wonder you were able to save us on the mountain today with those maneuvers," she said in mock seriousness.
"You want to see maneuvers?" He tugged her to him. She shuddered in delight at the sensation of his hard body against hers. "Let's find that room."
Peyton's blood thrummed in her ears as Gabe opened the door of the motel room. Maybe he'd just rented the room as a reward for her courage today, but if that was the truth her heart wouldn't be pounding, her skin wouldn't be tingling.
She wouldn't be worrying about wearing her new panties.
What would it be like to act on all these feelings, the fear, the excitement, the lust? In her thirty-two years she'd never had a fling with a man she couldn't imagine having a future with; maybe it was time.
Gabe smiled at her, sending off flutters in her belly, twinges of longing.
"Want to shower first?" he asked.
"Doesn't matter." She ducked under his arm as he held the door for her. She pulled her hair from her wet ponytail and found herself with her back against the wall, Gabe's arms braced on either side of her head, only the heat from his body pressing against her.
Every atom in Peyton's body quivered in anticipation. He must have sensed it, contrary beast that he was, for he hesitated, his breath teasing her lips, shattering her nerves. She couldn't let him know, wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She took a deep breath. Big mistake. The scent of him, smoke, man and Irish Spring, intoxicated her.
Just her one moment of hesitation was enough for him to dip his head and brush his mouth tauntingly over hers. Her lips trembled open, her tongue rose to meet his. The rasp of his tongue, the way it curled about hers, made her forget he wasn't touching her. She pressed her hands back against the wall, pretending if she didn't touch him it would be easier to change her mind. At the same time she raised up on her toes to deepen the kiss.
Her conviction not to touch him faltered as his mouth pulled at hers, thickening her blood, eliminating everything but the two of them. She reached up to hold him, savored the sensation of his short hair tickling her palm.
He drew back slowly, drawing her lip out between his, and rested his forearm on the wall above her head. She closed her eyes against the power of those deep brown eyes that read her emotions so well, and dropped her head back against the wall.
"So you want me to take you back to camp?" he asked, his voice rough-edged.
She opened her eyes to look into his, saw a sharpness there focused on her. "No. No, I don't want to go back to camp."
He closed his hands around her waist to bring her against him. She gasped at the abruptness, and he took her gasp into his mouth, dipping his tongue inside, dragging it along hers. The play of his lips over hers, stretching and parting her own so his tongue could tease between them, evoked images of kisses in more intimate places.
He coursed his hands over her body, hip to shoulder, strong and determined. God, she'd forgotten how feminine a man's hands could make her feel. Urging her legs apart, he made space for himself between them. She whimpered when he dropped his weight against her, pinning her to the wall.
Oh, she loved how he kissed her, savoring her one moment, devouring her the next. She couldn't say which she preferred. Not knowing what to expect kept her off balance.
He released her mouth and dragged her head back to devour her throat, his caresses hot, slick, knowledgeable. Peyton tugged at the neck of her sweatshirt so he could reach more of her skin with those magical lips.
His eyes twinkled with promise as he slid his hands under the hem of her sweatshirt, pulled it over her head in a fluid movement, his fingers barely brushing her skin as he unfastened her fire pants. How could the way he wasn't touching her turn her on?
"What the hell is this?" he asked, encountering the bra from the middle ages. She'd forgotten about it and reached behind her to discard it.
"It was all they had next door, and I can't really go without."
He made a strangled sound as he eased back to inspect the garment. "It looks like your boobs caved in."
She unfastened it and let it fall between them. Eyes bright with laughter, he looked back up at her.
"Good to know that wasn't the case."
He eased his mouth back to nibble her ear, traced his tongue along the edge, driving every coherent thought from her head, then glided his mouth down her throat. Pausing at the swell of her breast, he let his hot breath rush over her flesh. Her nipple pearled painfully before he teased it with lightning-quick touches of his tongue. His name escaped in a sob and he took pity on her and pulled her sensitive skin into the heat of his mouth.
Her whole body contracted with pleasure as he suckled her, circled her nipple with his tongue before teasing it with less practiced movements. Her throaty groan was alien to her ears.
They tangled with each other as they undressed, unwilling to move too far away from each other, and suddenly Gabe's hands were everywhere, skimming over her skin, her waist, her back, her breasts. As if they'd been making love forever, he knew just where to touch her to make her crazy---the insides of her wrists, the backs of her thighs. He pulled her closer until she whimpered his name. Longing knifed through her, deeper than simple sexual desire. She wanted this. She was sure now.
Together they fell to the bed. The mattress creaked ominously and Peyton's breath escaped in a grunt.
Gabe shifted his weight so he wouldn't crush her, and leaned over to dig his wallet out of his pants on the floor. Peyton rolled with him, eager, practically straddling his lap as he pried a foil packet from the leather folds of his wallet, ripped it open.
"What the---?" She stared at the gummy substance inside.
Gabe swore. "It melted."
She looked at him, fighting the urge to laugh or cry, she wasn't sure which was bubbling inside her. "It melted? You took it up on the fire line?"
Eyes wide with chagrin, he shook his head. "I didn't even know I had it."
"So---now what?"
He regarded her for a beat. What kind of picture did she make, sitting on the middle of a cheap bedspread in her cheap underwear, her wet hair a mess from his hands, her skin scraped red by his kisses?
Apparently an appealing one, because he was suddenly all motion. He hopped off the bed, grinning, and bent to brush his mouth over hers. "There's a condom machine in the bathroom. And you thought this place was tacky." Several long minutes later he extricated himself from her and disappeared into the bathroom.
Peyton pulled back the bedspread and was inspecting the cleanliness of the sheets when Gabe popped out of the bathroom, hanging both hands on the doorjamb over his head, displaying his form to advantage. The T-shirt he'd been wearing hadn't been nearly snug enough to follow the lean line of his body, the hard muscles beneath. A dark scattering of hair covered his chest, thickened and narrowed into a line that pointed to his navy boxers and their interesting shape. A stab of good old-fashioned lust shot through her and she reveled in it until he said, "You got change for a five?"
His meaning took awhile to sink in. "You're kidding." Reaching for her fire pants, she pawed through her pockets, trying to remember where she'd tucked her cash. "Maybe safe sex is overrated."
"Really?" Hope tinged his voice.
She shot him a glance from under her hair. "No. What does it take, quarters, dimes, dollars?"
"Any of those."
She dug out her change and poured it into his palm. "Hurry, all right?"
"Why?" He stopped, squinting at her. "You going to change your mind?"
Arching her back to entice him, she tossed her hair back over her shoulder. "I might."
He closed his hand around her wrist, buried his other in her hair, let the money fall around them, and kissed her hard. "Wait for me." He pushed her toward the bed and ducked into the bathroom.
The fall of coin after coin into the machine rang out through the room, a twist of a lever, muttering, then banging on the metal dispenser. A horrible crash had her leaping from the bed to check on him, but he strolled in nonchalantly and dumped a handful of condoms on the nightstand.
"Problem?" she asked, looking from the pile of cellophane wrappers to him, trying to keep the laughter from her voice.
"Problem solved."
He skimmed off his boxers and dropped over her, the mattress squealing a protest.
"You didn't use your Pulaski, did you?" She reached for him and watched his eyelids lower as he bent to kiss her.
"Woulda if I'd had it." He covered her mouth with his.
Shock and pleasure had her gasping as he nipped his way down her body. He glided his fingertips up her thigh. She cried his name and clutched his wrist when he slid one fingertip into her, then two. How were these sensations coming from her body? Her mind fragmented.
"Feel what you do to me. Touch me, Peyton."
He groaned her name when she brushed her fingertips over the swollen head of him before dancing them down the underside. This time her name was a squeak, strange coming from his big body, and he closed her hand around him, ending her teasing touch.
She ached, hollow and empty, mindless from his fingertips stroking up and down over the backs of her thighs. Otherwise she couldn't have worked up the nerve to tilt him onto his back and rise up over him, to guide him inside her. Her body resisted him at first, but he glided his fingers between them, touched the new center of her nervous system, and she took him into her so fast and deep she lost the ability to breathe.
He curled into a sitting position and buried his face against her throat. Peyton clung to his shoulders and raised and lowered her hips, feeling her body contract in his absence, expand at his depth. She no longer needed his encouragement as she followed the path.
He tried to soothe her, to steady her, but she threw his hands off. He tried to kiss her, to help her regain her rhythm, but she was focused, driven to pursue the pleasure he offered her.
Then with one accidental shift of her hips, she found it, and flung herself back, depending on his arms to be there to hold her as she expanded and shattered. She thrust down on him, hard, holding him prisoner inside her body, exploiting her pleasure. She felt him follow her, heard his soft moan of surrender, felt the short jerks of his hips, felt his teeth dig into her shoulder.
For endless moments, they floated in the hazy denouement. Finally she found the strength to move her arms from their limp submission behind her, to wrap them about his shoulders. Apparently that was all he needed to tip him back onto the pillows, carrying her with him. They sprawled, damp and slack, him still deep inside her. He turned his head and nuzzled her hair.
"I didn't mean for it to be over so soon," he murmured.
She looked up from his chest, watched him open his eyes with some effort. The expression in them was replete. Their skin, where it touched, was slicked with sweat. She savored the sensation and, feeling a bit wicked, shifted a bit, enjoying the friction. An answering twinge from within her made her smile.
"I don't think it's over," she replied, kissing his shoulder.
Peyton sat in the chair in the corner of the motel room, wrapped in Gabe's sweatshirt, and stared out the window at the night sky. The scene was peaceful, no one would suspect a fire blazed just out of sight. Across the room, Gabe slept on his back, snoring softly, one arm tossed above his head, the other where she'd been lying. The sheet draped over his hips barely preserved his modesty. His position surprised her. A man so controlled in wakefulness was so unguarded at rest.
Dan always slept curled on his side, as if he could spring to action at the least provocation.
God, what had she done? She hadn't thought about the past or the future, and it had been wonderful, liberating.
Why did she feel guilty now? She hadn't dishonored Dan's memory---a suitable period of time had passed, and while she would always love Dan, the resentment she'd felt when he'd left her alone had dulled her love to a pleasant warmth. She'd been ready to move forward.
She pulled her knees closer to her chest and pressed her face into the sweatshirt stretched across them, drawing in the scent. The person she chose to move forward with was what disturbed her. Gabe was exactly what she didn't want, a man so committed to his job there was no room for anything else in his life. A man who would expect more than she was able to give. Oh God. She couldn't---absolutely couldn't---live a life of waiting and worrying again.
Because while she could tell herself this was only a one-night stand, she was already too attached. And there had been nothing casual about that sex.
He shifted on the bed. "Peyton?" he called gruffly.
"Over here."
"What's wrong?" He rose up on his elbows. "Come back to bed."
She unfolded her legs and dug her toes into the shag carpet as if that would help her resist the pull of him. "I can't sleep."
"Who said anything about sleep?" His voice was low and sexy, and remembering the feel of his mouth, his hands on her had everything female in her humming.
God, why did she have no will where he was concerned? Why did she let her body rule her head?
Okay, as long as it was just her body and head at war, she would be fine. When her heart got involved, she'd be in trouble.
He held the covers up for her and she slid between them and into his arms. At the touch of his hands on her skin, her mind emptied and she gave herself over to the sensations.
This time the languor of sleep dictated the pace. Hands coursed over bare skin, dipping, clutching, skimming. Breath escaped in sighs, then moans. Skin heated and dampened. By the time he entered her, she had no concept of place and time, only of Gabe and now. When she shattered and floated back in fulfillment she decided she could be happy with that.
"It's almost a shame to leave this lovely room," Peyton teased as she packed her meager belongings in a brown paper sack, looking around the room decorated in early tacky, with orange shag carpet and black laminate furniture.
"You mean you aren't going to go home and redecorate in retro Halloween?" Gabe teased, swinging his pack on his shoulder.
"Ha ha." She stretched and cricked her back. "No matter how hard the mattress was, it beats sleeping on the ground."
He looped his arm over her shoulders and kissed her temple. "Imagine making love on the ground. We might want to keep your tent where it is, away from the rest of the crew."
Surprise flashed through her. There was a wealth of revelation in those words. He wanted to do this again, with her, and he wanted to keep her with his crew.
He was talking about more than one night. She couldn't think about a future, even of only a few more days. Last night had been a big enough step. "You said one shift."
"I thought---are you leaving already?" His voice was a smooth drawl, but his fingers tightening on his bag showed his tension. Clearly he thought she was here for the whole fire, maybe beyond.
Her plan had been to leave today. She had her story. She'd never top the rescue of the scouts, the run up the mountain, being rescued by slurry. Never in her career.
But there was the idea of the book. She just hadn't worked out the details---like how to make a living while writing the book. She couldn't go on to write other articles and focus on this. Did she want to make a living as a Hot Shot the rest of the summer? It wasn't easy work. And she wasn't sure she had what it took, especially after their brush with death.
But she would be with Gabe, who wanted her. Gabe, who thought she was brave.
Gabe, who could destroy her again.
"I did want to get some pictures," she hedged, unwilling to say no, unwilling to walk away from him. "My photographer is finishing up his training and will be here in a day or so."
"And then you're going." His voice was flat.
"I hadn't decided." She turned to get her own bag. "I have to move on to the next story. And I have to write this one." Successful journalists did it, moved from story to story. The one thing she'd found she was good at, even if it didn't put her in the middle of the action, of the people. Which was the appeal of this career, at least for her.
"What's the next one?" There was a lack of curiosity in his tone.
"I don't know yet." She forced a smile. "Nothing can top this adventure."
He stepped closer, cupped her head in his hand. "Give me a chance." To top the adventure, he meant. But the longing in his eyes told her last night had been something more to him too. Why was she surprised? He'd been so, um, focused.
God help her, she wanted to. Looking into his eyes, feeling his touch on her skin---when was the last time, other than last night, she'd done something without thinking of the cost? Could she risk starting now?
If he knew her, the real her, would he still want her?
"Gabe, we can't---if I stay on your crew, we can't---"
His eyes were triumphant with his certainty she would stay. "Why not?"
"I think what happened last night should stay here, not follow us back to camp," she said.
He set his bag on the dresser and leaned against the piece of furniture, arms over his chest, his posture deceptively casual. "Why?"
"Well, the reason behind it. The sex." She used the excuse of checking the bathroom for belongings as a reason to not look at him. "It's an emotionally charged job---people react to the thrill and the danger."
When she turned back, he was staring at her. "You think that's all this was?" He gestured toward the bed she'd insisted upon making.
"No, of course not." She shook her head vehemently. If that was all it had been, would she be so reluctant to push him away now? "But let's face it. It probably wouldn't have happened if we hadn't nearly been killed up there."
Her throat squeezed. She wasn't sure if it was because of the memory of running for her life or the idea she might not have spent the night in Gabe's arms without living through it.
"You didn't even like me when we started out. All I'm saying is, let's not put too much energy into thinking about what might happen between us, because worrying about it may just be a waste of time and energy."
"God, you sound like a guy." Gabe pushed the words out of a tight throat. He hadn't expected her to be the kind to throw up barriers after last night. He hadn't expected her to be all clingy either, but, damn, this wait-and-see attitude was throwing him for a loop. Sure she was leaving, eventually, but wasn't that all the more reason to seize the moment?
She was right, at least partly. He hadn't liked her until he was forced to spend time with her, but now he admired the hell out of her.
There'd been entire stretches out there on the mountain where he'd forgotten she was a reporter altogether, even before she'd been in his bed. Dangerous behavior. He'd been burned before when he let his guard down. It was just so hard to keep it up around Peyton. His guard, that was.
What had happened here last night? It had been more than two people relieving stress, more than two people reveling in being alive. They'd both found something they hadn't known they'd been looking for.
He hadn't opened himself to a woman since Jen, hadn't trusted his own judgment after she left him. Could he trust his own judgment now? Peyton's reluctance made him more uneasy. Only on the fire line was he sure of his actions, his decisions.
He captured a strand of Peyton's hair between his fingers, sensing a connection with this woman, a kind of pain beneath the surface.
He couldn't be so off to think last night hadn't been extraordinary for her as well. She'd erupted like she'd been holding something back for a while. Last night neither of them had held anything back.
So what was wrong?
Then it hit him. He wasn't sure what had blinded him to it before, especially with his past experience.
"You got someone waiting for you?" he asked, as if it wouldn't matter.
She whipped around in shock. "No! Do you think I would have---?" She gestured to the bed. "No! God, Gabe."
"Why not?"
She spluttered, so he had to clarify.
"I mean, why don't you have someone? You're a pretty girl, and you're smart, and---"
She broke away from him to stare out the window. Funny how she was damn quick to ask questions, but didn't care to answer them. He was stewing about the double standard when she finally spoke.
"I was married. Before."
The words hit him like a hammer in the chest. He hadn't expected it, but couldn't say why. She wasn't a kid. But hell, she'd walked away from all those jobs. Had she done the same to her marriage? He didn't know what to say, except, "You still love him. You think you might go back to him?"
She lifted both hands to her head, like she was holding herself together. "No, he died. Nineteen months ago."
Gabe felt a rush of relief at the same time he felt idiotic about his assumptions. Like he needed proof he was an asshole. "I'm sorry."
She shook her head as if she'd heard those words so many times they'd lost all meaning. "It was another lifetime."
He folded and unfolded his hands on the dresser behind him, wanting to hold her, not sure he should. Not sure he should ask, but he did. "How did he die?"
She sucked in a deep breath. "He was on the SWAT team. First through the door, every time. The last time someone was waiting for him."
Though he sensed what was coming, the words hit hard. "God."
She wrapped her arms around herself. He hated seeing her in pain, wanted to stop the flow his question had brought.
"They'd staked out a chop shop for months and were ready to bring it down." She gave a little laugh. "Bring it down. I even talk like he did. Anyway, it was totally by the book, the flashbangs, the count. Dan was first through the door, except someone was coming out. They shot him in the face a second after he came in."
Gabe didn't have the best imagination, but damn, those words brought a chilling picture to his mind. He wondered how good of an imagination she had, how forthcoming the police department would have been with those details, and a thought struck him.
"You were there."
"I was." The words were rough. "I was new at the paper, where I worked before I got this job, writing, which I knew I could love. I wanted to make a splash, and I was following a scoop, so I went to the chop shop with my photographer. I didn't know I'd end up as the story, screaming over the death of my husband."
Had she pulled further away or had he? There was a definite chasm between them, painful after last night. But if he was honest, she hadn't opened herself to him last night.
He hadn't opened himself to her completely, either, but more than he had to any other woman since Jen.
She choked, and he couldn't bring himself to reach for her.
"Dan knew I was there. He was mad about it. But he was usually so focused. I didn't think I was putting him in danger. If I'd listened---" She swallowed, looked down at her hands. "I loved him." Her voice was thinner, higher, a ghost of the voice of the woman he knew. "He settled me down in a way nothing else could. I mean, we were thinking about having kids. He wouldn't have been the same person if he hadn't been a cop, if he hadn't been so good at it, committed. It made my life hard, but he loved who he was. It gave him this confidence, this belief in himself that he was invincible."
Gabe knew something about that. "I guess there are people who have to do this kind of job to make them feel like they're alive."
"Except it's an easy way to get not alive anymore." She took a deep breath, drawing back tears. They rattled in her throat. "They gave him a hero's burial, a twenty-one-gun salute. I have the flag from his casket. After he died, well, I woke up. I had to find a focus or drown."
He pictured her at the graveside, too young to be a widow. Had anyone been with her to comfort her? Or had she been alone?
"What about the guy who killed him?" He turned the conversation, needing it to be about results instead of questions. "Did they catch him?"
"He's still awaiting trial."
"After nineteen months?"
"Justice is a slow process." She gave him a sad little Mona Lisa smile. "It just doesn't matter now. It won't bring Dan back."
"And you writing these articles? It's because of him?"
She nodded. "All because of him."
Guilt. It made you do things you never thought you'd do. But as Gabe pulled the hotel door shut behind them, he wished he didn't know she'd wanted her husband to be someone he wasn't.
The rest of the crew sat at a long table, eating breakfast, when Peyton and Gabe came downstairs. The only two empty chairs were not together. One, at the head, was clearly meant for Gabe, because Kim sat beside it, and the other in the middle of the group on Kim's side. Peyton started toward it, but Gabe caught her hand and led her to the head of the table.
"Move down one," he said, and two firefighters beside Kim shifted to new chairs.
An expression of betrayal froze Kim's face. Gabe tilted his head in expectation, and Kim glanced at their joined hands, then shot Peyton a heated look before doing as Gabe asked. Peyton's shoulders were tense as she took Kim's chair. So much for fitting in with the crew. She'd known that would be a side effect of her decision last night, but hadn't realized Gabe would advertise their relationship. He sure didn't seem the type.
The rest of the crew were quiet a minute, taking in the change, but conversation resumed when a new waitress brought them breakfast menus.
"It doesn't mean anything, you know," Kim said, leaning slightly toward Peyton when Gabe was distracted in conversation with Howard. "He's slept with all of us. You'll just be the favorite till someone new comes along."
Peyton knew that wasn't true. Too much emotion had passed between them last night for him to be a player. Still, she let her gaze wander the table. "Who was the favorite before me?"
Oh, way to antagonize, Peyton. Kim's hand folded into a fist.
"I was."
Right. In her dreams. Peyton tried not to show her alarm at the younger woman's anger. "Then I guess I'll just have to enjoy it till someone new comes along." But her hands were shaking from the confrontation as she stirred her coffee.
Their time away from camp, and the drain of her confession, made their return feel like they'd stepped into a slow-motion dream. Peyton wasn't sure if the camp itself had changed or only her perception of it. She sensed no energy, no excitement, none of the confidence in the firefighters she'd experienced when she first arrived.
Filthy men and women milled around as though wading through water. They looked at Peyton and Gabe with bloodshot eyes and grim faces, as if sensing and resenting they'd gotten a full night's sleep in a real bed.
Jen appeared worst of all when they found her outside the strategy tent. For the first time, Peyton studied Jen woman to woman. The stress of the job had her pale and drawn. Her years of outdoor activity had honed a strength in her no gym could duplicate. Her masculine attire belied her natural beauty, her golden blonde hair swept back efficiently but the style only served to accent an elegantly boned face. Peyton didn't have nearly as much trouble picturing Gabe and Jen together as she had hoped.
"Where've you two been?" Jen asked irritably, walking back into the tent without waiting for an answer.
"We had a few hours' leave coming," Gabe responded, following. Peyton debated her role here a moment, especially since Gabe hadn't said much after her revelation, then trailed after them.
Jen swiped an escaping lock of hair back from her face. "Right, yeah. I forgot. That seems like a year ago."
"That bad?" he asked, almost solicitous. Peyton felt dizzy with envy at the history between them, and wondered why. She'd only known Gabe a handful of days, and was jealous of a past she hadn't been a part of? Who knew she had a possessive streak?
"I just found out the president is coming to assess the situation."
"The president?" Gabe echoed.
"Coming here?" Peyton asked, her reporter instincts kicking in.
Jen glanced at Peyton, having clearly forgotten she was there. "Yeah, specifically to Bounty. They want me to brief him, and at the same time they're beefing up security, so it's harder for crews and supplies to get through, as if I didn't have enough to worry about." She stopped and regarded them quizzically. "I'm surprised you guys didn't have any trouble getting back in."
"One of my crew was on the road to vouch for me," Gabe said. "I thought it was a little weird. The president, huh?"
"Yeah, well, if we were getting the job done, he wouldn't have to come out. And then---Jesus." Jen's hand was shaking as she pushed back her hair. When Jen looked up at Gabe, her eyes were dark with pain. "I may as well tell you. You'll find out anyway. Doug's been arrested."
The words bucked Peyton's heart, but Gabe merely smiled. Peyton turned to him, amazed at his lack of sensitivity. "Another bar fight?"
"No!" Jen choked the word out, waving her hand in front of her in a release of pent-up energy. "They think he started this fire."
"What?" Gabe's tone sharpened as his body snapped to attention and he rounded the table to Jen's side. "Why would they think that?"
Peyton watched Jen gather herself, square her shoulders, swallow her tears. She was working hard not to show weakness to Gabe. Her voice, when she spoke again, was steady, businesslike. "They found the point of origin. They found a drip torch---his drip torch, with his fingerprints---and footprints they say are his."
"How could they find footprints or fingerprints?" Peyton asked, thinking of the moonscapes she'd seen on the mountain, when nothing was left.
"In a forest fire, you look for the area of least destruction, because the fire burned away from the point of origin, moving uphill," Jen said wearily. "It left the evidence behind."
"But Doug's experienced. He wouldn't have left evidence." Peyton worked it through, letting the thoughts come out of her mouth without censoring them. Way to go, Peyton.
Gabe pivoted toward her, his expression closed, as it had been the first day she had joined his crew. "He didn't do this."
From the corner of her eye, Peyton saw the surprise on Jen's face as she faced Gabe.
"I've known Doug half my life." Gabe's tone was insistent. "He's a good firefighter. Nothing's more important to him. He would never do this." He turned to Jen. "Why do they say he did it?"
She shook her head, and this time lost the battle with her tears. In her panic, her voice rose. "They don't have a motive. They arrested him on physical evidence alone."
"How did his drip torch get out there?" Peyton asked.
Both Jen and Gabe turned to her, brows furrowed in identical expressions, like she'd said something wrong.
"I don't know." Frustration colored Jen's every word, every movement.
Peyton blew out an impatient breath, searching her mind for some explanation. "Could he have been starting a backfire?"
"There would have been record of authorization," Jen said. "There was none."
"I'm just searching for answers here." Peyton looked curiously at Gabe, at Jen's side. She would not allow herself to be hurt. There were no sides here, right? Jen was just worried about her husband, and Gabe was worried about Jen, so he was feeling protective. He couldn't still love Jen and make love with her the way he had last night. "They have to have a reason, a motive. Have they set bail?"
Jen shook her head, battling tears. "It's happened so fast."
"Do you have a lawyer?"
"No!" Jen's denial burst forth on a wail, and Gabe reached for her, pulled her into his arms to soothe her.
Peyton felt like she'd been kicked in the sternum as Jen tucked her head under Gabe's chin, folded her hands against Gabe's chest. Still, she couldn't tear her eyes away from the former husband and wife.
It didn't help that Jen was the one to push against Gabe's chest and move away, to look over at her. That Gabe was the one who stood with his arms empty.
"The bail hearing is in an hour. I can't go, I can't leave, not with the president due to arrive tomorrow." Jen wiped at her face and looked at Peyton. "Will you go?"
Peyton stared, unable to fathom what the woman had just said. Even Gabe took a step back. "Jen, he's your husband."
"And this is my job, my responsibility. Doug understands." She swept her hand to encompass the fire camp. "I can't just leave camp. Will you go?"
Peyton blinked. There had been days when she would have done anything to have just another hour with Dan, and this woman was choosing her career over her husband? Even with the imminent arrival of the president, she would have chosen Dan.
She was fairly certain he wouldn't have made the same choice.
Gabe's somber expression revealed a ghost of pain. Had Jen made those choices when she was married to Gabe as well?
"You don't even know me," Peyton murmured.
"Right. I know almost everyone in camp, and while I understand the word will spread faster than the fire, I need just a few more hours where no one knows. A few more hours to get my thoughts together."
"Uh, Jen, she's a reporter, remember?"
Color brightened Jen's cheeks and anger flashed in her eyes when she looked at him. "I don't need her silence forever. Just her silence for now." She turned back to Peyton. "Will you go?"
"If Gabe will go with me," Peyton answered finally.
Jen nodded, relief clear in every line of her body. "That would be great. I appreciate it."
Appreciate? Peyton opened her mouth, but Gabe closed his hand around her arm and tugged her toward the tent exit.
"We'll bring him back here." He ducked out, pulling Peyton behind him.
"Is she kidding?" Peyton couldn't hold the question in until they were out of earshot of the tent. "Her husband is in jail and she can't take a few hours off?"
Gabe's jaw tensed. "She does have a big responsibility here. She has to explain to the president how this got out of control." A smirk twisted his lips. "It won't be easy for her to hold back. Jen hates President Hutchinson."
Peyton shook off the comment. "But you couldn't do her job for a few hours? Someone else? Instead she sends you to go get Doug, knowing how you feel about him?" The words tumbled over each other in her rage.
"Technically, she sent you." The smile he gave her was grim. "You dragged me into it."
"Well, look." Peyton hung back, urgency at getting to the bottom of this warring with the unfairness of it. Poor Doug. How would he feel, already vulnerable and now rejected by his wife? Put in second place to the president?
Okay, bad example.
Still. "Go tell her you'll act as incident commander, and I'll go with her to bail out Doug."
He shook his head. "She won't like that solution. She's a firefighter first, Peyton. She always has been. Don't be too hard on her. It's bad, but he didn't do it."
"That doesn't always matter. Maybe---maybe she didn't come herself so she could keep a distance from him. It wouldn't do her career any good to be married to a suspected arsonist, right? And that's why she doesn't want anyone to know yet."
What the hell was wrong with these people that they didn't see the problem there? No matter how important the job, people were more important. Would Doug understand when his wife didn't show up? Was he just like these two? She didn't think so. Even the expression on Gabe's face when Jen had refused to leave told Peyton he didn't agree with Jen's decision.
Dan had been driven like Jen, and Peyton could easily imagine Doug's reaction when Jen didn't show up at the courthouse. Did she and Gabe have more in common than she thought? "Was that part of the reason you broke up? That she put the job first all the time?"
Gabe looked at her, like he had a message he wanted to make sure she got. She returned his gaze questioningly, and he glanced away. "I'm not all that different. We were equal there."
Just like Dan. Damn it, she knew better. So why let it hurt? Could she handle being part of a relationship where she was second to the job again? Was she willing to be committed to a man who didn't put her first? "But if the person you loved was in trouble---would you stay on the job and let someone else take care of it?"
His eyes were sad, as if he was unable---or unwilling---to give her more. "I wish I could say no. The hell of it is, I don't know."
She nodded, but needed more. She had to cut bait. As soon as she could get out of here, she would. As great as the sex had been, she wasn't willing to give up part of her soul again.
Forcing her thoughts to the present and not to what-might-have-beens, she made her way to the van they'd just parked.
"You're very certain Doug's innocent," she said as he pulled out of the camp onto the main road. "Up on the mountain, you were ready to believe he was capable of anything."
Gabe's gaze cut to her, and she felt the wariness that had disappeared overnight cloak him again. See, another reason to walk away. He wouldn't allow himself to trust her.
He turned his attention back to the dirt road. "I've known him a long time. He may be a son of a bitch, but he wouldn't put anyone's life in danger. He's been around the dragon too long."
"Was he with you on Angel Ridge?"
The van staggered when he let his foot off the pedal in surprise, throwing Peyton against her seatbelt. "Who told you about that?"
"Howard." She straightened, adjusted the strap over her shoulder and took a deep breath before pursuing the conversation. "You'd have to respect fire after seeing something so horrifying."
"No, Doug wasn't there." He accelerated again. So much for elaboration. "He was in Montana. Doesn't mean he doesn't have respect for fire, though."
"That doesn't preclude him from being an arsonist. Why are you so certain he isn't?" She was pushing him, more than was wise, but she was leaving anyway, right? Why did she care if he was mad at her, as long as she got the story?
So what if she was doing what he accused her of? Using people for her own gain?
"I told you. He wouldn't risk hurting people. He doesn't have it in him."
"He hurt you." She wanted to take the words back as soon as they were out of her mouth. She was forcing him to turn away, in case she didn't have the courage to walk when the time came.
"Goddamnit, Peyton, what do you think I'm going to say?" When the tires hit the shoulder, he fought the wheel to pull the van back onto the road. "That he did it, and I'm glad, and I hope he rots in jail, so I can have Jen?"
"Is that what you want?" She forced the words past the lump in her throat.
"Jesus, are you jealous?" His voice rose on his incredulity.
She choked back the lump. "Of a woman who can't walk away from her job long enough to get her husband out of jail? No."
"Hitting a little close to home?" he asked quietly, with an insight she hadn't expected, not when his own emotions had to be too close to the surface for his comfort. He was thinking of Dan, of what she'd told him. His tone and perceptiveness had her relaxing marginally.
"Maybe." She didn't have to push so hard, not yet. Again, she steered the conversation. "Jen thinks he's been set up. He has no clear motive. Jen has more of a motive than he does."
He whipped around in surprise. "What's hers?"
"She got to be IC, didn't she? Clearly her job's important to her." Or Jen would be the one going to town.
He was silent a moment, his jaw working angrily. "Jen has a lot of faults, God knows, but setting up her husband to take a fall isn't one."
In his opinion, anyway. Gabe did value loyalty. Why he thought the woman who hadn't shown him any would show it for another man, Peyton didn't know. "I don't believe she did it. I'm reasoning out loud, trying to figure why they think Doug might have done it, aside from the physical evidence. Jen has a stronger motive."
"As do I. Everyone knows my feelings about Doug."
If she said the thought hadn't crossed her mind, she'd be lying. Guilt washed through her for even considering it. She may have only known Gabe three days, but she understood him, the kind of man he was. If someone accused him, she would stand in his corner, and not just because of the great sex. "If we're going to go that direction, say that he's being set up, then being accused is something you have to be prepared for."
He shot her a sidelong glance. "Do you think I did it, Peyton?"
"Of course not." The words came like a reflex, but they weren't a lie.
He must have realized this too, because his posture relaxed. "Why not? You're ready to believe Doug did it."
"Because you have honor. Look, I liked Doug when we were on the mountain. He was a real affable guy. But I don't know him well enough to make the call. And I don't know firefighting well enough to know why someone would start a fire and blame it on someone else."
"A firefighter wouldn't do this. Trust me."
Half a million dollars to let Doug out of jail. Gabe couldn't fathom that kind of money.
Doug had looked like hell. His bridge was missing, and someone else had broken his nose this time. Gabe could understand---Doug was being held with people whose homes and livelihoods were threatened by the fire.
A lot of reporters milled in front of the white-bricked Grecian-style courthouse in Bounty, including microwave towers from all the major news stations across the country. If Gabe had been thinking clearly, he and Peyton would have changed out of their Nomex gear before showing up. The yellow and green uniform acted as a magnet for the reporters, who mobbed them, shouting questions he didn't have answers to.
Questions he'd asked himself since he'd heard.
Only a matter of days ago, Gabe would have been happy to let Doug rot. Now it was public sentiment driving him to get Doug out of jail, not any softening toward the man. He was still a son of a bitch. But not a son of a bitch who deserved to be in jail.
Jesus, this was a nightmare, like learning about Doug and Jen all over again. A betrayal to the soul. At first, when Jen had told him she loved Doug, he'd denied it to himself, needing to believe Doug would never risk their friendship. They'd been through too much to split over a woman.
And now to find the same man accused of arson---it was almost worse, somehow. Everything he knew about the man was at odds with the idea he was a firebug. The man loved his job. Grudgingly, Gabe could see him being swayed by a woman, but not by the lure of the dragon.
Peyton stood nearby, on the phone with Jen, one palm pressed over her free ear. He didn't understand why she had trouble hearing---he could hear Jen just fine, freaking out over the bail.
"Half a million?"
"If we get a bondsman, we only have to pay ten percent."
Why was Peyton saying "we"? She was trying to calm Jen down, but there was a limit to his willingness to get involved. Hell, he didn't have any money, and as career firefighters, Jen and Doug probably didn't either. And ten percent of five hundred thousand dollars was still fifty thou.
"Doesn't matter. I don't have it!"
Definitely freaking out.
Peyton murmured something into the phone and folded it closed.
"She said she'll try to get it."
Gabe hadn't heard her say any such thing. "She doesn't know anyone with that kind of cash."
Peyton tucked the phone in her front pocket, not meeting his eyes. "Yeah, she does."
Damn inscrutable woman. "Who's she going to ask? The president?"
"There's a thought," Peyton said sarcastically, moving toward the window to look out at the crowd of reporters. "What happened to him inside?"
"Jail, you mean?" He joined her at the window, close, but not too close. Her story about her husband still had him off-kilter. He didn't really want to let her out of his sight. What was the next step? If it hadn't been for Doug, would she be on her way already?
He kind of hated himself for being relieved she had to stay.
"It's bad for him in there."
Goddamn, he hated standing with a woman he cared for and talking about Doug. "Yeah, it's not good. Those are the people who live here, whose lives are threatened by this."
"He has to get out."
"Peyton, we don't have that kind of money."
She turned to him, her brown eyes at once solemn and pleading. Pleading for what, he wished he knew.
"I do."
He bent closer. "You do what?"
"I have the money. If you can swear to me he's innocent, I'll post his bond."
He drew back, watching her. The pleading in her eyes made sense now. Poor little rich girl, playing at being a firefighter. "Peyton. Rich girl name?"
She shook her head, turning her attention back to the window. "I wouldn't ask them for money. No, the PBA takes good care of its widows."
This time he stepped back. Widow. Christ. She was willing to give up so much for Doug? Her husband's pension? Who the hell was she, to make that offer for someone just because he vouched for him?
"No. I'm not letting you do that."
"It would just be a loan. Better than letting an innocent man sit in jail." She pulled her battered phone out of her pocket. "Look, I'm going to call my lawyer, see if she can recommend anyone who wants to come out here to defend him, all right?"
"Peyton." He called her back when she walked toward the side door. "Why are you doing this?"
She gave him a sad smile. "Because it's justice. I'm going to go talk to the sheriff, see what he'll give me."
Peyton ignored Gabe's questioning expression when she joined him in the lobby outside the jail. She should have waited before coming over here, should have taken more time to gather herself, to think through what she'd learned.
Gabe's loyalty to the man who had been disloyal to him touched her. Because Gabe believed Doug was innocent, so did she. But the evidence was really of the oh-hell variety.
As in, oh hell, it was pretty damning.
Part of her didn't want to destroy the faith Gabe had in Doug, not when he'd stepped out of his own resentment to defend the man.
They had no motive. Sheriff Bosquez had admitted as much to her. As long as he didn't have motive, she could believe like Gabe, despite the physical evidence.
She couldn't help studying Gabe's hands though. While there was no recent burn, of, say, a metal handle searing into his palm, he had a number of scars, though he wore gloves on the line. So while she felt relief that they couldn't pin this on Gabe, saying he set up Doug, she had to wonder about the relevance of Doug's burn scars. Clearly they wouldn't eliminate a lot of suspects by using lack of scars. All the Hot Shots had them.
She dropped to the bench beside Gabe with a sigh, looked toward the door where Doug would be released once he was processed.
"Anything?" she asked.
"Christ, Peyton. You're the one who just got back from the sheriff's office," he blurted with uncharacteristic impatience.
Like she could keep anything from him. The man saw right through her, every time. "You wear gloves whenever you're on the line?" She turned to him.
"Yeah." His tone was edged with caution.
"Even when you're operating the drip torch?"
"Especially then. You don't want to take any chances."
She reached for his hand, laid it palm up on her lap, traced her fingers over it. "What are you doing?" he asked, his voice thicker.
She glanced up with a grin, saw his tightening jaw. "You have a lot of scars, for all the gear you wear."
"Been doing this a long time."
"But with the gloves, how do you get the scars?"
He folded his fingers over hers. "Peyton, what's going on?"
"Doug has a scar, a recent one."
"What are you talking about?"
She closed her eyes. When she told him, would he change his mind about Doug? And if he could, was Gabe the man she thought he was? "A scar from a heated drip torch, across the palm. That's the evidence they have against him."
He snorted and dropped her hand, folding his arms across his chest. "And you believe them."
"I've been a reporter long enough not to take things at face value," she said. "But you have to admit, it doesn't look good."
He closed his fist. "A lot of firefighters have burns."
"This burn could lock him up."
He pushed to his feet. "Then we're going to have to prove he didn't do it."
His loyalty was commendable, and Peyton wondered, just for a minute, what it would be like to be on the receiving end.
"Did he tell the sheriff how he got it?" Gabe asked.
"He admitted it was from a drip torch, but on a fire in Yellowstone."
"Then we'll find out when he was there and why he would be using one."
When Doug was escorted out of the jail by two guards, Peyton's gaze first went to his hands. There was the telltale burn.
Gabe followed her gaze, and she sensed a bit of disgust from him as he moved toward the other man.
The relief in Doug's eyes darkened to concern when he glanced around the lobby. "Where's Jen?"
"At camp. She couldn't get away. The president is coming tomorrow," Peyton said before Gabe could speak. "She wants us to take you to her."
Doug covered his crestfallen expression quickly, blinked. "Of the United States?" He gave Gabe a tight grin. "That cannot be making her happy."
"She was a little stressed," Gabe drawled.
She was a little stressed. Peyton couldn't believe this conversation, as if Doug being accused of arson was no big deal, compared to Jen being upset about the president. Who were these people?
"I don't know what she did to get the money. I hope she didn't mortgage the house."
Gabe opened his mouth, but Peyton quickly elbowed him and shook her head sharply. Bad enough Jen wasn't here when he got out of jail. Doug didn't have to know she hadn't put up the bail.
What was it about Doug that made people want to protect him? Lord, she hoped she hadn't made a mistake believing in this guy.
Doug hadn't wanted to eat in town, had been anxious to get to Jen, either to comfort her or be comforted by her. Gabe was just as anxious to put some distance between himself and the Sheridans---his goodwill to Doug only went so far---so he guided Peyton toward the mess tent. They'd been at the courthouse so long, they'd missed lunch, and his stomach protested as they crossed the darkening camp. She was still uncharacteristically quiet as they queued for brisket sandwiches. He could damn near hear the cogs turning in her head. So when it came time to choose a seat, he picked a table away from everyone.
"What?" was all he said when he set his tray down.
"You're going to have a hard time proving he didn't do it."
"I am." Her words struck deep, in a place already open to pain after dealing with Doug and Jen.
"You know what I mean." She didn't meet his eyes, didn't apologize. She was pulling away from him, he felt it. Could he lower his pride enough to draw her back?
"What do you mean by a hard time?" he asked, making his choice to do what it took to keep her. "You said the evidence was circumstantial."
"Yes, except for the burn, which you could say is circumstantial as well." She tucked her hair behind her ear and inspected her sandwich. "But you're not going to get any help from an arson investigator, or the FBI. They've got their man. I think the only way to clear Doug's name is to find who really did it. And you don't have the resources."
"Which is kind of why I hoped you'd help."
"I guess I could help." She looked at him then. "I just don't know what we can do. I was only a cop's wife, not a cop."
"But you're a reporter. You can ask questions, get answers."
She gave him a wry smile, one corner of her mouth turned up. "Yeah, it's gotten me real far with you."
He acknowledged that with a nod, his mind working ahead. He shoved his tray away after only one bite of the sandwich. "Well, if we want to prove it's someone else, maybe we have to think about motive. That's one thing Doug's case is missing."
"Unless you say he did it to get his wife on as IC." She lifted her hands in surrender when he scowled at her. "I'm not saying. But they will." She took a sip of her tea. "You also have to look at access. His drip torch was used, fibers from a smokejumper's Kevlar suit were found at the scene. Someone who has access to the base camp."
"Maybe a smokejumper wannabe?"
"Or a smokejumper."
He opened his mouth to tell her there was no way it was a firefighter when Kim charged over. She plopped down on the bench beside him, hair wild, nostrils flared in frustration. She didn't acknowledge Peyton, but Gabe felt Peyton tense across from him.
"I've been looking for you everywhere. We're not on the schedule."
He eased back, not sure how many people had heard about Doug's situation. He didn't want to be the one to spread the word. And he didn't know how many people had heard the president was on his way. "We just got back from town."
"The crew is restless. Forty-eight hours off is driving them nuts."
"Did you talk to Jen?" he asked.
"She sent me to you." Kim folded her arms on the table. "Between you and me, Coop, this is too much for her. She looks like hell."
"She must have something on her mind." He pulled his sandwich close again, more as a reason not to talk than because of hunger. "Tell the crew not to sweat it."
"Maybe you should tell them. You are the crew boss, no matter how you're not acting like it." She shot Peyton a glance saying this was all her fault.
"I'll talk to them later." He wouldn't, though. None of their business. None of Kim's, either.
"Can we talk? Alone?" The temper seeped out in Kim's tone.
"I'll go get some more tea." Peyton rose with her Styrofoam cup, clearly glad to get out of the way.
Gabe's own temper heated as he turned to Kim. "What?"
"You've never turned your back on your crew because of a woman."
"And I'm not doing it now." He worked hard to keep his calm. What call did she have to question him? Yeah, they'd worked together for a few years, and he trusted her judgment on the fire line, but not where Peyton was concerned. Kim was too ruthless, too focused, not someone he'd turn to for social advice. He was having a hard enough time being in a relationship without his crew thinking he was soft because of it.
"Please." She tossed her head, a very girly gesture. Very un-Kim. "You've been off screwing her."
His control snapped then and he threw the sandwich aside, the plastic tray skidding across the rough tabletop. "You will not talk about her like that."
Kim blinked, and her eyes were wary, but not scared. "What, you love her or something?"
"Not your business."
A flicker of hurt crossed her face, followed by fury, pure and simple. "It is when I'm having to do your job because you're not. She is no good for you. She is no good for the crew. She's going to cause more trouble than you know."
Despite her words, he didn't think her fury was directed at him, and a sense of unease had him shifting away. "She's not, and I'm not discussing this with you. I'll be back on top of things tomorrow. Right now I have other concerns."
He looked toward the incident command tent, weighed his options. If he told Kim about Doug, she would be loyal to Gabe, she would believe Doug was guilty, and would spread the word of his disgrace. He couldn't allow that to happen. It would hurt Jen too much. Kim would never believe that Gabe believed Doug was innocent, not when Gabe had made his hatred of the man clear when Jen left. It didn't matter that these were different circumstances.
Kim had followed his gaze. "Is it because of her? Jen? Is she giving you hell? Is she keeping us from going out on another fire?" The possibility seemed to relieve her.
"No, that's not it."
Kim's expression was grudging. "We should have asked for another fire when we found out she was IC."
There, she'd proved his point. Her loyalty to him would outweigh the truth, so he'd have to keep it from her.
Peyton rejoined them then, her Styrofoam cup filled to the rim with iced tea. Kim gave her a look Gabe couldn't decipher, and shot to her feet.
"I'll tell them. But remember what I said, Coop. Remember why we're here."
"I'm telling you, she has it bad." Peyton sat across from him. "It's really bad when hero worship combines with a crush. You can do no wrong in her eyes."
"Yeah, well." Gabe picked up his sandwich again, licking barbecue sauce from his fingers. "According to her, sleeping with you instead of hanging with my crew is a sin, so you're wrong there."
Peyton shook her head. "But it's not your fault, you see? It's mine."
"Don't worry about her. She's just a kid. What do you think about heading out to Missoula first thing in the morning, to Doug's base, see what we can find out?"
Her eyes brightened, and he got the feeling she liked being on the hunt. Maybe this reporter bit wasn't so bad after all.
Jen whipped around, wiping at her mouth when Gabe walked into the tent, intending to tell her about the trip to Missoula. Gabe noticed the wadded napkins at the corner of the table a second before the smell of vomit hit him.
"Are you all right?"
She glanced away, not meeting his eyes. Her face was strained, her mouth tight. "I may as well tell you. Can we sit down?"
He nodded and gestured toward the table. She sat first, nearly moaning with relief at getting off her feet. He hadn't seen her sit since the day he got here.
"You aren't leaving Doug, are you?" he asked half-jokingly. How would he react to news that she was available again? Since Peyton had come into his life, he hardly thought of Jen at all, and no longer fantasized about finding his way back to her. Last week he might have rejoiced, maybe allowed Jen to suffer a bit before starting a campaign to win her back. Now, he'd probably feel sad she'd sacrificed what they had together and was unable to make her new life work, but he wouldn't pursue the relationship again.
Damn. That was liberating.
She didn't dignify his comment with an answer. "This is my last fire."
"You're leaving?"
He couldn't keep the shock from his expression. Jen was third-generation Hot Shot, had been in fifteen years, was damn good at her job, was only about the job. She'd finally achieved everything she'd worked for. Was it because of Doug? Did she want to quit before she was fired? Why would she---?
Before he could complete the last question in his mind, he knew. She'd told him once, a long time ago, the one reason she would leave the Forest Service without a fight. She probably thought he didn't remember. His stomach dropped, swear-to-God dropped, to the toes of his boots.
"You're pregnant."
He had the pleasure of seeing the surprise on her face, then the wariness, but that was the only joy he felt. She couldn't figure out how he'd react? She wore his best friend's ring, answered to his best friend's name and now carried his best friend's child.
Damn, it hurt. Knock-your-breath-out-of-your-chest kind of hurt. During their short marriage, they'd discussed children in the abstract, but the reality that she was having a child, had created a child with Doug, churned up everything inside him once again, all the old feelings, pain being the strongest of all.
He lowered his head to his hands, feeling very old and very...mortal. He knew she still had the power to hurt him, but hadn't expected her to use the power so effectively.
Through the haze of pain, he saw her watching him hopefully. Part of him wanted her to hurt like he did, but the part that once loved her wanted her to be happy. He just couldn't make his mouth form the words.
"Gabe, I'm sorry."
He sensed her reaching across the table for him but couldn't face her.
"For what?" he asked finally, dragging his hands down his face. "You got on with your life just like you wanted. You don't need my blessing."
"I thought it would be better if you heard it from me."
Gabe closed his eyes. He stood, unsteady on his feet. He looked down at her, saw the girl he'd married, the girl he'd made love with, laughed with, fought with, cried over. Lost to him forever now. God. He touched her cheek and dredged up the only words he could manage.
"Take care of yourself, Jen, all right? We're going to Missoula, see what we can find out. We'll be back tomorrow. All right?"
But he didn't wait for her answer before he walked away.
Something was definitely wrong with Gabe. He'd fetched Peyton with little more than a "come on", led her to a battered pickup and barely waited till she was in before he pulled out in a spray of dust.
She questioned his changed mood once they were on the road. "What is it? I thought we were waiting till tomorrow."
"I just want to get this done so everything can get back to normal."
Normal, as in chasing fires up a mountain. Check. "So how far to Missoula?"
"Little more than an hour."
Plenty of time. Maybe too much. "So what is normal for you?"
He glanced over at her, but his expression was closed. "What do you mean?"
"When you're not on a fire, what's normal? Do you have a house in Albuquerque?"
"An apartment. No one's there to take care of it when I'm gone."
"Your family doesn't live there?"
"No."
"So why do you live there?"
He scrubbed his hand over his face and glanced in the rearview mirror, the move telegraphing his impatience with her questions. "Because it's beautiful. It suits me."
"Where's your family?"
He blew a breath out through his nose. "My dad died, and my mom doesn't remember me."
Her heart wrenched. She didn't have the best relationship with her parents, couldn't remember the last time she'd seen her dad, but for his mother not to remember him had to be devastating. "Oh, Gabe, I'm so sorry. Alzheimer's?"
"Yeah." He changed lanes unnecessarily. More of that energy with no place to go.
She started to reach toward him, wanting to give him some show of support, but realized he would brush her off. "Is she in a home?"
"Yeah."
Damn, back to those one-word answers again. "Where?"
"South Carolina. Where I grew up. She's in Sumter."
"Do you ever see her?"
He lifted a shoulder. "Every now and then. I don't see the point. It only upsets her and frustrates me."
It would make him nuts, having something so out of his control. "Do you have any other family there?" She hoped he had a buffer, someone who could share his burden, though he wouldn't admit it was a burden.
"My aunts visit her, see she's taken care of. I send them money."
"But you don't have any brothers or sisters?" she asked, uneasy now. He was answering her questions without evading her. He wasn't happy about it, but he wasn't holding back. So she couldn't stop. She wanted to understand the man beyond the Hot Shot, the man who shared her bed.
The man she was terrified she loved.
"No. I was an only child, late in life. A mistake, I guess." He shrugged. "My parents already had their careers and I was incidental."
"What did they do?"
"Doctors, both of them."
That stunned her more than anything she'd learned about him to this point. He didn't act like a man who'd lived a life of privilege. "Really? Is that why you became an EMT?"
One corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk. "A far cry from medical school, as far as they were concerned. I just---I'm not cut out for the bureaucracy of working in a hospital."
"Were they upset?"
"Oh yeah. Worse, I became what amounts to a manual laborer. Me being good at it didn't matter to them."
She felt a twinge for the man whose parents didn't value who he had become. Her parents hadn't always understood her choices, but they'd never made her feel like a failure.
No, she hadn't needed help there.
"Neither of them supported your decision?"
"Hell no." He chuckled humorlessly. "They were of like mind on that account, at least. Maybe the only thing in their marriage they agreed on. And then fifteen years after leaving home, I met Jen, who had her own ideas of making me better than I was."
A thought struck her then. "That's why you don't want to be the focus of my article."
He glanced over at her. "What?"
"You think I'm not seeing you for who you are, that I'm trying to make you better than you are." Her words came faster as her thoughts tumbled over themselves. No one had put him first in his life. Their expectations were more important than knowing the man for himself. Did he understand this? Did he see a connection with her in her relationship with Dan?
Frustration tightened every line of his body. "There you go, analyzing me again."
"No, but this is huge." Her fervor reverberated through the cab and she shifted with a bounce toward him. "People have pushed you to be what you aren't, and you think I'm doing the same thing."
"I think you tried with your husband. I think you wanted him to be anything but what he was. I bet he picked up on it."
Tears burned her eyes, all of a sudden. "I hated him being a cop. I hated him out there facing people every day who held no respect for human life. But I was right, wasn't I?"
"Is it a comfort to you? Being right?"
"He left me!" The tears were choking her now, burning her nose as she fought them back. Because if she started crying, she wouldn't stop. "That job was more important to him than I was, and he picked it over me, and it killed him. He was the only, he was the only---" Her breath came too fast, she couldn't form the words, glared out the window, the scenery whipping past, blurred by her tears. "I loved him with everything in me. What was wrong with me that he couldn't love me back the same way?" That no one could. Gabe would be no different. His job would come first. He'd said that was something he and Jen had in common. Why was it wrong of her to want more?
"You think it was a conscious decision? Did he think, 'Hell, I'll show her, I'll go out and get shot in the face?'"
"Of course he didn't."
"Of course he didn't. He was a good guy."
She whipped her head around, swiping the tears from her face, no longer worried what he thought. "What makes you say that?"
The expression in his dark eyes was gentle. "You loved him."
She couldn't see that look, not when she was hurting so bad. "He might still be alive."
"What?" Gabe's surprise echoed through the cab.
"If I hadn't been there. If he hadn't known I was there. If I'd been anywhere else that night."
"You wouldn't have been with him when he died."
"It's not like he died in my arms." She felt the weight of his body in her arms, smelled his blood. She squeezed her eyes against the image of blood everywhere. "He was dead before I got to him. And it's my fault. I have to live with it."
Gabe was quiet awhile, blaming her too, no doubt. "So are you writing these articles to assuage your guilt, or to revel in it?"
Shock edged past her pain. "What?"
"Are these articles your penance?"
When she opened her mouth to answer, she had no idea what to say. This wasn't her penance. When she'd started writing them, she'd done it to be closer to Dan, to try to understand. Okay, maybe too little, too late, but that was how she'd stumbled onto this series.
Not to make up for her decisions, but to understand his. And now to understand Gabe.
She turned back to look out the window, hiding the tears that threatened. But so far, she understood even less. Herself least of all.
Peyton couldn't sleep. The hard mattress was softer than the ground, the scratchy sheets more comfortable than her smelly sleeping bag. She'd showered, had the AC on and still tossed and turned.
Without being asked, Gabe got them two rooms, adjoining. He probably wished her back in Chicago, probably regretted inviting her to help Doug. She wished she shared his regret.
She hadn't been alone in days, not easy since she was used to being alone ninety percent of the time. She may have forgotten how.
Her thoughts were too loud, Gabe's words echoing. Bad enough she had those ideas about herself without hearing them from a man she admired.
The TV didn't drown out the swirling thoughts as her mind whipped through the events of the past few days with dizzying speed, only to land on one bit over and over.
Gabe.
God, she missed him, his calm reassuring presence, his sharp mind, his warm body. After only a few days, the man saw things in her she had forgotten about herself, saw strengths in her she didn't recognize. While at first she'd wanted to impress him, she learned he didn't need to be impressed. Yes, he wanted her to do a good job on the line, but he was pretty damn accepting of her mistakes. In the short time she'd known him, he made her feel better about herself than anyone ever had.
He'd seen her stripped bare---of defenses and everything else---and he still accepted her.
So why was she lying here playing victim? She'd decided that she was taking charge of her life. Easier said than done, especially when it came to how another person made her feel, but she would make him see her side.
She was rising from the bed with the intention of heading to his room when the news about the fire came on.
"Gabe!" Peyton pounded at his door, not caring about the hour, about the annoyed shouts from the rooms surrounding theirs. "Gabe!"
He pulled the door open, the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. She saw the tears on his cheeks before he turned away. She entered the room, closing the door behind her.
"Who is it?" she asked.
He indicated the phone and mouthed, "Jen."
She'd meant who died. Had the four dead Hot Shots been Bear Claws? Someone they'd celebrated with last night? But he'd given his attention back to the phone. She leaned against the dresser, all her attention on him, not caring that eavesdropping was rude.
"No, Peyton just came in. I know, there's nothing we can do tonight." Frustration colored his voice. "We'll go to the base first thing in the morning, get back there as soon as we can. No, wait for me. I want to do it. I need to do it." He glanced over at Peyton. "Yeah, you too. Try to get some sleep. Good night." He hung up the phone, stared at it. "Doug's been charged with the murder of the Hot Shots who died out there," he said over his shoulder, his hand still on the phone, like he was using it to brace himself. "Four counts of manslaughter. They picked him back up at the fire camp."
"Jesus." She dropped to the edge of the bed, her legs weak.
"Yeah, and if that's not bad enough---"
"It's someone you know." Peyton forced the words past numb lips.
Dan had lost friends in the line of duty, and had had a similar reaction. It had been hard comforting him, trying to absorb his pain, but this was harder, because while she'd never thought Dan would fall, now she understood Gabe was not invulnerable to the same fate.
Gabe dragged his hands over his face, not looking at her. "Yeah."
"Not from your crew."
"No. Friends."
"And you want to bring them back."
He did turn to her then, his eyes dark and hot with pain.
"I need to."
She didn't understand his desire, but she wasn't going to argue with him, not now. She covered his hand with hers, not sure if he wanted the contact. She did. "What can I do?"
He pulled away and reached for the keys to the truck. "You can hope a liquor store is still open."
None were, but they were able to pick up a couple of six-packs at the grocery store. Gabe twisted off the cap of the first bottle before he closed the motel room door behind him, had half of it drained before Peyton fished her first bottle out of the bag.
She sat on the bed, cross-legged, no longer concerned about keeping him at arm's length. "Tell me about them."
"I knew two of them, Jon and Bev." He sat against the headboard and reached for another bottle. "This was Jon's favorite beer. I trained with him, about a million years ago, and Bev was on my crew before I moved over to the Bear Claws."
"You slept with her."
He looked at her sharply. "What made you say that?"
She merely lifted her eyebrows as she drank.
"Yeah, I did. Hell. It was a long time ago, before Jen." He squeezed his eyes shut. "She wasn't going to do this long, was only going to do it to pay for college, and hell, she should have graduated about seven years ago. She must've got bit."
"What was she going to school for?"
"Testing me to see how well I remember her?"
"Just curious about the kind of woman who draws you."
"You already know you, and Jen."
"And I can see no similarity, except this." She laughed, pulling a strand of blonde hair through her fingers. "So tell me about Bev, unless it bothers you."
He shook his head. "She was young. This was, what, almost ten years ago. She wanted to be a kindergarten teacher, and had that look, you know, the dimples, the twinkling eyes, the kind of singsong voice. And yes, she was blonde. She had this great energy. Really lit up the place." He took in a deep breath through his nose, his focus on his hands.
"Did you love her?"
"No. I liked the hell out of her, though. Seriously, she left to go back to school. I don't know what she was doing back up here." He turned his head, opened his eyes. "I don't want you back on the mountain."
"What?" She nearly knocked her bottle over. If he'd slapped her face, she wouldn't have been more surprised.
He righted the bottle before the beer foamed over the lip and onto the mattress. "I don't want you up there. If this fire can take two veterans..." He lowered his head, gathering himself, then looked back at her. "Well, I don't want to go get your body."
She reached over, cupped her hand over his cheek, the stubble bristling against her palm. "Why do you feel you have to get theirs? It isn't your fault they died."
His gaze sharpened and he drew back from her touch. "I know."
"You going up there won't solve anything." She leaned forward, tucking her beer in the circle of her legs. "You don't want me to go up there, I don't want you to go up there. You shouldn't see them like that."
"If it were me, I'd want someone I know to be the one to bring me down. It's the right thing to do."
Honor. It meant so much to him, and made him the man he was. The man she loved.
Whoa. How had that slipped past her defenses? And now that it had, could she pretend it wasn't there?
Did she want to?
"Will you be there when I get back?" he asked.
And because it was such a small thing, because it was good to be needed again, she said, "Yes."
He leaned toward her, took her beer and put it on the table before cupping her face in his hands and kissing her deeply. She wrapped herself around him, unable to stop herself.
"I'm sorry, Peyton," he whispered against her hair. "I want you."
"Gabe---" Peyton's pulse kicked into high gear. She felt like a mouse facing a hungry cat.
Then he was kissing her, his hands fisted in her hair, his mouth slick and hot and desperate. He loosened her ponytail, stroked her hair against her neck. The touch of her own hair made her nerves dance.
His unshaven cheek scraped her cheek and she reached up to touch his jaw, stroke the stubble, at once scratchy and silky. Beneath it his skin was hot and damp. She dragged her touch down his throat, feeling the play of his muscles as he devoured her mouth, sending reason into flames. She slid her hands up his chest to wind around his neck as he tugged her closer.
He broke the kiss for the moment it took him to lower her to the bed. He pushed his hips rhythmically against her until she pushed back, and the sound of heavy breathing and pounding pulses covered the rasp of zippers and swish of cloth.
Gabe reached into his pocket for a condom, not moving from his position, blanketing her body.
"I want to be on top," she whispered.
He let her up and rolled onto his back. She straddled him and he sucked in a sharp breath in anticipation. She played up her own pleasure, as the insides of her thighs brushed the outsides of his, the roughness of his hair focusing her senses. She guided him to her and sank onto him, hugging his hips with her knees.
Finding her rhythm didn't detract from his pleasure. He slid his palms over the smooth skin of her back before framing her hips. She gasped when he shifted beneath her, and her breath shuddered.
Peyton wanted nothing like she wanted Gabe and she bent to pull his head up to hers, sucked on his lips and tongue, scraped her teeth over his ear. He smelled of smoke and man and she wanted to feel him come inside her.
So she threw her head back and rode him until his breathing went ragged, and he moved beneath her, inside her in his quest for climax.
His search lead to her own orgasm and she dropped her head to his shoulder and turned her mouth against his throat to hide her cry of release.
"My God, Peyton," he murmured when his body no longer trembled from the power of their joining. "My God."
She buried her face into the curve of his throat and tried not to cry.
Gabe stroked his fingers up and down Peyton's arm as she slept beside him. She was so soft. He couldn't remember the last time he'd touched anything so soft. He pressed a kiss to her hair, sniffed her fruity shampoo.
Would it always be like this, would he always be drawn to her like a magnet, like he had been last night? After Jen's bombshell, and then the deaths of the firefighters, he'd been staggered with the painful thoughts of what might have been. Only thoughts of Peyton cleared the haze, of her directness, her softness, her courage, even when he'd said those hurtful things to her.
Almost made him forget about her husband. Did make him forgive her for it. She hadn't tried to change him because she didn't approve of him. She tried to change him to save him. How could he fault her for that?
If he stayed with her, she'd want the same from him, especially since her worst fears had come true when Dan died. And for the first time in his life, he might have found someone he'd walk away from this life for. Could he walk away altogether, leave this life? Would Peyton accept anything else? Maybe if he didn't go out on the fire line, but worked toward a position in command, like Jen had always wanted him to do.
Goddamn. He itched to pull back, but he didn't want to wake her. Jesus, he'd never thought about leaving the job for a woman, about leaving the job, period. What was it about the woman beside him who made him consider it? Her vulnerability or her toughness? Her compassion or her determination? He'd only known her for a few days, but the idea of saying goodbye made his stomach plummet, like jumping out of a plane.
He wished he could offer her more than cheap motel rooms. He hadn't wanted to give a woman more, and the idea shook him. When he'd been with Jen, leaving hadn't occurred to him, but she was from the community and being in the firefighting world was enough for her. Peyton was from another world entirely, and he wanted to be able to offer her something from her world, something outside of firefighting, something she understood. He just wasn't sure he was capable.
He turned onto his side and pulled her close. She accepted his touch and nestled against him, sliding her hands over his chest to his shoulders. With her eyes still closed she raised her face and nuzzled his chin.
She wasn't asleep but she wasn't fully awake. Gabe hadn't done the dreamy lovemaking thing and his body responded to the silent suggestion.
He lowered his head toward her and she captured his mouth with hers unerringly.
Her lips moved idly over his, her tongue moved into his mouth, probing gently, and he glided his hands over her back, letting her set the pace. The warmth of the kiss flowed through him. He hadn't known this slow lazy lovemaking could be so powerful. He reined himself in from rushing forward, though it was torture when she floated her fingertips over his body. He clenched his teeth as he fought for control.
"I love your body," she whispered, coursing her palms up his thighs, looking at him through sleep-dazed eyes.
She was so beautiful as she rose up over him, her hair tousled from his hands, her features sleep softened. But when he kissed her, the ache in his heart matched the ache in his loins. He didn't want to hurt her. He cradled her face in his hands and kissed her cheeks. He rolled her beneath him, worshiping her body.
She bowed against him, clutching both his hands in hers as he came into her.
"I love you," she murmured, stretching up for him.
His heart seized at the words, though his body didn't stop delving into her warmth. She loved him? How could she? Did he deserve---?
He didn't mean to let go so soon, and he groaned, in a mixture of pleasure and regret. Maybe it was the powerful foreplay, but he knew it was those three little words.
He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Peyton smoothed her hand over his pounding heart. After a moment he leaned over and kissed her hair, tilted her head back and kissed her mouth softly, searchingly.
With all the love he'd rediscovered.
He couldn't say the words, not yet, but he could show her.
"Do you still want to interview me?" he asked, his own rough words surprising him when his heart rate approached normal once more, when the sweat had mostly evaporated from his body.
She sat up, her earlier languor gone, her eyes bright. "Do you mean it?"
He dragged his hands over his face, his usual stalling tactic, still not believing he'd come to that decision. "Yeah. I mean it."
"Let me just get dressed---"
"There might be something to be said for doing a naked interview," he teased, needing a touch of humor after what felt like a momentous decision.
"Right." She reached for her underwear and jeans, clearly not willing to give it a shot. Still, she moved with a lack of modesty he appreciated. "You're just wanting a distraction."
"Not me." He rolled onto his side to watch her. Even the way she dressed was such a feminine task. He let himself enjoy the show, and she allowed him to, not speaking until she was decent.
"Are you going to get dressed?" She looked pointedly at him.
He folded his hands behind his head and leaned back on the mattress. "Nope."
"All right. Well, you know my first question."
"I thought your first question might be what just happened here." He sure had a question or two about those three little words. Still, he kept his tone teasing.
She dragged her eyes over his body with lazy approval. His instinct was to cover his reaction to her perusal, but he resisted. "I bet you'd prefer that off the record."
"Oh, you shallow, shallow girl. Aren't you going to get your notebook?"
Facing him, she sat cross-legged on the bed. "I can remember. And I believe you'll be more comfortable talking if I'm not writing everything down."
He raised an eyebrow. "I'd hate to be misquoted."
She mimicked the expression. "You won't be."
"All right, the reporter question." He took a deep breath, another delaying tactic. This memory he didn't want to revisit, but he'd started this, he'd finish it. "Why I hate reporters."
She drew one leg up and rested her chin on her knee. "You're stalling."
He grinned. "I know."
"I think there's a specific incident which caused this animosity, am I right?"
"Yeah."
"Pulling teeth here, Cooper."
"Okay." He reached for his boxers on the floor, wanting just another moment. "Do you remember Angel Ridge?"
"Howard told me you were there."
"Yeah, well, Howard has a big mouth." This was not something he wanted to be discussing so soon after making love with her. The images---he didn't want to sully the memory of Peyton with the memories of horrible death.
While his reluctance was nothing new to her, she gave him a minute before pressing. "He wanted to help me understand you."
"So hearing this, it helps you understand me?"
"It made you the man you are."
He couldn't deny it. "All right. Anyway, Angel Ridge was a huge mess. The fire should have---could have---been put out days before. Do you know the story?"
She nodded. "Fourteen died."
"The ones who escaped ran for their lives uphill. You know how it had to feel, you were there not long ago. Only they were running through brush and high grass. Shelters wouldn't have saved them, there was no safety zone."
"Were you there?" she asked quietly.
No, but he could see it, could feel their panic. Experienced firefighters, and they'd been trapped, just like he and Peyton had been. He shook his head. "Not on the mountain, not till it was over."
"Then you brought the bodies down." Like he would later today.
He rubbed his hands over his face, as if the movement could erase the memories. "That was the thing, or part of it." He dropped his arms to his knees, letting his hands dangle, consciously keeping them loose, though the rest of his body was tense. "We couldn't bring them down right away. We had to identify them, to reconstruct what had happened. It was grisly work. Have you ever seen a burned body?"
"Pictures." Her eyes hadn't left him, but he couldn't look at her and see her face superimposed over the images of death in his mind's eye.
He shook his head. "Not the same. There's nothing left that's human."
"And you knew these people?"
The room was getting too small. He needed to get up and move, to get away from the questions that hurt too much to answer, so he pushed to his feet, walked to the window, stared out over the mist rising off the blacktop. Still, if he was the hero Peyton called him, the pain wouldn't stop him. He reached for his shirt to occupy himself while he spoke.
"One was a good friend of Jen's and mine. I'd been to his house, met his family. The firefighting community isn't very big."
"So you were a member of the team that reconstructed what had happened to these people you knew," she summarized.
"Yeah." He glanced over, saw her hands fisted, her expression tight. She was living it with him. God, if he hadn't already decided he could love her...but he didn't want her there, not for any reason. He reached over and closed his hand over hers.
"How did you get through it?" She studied him closely.
Too closely. "One step at a time." And even that had been too much.
"Did reporters go up with you?" she asked when he leaned against the dresser and linked his hands behind his neck before he looked up at her, signaling he was ready to go on.
"They were waiting at the bottom of the mountain, ready to pay for stories, pictures, anything they could get. Some of the pictures of the bodies that came out in the tabloids could only be from our investigation." He dropped into the chair by the window.
"Did you sell them a story?" She kept her voice carefully neutral.
He brought his hands around, rested his elbows on his knees and rubbed his eyes. "I talked to a reporter. I didn't take any money, but I didn't watch what I said. My words came out twisted, and next to pictures of the bodies that devastated the families, so they assumed I'd sold the pictures, sold my story. I'd been angry when I spoke to the reporter, angry at the tragedy, at the BLM, at the Forest Service. But he took what I said and made it sound like something completely different."
"How did they twist it?"
"Blame was flying all around at the time. Firefighters were blaming management, BLM was blaming the Forest Service, management was blaming firefighters. I came across as the firefighter blaming the other firefighters."
"Surely when you told everyone the truth---"
He shook his head. "You of all people know how powerful the written word is, Peyton. The article cost me friends at a time when the community should have stuck together. So I don't talk to reporters anymore."
"Then why do you suppose Jen assigned me to you?" she asked. "Therapy?"
He laughed dryly. "I can't figure it out, entirely. She doesn't hate me, at least not anymore. Maybe to keep me out of her hair, since this is our first fire since the divorce. Or to keep you out of her hair."
"Did you ever make peace with your friends? The ones who turned away from you after Angel Ridge?"
What, she thought he was that much of a loner? "Some of them. I didn't want to have to beg them to believe me."
"Imagine that. You didn't want to swallow your pride."
Damn, he loved her smart-aleck tone. "It's not a good chaser to all the BS I'd swallowed."
It was her turn to laugh.
"What else do you want to know?"
She leaned back, regarding him with surprise. "Really? You'll answer anything?"
"Within reason."
"Why do you go back? After what you saw on Angel Ridge, after what almost happened to us, how can you go back? Why do you want to go up there today?"
"Same reason I don't think about what will happen when I can't do this anymore." He dug under the bed for his socks. "Because it's bad luck."
"Worse luck than almost getting toasted?"
He didn't want to think about how close they'd come to cashing in less than forty-eight hours ago, how close he'd come to losing her. The pain of the realization stunned him for a minute, and he had to bring himself back to reality. "Hey, we were pulled out of there."
"By our singed bootstraps. Don't give me anymore of those flippant answers, Cooper. I really want to know this."
Too close to the bone here. He needed to push her back from this topic she'd latched onto and he could think of only one way. "Because of what happened to Dan?"
She whipped her head up. He actually watched her drag herself together before she answered. "I already told you that was the reason I was doing these articles."
He shifted toward her, intent to hear her answer, sick that he hadn't seen it before. Just like Jen, she didn't see the real him. "But is it the reason you're sleeping with me? Am I a replacement for your dead husband, Peyton?"
"Gabe---" She sat on her heels and gazed at him imploringly, but once spoken, the idea was too strong in his mind. How could she love him after only a few days? He had to be right about this.
"Do you think about him when you're with me? What about when I make love to you? Are you making love to him?"
When she didn't answer, only opening and closing her mouth, he sat and started pulling on his socks with brutal efficiency. "You told me you love me. I should have known. Damn it, I should have known better."
"What?" She grabbed his boots and holding them out of his reach.
He tried to reach for them, then gave up. "It isn't me you love. How could you? You've only known me a few days." And if Jen hadn't been able to love him after four years...
Now she leaned forward, her eyes dark with pain. He glanced away from it. His pain was too strong. He couldn't deal with hers. He rolled away to get his pack together.
"Do you really think I'm so shallow, I'd just replace one man with another?" she demanded.
He couldn't look at her. "I think you're hurt and lonely. Isn't that why you're out here, why you're doing these articles?" He gestured jerkily toward the door. "To fill the place Dan left behind? What better way than with a man who reminds you of him?" He reached for his boots. This time she didn't fight him. Stopping at the door, he looked back at her.
"It's really too bad, Peyton. We could have been something. If it's all the same to you, I think I'll go to the Fire Depot on my own."
He walked out, his throat tight, his eyes burning. His heart broken.
What the hell? Peyton stared at the door for a moment, then, grateful she'd dressed, followed him out. He stood beside the truck, patting his pockets for the keys. She ignored the asphalt biting her bare feet as she grabbed his arm, twisted him toward her.
"Is this what you do? You open up to a woman and then push her away?"
"Yeah, what I do." He tossed his pack in the back of the truck and turned to face her, hands on his hips.
"You think I didn't know what I was saying. You think I don't love you." Surprise opened his expression, but she didn't slow down. She couldn't. "I wish to hell I didn't, but I do. I know who you are and I love you anyway."
His expression closed again, his eyes drilled into hers. "Just what every man wants to hear. 'I don't want to love you but I do.'"
Her mind reeling, she rocked back on her heels. "Surely you're not ready to hear I want a happily ever after."
"Maybe I am." But it was said in defiance, pure Gabe contrariness.
She tucked her arms around herself, stepped away. "You have to understand how hard this is for me."
"Jesus, Peyton." He swiped his hand over his hair, the gesture she'd seen when he was at his wits' end. "It's not supposed to be easy."
She blinked, needing to get it out in the open, something he didn't like. Only when she understood his true feelings could she figure out what to do.
She already knew what she wanted. "Is this something you want?"
He stepped closer, catching her arm. His eyes cut to the open motel room door. "I don't know what you think of me, but this is not what I do, sleeping with the women on my crew. I want something more now."
"I know." She saw the truth in his eyes. "That makes it harder."
"Peyton."
He took her face in both his hands, his expression a longing matching her own, then released her and stepped back. What was he thinking? What did he want from her?
What was she willing to give him?
"Get your shoes on. We have to get going."
The Aerial Fire Depot, where the smokejumpers were based, was on the west end of the Missoula airport, long low white buildings with red roofs. Gabe's gut clenched a moment as he remembered the time he'd spent here, before the inner ear problem had ended his jumping days.
Maybe no one from that time was left. His emotions were tumultuous enough. Peyton had had the foresight to call them last night, and arrange this ahead of time so they didn't have to talk their way into camp. They were expected.
Peyton had ridden beside him in silence during the short trip. What was going through her mind? He couldn't think about it now. Too many other things needed his attention, and they had a long trip ahead of them before he went back up the mountain.
He parked the truck and turned to her. "Got your reporter hat on?"
And then he saw the man who strode out of the barracks toward them. Ah, hell. Mike Gordon. He'd been an asshole as long as Gabe had known him, and time had not mellowed him.
At least Gabe could keep him occupied as Peyton scanned the depot.
"Gabe Cooper. Reduced to running a reporter around, huh?" When Peyton slid out on the passenger side, Gordon's eyes widened, and he grinned. "Don't blame you. You must be Peyton Michaels."
He ignored Gabe and walked around to shake Peyton's hands, his eyes everywhere but her face. Gabe tensed, but was unwilling to give Gordon ammunition.
"Thank you for seeing us," Peyton said in a tone he hadn't heard before, professional to the point of chilly. "I know with the Bounty fire you're very busy."
"Someone has to keep an eye on the place while the others are playing hero. Right, Cooper?"
Gabe didn't answer, and Peyton didn't react.
"What is it I can help you with?" Gordon asked her.
"We have some questions about Doug Sheridan."
"Ah." Gordon eased back and assessed Gabe. "Now I understand why you're here. He's married to the honey who left you. I remember how tight the two of you were. Looking for some dirt on him, are you?"
"Actually, just some background kind of information, how he does his job, how he gets along with other smokejumpers, what he does in his spare time," Peyton replied, taking out the spiral she'd refused to use with Gabe. Like she needed a barrier now and hadn't wanted one then.
"Happy to. Want to get some coffee?"
"Sounds good." Peyton sent Gabe a glance. Okay, change in plans. She would keep Gordon busy and he would snoop around. He hated leaving her in Gordon's company, but she could handle herself. Hell, she'd charmed her way into his life, hadn't she? And he was almost as big of an asshole as Gordon.
So he wandered. The camp was dead, most of the jumpers out on the fire, and he itched to be fighting it, too. Guilt that he wasn't ate at him. Just a matter of hours and he'd be back.
Bringing his friends down the mountain for the last time.
He had to find out who set this fire, who killed those people.
He moved from the common room, through the room where unpacked parachutes hung from the rafters, into the area where a red-haired smokejumper sat at an industrial sewing machine, repairing a chute. Gabe relaxed marginally and smiled at Kim's brother, Kevin.
"Hey, O'Doul."
The young man glanced up, brows drawn together in suspicion, but smiled when he recognized Gabe.
"Hey, Cooper."
He shut off the machine and stood, reached across to shake Gabe's hand. He wasn't much bigger than Kim, but like her, pure muscle.
"What are you doing here all by your lonesome? Everyone else out on a fire?"
A grimace twisted the boy's face, and he reached down to tug up a pants leg, showing a nasty third-degree burn. Gabe sucked his breath in through his teeth in sympathy.
"I'm on medical leave for another week, then I can get out there and fight this monster."
"Where'd it happen?"
"Out in California two weeks ago. Branch fell right where I was punching line. Didn't even hear it."
Gabe hitched a hip on the edge of the table. "Kim didn't say anything about it." Of course, he hadn't exactly been listening to her these days.
The boy looked down. "No, I didn't tell her, didn't want her to worry. Don't tell her, all right?"
Gabe considered a moment, then nodded. Weird. Kim had a burn on her palm about the same age, not severe enough to bench her, but bad enough to blister. Burns were common enough in this line of work, even with their protective gear. Odd thing was, the Bear Claws hadn't been on a fire at the time. She'd said it was a baking accident at her mom's, the hot oven door or something. She'd laughed that she emerged most summers unscathed, but couldn't survive an hour in the kitchen.
"I'm not exactly one of her favorite people right now."
Kevin grunted in agreement, as if he'd heard it from the source. "She said something about some reporter horning in on your crew and y'all being sidelined. Although I got the feeling she was more pissed about the reporter than the time off."
"You know Kim, always standing up for me."
"You could do worse."
Gabe didn't know how well he hid his surprise at Kevin's suggestion. "Christ, she's young enough to be my daughter." If he'd started very young, but still.
Kevin leaned back, lifting a shoulder. "Doesn't matter. You both love fighting the dragon, you work well together. She'd do anything for you."
Okay, that was alarming. "That may sound good to young guys, but believe me. The last thing a man needs is a woman who does whatever he wants. He wants a woman who can challenge him." His gaze drifted toward Peyton in the next room. He hadn't realized quite how true it was.
"Kim can be quite the challenge, believe me." Kevin laughed.
Gabe took advantage of the humor to laugh along, then change the subject. "We came"---he turned to indicate Peyton, still visible through the doorway to the common room---"to see what we could find out about Doug."
O'Doul's face twisted in distaste. "The asshole."
"You think he did it?" Gabe was surprised by the vehemence. He'd expected to find support for Doug here.
"They arrested him, didn't they?"
Just like a young guy to believe what he saw on the news. "They've arrested innocent people before, and they don't have too much against him."
"No? What would they need besides what they got?"
Gabe wove his fingers together, stretched them in front of him. "Motive. No one can figure out why he would do it."
"Lots of reasons. He's a firebug, he needed the money, he wanted to get his wife in command."
Gabe shook his head. "None of those play for me."
O'Doul's eyebrows lifted. "You hate the guy."
"Doesn't mean I think he's a killer."
"What do you mean?"
"Four firefighters died yesterday. Whoever set this fire is a killer now."
O'Doul swore and looked down.
"You hadn't heard?" Gabe asked.
The young man shook his head. Gabe put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"You might not have known them. They were based out of California."
"Doesn't matter," the boy said in a choked voice. "They're on our team."
"So is Doug. Tell me what you know about Doug."
"What did Gordon tell you?" Gabe asked as he pulled the truck onto the highway toward Bounty.
Peyton folded her spiral shut and tucked it in her pack. "It would have been incredibly easy for someone with access to the base to set him up. But I don't know who would. He doesn't seem to have any enemies, according to Gordon."
"If there was something bad to say about Doug, Gordon would say it," Gabe said.
He wanted to ask what Gordon had said about him, but he did have his pride. Pride hadn't stopped him from opening Peyton's car door, putting his hand on her waist proprietarily with a glance over his shoulder at Gordon. Yeah, primitive, so what?
"So someone could have set up Doug, but we don't know who." She took a deep breath. "Gordon did say only smokejumpers are allowed to go back into the ready room where the equipment is, though."
"And reporters."
"I thought of that," Peyton said, not upset as he expected. "There haven't been any reporters back there this season. I think the T-shirt and jeans got me special privileges."
"Yeah, he was staring pretty hard down your shirt. I wanted to break his nose."
"I hear that's your MO."
Ah. Here it came. "I'm sure Gordon had a good time telling you about me."
She waved a dismissive hand. "He's just jealous."
"What?" He damn near drove off the road at her assessment. "What does he have to be jealous about?"
"He's a lonely, bitter man, and from what I can see, he doesn't have the respect of his men. You're both about the job, but he's had to bully his way to get where he is. You worked. He wouldn't be in his position without being an asshole."
"How accurate are you, usually, with these analyses?" he asked, amused.
"Pretty damn."
He grinned at the confidence in her voice.
"Who was the boy?" she asked.
"Kim's brother Kevin. According to him, Doug could have done it."
She sobered. "Did he change your mind?"
"Not---I don't know." He swiped his hand over his mouth, leaned his elbow on the window. "I don't want to think he did, and Kevin knows about our history, so he may have been telling me what he thought I wanted to hear."
"But he put doubts there."
"Yeah."
She settled back in the seat. "You're one to trust your instincts, Gabe. And since you do, so do I."
They rode in silence a bit before she asked the question he'd waited to hear. "So, why did you leave smokejumping?"
"No romantic reason. I had an inner ear problem that upset my balance, screwed up my jumps. I had to quit."
"Did that bother you?"
"Not really. I mean, Hot Shots do the same job, they just get there in a less insane manner. At that point, flying was making me so sick, I didn't do it anymore."
"And when you made your last jump?"
Okay, he didn't mind talking about the dizziness thing, or even the puking the imbalance caused. The stupidness thing was another matter. He didn't answer. But he should have known by now she wouldn't let it go.
"How did you jump if you weren't on a smokejumping crew?"
"A buddy helped me out. I wanted to prove that I was as good as Doug, see. All I did was seriously screw up my leg when I smashed into a tree, then got caught in it. At least it wasn't Doug who had to get me down."
"So you really don't like to fly."
That wasn't the point he thought she'd latch on to. Fine with him. "Nope."
"I don't blame you." She tucked her pack between her body and the door.
She must really love him, if she could believe him to be a good man. He had to make her see he wasn't all she made him out to be. He wanted her to see the man he was before this went any further.
"I talked to Jen yesterday," he said, and while Peyton didn't stiffen, he sensed her wariness. "She's leaving the Forest Service."
"What?" The wariness became outrage. "They aren't firing her because of Doug, are they?"
"Hell no. If they were, I'd sic you on that story instead of giving you an interview." He flashed her a smile to take the sting out. "No, she's leaving on her own. She and Doug are having a baby."
"Oh. Ow." She sucked in her breath in sympathy. "I'm sorry. Had you ever---?"
"Wanted kids?" That he knew what she meant seemed to surprise her, if the lifted eyebrows were any indication. "No. I mean, not seriously. But then, nothing about our marriage was serious."
"You loved her."
He compared his memories to how he felt with Peyton, the power of his emotions around her. It could just be the newness, he was no fool, and Jen had destroyed most of their happy memories, so to compare the two relationships was foolish. Still. "I wonder if I did."
"It's hard to remember, because you have all the pain blocking your way, but you did. I can see it when you look at her."
The sadness in her voice made him glance over. "He loved you, Peyton."
"You don't know that." She was fighting tears, damn it.
He reached for her this time, took her hand to fold it in his, barely resisted lifting it to his lips. The action would reveal too much. "I know you. He'd be a damn fool not to love you."
"I don't want you to go," Peyton said.
She sat on the tailgate of the truck and watched Gabe gear up, fighting the tearing sense of fear in her chest. While part of her was worried for Gabe's physical safety, more of her worried about his mental state. Would he be the same man when he came down the mountain to her?
"I don't want to go." He kept his eyes averted while checking the straps on his pack.
"Then don't. Someone else can do it."
He lifted his head then and smiled, almost a real smile, before pulling her against the line of his body. "Knowing you're here waiting for me will get me through." He slipped his hand under her hair, curved his hand around the back of her head so she'd look at him. "You're still waiting, right?"
Emotion threatened to strangle her, longing, terror, love, as she gazed into his eyes and prayed this wouldn't be the last time she'd see him. "I'll be waiting."
He kissed her hard, igniting an ache in her, and strode off toward the waiting National Guard Humvee with half his crew.
Peyton went on alert when Kim stepped up beside her. The younger woman hadn't exactly been friendly, and after she realized Peyton and Gabe were lovers, she'd been hostile. So why was she approaching her? Still, Peyton had to make peace if she wanted to be part of Gabe's life.
"Why aren't you going?"
"He didn't want the whole crew. He chose not to take me." Kim's words were clipped.
"He didn't want you to see it," Peyton mused, understanding his desire to protect her. "It haunts him, Angel Ridge."
"I know."
Peyton wondered if she did. Kim probably saw him leaving her behind as rejection. If she understood, she'd see Gabe cared for her. Just not in the way Kim would like.
Uncomfortable discussing Gabe with the young woman who so clearly loved him, Peyton changed the subject, sitting again on the tailgate. If she was going to break down barriers with Kim, she might be here awhile. "I met your brother."
Kim snapped her attention to Peyton. "Yeah?"
"In Missoula. I didn't know he was a smokejumper. Is that why you became a Hot Shot?"
Kim smiled, but her eyes were flat. "He's my little brother. I'm the reason he became a smokejumper."
"So why did you become a Hot Shot?" Peyton drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around them.
Kim blinked. "I don't know. I've always been interested in the forest service, in the mountains. And fire behavior intrigued me, so I got on a summer crew. Then I met Gabe, got on his crew, and he made me the best I can be. I couldn't walk away now for a million dollars."
It had been awhile since Gabe rode to a site. He was grateful for it today, not wanting the extra time to think about what he was going to find up there.
Instead he'd think about what he learned in Missoula.
Peyton loved him.
Okay, not that. Not now. He'd need it for later, when he could savor it. His focus was on Doug, on how he could help the man who'd been his friend.
Alternate suspects. Smokejumpers, Peyton said. Gabe was going to have to block out the idea that a firefighter couldn't have done it, though he couldn't fathom how one could.
Missoula had the largest crew of smokejumpers in the fire service. That made a lot of suspects. He wished he could have talked to more of them, seen if any had anything against Doug. Gordon had insisted no one did, Kevin insisted some hated Doug.
Who was he supposed to believe? His gut told him Doug was innocent, but those seeds of doubt Kevin planted were sprouting fast.
So he'd make a mental list. And when he got back from hell, he'd work through it.
"God, I'm going crazy waiting to go out on the line." Kim joined Peyton at a table in the mess tent.
Peyton was surprised by the girl's second approach in a matter of hours. Maybe she figured she and Peyton shared a concern, and it made her feel closer to Gabe. Peyton smiled at her, toying with the crumbs of the cookie she'd wanted when she went through the line. "You sound like Gabe."
The young woman scowled. "Yeah, well, he's there, isn't he?"
Jen approached. "Peyton, I have to talk to you." She sent Kim a meaningful glance.
"I know why Peyton and Gabe went to Missoula, Jen." Kim didn't bother to hide the contempt in her voice.
Jen let her shoulders down, as if she couldn't bear to wait on the news anymore, not even as long as it took to get rid of Kim. "What did you find out?"
Peyton waited for her to sit, then looked into Gabe's ex's exhausted eyes. Why did she feel compelled to help this woman? Because Gabe asked? Or just to stay close to him? Huh. She understood Kim more than she realized.
It wouldn't do to examine motivation right now. "Once I saw the place, I realized it wouldn't have been hard for someone at the base to frame Doug. Gabe doesn't want to believe it's a firefighter, but it's got to be. No one else goes in the ready room, no one else would have access to Doug's supplies."
"But who?"
"That's the thing. Gordon doesn't think anyone has anything against Doug."
"Gordon's an idiot," both women said together.
Peyton couldn't stop a grin. "There's that. But I'd hoped he'd have more information. Worse than Doug not having a motive is no one has a motive to hurt Doug."
"Why is that worse?" Kim reached for a chunk of the cookie Peyton had abandoned.
"The FBI won't consider another suspect if no one has a reason to set Doug up."
"So now what?" Jen asked.
Peyton shook her head. "I wish I could talk to some of the other smokejumpers, but only Kim's brother was there, and he told Gabe a whole different tale."
Jen narrowed her eyes at Kim. "Kevin thinks Doug could have done this?"
"We aren't all on the Doug bandwagon," Kim retorted. "Some of us actually believe he did Gabe dirty."
"That doesn't mean he started the fire," Peyton said. "Even Gabe doesn't think he did."
"Yeah, well, maybe Gabe's trying to get back in Jen's good graces."
Ouch. That hurt more than it should, mostly because Peyton had considered it herself. "Or maybe he doesn't want to see an innocent man go to prison," she replied evenly. "Perhaps if I could talk to some other smokejumpers, get their take---"
"Everyone's out on this fire," Jen said, dejected.
"We could go to the point of origin," Kim suggested.
Both women turned to her in surprise. "You know where it is?" Jen asked.
"I heard some firefighters talking about it. I could find it."
Excitement fluttered in Peyton's belly. She wished her photographer had gotten his clearance and could go with them. "When can we go?"
Jen appeared unconvinced. "I'm not sending just the two of you out. But I can't spare anyone."
"It isn't a problem," Kim said. "It's the point of origin, it should be fuel-free. We'll be fine."
"That's not true," Jen argued. "It was undamaged enough to leave the drip torch and fibers behind. I don't think it's safe. Besides," she told Peyton, "Gabe wanted you to wait for him."
"We'll be back before he is." Peyton stood, adrenaline surging, glad to be able to do something. "Should we walk, or can we drive it?"
They'd deployed too late. Before he reached the site, Gabe could see the silver shelters fluttering open on the ground. What had gone wrong that they didn't get in the shelters on time, or was the fire that hot? Had they let in some of the superheated air and suffocated?
The fire that had almost killed him and Peyton twice had killed these people. His friends. Jon, who'd been such an asshole when they'd been training, but who'd come through for Gabe more than once when he needed a favor. And Bev with that great dimpled smile, the disposition that held even on the longest days, the toughest fires.
He had to push the thoughts out of his mind or he couldn't do this.
Over the scent of the truck's exhaust, he could smell it, the indescribable scent of burned hair and flesh. Howard turned and vomited out the open window. Oh hell. He should have brought more seasoned people instead of people he was familiar with, should have considered their comfort instead of his.
At least Peyton wasn't up here.
The first step was to assess what happened, then get out the body bags. He opened the door and got to work.
It was easy to see what had happened. The fire had left the trees, hit the open grass, and the rocky terrain had been too much for the firefighters. Worse, they'd deployed in the fuel. They should have known better. They must have panicked. Only one, a rookie, was mostly inside his shelter and had died from suffocation. Gabe supposed he was lucky.
Howard was still green when he helped Gabe wrap the rookie's body, and Gabe determined he would use Ray or one of the others to get the bodies in worse condition.
And he would see to Bev, and not think it could have been Peyton.
He forced his thoughts to Doug, to who could have framed him. Yeah, he'd had a moment of doubt, but Doug wouldn't do anything to endanger others. He'd be like Howard over there, puking his guts up.
The trip to Missoula convinced him that it was a firefighter, a smokejumper. He wanted to believe it was Gordon, but the son of a bitch didn't have the courage, not that arson took much. Still, he had an alibi. Peyton said he'd been on a fire in California when the Bounty fire started.
That's what they had to do, if they couldn't talk to all the smokejumpers. Find out who'd been in the area when the fire started, and work from there.
It was good to have a plan.
But again and again he remembered Kevin O'Doul and his reaction to Doug. He hadn't known anyone---aside from himself---to have such a strong reaction to the man. It could be jealousy the young man held for the veteran, but it was so---acid. It just sat wrong in Gabe's stomach. He'd never been wrong when trusting his instincts.
But O'Doul had no more motive to set up Doug than anyone else. So who did?
He decided not to wait on the list. He pulled out his radio---his third this fire, not a good sign---and called Jen.
"What is it?"
Over the radio he could hear her exhaustion. "I want to know all the smokejumpers who were in Montana two weeks ago."
"Two weeks ago? I don't have time for this, Gabe."
"It could help Doug."
"You don't think---"
"I didn't want to think. But I know, Jen."
She was silent a long time. "Bev? The others?"
"It's bad. They deployed in grass. We're bringing them home."
She paused. "I'll have the list ready for you."
This was hell. The ground before them was gray ash, and Peyton kicked at it every few steps, looking for anything beneath that might catch fire. She'd seen Gabe do the same on the way down the mountain, trying to keep them out of another dangerous situation.
God, would she ever escape him, even a thousand miles away? Was she certain she wanted to?
She'd tied a bandana around her mouth and nose to keep the wind-whipped ash from her lungs, but it still burned her eyes so they teared constantly. She used another bandana to wipe the sweat from her face.
Though the threat of fire was minimal on the burned-out area, she and Kim wore full fire gear as a precaution. Gabe had trained them both to err on the side of caution. It was a hot, miserable hike to a place she wasn't sure she could find.
"Did I tell you I'd like to be an arson investigator?" Kim asked conversationally.
"Really?" Peyton perked up, an idea for another story brewing. Both sides of the fire. Not exactly life threatening, but interesting. And, an idea for a story meant another day as a reporter. Another step toward commitment. "How would you go about doing something like that?"
"Well, I'm thinking about applying this winter. I have a degree in Fire Behavior, and I should have enough experience. I could still work for the Forest Service, and just consult with the FBI on suspected arson cases."
"Seems tedious."
Kim shot her a grin. "Like being a ground pounder isn't?"
Peyton shuddered as she recalled the fire that chased them out of the scout camp. "Not in my experience."
"It looks like the fire started here," Kim said, traipsing through the ash on the mountain.
Peyton could see what she meant---the black spread in a fan up the mountain. The weird thing was that this area was so isolated, so remote, on Forest Service land. Who would come out here to start it? Maybe it had been a smokejumper.
"The FBI has already been here, right?" she asked.
Kim glanced over her shoulder. "They got the can, didn't they?"
"I just don't want to be messing up a crime scene." Peyton watched Kim drag her feet through the ash. She hadn't seen Kim walk that way before. "What are you doing? Making sure the fire is out?" She indicated Kim's feet.
Kim's face reddened a bit. "Yeah. You never know. And the FBI may have missed something."
Peyton doubted it. She'd seen photos of arson crime scenes where the investigators had been on their hands and knees sifting through the ash. Had they done the same here? Or had they found the can and figured they had what they needed.
She stumbled over a burned clump of grass, and an object popped loose. Peyton crouched to lift a scrap of something manmade that had been blackened and bunched up against the roots.
A glove, asbestos, partially burned.
And way too small for Doug Sheridan.
Where the hell was Peyton? The bodies had been returned to camp and loaded on the waiting hearses to go to the morgue, where they'd be prepared for the journey home. They'd pulled away, but Gabe still hadn't seen any sign of Peyton.
She'd promised to wait for him, and on the ride down, all he could think of was letting her take him into her arms, letting himself forget.
Instead, he went to the showers to wash the scent of death from him. He didn't want even that to touch Peyton.
When he emerged, the camp was overrun with reporters. Maybe she'd run into someone she knew and was off catching up. Did she have reporter friends? Did that mean he'd have to make nice to them too? He made his way through them, but they didn't give him a second glance. They were awaiting the president's arrival. He'd almost forgotten. He saw Jen coming out of the command tent and picked up the pace.
"Jen, do you know---"
He stopped short when a tall, lean-faced, casually dressed man ducked out of the tent behind her. Several dark-suited men, out of place in this filthy camp, materialized between Gabe and the tall man, their expressions severe.
Through the wall of Secret Service agents he saw Jen roll her eyes. "He's fine. He's Gabe Cooper, crew boss of the Bear Claw Hot Shots."
The president of the United States, Karl Hutchinson, studied him through narrowed eyes. "The man who saved those little girls from the camp."
Gabe straightened in response, concern for Peyton temporarily forgotten. The man was taller than he appeared on TV, but just a regular guy. The unreality of meeting the man face to face, on his own turf, had him off balance, an uncommon experience. How did the president know about the camp, enough to relate his name to it?
He cleared his throat. "Yes sir, though, you know, I had my crew."
The president inclined his head. "Still, it took a great deal of bravery. I'd like to shake your hand."
The Secret Service wall parted infinitesimally so the president could reach through without Gabe causing injury. Gabe glanced at his perpetually dirty hand, rubbed it on his equally dirty fire pants and clasped the president's hand. Despite himself, he felt a thrill at shaking hands with the most powerful man in the world. He was pleased to note it wasn't a wimpy handshake, either. This man understood what hard work was. Gabe was glad he'd taken the time to vote for him.
"I'm sorry, sir, but how do you know me?"
Hutchinson grinned. "It wasn't easy to recognize you without all the soot on your face, but you're big news, son. All over the television."
Gabe cast a look at Jen. "You're kidding me."
She shrugged.
"It's been a long time since I've seen TV," he explained to the president. "I guess it's just as well, if I'm the best thing on it."
Hutchinson laughed. "I admit, it's not saying much, but it's a good thing for the people of America to see the hard, dangerous work you do."
"It's hard even when it's not dangerous." Gabe took a step back, ready to be alone. "I apologize for intruding, sir. It was a pleasure to meet you."
"Don't rush off on my account," the president said good-naturedly.
Startled by the invitation, Gabe damn near tripped over himself. "I'm...ah, I'm sure your time is very valuable, sir, and Jen here has a lot to show you."
"Gabe just came back from the recovery of the dead firefighters," Jen said, not aiding in his escape.
The president sobered, the corners of his long mouth turned down. "Ms. Sheridan mentioned how close the firefighting community can be. Were they friends of yours?"
Gabe nodded, not wanting to discuss this. "Two were, sir."
"I'm very sorry to hear that." Thing was, he seemed sorry.
"I appreciate it."
"Actually we were just getting ready to fly over the fire," Hutchinson said. "Are you up to joining us? I'd like to get your take."
Gabe looked back at Jen again, hoping she would send him off, any errand would do. Just what he needed, to toss his cookies all over the president of the United States.
"I think your insight will be very helpful to President Hutchinson," Jen said with a touch of smugness.
Why did she hate him? Okay, so he hadn't been thrilled about her pregnancy but that was no reason to send him up in an airplane, was it?
"Jen is much more qualified," he hedged, taking a step back. "She's incident commander, after all."
"Don't be modest." The president broke through the Secret Service line to slap Gabe on the back, good ol' boy to good ol' boy. "Of course I want to hear what she has to say, but I'd also like the thoughts of a man who was in the thick of this monster so recently."
Gabe could tell him just as easily on the ground, but instead of saying it, he offered a sickly grin. He didn't want to be the first man to say no to the president.
"Be glad to."
Jen fell in beside him as they started walking toward the jeeps waiting to take them to the airfield. Gabe hung back as the president's entourage, including four Secret Service and two staff members, surrounded the man. Hell, they'd need Air Force One for all these people.
It would beat the hell out of Tony's six-passenger Beechcraft.
"I hope I don't throw up in his lap," he told Jen.
"Wouldn't bother me," she replied, a smile curving her lips.
He slanted a look at her. "Geez, Jen. I know you don't like the guy, but you wouldn't bring me along to sabotage this?"
"I brought you along so I don't sabotage it. Have you ever known me to keep my mouth shut? Especially when his environmental policies helped cause this mess?"
"His and every president before him. Give him a break, Jen. A president's decisions are only as good as his information. Let's just make sure he gets the best information we're able to give him. Have you seen Peyton?"
"She's up on the mountain with Kim."
Every nerve in his body tightened, on alert. "What the hell?"
"Kim wanted to show her the point of origin. Peyton wanted to see if she could find something to help Doug."
He blinked. "And you let her go." He pivoted, so tense he worried his muscles would snap. "Of course you let her go. Anything to help Doug."
Irritation vibrated from her every pore. "What is with you?"
He stopped and held out his hand, palm out. "Do you have the list of firefighters who were in Montana when the fire started?"
"Yes, sure, in the command tent, but---"
He spun on his heel and headed for the tent, fighting rising fear that he wasn't out there to watch over Peyton. "How many names were on it?"
She glanced toward the president's retreating entourage before she turned and fell into step behind Gabe. "I don't know. Ten? Fifteen?"
"Any of them pop for you?"
"Pop? What do you mean?"
"Stand out? Raise suspicion? For Doug?"
"No. Why?"
"I have a bad feeling." He shoved his way into the tent, scanned the map-strewn table for an out-of-place piece of paper, found it, snatched it up. "Hell and damn," he said, when he saw two familiar names. Two injured firefighters, one of whom had no business in Montana the week in question. He looked up at Jen then. "We have to get Peyton off the mountain."
Raising Peyton on the radio didn't work, so they tried to reach Kim. Gabe fought every nerve to keep his voice calm. He couldn't let her see his suspicions, not when she was alone on the mountain with the woman he loved.
But no one answered.
"Where did they go?" Gabe demanded through a tight throat, not expecting a response.
"The point of origin, I told you," Jen said.
His patience had reached its snapping point and he whipped his head around. "Which is where?"
"I can give you the general area on the map, but I haven't been up there so I'm not exactly sure." She frowned up at him. "What is going on?"
He braced his hands on the scarred table, holding her gaze. In the back of his mind, he realized he didn't love her anymore. The thought was...liberating, but he pushed the sensation aside when she huffed at him.
"Kevin O'Doul told me he was on a fire in California two weeks ago, and he'd gotten a burn there bad enough to put him on medical leave. Kim had a burn on her palm when we met up here, not a line from the drip torch, but the whole palm was blistered."
"Surely you questioned her."
"I didn't have to. She said she was baking with her mom, joking she couldn't last an hour in the kitchen." After hearing Doug was arrested on the same evidence, he hadn't made the connection. Hadn't wanted to, even now. "But for her and Kevin to both have lied about where they were---who's to say they didn't lie about how they got the burns?"
"Are you listening to what you're saying?" Jen demanded, stepping in front of him. "You're accusing Kim of being the arsonist. The woman who's worked beside you for at least three fire seasons, the woman who worships the ground you walk on. She could no more set this fire than Doug could. She's a firefighter, not a firebug."
"Jesus." He passed a hand over his hair. "Look what this is doing to me. Causing me to doubt everyone." The person he'd trusted the most on the job. "Sorry."
Jen put a hand on his arm. "It's understandable. But put it out of your mind. The president of the United States is waiting for us."
"Yeah." But as Gabe followed Jen out of the tent, his instincts were screaming that he was forgetting something.
Gabe and Jen arrived at the airfield in the second jeep, and the president was already whittling down his following. They boarded the plane with two Secret Service men, leaving disgruntled aides on the tarmac.
Gabe would have happily traded places with them, but how did one say no to the president of the United States?
He wondered what the president, who sat facing him, would think if the hero who saved little girls used one of the barf bags in the back of the seat in front of him.
To think Jen had wanted him to go back to smokejumping.
The pilot, Tony, knew Gabe and his aversion to flying since his last accident, and still took great glee in the sharp turn the minute the plane cleared the trees. Gabe hoped everyone attributed his groan of dismay to the roar of the engines.
"I hope there's not so much smoke we won't be able to see." The president pressed his forehead against the window like a little kid.
"You may not see much of the actual fire because of the smoke, but you'll see a great deal of the devastation, like the ridge where the four Hot Shots died, and perhaps where Gabe and the campers were trapped," Jen said from beside Gabe.
Jen kicked his boot to get him to say something. Why was she still pushing him? She had nothing to gain by his success anymore.
He opened his eyes to see the president watching him expectantly.
"I said, I understand you saved them by taking them into a cave," Hutchinson repeated.
"Yes, sir."
"How did you find out there were caves there?"
"Gabe always makes a point of studying the terrain on his way to a fire to make sure his crew has an escape route." Then, as if it explained everything, she added, "He was on Angel Ridge."
Gabe swallowed bile and looked back out the window. That didn't help, so he squeezed his eyes shut.
"Angel Ridge?" Hutchinson asked.
A moment of silence hung in the air before Jen took it upon herself to tell the story. Just as well. Gabe didn't think he could relive it again this week.
"We lost fourteen firefighters in 2003 when a fire blew up, using a gully as a chimney and racing in a firestorm that overcame some helitack pilots, Hot Shots and smokejumpers, including one of our good friends," Jen concluded.
"I was one of the firefighters who retrieved the bodies then too," Gabe said at last. "I'd never seen anything like it. They hadn't had time to deploy their shelters, and if they had..." He shook his head. "I always plan a way out when I go in."
"I certainly underestimated the difficulty of your job out here," Hutchinson said. "Oh, good Lord!" He leaned against the window and watched flames leap above the treetops. "How do you begin to fight a fire like that?"
Gabe shifted away from the window and started explaining the basics of firefighting to the president of the United States of America. It helped keep his mind off of Peyton. God knew where she was.
"Why don't you put slurry on it?" the president asked after Gabe explained the firefighting tactic of dropping chemicals from modified bombers.
"Because the slurry only knocks it down for a little while. Once the plane drops it, you have to have a crew on site to take advantage of the lower temperature and higher humidity and stop it altogether. And each run of slurry costs thousands of dollars. Plus the pilots can't always fly, if the wind gets too bad, or the smoke does. So there really isn't just one way to fight a fire. It's a massive collaborative effort with different agencies, and right now it's all running through Jen here. She's doing an awesome job on her first command. I wouldn't do anything different." It wasn't a lie. If he considered going into management, Jen would be a good model to follow.
The president turned his attention to her, which had been Gabe's goal. "How did you end up with the command? I mean, it's an unusual job for a woman, isn't it?"
Oh hell, Hutchinson blew it there.
Jen bristled, her opinion of the man not improving. "I'm more than qualified. I've been on the fire line fifteen years."
"I'm sure you are," Hutchinson placated. "I didn't mean to offend. It just seems out of the ordinary. Don't get me wrong. I like out of the ordinary."
"You're in the right place." Jen sat back in her seat. "There's nothing ordinary on a fire line."
"What are they doing?" the president asked, pointing to two yellow-shirted people in a clearing that had been burned in a fan shape, uphill from where the two women stood. "They aren't close to a fire."
"That's not good," Gabe muttered, turning all his energy inward to settle his stomach.
Jen leaned over to look, sparing him another round of nausea. "It's the point of origin." Her tone alerted him. "A reporter went out with one of Gabe's Hot Shots to see what they could find out about who started this fire."
His eyes snapped open and he leaned toward the window despite his twitchy stomach.
From this altitude, Peyton was nearly impossible to identify. Only her golden hair and her posture were recognizable. Would she remember to keep her wits about her? No one was there to pull her ass out of trouble this time.
"Kim, Jesus, what the hell are you doing?" Peyton hated the shrill in her voice as she backed away from a pissed-off redhead whose Pulaski rested casually on her shoulder.
"Taking care of two birds with one stone, as it were." The smile on Kim's face was unholy. "Gabe's lover and the woman who might expose me."
She pulled out a drip torch, and Peyton noted the stiffness with which she operated it, like she couldn't move her hand very well. Like the skin was stiff. Perhaps from a burn.
She searched her memory, remembered meeting Kim and the others when Jen assigned her to the crew. Remembered Kim's bandaged hand.
"Like you did before," Peyton said softly.
Kim's eyes softened in a kind of admiration. "At least you aren't a dummy, like some of the others."
"Why did you set it? To be with Gabe?" Peyton asked, easing back, moving into the black. Above them, she could hear the distant buzz of a plane engine, fading in and out as the wind picked up. Could they see? And if they could, what could they do? There was no place to land around here.
Kim lifted a shoulder, showing no evidence of hearing the plane. "That was just a side benefit. I mean, we would end up on a fire somewhere. But I wanted it to be here, I wanted him to see Doug and Jen suffer, the way they made him suffer when they betrayed him."
"You love him." She'd hit that one on the head right away. Why hadn't she carried it one step further? Seen the lengths Kim would go to for him?
"He doesn't see me," Kim said, her voice distant before sharpening again. "He will, when you're gone."
Peyton spun to scramble up the mountain, but a blow to her head brought her to her knees. She inhaled a mouthful of ash before everything went black.
"Jesus, she's going to kill her!" Gabe's stomach plummeted as the Pulaski descended, as Peyton fell.
He damn near forgot he was on a plane, forgot he was escorting the president. Staying in his seat taxed his patience, but the plane didn't give him much room to maneuver. He had to get out of here, had to get to Peyton. He loomed over Tony's shoulder in the cockpit, ignoring the tension in the Secret Service agent in the other front seat.
"Can we land?"
"Damn it, Gabe, this is a plane, not a chopper," the pilot snapped. "Sit the hell down."
Unwilling to take his word for it, Gabe scanned the land below for a stretch, anyplace he could get off. "I have to get down there."
"You don't have your gear," Jen said, her voice maddeningly calm as she stepped up behind him and put her hand on his shoulder. "I'll call Doug's crew. They can get to her."
Gabe whirled, shoving her placating hand away. "I will not sit down and wait while she's in danger. And you might want to remember where Doug is, and who might have put him there."
"Gabe---" He recognized the stubborn expression on her face, but he was ready to out-stubborn her. Peyton was down there.
Peyton. He loved her. And she could be dying, maybe dead, goddamnit, and he couldn't get to her. This was how she must have felt when Dan died, how she thought it was her fault, if she'd only done something differently. If only he'd followed his instincts, the ones that never failed him, she'd be safe now.
He turned to the pilot. "I have to get to Bounty. I need Doug Sheridan to help me."
"Are you insane? We have the president of the United States aboard. I can't just fly any damn where. Besides, Doug's in jail. They aren't going to let him out just because you say so."
"Doug Sheridan, the man they say set this monster?" the president asked sternly.
Jen's body jerked at the words---crap, the old man didn't know Doug was Jen's husband---but Gabe turned to meet the president's eyes. "He's accused, sir, but he didn't do it. That woman down there, and I believe her brother, are the ones who set the fire."
"Give me the radio." The president leaned toward Tony. He gave Gabe a last look. "You're sure this guy is innocent."
"Mr. President, you just saw that woman strike down the reporter. What other reason would she have to do that, unless Peyton found out something?"
Again, the president hesitated, and Gabe's chest squeezed in anticipation. Then Hutchinson took the radio from Tony and called dispatch. "Give me the sheriff's office."
Peyton opened her eyes to a blurry world, no longer in the ash, but in grass high enough that she couldn't see without raising her head. It only took a moment before she remembered where she was, and the pounding in the back of her head reminded her of what she was doing here.
Kim.
A scent, a sound too familiar had her blinking and lifting her head from the ground.
Flames leapt higher than a man's head in the forest not two hundred yards away and a sense of unreality swamped her. This wasn't happening again. How many times could one person survive this?
She blinked, wiped her sleeve over her eyes, already sweating against the pulsing heat from the fire down the mountain.
Swaying, she staggered to her feet, lifted a hand to the back of her head and pulled it away sticky with blood. She needed help. She scanned the area. No Kim. No pack. She felt at her hip for the envelope sized fire shelter. Gone. Her stomach dropped.
No help. She was on her own.
Once again Gabe's emotions had clouded his common sense. All he could think about was getting to Peyton, tools or no tools, plane or no plane. As long as she was around for him to worry about, he had no business in a command position. Good thing the president had understood his agitation, because those Secret Service guys glowered as if they were ready to throw Gabe out of the plane, which wouldn't be bad, if he had a parachute and his gear.
Doug waited for him at the airfield in Missoula, approached the plane matter-of-factly, already decked out in his gear. Joe-fucking-superhero. He nodded to Gabe and moved past him to greet the president, who debarked to follow Gabe curiously. Then Doug turned and gestured for the two men and their entourage to follow him to the barracks.
"I packed a parachute for you. It's a little different from the ones you used to use," Doug said over his shoulder. "I'll show you how to steer the toggles. We'll reconnoiter for a drop point before we jump. Just try not to land in a tree, all right?" He shoved a pack at Gabe with a crooked grin.
Despite Gabe helping Doug the past few days, he didn't want to be in a position of need. His hands tightened around the pack. He'd vowed never to put on another parachute, but now he had no choice. "Let's go."
Doug stood still, all patience. Sure, he could afford to be. His woman wasn't on the mountain, her life in danger. And he'd been released because the president himself pulled some strings. Since he hadn't yet been sentenced, well, here he was.
"These are my guys, Fred and Josh," Doug said. "In case we need extra hands out there."
Gabe didn't care for that idea. Two more lives to worry about.
"In case Peyton or one of us gets hurt," Doug continued. "Okay with you?"
Gabe grunted in response.
"Is he coming with us?" Doug nodded toward the president who watched with avid interest as Gabe suited up.
Gabe glanced back at the older man and quirked a brow, letting him answer.
"Can I just---go on the plane?" Hutchinson asked, a quiver of excitement in his voice.
"You're the boss," Doug said with a touch too much arrogance, then turned back to Gabe. "We have the latest on the fire. There were still fuels up on the ridge and it's feeding on that, moving uphill, about a mile long."
He tried to bring Doug's words into pictures in his mind, tried to visualize what he was up against, what they'd be jumping into, like he usually did. Instead he pictured Peyton running for her life. Hell, she wasn't even a real firefighter. She would be so scared. He had to get to her. Now.
He scanned the horizon for planes. "Slurry?"
"Jen said the fleet's flying out of Wyoming now. We can't count on any for a couple of hours."
"Let's go."
"Wait a minute." Doug tugged Gabe's straps, double-checking their security. "You love her."
Gabe looked at his former friend, former rival, for the first time. "Yeah. I do."
Doug frowned. "Maybe you shouldn't go. I can't have you distracted up there."
Anger pushed away any glimmer of friendship. Gabe shoved his face close to Doug's. "You don't have to worry about me. Or her, for that matter. If you don't take me, I'll just start walking."
Doug clapped him on the shoulder, then sent a beckoning gesture to the president. "We're going. We'll get them back. Come on."
Gabe's stomach spun as the plane took off. God, flying was bad enough without the memory of landing in a tree and hanging for hours with a broken leg.
With the cargo doors open, it was too loud inside the plane for conversation, but Gabe caught encouraging glances from Doug, across from him.
The president was between two nervous Secret Service agents. Gabe wondered if they feared Hutchinson would want to jump too. Hell, the man had already shown a flair for adventure. He imagined the old guy was going to get his ass chewed for coming along with them and putting himself in danger. It must suck to not be able to make your own decisions about your life.
Jesus. He'd made decisions about his life since seeing Kim strike Peyton, and all of them involved her. Maybe, if she wanted him to quit doing this, well, he'd see about quitting, do what he could to make her stay with him.
Hell. Oh, hell. He couldn't think about quitting, not now. He'd get them all killed.
Doug grabbed Gabe's arm and pointed through the open door at the ground. The fire chased fuels up the hill in a Y-shape, very defined even at this altitude. The flames must be pretty damned high, which meant they were getting fed, and the wind that fed them was pushing them.
In the arms of the Y they could see Peyton's yellow shirt.
Where the hell was Kim?
The fire was too close for Gabe, Doug and the two other jumpers Doug had insisted accompany them to land with Peyton. They'd have to jump uphill and hike down. He could only hope the fire looked closer than it was, or there would be no time to form a plan.
He couldn't lose her. Not this way, not any way.
The plane turned, searched out a clear site for the jumpers to land, and Gabe fought his nausea to focus on a plan. He flipped through their options as Doug motioned toward a clearing maybe half a mile from Peyton. Doug tossed a streamer out the door to gauge the wind, wanting to see how it would carry the jumpers. Not liking the result, he waited till the plane turned and dropped another, then signaled Gabe and the two other jumpers.
They checked each other's gear one more time. Doug touched his pull cord as if to remind him which it was, and the jumpers started tumbling out.
Gabe would go after Doug, on the second pass over the jump site. He refused to think about what he was doing. He would concentrate on how he'd make Peyton pay for this once he got her safely home. It wouldn't be a goddamn cheap motel room this time, either. Hell, there might even be a Jacuzzi and flowers. And room service.
He stood to approach the door of the plane, caught a nod of encouragement from the president before he tucked his chin into his chest and let his weight carry him into nothingness.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he counted as he hurtled through emptiness toward the earth. Hopefully he'd land with all his bones in the right number of pieces this time. He grasped for his cord, felt it from memory and pulled. The parachute opened with a floomph and yanked his body upright. The abrupt change of motion almost made him puke, and he kept his eyes closed as long as he dared before he needed to find a landing spot.
He maneuvered his steering toggles so he would arrive as close to the fast-moving fire as he could without getting himself killed. A lot of good he'd do Peyton if he got caught up in a burning tree, and if he ended up too close to the fire, the updrafts could steer him farther away.
The terrain beneath him was far from ideal for a first jump in years. Jagged rocks dotted the hillside where the trees weren't. His Kevlar jumpsuit would be put to the test not to be punctured or torn.
He hit like a sack of shit and the wind took his parachute uphill, toppling him sideways so he fell hard on his hip. Damn, he was too old for this. Untangling himself from the parachute cords, he sat up. He couldn't see ahead of himself through the smoke. Frustrated, he unhooked his parachute and let it fall to the ground.
Doug ran through the smoke toward him. "You all right?"
Gabe brushed off the concern and climbed stiffly to his feet, rubbing his bruised hip. "Do you see her?"
"No, but the fire's down there." He gestured downhill. "She should be too."
Gabe considered calling out to her, but she wouldn't be able to hear him over the fire, and shouting in all this smoke would be murder on his throat. Doug was good at what he did, but Gabe's focus had to be on Peyton. So he would trust Doug's sense of direction and his own instincts to find her.
Peyton stopped running, her calves and thighs burning with the strain, and found herself standing in grass up to her knees.
Fuel.
Oh God.
Terror had seized her from the moment she saw the wind kick the flames in her direction. She hadn't worried when she and Kim came up on the mountain because it appeared everything had been burned away, but now the fire fed on fresh fuel and flames climbed over her head.
The heat rolled over her, and Peyton wanted to tear off her fire shirt to cool herself, but Gabe had taught her well. Of course, right now she was less concerned with the embers than the flames chasing her.
Had Kim set another fire or was this the same one?
She had to get around the flank of the fire. She stopped, just for a moment to assess the situation. The blaze was beautiful, leaping toward the sky in brilliant colors. Mesmerizing.
Jolting herself out of her hypnotism, she realized the fire cradled her in its arms and the only way out was straight ahead---up the mountain.
Panic would kill her. But the smoke closed around her, obscuring her view not only of her escape, but of the fire. What had she learned in her time out here? The only thought in her fear-frozen mind was Gabe's warning to stay in the burnout. But it was behind her, on the other side of the fire.
Was she going to die out here? A fit of coughing doubled her over. A week ago, she'd had nothing to lose, had no focus.
No love. No Gabe.
The possibility of what she and Gabe could have together filled her with hope. She couldn't die before seeing what they could become.
Smoke seeped through the bandana covering her face. Something snapped in her mind and she started to think of her own death detachedly. Would the flames catch her first, burn her to death, or would she collapse from smoke inhalation, and the flames would devour her body?
Would Gabe bring down her body? He would feel obligated to, but she didn't want him to remember her like that. She'd seen how hard it had been for him to prepare himself to bring down Bev and the others.
Tears of terror joined tears of smoke irritation and the muscles in her thighs screamed as she ran to escape death.
Ahead of her, yellow shirts emerged from the smoke so close they almost collided. Otherwise they might be a mirage.
"Peyton?" one of the yellow shirts croaked.
"Gabe!"
The farthest yellow shirt ran toward her and she made out Gabe's face through the smoke and soot. Relief had every muscle going lax and she stumbled toward him, but like a dream he was there to catch her. He'd come through the fire for her, and the elation nearly brought her to her knees. Was she already dead---how could he come for her when he didn't know she was here?
But then he took her face in his hands and inspected her to make sure she was all right. For a moment it seemed like he might kiss her. Instead he grabbed her hand and turned back the way he came.
"It's close," he told her as she jogged beside him, her gloved hand clasped tightly in his.
"We're going to make it, right?" She wiped sweat from her eyes. For the first time since she saw the flames, she believed it. Gabe wouldn't let anything happen to her. They'd get their chance at happily-ever-after after all.
He glanced over at her. "You bet."
"I tried to remember what you taught me but I couldn't."
His expression was grim. "Experience is the best teacher. Follow me. I'll find a way out."
"Can't we just go out the way you came in?"
"We jumped in."
Peyton stumbled and Gabe's hand tightened around hers. He jumped. Into a fire. For her. "You jumped? Out of a plane?"
"I had to get here in a hurry."
"You hate to fly."
"I don't like it that much."
"But you came."
"I came." The expression in his eyes said more than any kiss. He tugged at her hand, urging her along.
She squeezed his hand. Her heart, still pumping madly, swelled with love, but now was not the time to say anything more than, "Thank you."
"What?"
"You're getting us out of here, right?"
He raised her dirty-gloved fingers to his lips, kissed them without breaking stride. "I'm getting us out of here."
He'd found her. Unbelievable. Not until he touched her did he realize he'd expected to lose her. The blood in her hair sent another wave of panic through him, but she seemed lucid. Now he had her and wasn't letting go. He'd find a way to get her out of here.
The radios were useless---the mountain was between them and the base camp. He couldn't count on someone else to direct them. His experience would get them back.
Doug hurried over to them. "We have to get over the ridge."
"No." Gabe didn't slow. "The fire could spill over, or worse, overtake us while we're climbing." Like on Angel Ridge.
Doug looked as frustrated as Gabe felt. "How are we going to get back? The fire's on both sides of us and in back of us. The only way to get out is ahead of us, up and over the ridge."
"What was your escape route?" Gabe asked Peyton. He'd drilled that much sense into her.
"Back there." She jerked her head. "But the fire had blown up by the time I woke up. Gabe, it was Kim."
"I know." The words squeezed out of his throat.
Doug sighed. "All right. Let's keep moving until we can figure something else out."
Gabe's legs strained with the effort to move quickly, his shoulder ached from pulling Peyton along, though she did her best to keep up. His feet and knees hurt from his rough landing. He refused to let panic take him, though. That would kill them all for sure.
Ordinarily Gabe walked at the rear of his crew, ensuring they reached safety ahead of him. Today Peyton's safety came first.
Shouts had them turning, but Gabe still pulled her uphill. Sheer force of will kept them upright.
Smoke billowed around them, obscuring the other smokejumpers, but worse, obscuring the fire. Gabe put himself between Peyton and the fire. The rest of the crew were no longer in sight. He hesitated a moment, considering going back after them, then turned around. They were trained firefighters. The best of the best, Jen would say.
"Come on!" he called to Peyton.
"Gabe, we can't leave them!" The shock in her voice carried through the smoke.
"Doug will get them back."
"We can't leave them!" She dug in her heels and he glared at her impatiently.
"We can't reach them. They know what to do. I'm more worried about you. Let's go!"
Off balance as he pulled on her, she scrambled after him. "I'm scared."
"Do you trust me?"
She didn't think twice before answering. "Yes. Yes, of course."
"I'll get you out of here. But you have to promise to do what I say."
She nodded.
They scrambled up the side of the mountain. As the route became steeper, she sobbed with frustration and fear, sucking smoke into her lungs.
The optimism she'd felt when she had first seen Gabe dissipated now in the hopelessness of the situation. Even Gabe wasn't good enough to get them out of this. She was too weak---she couldn't keep up this brutal pace with the fire pushing them forward. Her hair was burning, and she batted at it. The roar of the flames drowned the pounding of her own blood in her ears, or the choking of her own breath.
"Gabe, please! Go on! You can move faster without me. Go!"
He stared at her as if he didn't understand. Then he let go of her hand.
Peyton's heart sank as she washed adrift in the smoke, abandoned. She hadn't really considered he'd leave her behind, not after jumping out of an airplane, but if he couldn't save both of them, he should save himself. Her muscles screamed with relief when she slowed down. She wouldn't be able to get going again.
She was going to die on this mountain. It was over. She couldn't fight anymore. It wouldn't be so bad, right? Just one breath of superheated air and it would be over. No more pain, no more loneliness.
No more Gabe. She squeezed her eyes shut and vowed not to think about what might have been.
Gabe reappeared through the smoke and shoved his fire shelter at her. Hope flared as she shook out the thin rectangle of foil-looking fabric. Then he reached into his pack and pulled out a fusee. Holding her eyes with his, he lit the flare.
She jolted backwards. Was he insane? All they needed up here was another fire. When he bent to light the grass in front of them, she thought he'd gone over the edge. The dry grass blackened and curled as the flames devoured it greedily. Now they were surrounded by fire---no escape. Was this some crazy suicide? Was he determined to die in flames?
He turned away to watch his infant fire race uphill, growing larger, faster. Then he kicked at the ash left behind, took the shelter from her and placed it in the burned out area, holding the flap open.
"Peyton," he said to draw her attention. "Did you train on this?"
She nodded blindly, vaguely recalling that the shelters looked like burritos, and sat on the floor of the shelter. Her whole body sore, she rolled onto her stomach, clutching at the slippery fabric beneath her. It would all be over soon and she might not feel anything again. As she stretched out, understanding began to dawn in her fatigued mind. He'd created a burned-out area for them in the hopes the fire would go around them, unable to find fuel where they lay.
He looked down at her, stretched on the silver fabric because she trusted him to save her life. He prayed he didn't fail her. He rolled into the fire shelter with her and covered her body with his, buried his face in her shoulder, and secured the fire shelter around them. He couldn't allow smoke to creep in, or flames that might ignite their hair or skin, or the superheated gases that would sear their lungs.
Beneath him, Peyton whimpered and shuddered. Gabe prayed this would work. The shelter wouldn't stand up to direct flame, but his little fire should have created enough of a break so the fire would separate and go around them, chasing the dry grass and brush feeding it.
Peyton was panicking, tremors racing through her body. He feared she might get up and try to run. So he would keep her with him. It would be unbearably hot inside the tiny tent the firefighters called a "Shake and Bake", but they would survive. If he didn't, please God, let his body give Peyton enough protection to keep her alive.
The roar of the fire was tremendous, so loud Peyton could barely hear Gabe's breath rushing in her ear, his heart pounding, or her own. The heat made it feel like her flesh was melting from her bones. The air was so dry it hurt to breathe, and sweat drenched her whole body.
She couldn't stand it. The fire was right over them and the shelter acted like an oven, holding the heat in. The weight of Gabe's body only increased the temperature of her own. Her heart pounded against her ribs and her nerves were making it impossible to stay still. The waiting to die, waiting for the fire to overtake them, was devastating, and she couldn't nurture the smallest grain of hope she'd live through this. She'd never be a mother, never be a wife again, a lover. They would die together in this shelter, a terrible thought when they'd only begun to find what life was again.
Every nerve in her body screamed for her to run. She had to get out of here, now. She was suffocating. She started kicking and clawing, trying to get free of this tinfoil roasting them alive.
"No." Gabe shifted his weight, pinning her arms and legs. "Peyton, hold still."
"I can't breathe!" she cried. He was crushing her into the hard, hot ground and she was going to die, choked to death because her lungs wouldn't expand.
"Just a little longer," he soothed, his hands steady on her wrists as he held them. "Trust me. Trust me."
Whimpering, she snorted in soot and dirt, trying not to cough. The soles of her feet burned---were her boots melting?
Gabe's body tensed over hers and he was seized by a fit of coughing. He tried to muffle it against her shoulder but couldn't. His dry racking cough pierced through the sound of the fire.
But when Gabe's cough subsided, the fire no longer sounded like it was on top of them.
"Wait, wait," Gabe urged. Could that be hope in his voice? Had he been as scared as she was, or had he always known he could get them out?
They lay there, face down, for what may have been hours, too tired, too scared to talk, to do anything but lie there and breathe and thank God they were alive. Only when she no longer heard the fire did her pulse stop racing. She was impatient to get out of the shelter, get to her feet, but silently Gabe held her still.
Finally he slid his hand through the opening of the shelter, felt the ground outside. Apparently satisfied, he pulled the shelter over his head and sat up.
The air still shimmered with heat and every breath Peyton took seared her nose and throat, burned in her chest. She wiped dirt and soot from her eyes. She winced as she lifted her arms above her head. Her skin felt tight, like she had a bad sunburn. No telling how bad it was, with her body covered with soot.
"Where are the others?" She perused the remaining forest, the stripped trees, the blackened ground, the cracked rocks.
The grass where Peyton had been standing when the fire came up.
There was no sign of any other shelters through the clearing smoke. Had the others been ahead of them or behind them? How could they have outrun the fire?
He stood slowly, stiffly, and reached to help her to her feet. "I don't know."
"We have to find them."
"We have to get you back to safety," he countered.
"No." Tears filled her eyes. "We can't go back until we're sure they're all right."
He dusted off some of the soot from her face, cupped her cheek in his hand. The indecision in his eyes was so out of character. "I can't risk you."
She reached up and clutched his hand, determined to make him understand. "If you take me to camp, then try to come back up, it will be too late for them."
Gabe weighed his options, not taking his eyes off her. He felt like hell after the jump, after the time in the shelter. But she was staring at him like he was a hero, like he was invincible. As far as she was concerned, he was.
He reached for his radio, then snatched his hand away from the superheated plastic that burned through his glove. The flames raced up the mountain, and the other firefighters were on the other side of those flames. He had to find out how much longer until they could expect the slurry. They'd been under the shelter for some time, waiting for the air to cool, so it shouldn't be long before it arrived.
If it was longer than fifteen minutes, they might as well forget it. Jen would be a widow. He had to find Doug for her.
"Come on." He let go of Peyton, trusting she'd follow him. With renewed energy he charged up the hill. He unhooked his radio from his belt and tossed it from hand to hand until he could bear to press the button. Since they were higher on the mountain, he should be able to reach camp.
"Jen! Damn it, Jen!" he shouted into the radio, the button scorching his thumb.
"Gabe, did you find them?" she asked through the interference. Either their position or the damage to his radio created poor reception. "I can't get through to Doug."
Oh damn. Not a good sign. But he had to tell her. "Found Peyton, lost Doug."
"What do you mean?"
"Peyton and I deployed. When we got out of the shelter we didn't see the rest of the crew."
Silence. Long, painful silence. Gabe's gut cramped, knowing what she was thinking, what she was feeling. He'd been there just a few hours before, helpless, so far away.
"Gabe, you can't let him---"
"I'm going after him, but we're going to need the slurry," he said, not wanting to hear his ex-wife express fear for her husband. The father of her child.
"ETA's forty-five minutes. Where do you want it?"
Gabe clenched his jaw. Forty-five minutes would be too late. She was better off not knowing. "Just get him up here as quick as you can. Have him go up the ridge, drop maybe two hundred and fifty feet below that. He'll see the fire, no doubt about it."
"What are we going to do?" Peyton asked, panting along behind him as he clipped the radio back to his belt and strode uphill. "That's not going to be fast enough, is it?"
He glanced at her. "Nope."
"So we can't do anything?"
"We don't have tools, Peyton," he said, exasperated. "What do you want me to do?"
"We can't leave without knowing."
Damn, had she always been this stubborn, or was he just too tired to deal?
"It's safe now, the fire has moved past us."
"Haven't I taught you anything? It's never safe out here."
"You know what I mean." She shook her hands out to her sides as if eager to get moving. "We have to find them."
Everything hurt, inside and out. She had to be suffering too, but here she stood in front of him demanding he be her hero. Goddamnit. Of course, if he had an uncooked brain cell in his head, he'd tell her she was nuts. They had to get back to camp and recuperate from their ordeal, not put themselves at more risk running all over the mountainside searching for a handful of smokejumpers who could be burned to a crisp. He couldn't breathe exactly right, and the muscles in his legs felt weak. He couldn't run from another fire.
But he was not in any shape for another recovery mission.
So he took her arm and headed up the slope. "Stay with me."
This was a mistake, Peyton realized. Gabe wasn't up for this. He was struggling to stay on his feet as they hiked, and now and then he swerved into her path, bumping into her. She suspected his grip on her arm was not entirely for her benefit. She hadn't seen him slouch before. He must be exhausted. Coughs racked his body. He bent double and spat. They were alone up here. What would she do if he collapsed? Yes, she had trained as an EMT, but they had nothing up here. Nothing.
She stopped and he turned to her, impatience overcoming his pain.
"We have to go back."
"Are you hurt?" he asked immediately.
"I'm worried about you."
"I'm fine. Just too much smoke." He started forward again. "Wish we had our packs. I could use some water. Maybe one of those guys up there still has his supplies."
"I suppose I'll be docked for losing two packs in a week," she said, trying to lighten the mood.
He slid her a look. "What did you find that pissed her off?" He waved his hand at the black ground, the stripped trees.
How did he know? The same way he knew she was here? She'd find out the whole story later. Right now his glower prompted her to just answer the question. "A glove, way too small to be Doug's."
He laughed, a horrible, rough sound that dissolved into coughing. Again, Peyton wished for water to help him. He shook his head. "Goddamn her. Did she say why?"
Could she tell him? Could she tell him the reason those people died was because of him? How would he react?
His radio beeped and he pressed the button with a sigh.
"Gabe, do you see them?" Jen's voice was a squawk, and it was impossible to gauge her emotion. Still, Peyton could only imagine what she was feeling, out of contact with her husband, miles away from where he could be dying.
"No. What's the word on the slurry?"
"He's on...way. You should see him...minute. Where...drop?" Her voice faded in and out with the poor reception.
Apparently, Gabe was able to decipher her message. "About two hundred yards east of the ridge moving up the mountain. He should be able to see---"
"...sees them! He sees them!" Jen's voice rang out clearly. "They're alive, running!"
Just then the sound of a motor vibrated toward them and a plane emerged from the smoke, dropping lower. They were close enough to hear the cargo bay open, to see the rich pink of the slurry against the gray smoke, to hear the splat as it hit the ground.
Three figures moved through the smoke, down the mountain toward them. The smokejumpers were laughing, sliding in the slurry, their posture telegraphing their relief. One of them raised a hand in greeting. Doug, Peyton realized. Gabe must have realized it at the same time, because he lifted his radio to his mouth.
"All present and accounted for, Madame IC," he said, then dropped to all fours, his body twisted with coughing spasms.
Peyton fell to her knees beside him and wrapped her arms around him, panic seizing her, wondering how he'd made it so far only to collapse now. He'd been more worried about the smokejumpers than he'd wanted to admit. As the coughs stole his breath, she was uncertain of how to help him without any supplies. She looked up the slope to see none of the firefighters had their packs. They must have abandoned them as she and Gabe had, to move faster.
"Jesus," Doug wheezed, hands on his knees, spraying black spittle. "Jesus, we were almost toast." He blinked at Gabe, who dropped back onto his butt. "How could you be behind us and not be barbecued?"
Lovely imagery. "We deployed."
She exchanged a glance with Doug, who took Gabe's radio. "Jen, we need a medevac chopper up here."
"...you okay?" Jen asked.
"We're great. Gabe took in too much smoke. We need to get him treated. And we lost our gear, so some water would be great too."
"...done," she said. "I love you."
Peyton's attention was diverted from the conversation when Gabe reached over and squeezed her thigh, unable to speak for a time, struggling for breath. Finally he said, "Are you okay?"
She gave a little laugh. Of course he would be more worried about her than himself. Damn hero. "I'm fine."
Doug dropped the radio back on Gabe's lap. "The chopper should be here in about ten."
Gabe waved him off. "I can make it. Is everyone else all right?"
"Everyone's good. You can't make it, and you won't. You're going down in the chopper."
"Going down is what worries me," Gabe said wryly. "Send Peyton back. Kim hit her in the head with her Pulaski."
"Still trying to be boss," Peyton chided and rolled her eyes at Doug, who hid a grin.
"Peyton will be just fine," Doug said. "The chopper's bringing us water, then we're out of here. You're on your own."
Gabe opened his mouth to say something, but instead coughed until Peyton feared he'd crack a rib.
"Damn it, where are they?" Doug scanned the sky.
God, it hurt to see Gabe in pain, out of control. It hurt even more because his helplessness had to make him crazy, especially in front of Doug. Though she doubted he'd happily show her any weakness.
Above them a helicopter soared by, looped back to hover about twenty feet from where Gabe lay. The rotors kicked up dust and ash and Peyton leaned forward to shield Gabe with her body. Doug covered his face with a bandana and ran toward the helicopter, leaned in to shout something at the pilot before he turned and gestured for Peyton.
"Come on." She helped Gabe to his feet. He leaned heavily on her and she staggered under his weight. The dust in the air sent him coughing again, halting their progress.
One of the helicopter crew ran out to help her, took most of Gabe's weight and dragged him to the chopper before dumping him in the back.
"Have you got room for me?" she yelled at the pilot, after inspecting the cramped interior.
Before the pilot could answer, Gabe gripped her wrist. "She's coming with us," he choked out. He glowered at Peyton then. "If I have to do this, so do you."
"Big baby," she muttered and crawled in beside him. "I'm Mr. Big Hot Shot," she mocked. "I'm not afraid to fight fires but I'm afraid to fly."
"I heard that," he said.
"Good." She sought in vain for a seat belt beneath her, instead settling for a death grip on the bar beside her head.
The crewman handed bottled water back to them and Peyton released the bar to lean forward. "We need to get an oxygen mask on him."
"No. We don't," Gabe contradicted.
"He inhaled a lot of smoke out there."
"It can wait. Damn it, Peyton, I hate those masks." Another round of coughing had Peyton exchanging a glance with the crewman. The man handed her a portable tank and a mask with a pointed look.
"As long as you put it on him." The crewman laughed.
Gabe tried to look fierce as Peyton slipped the mask on his face.
"Oh, I'm scared," she said.
He yanked the mask off, struggling not to cough.
"Gabe," she scolded.
"Peyton," he echoed, holding her eyes for a long minute before his drifted shut. "You did good out there. Real good." And then he passed out.
Peyton pushed off the exam table and walked to the swinging door of the room. They'd taken Gabe away as soon as they got into the hospital, dragged her in another direction to inspect the injury to her head, but had left her in this exam room alone, and with no word of Gabe's condition.
The sharp smell of hospital antiseptic pierced the smell of smoke clinging to her, bringing with it a pain sharper than the one in her head.
She'd been back by the mobile command unit, out of sight of the warehouse, her one concession to Dan's concern that she was on the scene. Her heart had thundered as she listened to the terse voices of the commanders, communicating with the snipers, with the entry team. Dan's team. She could hear the tension, the underlying excitement in his voice as he said the last words she'd ever hear him say.
"We're going in."
And all hell had broken loose. Gunfire, shouting, the strangled cry of Dan's best friend Robert screaming, "Officer down! Officer down!"
She'd started running when she didn't hear Dan's voice in the cacophony, felt hands pulling at her, pulling back, but she twisted free and reached the warehouse.
Saw Dan's feet outside the door, sprawled awkwardly. Lifelessly.
She'd made it to his side, dropped to her knees and gathered him to her before she looked down at his face that was---gone, then across his body at Robert before she collapsed.
She pushed the door open to peer into the hall, only to be ushered back by a harried nurse in colorful scrubs. "You have to wait inside there. The doctor will be in to release you in a minute."
"Gabe Cooper, the firefighter." She struggled to steady her voice. "How is he?"
The woman shook her head, her stern expression at odds with her playful clothing. "I can't divulge that information right now. You have to get back in there."
What the hell did that mean, she couldn't divulge the information? What was wrong with him? Damn it---
"Miss Michaels."
She turned toward the voice, expecting a doctor, ready to light into him, but the man who approached wore an ill-fitting sports jacket and nondescript tie, and the face above the tie was round and florid. The fluorescent lights glinted off the federal badge on his waist.
Ah.
"I'm Agent Devlin with the FBI. Are you up to talking?" He looked past her to the nurse, who opened her mouth to deny him but Peyton seized on the opportunity.
"Can you find out how Gabe Cooper is for me?"
"Sure, I can---"
"She should be resting," the nurse said. "She had quite a blow to the head."
"That's what I want to talk to her about, but if she's not up to it---"
Peyton shook her head, fought the wave of dizziness. "I'm fine." But she had to walk back to the exam table with her hand in front of her. She hated that the nurse needed to help her back on the exam table. Gathering her wits, she lifted her chin to address the agent. "Have you heard anything about Kim?"
"Not yet. Her brother either. Hard as hell to imagine firefighters were capable of this."
Peyton rubbed the bandage on the back of her head. "She might have died in her own fire."
"Maybe. But then how would her brother have known to disappear?" He dragged a plastic chair over from the corner of the room and settled his bulk on it, his notepad on the leg he crossed over his knee. "Tell me what happened up there."
Gabe hated the sweaty, suffocating feeling of the plastic mask on his face. Without opening his eyes, he shoved it off. Gentle fingers slipped it back in place.
"That's at least the twentieth time you've done that."
He opened his eyes a slit. Peyton leaned over him.
She'd made some effort to wipe the soot from her face, but she'd done it in a hurry because a black ring circled her hairline and soot darkened the curves of her ears. Her nose and eyes were red from smoke, her skin tight with first degree burns and her pretty hair hidden under filth and blood, part of it shaved away to accommodate the stitches.
When she noticed he was awake, she gave him the most beautiful smile, one he'd feared he might never see again. She was safe. He touched her cheek lightly, then reached for the mask.
"I hate this thing." He nearly choked on his own words.
"You need it."
Peyton moved back. They were in a hospital room. The one thing he hated worse than flying was being in the damned hospital.
"Your oxygen level was real low up on the mountain and you passed out."
He rubbed both hands over his eyes, smelled soap. "How long ago?" Damn, it hurt to talk.
"Well, it's almost nine a.m. now. You were out all night."
He tried to sit up, only to be pushed back by a determined female. "Sweetheart, I lie still for too long, I'm not going to get up. Last time I lay down this long, it took me a week to walk right again."
She twitched the sheet and blanket in place, making him feel like a damn invalid. Only Peyton could get away with babying him right now.
"You're going to be fine," she murmured. "They'll probably let you go home tomorrow, but not back on the fire."
"No problem there. Maybe I'll see if they still have the motel room available. We'll bring our own protection this time."
He tried for lightness, but something was wrong. Her mouth stretched in a tight line, an expression he hadn't seen on her before.
"Kim?"
She shook her head. "They don't know where she is."
"Worried?"
An energy was running through her. He could feel it from here as she fiddled with the blinds, the IV lines, hell, the water pitcher. If he had more strength, he'd grab her hand to stop her. Finally she sat in the chair beside him, but energy still vibrated through her.
He waited, not wanting to encourage her. His instincts told him whatever it was, it wasn't good.
He always trusted his instincts.
"You jumped out of a plane," she said at last, her hands folded in front of her.
That was why his ankles and knees hurt, damn it. "Yeah."
"You jumped out of a plane to save me."
"Peyton---"
"What am I supposed to do with that?"
"You don't have to do anything." He reached for her, and she straightened.
Fear seized him, stronger than the fear that had gripped him on the mountain. She was ready to walk. When had he started imagining a future with her? It hadn't been before their first night together. Then he'd figured she would walk away. But now, he couldn't let it happen. Comforting her was one thing, but he had the paralyzing feeling she had gone beyond needing comfort. She needed convincing. Did he have the power? "I'm fine. I'm not going to take any more chances. What we've got is too important."
She stared at him as if she was looking at his ghost---or Dan's.
"Nothing changes, does it?" she demanded, her voice choked. "You could have died up there and I had no way of stopping it. I was right there when Dan died. I had gone through EMT training. And I couldn't stop him from dying."
He pulled himself up on his elbow, not without some effort, but he was seeing red. "Peyton, Jesus, he was shot in the face. He died before he hit the ground. Nothing you could have done would have helped him."
She opened and closed her fists, trying to gain control of herself. Her eyes had glassed over and he knew she was seeing it again. He cursed himself for his bluntness, tried again.
"You were up there on the mountain. You think I was just going to sit in camp and wait till the fire blew over so I could retrieve your body? You couldn't have survived on your own. I was your only chance."
Her shoulders dropped. He'd seen people collapse on themselves in grief, and he knew what was coming. No matter what he said, she was leaving.
The coughing seized him and he doubled over as his lungs tried to come up through his windpipe. Peyton scrambled into action. She grabbed at his shoulders, leaned him forward to stuff pillows behind his back, and shoved a glass of water in his face. He slapped it aside, sending it sloshing over her hand and onto the bed, then glared at her, trying to make her understand.
"It was bad," he wheezed when he could, "but it's over."
"It's not!" Her voice rang out in the room, and the volume of her own vehemence seemed to shock her. Every line in her body screamed tension. "You're going to go back up. Someone else won't be able to survive without you rescuing them. You couldn't live with yourself if you didn't go. And if I hold you back, I'll lose you too."
The difficulty he had breathing now had nothing to do with the smoke he'd swallowed on the mountain. He didn't want to hear it, not when his feelings for her were so new. His temper rose as his heart sank, like a counterweight.
"I'm not Dan," he growled, wishing it didn't hurt so much to talk.
"No, you're Gabe Cooper, Hot Shot of all Hot Shots." She whirled on him, eyes bright, her movements jerky with emotion. He wanted to go to her, draw her into his arms, soothe her, but he could barely sit up. Not the best way to convince her he was healthy. "The mountain calls you. You're going to fight fire until it kills you."
"I can stop." He couldn't believe the words came out of his mouth. He hadn't realized he'd do anything to keep her with him.
She was stunned silent for a minute before she shook her head. She wouldn't look in his eyes, which was probably just as well. He couldn't imagine the pain that had to be there, the desperation. It couldn't be pretty.
"You can't, and I won't ask you to. But don't ask me to stay."
"What we have between us, Peyton, it isn't casual sex. You said you love me." The words were raw as panic clawed at him, smothering the physical pain.
"I do." She stood and approached the bed, tried to smile, but the sentiment was washed away by the tears streaking down her cheeks. "I do. I wish to hell I didn't, because this would be so much easier."
She squeezed her eyes shut, clutching his arm at the same time. When she opened her eyes, he saw her resolve, and it cut him in two.
"But I can't do this again. I have to protect myself. It's selfish, but I won't survive losing you. And I won't ask you to be less than who you are. You'd hate me for it, and I couldn't survive that, either."
Tears burned his own eyes, blurred his vision, and he couldn't blame his pain for being unable to speak. But the words to convince her to stay wouldn't come.
She was right.
Damn it, he'd been a fool to fall in love with her---not because she was a reporter, but because she'd been destroyed once by losing the man she loved. If he was a hero, he'd let her go.
"I love you," he managed, watching helplessly as Peyton gathered her fire shirt. She stiffened for just a moment before continuing with her task.
"Gabe, you're up! Can we come in?" Jen asked from the doorway. Then, "Oops."
Gabe barely spared her a glance, his eyes on Peyton. She walked over to the bed, took his face in her hands, stroked his cheeks. She gazed into his eyes a long moment and through his tears he saw a pain echoing his own before she kissed him goodbye. Her lips were soft and dry, and gone before he could reach up to hold her to him.
She turned and walked out.
Peyton was in no shape to speak to Jen, or Doug, who stood in the doorway behind his wife, and shoved past them, hating the desperation forcing her to flee. She pushed through the waiting Bear Claws. If she hesitated even one moment, she would turn and run back to Gabe. And immerse herself in the hell of being in love with a man who couldn't live without danger.
She couldn't be a hero. She couldn't even love one.
She'd nearly separated herself from it in her mind, nearly separated Gabe from the risks he took. But the last twenty-four hours, on the mountain, in the hospital, brought it all into sharp focus, the memories of Dan's death kicking in and overwhelming her. She understood completely that she was freaking out and behaving irrationally, but if this was the only chance she had to make a break from Gabe, she had to take it. She couldn't live that way again.
"Peyton! How is he?" a man's voice asked behind her as she headed toward the elevators.
She didn't slow to see who was calling her. One of his crew, probably. They could find out from Jen. She had to get out of here right now. Footsteps echoed behind her and she picked up the pace. Escape was foremost in her mind.
A wall of men in suits stopped her exit and she looked up in surprise at the human barrier. The men looked down at her without blinking, their faces implacable. Alarm raising the hair on her arms, she tried to swerve around them, but the wall blocked her on one side, a waiting-room chair on the other. A hand on her arm had her whirling, trying to jerk free. Then she froze, face to face with the president of the United States.
"How is he? Cooper?"
Why was President Hutchinson in this hospital, dressed in yellow and green Nomex fire gear, for God's sake, and why was he asking about Gabe with a touch of desperation? Had he been the one calling her? The president knew her name.
She took a moment to find her voice, professionalism grappling with shock. "He's fine, sir. He'll be fine."
The older man's shoulders relaxed. She was struck by how human he appeared, just like any of the other firefighters out here awaiting word. Had he been here all night too? "What happened up there?" he asked.
She pushed her hair back from her face wearily, not wanting to think about what had happened on the mountain, the terror, the race, the suffocating shelter. Gabe's hatred of answering questions, of reliving a situation no one should have to live through in the first place, made sense to her now.
Worst of all, if anything had gone wrong, it was her fault. She gathered herself, pushed the thoughts out of her head, stopping herself before she collapsed at the feet of the leader of the free world.
"He almost died," she said quietly. "He almost died trying to bring me back down."
And God, if she hadn't been up there, he wouldn't have gone up the mountain. Could she have forgiven herself if he hadn't made it?
Foolish. He would have gone as long as someone was in danger, if not this time, another. Of course it was dangerous. Otherwise it wouldn't hold the same appeal. He lived for the fire, the danger.
If she held him back, he was miserable. If she let him go, she was miserable. Who needed it?
And here she was standing in the presence of the president feeling sorry for herself.
"I'm sorry, sir. He's-he's fine. He's in a room just down the hall, room 411. If you'll excuse me." She turned to walk away.
"He was going crazy trying to get to you," the president said to her back, his voice gentle, fatherly. "He saw you from the plane and damn near jumped without a parachute to get to you. I don't think he would have done it for just anyone."
Peyton turned around, her heart squeezing. "I know he loves me. But I'm through with firefighting. And firefighters."
"Peyton."
He closed his hand over her arm to draw her into an alcove, into a seat. The man sat beside her, glancing at his Secret Service men long enough to signal them to back off a bit, before he turned those warm brown eyes to her. The same brown eyes she'd seen flashing with anger and determination on her television at home.
"Your man inspires loyalty. He's a hero. So why are you walking away?"
So she, Peyton Michaels, spilled her guts---and her tears---to the president of the United States. She told him about Dan, told him her reason for writing these articles, about her sister. She told him her fear of losing Gabe for good.
"And walking away from him isn't going to accomplish that?" the president asked, incredulous.
"It will show me whether or not I can live without him. I have to bet I can."
"Let me tell you something, little girl," he said, his voice stern as he shifted in his seat, and she got a much better picture of the man who could intimidate Congress. "There are people who live with these fears every day. Their husbands or wives are cops or soldiers or firefighters. They kiss them goodbye every day and don't know if they will see them again. But they do it because that person is the most important person in the world to them, and they can't imagine what it's like living without them."
"That's right, sir," Peyton said softly, rising, realizing it was a tremendous gaffe. She just couldn't listen to him right now. She had to protect herself, and the only way she could was to walk away. "But I've made that sacrifice once. I can't do it again."
"God, Gabe, I'm so sorry," Jen said, but instead of leaving him alone to tear apart the room, she settled into the vinyl chair, Doug on the arm. "Our timing was really bad."
He snorted his opinion as he ripped out his IV and shoved back the sheet, ignoring the protest of his stiff muscles. "If you have delicate sensibilities, you better look away now."
Instead, she got to her feet, trying to intimidate him back into bed. "What do you think you're doing?" She tossed a glance over her shoulder, imploring her husband to come to her aid. "Doug!"
Gabe stopped Doug with a glare as he climbed out of bed. Jen grabbed at his bleeding arm but he shook her off.
"She's not coming back," he growled.
"Of course she is." Jen glanced nervously toward the door. "She loves you."
"She can't love me. Because of what I am." He leaned over to look under the bed, shook off the dizzy spell. Stupid, stupid, stupid. "Where the hell are my clothes?"
"What do you mean she can't love you because of who you are?" Jen searched for the nurse call button, finally slapping all the buttons on the side of the bed.
"I'm a Hot Shot and she can't handle it." Where were his clothes? Did they carry him out of the chopper naked, for God's sake?
"She didn't get that you were a Hot Shot?" Jen asked dryly. "I thought she'd figured it out. She seemed smart enough to me."
Why bother to explain it? He had to get to Peyton, before she left the hospital, make her understand she was more important than his damned job. God knew Dan didn't let her know it. "Her husband was a cop killed in the line of duty. She needs someone safe."
"So if you go after her, what will you tell her?" Doug asked.
Gabe glared at his once best friend who stood in front of the door, felt a twinge of regret that it couldn't be the same. He swayed on his feet and felt a catch in his lungs. "Whatever she wants to hear."
"You want a woman who can't love you because of who you are?" Jen wanted to know.
Gabe sat back on the bed and clutched the edge of the mattress as coughs gripped him.
"There's irony. And you always accused me of trying to change you. Peyton did it with a flip of her ponytail."
A nurse rushed in. All she had to do was push him to make him fall onto his back, he was so weak. Damn it to hell.
"Gabe?" Jen drew his attention as the nurse fussed over him.
"I love her, Jen," he said between coughs. "I didn't think I could again."
The tenderness on her face warmed to amusement. "A reporter, huh? That must've been a slap in the face."
He narrowed his eyes at her, but doubted he was very intimidating in his little hospital gown. "Isn't that what you intended? Did you give her to me to hurt me, Jen?"
Her eyes widened, like she was shocked he would think that of her. "No! She wanted the best, and you were the best I had."
Gabe lifted his brows and inclined his head toward Doug. Jen had the grace to redden, and he felt a momentary twinge for making her uncomfortable. She was here for him, after all. And she'd done everything in her power to help him get to Peyton. He couldn't figure out where the mercy he felt came from, because he hadn't been feeling very merciful when she and Doug walked in, interrupting his last moments with Peyton.
"The best crew chief. You know what I meant."
"Sure I do. No other motive? Like punishing me?"
Her eyes softened as she looked at him. "None other. You're the best at what you do. I'd be happy to work with you again."
Gabe appreciated her recognition of his ability but no longer craved her approval. Still, he didn't know what to say.
Jen seemed to understand. She sat back. "I had to come thank you, Gabe. For bringing Doug back, for risking everything to help him. I know it wasn't easy."
He took a deep breath to reply. He had some issues of his own to clear up before he ran after Peyton.
But Jen, as usual, ran over him. "I've made some big mistakes, but I'm learning what's important." She curved a hand over her belly, put her other hand in Doug's.
Gabe battled the pain, not as sharp as it had been. He had to make an effort, put this behind him. "Look, I wasn't thinking about you when you told me you were pregnant."
She shifted in the chair and studied her hands. "I hardly expected you to jump up and down, but I wanted you to hear it from me."
"No, I---look. As long as you're happy, I'm happy." He glanced at the door as if half-expecting to see Peyton walk back in.
Jen didn't miss it, but she didn't comment. "That's very adult of you," she said.
"Yeah, I'm all grown up now." He was rewarded by her laugh, dragged a hand over his face and grimaced at the growth of stubble. He had to say it, had to put it in the past or he couldn't move forward, couldn't go after Peyton. "You'll be a great mom." The hell of it was, he meant it. Jen would give motherhood the focus she'd given her job. And she and Doug loved each other. Their children would grow up understanding that. But now, when he pictured his own children, their mother was Peyton. God. Another jab to the heart.
"Cut it out, Gabe." Jen pressed her fingers to her eyes. "You'll make me cry."
Gabe glanced at Doug in alarm. "You don't cry."
"Hormones," Doug said with a casual wave of his hand. "You can't talk to her anymore."
Gabe relaxed marginally. "As long as it wasn't me being nice."
She snuffled a watery laugh. "Trust me, that's more shocking than anything. Listen, I've decided to finish out this season, but they're going to need another good man in management. If she doesn't like you being on the fire line, maybe that's something to consider. I'd be happy to recommend you."
He waited for the resentment. Still trying to change him. But it didn't come. Hell, he even considered it---for about a second. It might be nice to have some control and not run up a damn mountain. He was getting old for this.
She stood and bent to kiss his cheek. He closed his eyes to brace himself against the onslaught of emotions but instead felt---warmth. Just warmth and affection toward the woman who had ripped his heart out. He opened his eyes to meet Doug's. Doug nodded his acknowledgement of the change in Gabe and slipped his hand around Jen's elbow to lead her outside.
Jen paused at the door. "Don't let her walk away, Gabe. Not if you love her."
No, he wouldn't let her, he decided, as the nurse worked to repair the damage he'd done with the IV. He'd made that mistake once.
A knock sounded at the door not long after Jen and Doug left. An older man who looked more tired than Gabe felt stepped inside. "I'm Agent Devlin, FBI. Are you up to talking to me about Kim and Kevin O'Doul?"
What the hell kind of invalid did the man think he was? Gabe sat higher in the bed, wishing he'd had the foresight to move to the chair. He didn't want to project any kind of weakness. Bad enough he'd had an arsonist on his crew and hadn't suspected.
"I don't know what I can tell you."
Agent Devlin stopped beside his bed, consulted one of those flip notebooks. "According to your crew, Kim was closest to you."
Gabe shifted. "She hung around a lot. I wasn't her confidant, or anything."
Devlin nodded. "It can happen. But maybe she said something to you to help us locate her and her brother. We've tracked down every member of her family, no one has seen her, no one will tell us where she might have gone."
"I don't know what I can tell you." It wasn't like he hadn't thought about it. The woman had nearly killed Peyton, after all.
"Try."
Gabe sighed and rubbed his forehead. "She's from back east. Her parents didn't want her to do this job, thought it wasn't feminine." Huh. Almost sounded familiar.
And shit. That was what it was. That was what had bugged him about her burn story. She'd said she was cooking with her mother. She didn't even like her mother.
Goddamn, he was an idiot. Why hadn't he been more suspicious? Bev would be alive.
"Why did she join anyway?"
"I'm not sure. I think she washed out of college. She'd wanted to be a zoologist or something, an outdoors kind of thing, but she couldn't get the hang of---damn, I don't remember. Some biology class."
"It's a leap going from zoologist to firefighter."
"She was a ranger for a bit, with the fire seasons so bad lately, she was drawn to it."
Devlin looked up. "You don't think she started any of the fires you worked on before, do you?"
Gabe jolted. "No. No, she couldn't have."
"Why not?"
Why not? She'd started this fire when he'd had no clue. How did he know she hadn't started others? "They say she did this to get me to pay attention to her."
"Who said?"
"Peyton Michaels, the woman Kim attacked on the mountain, told my ex, Jen Sheridan."
Agent Devlin consulted his pad with a graying eyebrow quirked in amusement. "The woman you were sleeping with told your ex-wife one of the women on your crew was in love with you."
Didn't that make him sound like a player. The blunt words grated on Gabe's nerves, but he didn't correct the man.
"Ms. Michaels is returning to Chicago, right?"
Chicago. Gabe hadn't known where the woman he claimed to love was from. She hadn't been forthcoming, and damn it, questioning her about it had seemed too needy. He planned to find out, though, as soon as he got out of here.
"She left a couple of hours ago," he admitted.
"I'll get in touch with her again. Now, you know Kevin as well?"
Gabe resented the new direction of the conversation. "Very distantly."
"You spoke to him just days ago. What indication did he give to raise your suspicions?"
"What do you mean?"
"Jen Sheridan said you suspected it was Kim the minute you saw the list you'd had her get of firefighters who had been in the area when the fire started. Did you suspect Kevin before you saw his name?"
Gabe shook his head. "Nothing jumped out at me till then. His hatred for Doug Sheridan when I talked to him this week was over the top. I mean, Doug's a pretty mild-mannered guy. Most everybody likes him."
"Except you."
He rubbed a thumb between his eyebrows. "Yeah, well, I had good reason."
"He stole your wife."
"Glad you have all the gossip," Gabe muttered.
Devlin shifted. "I do have to wonder why you were so all-fired anxious to clear his name when he was such a shit to you."
Because that's what heroes do, according to Peyton. "I knew he couldn't have done it."
"But you didn't feel the same about Kim?"
"I didn't want to believe it was a firefighter at all. I wasn't convinced it was Kim till she hurt Peyton." The memory rose up, dragging anger with it, choking him with it. Because he'd trusted Kim, so had Peyton. She'd almost died because of it.
"Do you have any idea where Kim could be now?"
Gabe shook his head. "I wish to hell I did. I'd bring her in myself."
Peyton tapped a rolled-up flyer against her thigh as she waited in the Missoula airport for her flight home. The news of the fires played in a continuous loop on the TVs throughout the waiting area. Every yellow shirt reminded her of Gabe, every shot of flames reminded her of how they'd almost died.
Being dead would almost be preferable to the pain twisting in her. She was paralyzed with a grief similar to what she'd felt when Dan died. The terror of seeing Gabe unconscious and unable to help him left her off balance.
Now she'd lost him anyway thanks to her unwillingness, as always, to risk herself.
She didn't have the courage to change her mind.
If she'd known, when she met Dan, that their time would be limited, would that have stopped her from falling in love with him? She dropped her head to her hands, squeezing her eyes shut, seeing the big charming man she'd adored, she'd married.
She hadn't had a choice then. The emotion, the joy had swept her up; she hadn't known enough to be scared. What she wouldn't give for that innocence now.
She twisted the flyer tighter---a picture of Kim and Kevin, crudely drawn, that someone had handed her as she walked into the airport. As if she'd ever forget what they looked like. Still, they wouldn't hang around this firefighter town. Surely they weren't so dumb.
The theory---her theory, anyway---was Kim had done this to get Gabe. She'd started the fire to get his attention, then set up his nemesis, and finally, tried to kill his lover. But Peyton hadn't played the idea through, to figure out what might happen next. What would Kim do if she got what she wanted? Peyton was out of the way, Gabe was free. Would Kim walk away if he was what she'd worked toward?
No. Kim would go after Gabe. And as little as she was, Gabe was in no shape to resist her.
Peyton scrambled through her pack for her cell to call Agent Devlin to relay her fears, but her battery was dead. Of course. Where had she been able to plug it in? She tossed it back into her pack and dug for change, but again, she'd had no use for money in fire camp, and all her cash was in bills.
She had to call the hospital, the police, someone. She pulled out a twenty, tugged her pack over her shoulder and ran to the gift shop. She grabbed a bar of chocolate, paid, then rushed back to the bank of pay phones. Three of the four were occupied, and the fourth out of order. How could that be? Didn't everyone have cell phones these days? She shifted in impatience but no one on the phones took the hint.
She could get to the hospital herself faster. Once she made the choice, she raced out of the terminal.
A soft hand stroked Gabe's jaw, waking him. "You came back."
Lips brushed over his. Not Peyton. He opened his eyes to see Kim standing over him, startling in dark hair, smiling. Every ounce of will kept him from jerking away.
"You knew I would," she murmured, moving closer, her breasts against his arm. "Now we can be together. I love you, Gabe. True love, not like Peyton."
His mind raced. Telling her no way in hell was probably not the smartest thing, so he tried for an all-business tone. "You have to turn yourself in."
Her expression tightened and she moved back a little. "I won't. We have a place. We'll be happy there, the three of us. You'll love it, Gabe. In the mountains, surrounded by the forest."
"Till you set fire to it," he muttered, and attempted to sit, but his head swam. What the hell? Peyton had said he wasn't that bad off. Why couldn't he sit up?
And then he saw the syringe in Kim's hand, the plunger depressed, the cylinder empty. The IV cord still swayed from her tampering as the sedative flowed into his system.
She'd drugged him.
Yeah, true love.
Peyton raced into the hospital after tossing another twenty at the cab driver. She stumbled into a nurse but didn't look back, didn't apologize, as she headed for the elevators, slapped the up button. Adrenaline had her muscles quivering till the doors slid open and she stepped inside.
She would be between Gabe and Kim now. She snorted a little laugh. Being in that position had started this to begin with.
Now she needed to worry about what to say to Gabe. She had four more floors to figure out whether she was back for good.
Who was she fooling? She couldn't walk away from him twice. Once had been hard enough.
Again her thoughts drifted to those early days with Dan. Would she have walked away, knowing the pain she'd suffer when he died? Maybe. Maybe she'd have been able to. But look at what she would have missed, his energy, his big personality, his love.
What would she miss if she walked away from Gabe now?
She'd told herself he didn't love her, she'd only known him a week.
But no man jumped out of an airplane when he hated to fly. No man risked his life for a woman he didn't love.
And she'd been such a coward, she'd left him at his lowest point.
She didn't deserve him. But God, she wanted him.
The doors slid open on the fourth floor and she turned toward his room. Before reaching the door, she sensed something was wrong, and she would have more time to decide what to say.
His bed was empty, the sheets rumpled, a streak of blood across the pillow.
Peyton pivoted toward the nurse's station. "Where is Gabe Cooper?"
A young nurse in Betty Boop cartoon print scrubs didn't look up from her paperwork. "They took him to x-ray."
Peyton's heart rate slowed a fraction. "Where's that?"
"First floor, turn right when you get off the elevators, end of the hall," the girl said as if she'd said it a thousand times.
"Thank you." Peyton turned back to the elevators, but couldn't shake the unease. Maybe it was just the uncertainty of making up with Gabe, worry over his reaction to her return. God, she really hoped that was what caused her anxiety.
But when she reached x-ray, the tech told her Gabe had been in earlier. No one knew where he was. She checked with admissions, had the girl there promise to page his doctor to see if Gabe had left against medical advice.
Maybe she had this all wrong. Maybe Gabe had been pissed off and left.
Maybe---her heart bumped at the thought---he'd come after her.
Agent Devlin strode through the sliding glass doors as she walked out of admissions, trying to decide what to do next. She'd had the cabbie call the agent on her way back to the hospital, but what if it had been for nothing?
But no, her instincts were good, usually. Kim would come after Gabe, she was sure. Whether or not Gabe would be here was another issue.
She approached the agent, grateful to have someone with whom to share the burden.
"I thought you'd gone home," he said.
"I changed my mind. I started thinking Kim wouldn't walk away and I did..." She trailed off. He didn't want to hear this. "Any word on Kim?"
He shook his head.
"Have you talked to Gabe?"
"I have. Maybe an hour ago."
Hope surged. Not much could happen in an hour, could it? "Because he isn't here now." She explained what had happened. "When you talked to him, did he seem like he was ready to leave against medical advice?"
"No, ma'am, but he was stewing a bit."
Her face heated. "Does this hospital have security cameras?"
He grinned and lifted his gaze over her head.
At the camera pointing right at the door he'd come through.
Peyton watched the bank of six screens in frustration as she, Agent Devlin and a security guard ran through video of the past two hours. The camera Agent Devlin had pointed out was great for seeing who entered the hospital, but worthless for seeing who left. However, a camera in the parking lot was better.
"There's something odd." Peyton pointed, her heart jumping. "Nurses don't take wheelchairs all the way to the parking lot to release patients."
Yet a dark-haired woman in generic green scrubs was muscling a wheelchair over a curb to a truck. The man in the chair lolled to one side---unconscious and still dressed in a hospital gown. Peyton leaned closer to study the video. The woman was small, and her dark hair contrasted sharply with her white skin.
"It's Kim!" she breathed.
Agent Devlin snapped to action. "Get the plate on the truck," he told the guard as he pulled out his phone. "I need access to traffic cameras and activity in the past"---he leaned closer to peer at the time stamp---"forty-three minutes, from St. Patrick's hospital. And I need a BOLO for a black dually truck with the license number KA 4354. Three passengers, two men and a woman. No idea where they're heading."
He flipped the phone shut and looked at Peyton. "Ready to go watch more video?"
"She risked everything to come back to him," Peyton murmured as they walked out of the hospital to Devlin's car. "There were no leads on her. She risked her freedom."
"Then she kidnapped him," Devlin pointed out, opening the passenger door for her. "You saw how he was sitting, how he was dressed. So, yeah, she risked everything, but that's not love. That's not real."
"How long do you think it will take her to realize it?" Peyton asked when they got on the road. "And what will she do to Gabe when she does?"
Agent Devlin's mouth was grim. "I don't think she'll take it well."
"Gabe isn't one to make nice. We'd better find him soon."
Traffic cams were few and far between in Missoula, and black trucks weren't. Kim and Kevin had at least been smart in their choice of stolen vehicle. Worse, all the camera footage was in black and white, so every dark-colored dually appeared black.
"We need more manpower." Devlin returned to the surveillance room with two cups of coffee.
Peyton took one gratefully. She'd slept a bit in the chair in Gabe's hospital room, waiting for him to wake, but she hadn't slept in a bed since the one she shared with Gabe in Missoula. Was it the night before last now? No wonder her eyes blurred. The coffee wasn't good, but gave her the jolt she needed. Time was too important.
"More manpower for what?" she asked.
"Most gas stations and banks have video cameras. Thing is, we don't know which direction they're heading, so we don't know which video cameras to look at."
"Get the Bear Claws," she said, straightening.
"The what?" His brows drew together.
"Gabe and Kim's crew. They're not on the fire line now. Get them to go to different stores for the videos."
"Stores aren't going to allow that to happen."
She thought of the man at the general store. "They will if we tell them we're hunting for the arsonists who set the fire threatening Bounty. This is a firefighting town, Agent. People will help. And the Bear Claws will help Gabe."
He tossed his phone to Peyton, who dialed Jen. "Jen, we need your help."
Gabe came to when his head cracked against something hard. He opened his eyes to see he'd hit it against the metal frame of a truck door. Before he could lift a hand to brace himself, he cracked it again. And then again, because his damn hand wouldn't respond.
Right. Drugged. In the front seat, Kim---weird, dark-haired Kim---was jouncing around too, and Kevin, presumably, with a cap pulled low, was driving. Where the hell were they? The road was pitted as hell. How long had he been out? He managed to get his hand out so he wouldn't crack his head again, and the movement caught Kim's attention.
She turned back and smiled. "Hey. How're you doing?"
Damn, her voice was as smooth as if they were going for a Sunday drive. Which, maybe they were. What day was it, anyway? "Where are we going?" he croaked. He smelled ash, tried to lift his head to see out the window but his muscles wouldn't cooperate. What had she given him?
"Someplace private. Slow down, Kevin, I'm going into the back."
The jostling slowed and Kim climbed over the seat to sit beside him. "I'm sorry I wasn't able to get your clothes. We kind of were in a hurry."
He looked down at his hospital gown and felt more naked than he had in his life. If he managed to get away from the Crazy Twins, he'd freeze. These mountains got damned cold, even in summer. And between the way she studied him, kind of Little Red Riding Hood gone darkside, and his lack of coordination, he felt damned vulnerable.
"What's going on here, Kim?" he mumbled, his lips not wanting to cooperate.
"I'm going to show you what real love is. You clearly don't choose women very well, so I decided to show you." She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. "I was going to dye my hair blonde, but I didn't want to remind you of Jen or Peyton. I want you to just see me." She trailed a finger up his bare thigh.
He wanted to flinch away, but couldn't. So he shoved at her with words. "You damn near killed me."
Her eyes hardened. "I didn't tell you to jump out of the stupid plane for the stupid girl who couldn't stay with you when you needed her. God, Gabe, you'd think you would have learned your lesson with Jen."
"And you're going to teach me."
She nodded.
"What about Kevin, there?" He inclined his head toward her brother. "Won't be very cozy with him around."
"I need him there till you see the light. Can't have you running away in the middle of the night. Of course, dressed like this, you won't get far." She smiled, like it was all one big joke.
Christ. He didn't have shoes. And even if he was able to overpower Kevin, the kid was little. No way would Gabe fit into any of his clothes.
He was screwed.
Peyton and Devlin met the Bear Claws and the deputies at the crossroads. The road forked in three directions, two paved, one a dirt road, dusty and pitted.
"You were right," Devlin told Howard. "We saw the video from the Exxon station. They headed this way."
Howard rolled his eyes. "I've worked with Kim a long time. I'd recognize her even with the freaked-out hair."
"The question is, which way did they go from here?"
"And how long till the road turns off?" Peyton muttered, battling despair and losing. The sun had set, not much longer before full dark, and all Kevin would have to do to avoid detection was to pull off.
"Are any of you familiar with this area?" Devlin asked.
"I grew up around here," one of the deputies said.
"If you were on the run from the law, which way would you go?"
The deputy, a young man probably midtwenties, whose nametag read Simpson, scratched his chin. "If I was looking to get out of state, I'd take that one." He pointed to the road leading south. "But if I wanted to lay low, I'd take this one." He pointed to the dirt road. "A whole lotta nada out there. A few old hunting cabins scattered around."
"Maybe that's something," Peyton said hopefully.
"Something," Devlin agreed, shining his light on the road. "A vehicle's been through here recently. Big tires too." He glanced back at Simpson. "You say nothing's down here?"
"No, sir. Not a lot of traffic."
"The rest of you split up, take the other roads. Simpson, you're with me." Devlin turned to Peyton. "Coming?"
Like he could stop her. She climbed into the backseat of his rented sedan and buckled in.
Gabe staggered up the steps to the hunting cabin, leaning heavily on Kim, though Kevin tried to take some of his weight. Gabe's strategy worked better for keeping both off balance. Strength was returning to his legs, but it would do no good to reveal that now and not be able to run without shoes. He allowed Kim and Kevin to guide him into the shack, into a bedroom with a double bed covered with a Native American woven spread. Is this where Kim and Kevin had fled after the attack on Peyton?
"Is this the honeymoon suite?" he asked, deliberately slurring his words.
Kevin shrugged out from under his arm and pushed him onto the bed. "You bet."
Gabe struggled to sit up. "Damn, I'm hungry. You have any food?"
Kim gave Kevin a look. He grumbled and left the room as Kim sat beside Gabe, way too close.
"I'm sorry it has to be like this," she murmured, brushing one breast intentionally against his arm. "I promise I'll take good care of you."
"What about firefighting?" he asked. "We can never go back to firefighting."
She stroked his hair. "I understand how important it is to you. I'm sorry to take you away from it."
"Peyton wanted to take me away from it and you hated her for it."
"You won't miss it," she crooned, caressing his chest.
She wasn't going to---was she? He had to stop her, push her away as her hand slid down his belly. "I will. It's who I am."
His sharp tone made her snatch her hand away. "You'd leave it for her."
"I love her."
She drew back and hit him across the face, fingers curved inward to scratch his cheek. Stung like hell, but at least she didn't have long nails. Still, it'd leave a bruise.
"How can you say that to me?" she demanded. "After all I've done for you, all I've been for you?"
"Yeah, my own personal psycho. Gotta love that."
Her eyes flared and she leapt from the bed, backing toward the door, just as Kevin came in with a sandwich. She blocked her brother from giving it to him.
"No, nothing," she said. "He can't have anything until he agrees to love me and never speak her name again."
She slammed the door and Gabe found himself alone, virtue intact, and free to explore the room for clothes and shoes. He was glad they thought he was still weak, so they hadn't restrained him. Quickly, he looked under the bed, gagged when he saw the skeleton of either a large rat or small cat, but no shoes. He opened the closet door quietly. A long jacket---well, long on some people---hung inside. It was musty, but better than nothing. No shoes on the floor, but when he stood on his toes---and caused the floor to creak---on the top shelf he saw some old hunting boots close enough to his size. The boards beneath his feet creaked again as he reached and he froze for a minute. Then he grabbed the boots---the leather was old and crumbly---and dragged them down. He turned them upside down and tapped the heels, a trick he'd learned long ago. Rarely did it yield anything, but now a scorpion the size of his finger dropped out and scuttled toward him. He cursed and jumped back, then crushed the insect with a boot.
He heard movement outside the door, shoved the boots under the bed and lay back as Kevin opened the door.
"What the hell, man?" Kevin asked, and saw the closet door was open.
Shit.
With a scowl, the younger man went to close it. "Sorry, man. No way out. Not this time." He opened the door again, pulled out the jacket and took it with him, locking the door behind him.
Double shit.
So he had shoes, but he would freeze to death.
Then he sat up and considered the bedspread.
"I don't think this is a road," Peyton said through clenched teeth. She had to clench them---she'd already bitten the inside of her cheek twice and her tongue once.
"It is hard to see without headlights," Deputy Simpson admitted cheerily.
"If we use headlights, they'll see us coming," Devlin reminded them as he maneuvered the vehicle directly from one bump to the next. "I'm on the road most of the time."
"And when we find them? Then what?" Peyton asked. "They might be armed. They might hurt Gabe."
"First of all, you'll stay in the car," Devlin said. "You will not get out, do you understand?"
But what if Gabe needed her? He'd been drugged, unconscious, and God knew what else they'd done to him. Still, she had no doubt Devlin would set her out on the side of the road if she disobeyed, so she said, "Of course."
"The deputy and I will take care of the O'Douls, and bring out Cooper."
"You see the fire and put it out," she murmured, thinking of Gabe's philosophy, and how easy it made a difficult job sound.
"Exactly," Devlin muttered.
A few minutes later, they rounded a corner and moonlight glinted off the bumper of a vehicle.
A big black dually. Devlin immediately killed the engine, dropped the sedan into neutral and slid back about fifty feet.
"There," he whispered, as if the O'Douls could hear them. He lifted the radio to his mouth---no cell service out here. "We found the truck, found a cabin. Lights on inside. Deputy Simpson and I are going in. We need back up."
The call was acknowledged and the two men drew their guns. Quickly, Devlin reached back to flip off the interior light just as Simpson opened his door.
"Stay. Here," he reiterated. "I don't want to shoot you."
"Don't want to be shot," she acknowledged, but dug her fingers into the back of the seat. How was she going to sit here while they went in for Gabe and she couldn't see anything?
Gabe heard the car out front and eased to the window. Kim and Kevin probably didn't have accomplices, but Gabe didn't want some innocent person who just happened upon the cabin to be hurt. No doubt the siblings would take action to protect themselves. He tried the window, but it was swollen shut.
One of the men who got out of the car wore a cap and crouched low. The other seemed familiar, but it was too dark to identify him. Still, they moved cautiously, and hope flared. They knew what to expect, they had to be cops.
Movement in the next room told him Kim and Kevin had heard the car too. Kim's voice was soft but in her panic an octave higher than normal, and Gabe couldn't make out her words.
He grabbed the mangled pillow from the bed, folded it against the window and shoved his elbow against it. The tinkle of glass hitting the front porch was louder than he expected. The men outside stilled, Kim and Kevin quieted, before Kevin's heavy footsteps made their way toward his door.
Crap. The broken area of the window was nowhere near big enough for him to climb out, especially without more protection for his privates. He moved behind the door, wishing for a weapon, but only had surprise on his side.
He dove for the boots, tossed one through the broken window so it landed with a thump outside---maybe Kevin would think he'd gone out, giving him more of an edge of surprise.
The younger man flung open the bedroom door, face tight with rage, and Gabe used the other boot as a club, swinging it hard against the boy's temple. The rage slackened to stunned as the kid dropped to the floor.
Stupid kid. He stepped over the boy's body and into the living room, where Kim turned, holding a gun in front of her with both hands, pointing at him. Son of a bitch. He did not want to get shot.
He raised his hands and let the boot drop to the floor. The girl was too damn shaky with the gun.
"What are we going to do here, Kim?" he asked, infusing a calm he didn't feel into his voice.
"Where's Kevin?"
He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "In there. You want to check, see if he's okay? I hit him pretty hard."
Indecision flickered across her face. "No. I need you to go back in there so I can lock you in."
"The cops are here, Kim. They're just outside the door. You heard them pull up."
As he spoke, he moved toward her slowly, cautiously, a hand extended for the gun. God, she was just a kid, a crazy kid who had made a hell of a mistake. He sensed her despair, understood the trapped look in her eyes. And damn, for all he'd cursed whoever had set that fire, sympathy overruled anger. She'd screwed up and ruined her young life, hers and her brother's. She was out of options.
"No place to run." He kept his voice as smooth as he could as his pulse pounded. "Don't make things any worse."
"I didn't want it to go this far," she whispered. "I'm so sorry." And she turned the gun toward her own chin.
Jesus, not that. "Kim, no!" Time stretched. Splinters dug into the bottoms of his feet as he hurtled himself toward her, hit her arm as hard as he could, twisted it back and felt the bone snap just as the gun went off.
Peyton jerked at the sound of a gunshot, and her insides melted together. Not again, God, not again! She reached for the door handle of the rented sedan, only to find none. Stupid child locks. She rolled into the front seat and shoved out of the car, dropping to her knees in the dirt.
Devlin and Simpson ran toward the cabin, one on either side of the door. Okay, smart, stay out of the line of fire. But get to Gabe. Get to Gabe.
Devlin nodded to Simpson, who kicked in the door, and Devlin went in first, low. Peyton saw him relax, pull his gun up.
"Where's the other one?"
He had to be asking Gabe. Gabe was all right. Thank God. She hurried forward, only to have Simpson swing on her, his gun pointed right at her head. Terror constricted her breathing, instinct froze her before recognition lit his eyes.
"Miss Michaels!"
Gabe's head went up at the sound of Peyton's name. He pried the gun from Kim's slack hand---he'd broken her arm before she shot the hell out of the wall---and held it up by the grip for Devlin to take, but the agent was moving toward the front door.
"I told you to stay in the car."
Then Peyton was in the doorway, ignoring the cop, of course, and heading straight toward Gabe. She dropped to the floor beside him. Elation at seeing her battled with wariness, and he caught her shoulders before she kissed him. Over the past few hours, he'd alternated between crippling hurt that she'd left him, and consuming anger. Neither of those emotions was present now, only a numbness, like a shield had come down in him.
Like after Jen left.
"What are you doing here?" He had trouble forcing the words out. "Finishing up your story?"
"No, it's done." She tried for a smile. "Is she okay?" She looked down at Kim, who lay glassy eyed on the floor.
"They'll both be okay." But he didn't want to talk about that. He watched her, waited for her to look at him again. Needed her to.
She did, her dark eyes watery, pleading. "I know I hurt you," she said, swallowing hard but not backing down. "I know I hurt you," she repeated. "I was a coward. I was selfish. And I don't deserve another chance. I freaked out, I know I did. Being in the hospital, being so scared---it brought everything back so clearly and it hurt so much and I had to get away before it could happen again. It was weird and it was stupid and it was not heroic at all. But I think you might love me. If I'm right, I hope you can give me another shot." Her words tumbled over each other, as if stopping for breath would give him the excuse to interrupt, send her on her way. Suddenly unable to meet his eyes, she studied her hands. "I wouldn't trade a day Dan and I had together, no matter how it hurt when he died." She turned back at him now. "Realizing it made me realize you and I deserve the same chance. Will you give it to us?"
She'd closed her hands over his arm as she spoke, her palms no longer as soft and smooth as they'd been when he met her. Tougher hands, tougher heart, tougher woman. And she wanted to be his. And damn it, as much as she'd hurt him, he wanted it too.
He couldn't believe he was having this conversation with her on his knees in a crummy cabin, while he was wearing a hospital gown. Candles---and at least underwear---should be required for declarations like this. "I left the fire service," he told her quietly. "I gave Jen my resignation at the hospital. I was coming to Chicago tomorrow."
She went as white as if he'd struck her. "You were coming to Chicago? Wait. You left the fire service?"
"Well, yeah. I knew you worried---"
"Gabe, you can't do that!" Her voice was shrill in the small room, and drew the attention of the cops.
He held up a soothing hand. "Peyton---"
"You are not going to change who you are for me. You are the man I love, just as you are." Tears streamed down her face, and she couldn't seem to work her tongue around the words. "I don't want you to quit."
"I don't want to be away from you for the summer," he said, his own voice thick.
"You won't be away from me. I'm going to get my red card renewed. I'm coming with you."
His heart tripped at the words, and he couldn't stop himself from touching her another minute. He smoothed her hair against her head, feeling the strands catch on his calluses. "Are you out of your mind? Your writing---"
"I can write anywhere, Chicago, a tent, Albuquerque. You tell me where, and that's where."
"You've lost your mind." Emotion choked him as he pulled her close and pressed his face into her hair. "Jesus, we've both lost our minds."
"Just kiss me," she murmured against his throat. "And then it will be all right."
He eased back just enough so her mouth found his, hopeful, seeking, happy.
"Too bad Kim couldn't have found a better man to love," Gabe murmured, his arm around Peyton as he watched Devlin guide the girl into the car, careful of her broken arm. "Someone who could have loved her back, given her what she needed. All this wouldn't have happened."
Peyton nestled against him. "She found the best man she knew."
He couldn't meet her eyes after a declaration like that. "She loved an ideal."
"You accused me of the same thing."
He grinned and looked at her. "I stand by it."
She didn't say anything for a long time, and he wondered if she believed him. He couldn't convince her if she didn't.
"Gabe, I've been thinking about this whole hero thing. I get it now."
"What do you get?"
"It's not the danger giving you the rush, bringing you back. It's this."
He was afraid to ask. "What's this?" he asked anyway. Hell, he was Gabe Cooper, and according to Peyton, not afraid of anything. Except losing her.
"Knowing you did the right thing, you were brave enough to make a difference. It's the greatest feeling in the world."
He chuckled and kissed her fingertips. "Damn, Peyton, you're bit."
"How can I have written about people who were so committed to their jobs they put their lives on the line without understanding that? How can I have learned all this about heroes without wanting to be one? I want to be the best I can be. I had two wonderful teachers, you and Dan. It just took me awhile to learn the lesson."
He kissed her forehead. "If you want to be a Hot Shot, I know a good teacher."
"Cooper!"
Peyton straightened from digging line, tossing her braid over her shoulder, and looked at her crew boss. She wasn't used to answering to the name yet; she'd only had it four months, since they married in January. Besides, around here, everyone who used that name meant Gabe. Howard stood with his hand on one hip and held the radio toward her impatiently.
"The IC wants to talk to you."
A grin tugged at Peyton's mouth as she stepped gingerly around flames to take the radio.
"Cooper," she acknowledged into the mouthpiece, her lips close, intimate.
Gabe's voice rumbled through the static. Jen had submitted his name to take her place as incident commander when she left the service to have her baby, and he'd shocked them all by accepting, then loving it. Why wouldn't he---he got to boss everyone around now. "The edits on your book came today."
Her heart thudded against her ribs. She'd done it, written a book, had sold it, and each step made the dream more real. It had all happened so fast, thanks to her magazine editor and her contacts. "How do they look?"
He grunted. "Like I would know. Probably some work here. Lots of comments. Hell, I'd rather punch line than do this."
She had a feeling she might, too.
"I've got a shower reserved for eight, can you make it?"
She laughed. Idiot. Didn't he realize others could be listening? "I don't know---five minutes in the shower isn't much incentive after a two-hour hike."
"I can make it worth your while."
"Not in five minutes you can't."
"Maybe since it'll be two of us we can double the time."
"Ooh. Ten minutes. All the difference in the world. I'm there."
"Peyton." His serious tone carried over the walkie. "Come home safe."
Home. A tent in a fire camp she shared with Gabe. And she wouldn't be anywhere else.
"I will," she said. "Cooper out."
About the Author
MJ is a four-time Golden Heart finalist, a three-time Emily finalist and a Maggie finalist. She is a member of San Antonio Romance Authors, The Golden Network and the Wet Noodle Posse. She's written everything from short and sexy to epic contemporary to futuristic and paranormal. To learn more about MJ Fredrick, please visit mjfredrick.com. Send an email to mj@mjfredrick.comor visit her blog at marywritesromance.blogspot.com.
Will her need to do the right thing cost them everything?
Anything But Mine
© 2008 Linda Winfree
Public Defender Autry Holton, honor-bound to defend an accused serial killer, is in a "shunned if she does, disbarred if she doesn't" position. To complicate matters, she's pregnant and hasn't yet told her ex-lover he's the father. The reason? She's pretty sure he won't want the baby.
After raising one family and suffering a failed marriage, Sheriff Stanton Reed never believed he was the right man for Autry. Then an attempted breakin at Autry's home highlights the real danger she faces, and all he can think of is protecting her. When she tells him the truth about their baby, the past doesn't matter. He wants both her and their child in his life.
But just as Autry dares to hope there's a future for them, an act of homegrown terrorism shatters her trust---and threatens their lives.
Book Four of the Hearts of the South series.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Anything But Mine:
This had to stop.
Autry put her lotion away and wrapped a towel around her body. Irritation and unfulfilled desire had her nerves jumping and the worst part was she had herself to blame even more than Stanton. Sure, he was clueless about other people's emotions, let alone his own. She'd known that going in. Now suddenly, she wanted him to change into Mr. Perfectly-in-touch-with-his-feelings? So being pregnant had made her emotional and now completely irrational. Instead of sitting around whining about how blind he was, maybe she needed to show him where to go.
He'd asked for more time. That had to mean something.
They were having a baby together. She wanted to forge a relationship with him. He said the same thing.
What was she accomplishing by holding him away?
Sleeping in the spare room wasn't getting her any closer to him, wasn't in any way binding him to her.
So what are you going to do?
Taking a deep breath, she knotted the towel at her breasts. Before her spurt of courage and resolution could desert her, she marched into the bedroom and gathered her things. Her hands full, she slipped down the hall to Stanton's bedroom. The door stood slightly ajar and the fresh smell of his soap hung in the air.
Her stomach turning slow rolls, she nudged the door open with her knee. The bedside lamp shed soft light in the room. Stanton lay on the bed, arms under his head, clad only in his khaki slacks. At her entrance, he glanced her way, his eyes dark and shuttered.
Her simmering level of irritation, with him and herself, flashed into anger. She tossed her overnight bag on the floor. "Just tell me one thing. What the hell is your problem?"
Surprise flared on his face and he levered up to lean on his elbows. "Which problem are we talking about?"
"What do you really want? Is this all about the baby and your so-called duty? Or do you want me at all?"
He moved to a sitting position, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. He kept his gaze trained on hers. "Of course I want you."
She clutched the knot between her breasts. "If there were no baby, would we be together?"
He opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed hard enough his Adam's apple bobbed. "I don't know."
Irrationally hurt, she laughed. "What am I saying? The only reason we're together now is because I got pregnant."
"Autry..."
"It doesn't really matter how much time I give you." How could this hurt so much? "Nothing changes the fact that you didn't really want me."
His head jerked up. "That's not true."
"You dumped me. If that doesn't say 'I don't want you', I don't know what does." Why was she doing this? Hell, why was she even here? What she should do was march back to her room, get dressed and demand he take her to her parents' house.
Shaking her head, she spun and stalked to the door.
"I was afraid, all right?" The words emerged in a near-hiss, as though he pushed them out between clenched teeth. "What I felt for you scared the hell out of me, and I got as far away as fast as I could. Happy now?"
"Afraid." She couldn't quite catch her breath, couldn't quite believe what he was saying. Holding her breath, she turned.
"Yeah." He ran both hands through his hair, leaving the short brown strands disheveled.
"Why?" she whispered, still clutching at her towel.
He shook his head. "I'd already failed with Renee, hell, to the point she had an affair. I was scared of screwing everything up with you too, and it just seemed easier to get out, let you find somebody who could be what you needed."
Renee had cheated on him? He'd never revealed that before, and as badly as she wanted to explore that, see how it related to their relationship, she needed more to make him understand what was most important.
She took a step forward. "I needed you."
"Oh, yeah, I'm a real prize. An emotionally unavailable ass, as Renee says."
Unavailable? She wouldn't say that. Reserved, yes, until she'd managed to get under the layers of professionalism and seriousness. Then she'd glimpsed the real man underneath---honest, compassionate, intuitive, blessed with a wry sense of humor.
She took another step toward him. "I think I'd say more confused than unavailable. Whenever I've needed you, you've always been there."
"Autry, you don't get it." The words were rough, torn from him. "If I failed again and lost you..."
She closed her eyes, his words thrumming through her. He did care; there was hope. She simply had to reach out and take it, show him the way. They could have so much more than she'd dared dream. If only one of them took the first step.
Opening her eyes, she caught his ravenous gaze. Those eyes whispered of starvation, of a wanting that went far beyond the physical.
She reached for the knot and let the towel fall to the floor.
Cool air rushed over her bare skin. She stood before Stanton's hungry eyes, nervous, exposed, titillated. He gripped his knees, staring at her.
Resisting the urge to cover herself, she stepped closer. "You can't lose me, Stanton. I'm yours." She reached for his hand, splaying his fingers across her naked abdomen. "We both are."
With a muffled groan, he wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face against her. "God help me, Autry, I've been lost without you."
His mouth caressed the skin above her navel. Strong fingers stroked her back. The titillation slid into full-blown desire, painful pleasure pricking low in her belly. The ache spread lower, unfurling between her thighs.
He pressed open-mouthed kisses down her stomach and she buried her hands in his hair. The contrast of his skin against hers, the strength of his arms about her, weakened her knees. She could fall, though, and be assured he'd catch her. With his size---tall and broad and just big all over---he made her feel dainty, feminine, ultimately desirable.
"Our baby," he murmured against her belly, sliding his hands lower to cup her buttocks. "My baby."
"Take me to bed, Stan." She ran her fingers over his nape and shoulders, loving the warmth and texture of his skin. Loving him. "I want you."
"Oh, I'll take you." His chuckle vibrated on her skin. He nipped at the jut of her hipbone and a shiver raced over her. Strong fingers dipped between her thighs, a tantalizing sweep of sensation. The muscles in her legs quivered.
He eased to the floor, kneeling before her, his mouth dancing along her thigh. The intimate ache intensified, her body feeling loose and open. He swept his hands up her sides, palms warm and a little rough. He cupped her breasts, thumbs rubbing over her hardened nipples.
"Like that?" he murmured, nuzzling the curls at her mons.
"Oh, yes." She arched into his touch, breasts tingling and aching.
He nudged her legs apart, kissing the inside of her thigh. Anticipation sizzled through her.
The first touch of his tongue almost sent her over the edge. She moaned, fingers tangling in his hair, as he laved and caressed, tortured and soothed. While his mouth pushed her higher, his hands kneaded and teased her sensitized breasts. He was everywhere, his lips on her, fingers pressing into her flesh, male scent invading her senses. Pressure and pleasure radiated within, building between her legs, flowing into her belly, surging through her whole body. Her legs trembled and she tugged at his hair, seeking to assuage the unbearable tension.
"Stanton...please..."
He's the one who broke her heart. And the only man who can keep her safe.
Undying Passions
© 2007 Amy Mistretta
Ten years after their teen romance ended in betrayal, Tess Fenmore and Johnny Sawyer are forced to confront their past when a stalker threatens her safety.
Years ago, Johnny married Tess's best friend and broke her heart. Now a cop---and a widower carrying a load of guilt despite his wife's cheating ways---Johnny realizes he never really stopped loving Tess. He's determined to protect her, whether she wants him around or not.
The fiercely independent Tess is forced to accept Johnny's protection. Rekindled passion flares every time they are together, but past betrayals, regrets and doubt tear at their emotions. Little by little, they discover the truth about their past, about who really betrayed whom.
And who is the stalker's real target.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Undying Passions:
Tess Fenmore slouched behind the steering wheel of her car, staring out the windshield, the funeral home across the street taunting her with regret. All the pent-up anguish had nothing to do with the building but rather with the man inside.
Johnny Sawyer.
At one time, Tess had loved him so much and for years, memories of Johnny had driven her crazy. She hadn't been able to get him out of her mind.
Even though he had made one hell of a mess out of her life.
Through months of heavy tears, she had tried moving on, but to this day the pain was still there. Deeply. It only proved she had never gotten over him.
Feeling the pain of her past as the sun beat down through the windshield, still staring at the gloomy funeral home, Tess wiped back a stray tear. The old memories didn't seem old any more.
She wished she could banish them from her mind altogether, do away with every person in her life who had wronged her. Every time she found herself reminiscing, Tess felt the twinge in her gut from what she had walked in on that day long ago.
She placed her head on the steering wheel, closing her eyes, willing the images from her past to go away.
But they never did.
The hardest thing was, year after year, Johnny and Tess had continued living in the same town. It always struck her as funny to see how two people who were once close could live far apart with nothing more than a stolen glance shared between them. Yet the ache remained, seeing him move on with his life.
One more person who had thrown her away.
The hurt was as fresh as if it happened yesterday. However, it happened eleven years ago, and Tess couldn't understand why the feeling of betrayal still lingered deep within her heart, persisting to haunt her.
It took all the emotional strength Tess had to put the car in gear and drive to the parking lot across the street. Feeling as though she were bordering on the edge of a cliff, her emotions threatening to come crashing around her, tears stinging her eyes, blurring her vision, she parked the car.
When Tess walked into the funeral home, feeling uncomfortable, alone, as though she had no right being there, people stared, their whispers unmistakable, probably wondering why after all these years she would show up at the wake.
Despite their intentness, Tess pushed forward. She had to do this, had to face the past, pay her final respects, more so for herself than for any other reason.
Suddenly, she stopped, her feet frozen to the dark-colored carpet beneath her. There he was. The time that had passed between them had been so long. To see him like this...
It was devastating.
No matter what was going on inside her head, Tess had to be strong, had to go to him, to Johnny Sawyer, who stood alone next to his wife's coffin.
Tess approached the casket.
Other than a slight sideward glance, she tried keeping her gaze off Johnny as he stared, startled by her sudden presence. Kneeling down on the small wooden step, Tess said a prayer. Not a prayer filled with her forgiveness, just the simplest goodbye to someone who had once been an important part of her life.
Lindsey Moran...Tess's one-time best friend, now Lindsey Sawyer, a woman who had deceived her in the worst possible way.
If it hadn't been for the destructive thunderstorm, or the sharpness of the bend in the road, Tess wouldn't have had a reason to be there.
She'd heard about the tragedy on the local radio station the morning after. A car had been traveling at high speed along a country road, when it veered off the shoulder. Why had Lindsey been driving so fast? Was her car the only one involved? The police would never know.
It was irrelevant now.
Lindsey Sawyer had been pronounced dead at the scene of the accident, the impact of the crash too much for her body to handle and the internal bleeding irreversible. The broadcast reported that the rescue team had been forced to call in the Jaws of Life to get her out of the mangled car.
The only thing that brought Tess out of shock that morning, after hearing Lindsey's name come through the speakers of her radio, had been the sound of her coffee mug shattering on the kitchen floor.
Although it was true that Tess had never forgiven Lindsey for crossing the line, destroying their friendship forever, she wouldn't wish such pain or eternal heartache on anyone.
Not even Johnny Sawyer.
Her mind was free of all thoughts of betrayal, rather filled with warm memories of Lindsey. From the times they had played together on the school playground, their prom, graduation... But no matter how hard she tried, the pain came back in full with the vision of seeing Lindsey in bed with Johnny.
Even in death, the thoughts, the images, couldn't be banished.
After privately saying her peace, Tess started to turn, to head back down the aisle and out the door. Except she couldn't. She faced Johnny with sadness in her eyes, a kind of sadness she couldn't explain.
Tess walked to him, reached out and took his hand.
His body was shaking, shaking badly. He didn't turn away. At that moment, Tess wanted nothing more than to take him in her arms, to hold him, to comfort Johnny in any way she could.
The feeling had nothing to do with her past love for him, but rather a need to ease his pain. Unfortunately, it wasn't that simple. No matter what she said---or did---nothing would change the fact that he would have to bury his wife the next day.
"Thanks for coming, Tess. It means a lot."
"I'm so sorry."
She had always thought that particular phrase at a funeral was repetitious, but now she knew why people said it. What more could you possibly say to someone who'd had their whole world taken from them?
"She would've been happy to know that you came." Johnny looked from Tess down to Lindsey's peaceful face. "She's missed you all these years."
Suddenly, all that had happened back then seemed petty, and Tess began to feel guilty for not responding to Lindsey's pleas for forgiveness after Tess had found them in bed together. Now it was too late.
"I missed her, too."
Tess looked down at Johnny's hands, which were still holding hers, feeling the tables turning. It was Tess who now felt as though she were betraying a friend by holding the hands of Lindsey's husband while Lindsey rested in her coffin.
Tess pulled away... And Johnny lost control of his emotions.
She took him in her arms and held him close. She could feel Johnny's heart beating against her chest, could feel his warm breath graze her cheek as the low sob escaped him.
They didn't speak, nor did anyone approach them. Johnny's fellow officers, half of the Dawson Valley Police Force, lined the back wall of the funeral home, but showed no signs of intruding. Or maybe it was that they didn't dare get too close to Johnny's pain for fear of not knowing what to say, what to do.
Johnny sobbed like Tess had never heard before. It was a heartwrenching sound, causing a feeling of helplessness to rush through her body. If only there was something---anything---she could do to take away the pain.
There wasn't. Nobody could do anything for him. It was certain he would have the support of his friends and family. However, Johnny would have to endure this long road of anguish on his own because it was too soon for anything or anyone to lessen his pain.
"I'm sorry," he said, pulling away, once again maintaining composure.
"You can't keep this inside. If there's anything you need, I'm here for you." Tess didn't know how it would come across, but she wasn't able to help the words from coming out, didn't fully understood herself exactly what she meant by them.
"No, Tess... I am sorry."
It was time to go. Something about his repeated statement told her his words had nothing to do with Lindsey, and his wife's wake wasn't the time or the place to be letting such thoughts enter their minds.
Before she reached the comfort of the exit door, Johnny stopped her. He held her shoulders, only for a moment, holding her gaze through consoling eyes. After all the time apart, she still felt the tenderness in his touch, the way his fingers gently pressed into her skin, his heat radiating through the material of her silk blouse.
It was too much to bear. She stepped back, forcing Johnny to release his hold, enabling her to walk away from him and out into the open sunlight.
He followed.
"Tess."
She stopped and turned to face him. No words left her lips, only tears of regret uncontrollably poured down her face. He remained silent, his hands safely tucked in the pockets of his dress pants.
Tess continued to her car at the far end of the parking lot. It was safer this way. Sitting in her car, she glanced in the rearview mirror as Johnny stood there watching her.
Now Tess wondered why she had come here. Why had she come to see Johnny Sawyer, his wife's body lying in a coffin, his wife taken out of his life forever? Was it to see if she could do anything for him, to let him know she would be there if and when he needed her?
Tess tried to convince herself those were the reasons why she sat staring at the funeral home but knew they weren't true. An unnerving chill ran through her body, giving her the answers to her questions.
Could I be that insensitive?
No...not intentionally.
Tess shook her head, then started the engine of her car, driving back down the tree-lined street, away from the man who had meant the world to her, the same man who had brought it crashing down.
She couldn't deal with the reemerging feelings, and they couldn't have come at a more disrespectful time. No. She didn't think she could ever confess to Johnny Sawyer how much she still loved him.
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