Reburn (7 page)

A
s soon as the sun came up, Sam had them hiking towards the smoke jumper pickup. Based on yesterday’s intel, the jumpers were working five miles inland in rough terrain and had been for two days. That meant some of their number would be flown out soon for some rest before rejoining the firefight. Part of Olivia wished he wasn’t in such a rush. Leaving their makeshift campsite seemed all too final. They’d spent the night together, but would that really make a difference in the grand scheme of things, even if he’d kissed her?

More than kissed her.

Hell, her knees were still jelly from the orgasm he’d given her.

Their almost-sex had been amazing, but it hadn’t been just a one-night quickie. Not for her. No, she’d apparently made the mistake of thinking his touching her meant something more. Instead of hiking out with a lover, however, she appeared to be stuck with the park ranger this morning.

If Holm Arthurs had been watching today, she and Sam could have been any man and woman out for a little day hike, pulling each other along and pointing things out. The forest hadn’t burned here, although that ominous plume of smoke—smaller today—still boiled up on their left.

They talked as they walked, but not about the night. Instead, he caught her up on what he’d been doing, and she did the same. Almost as if they were two not-quite-strangers who’d had a chance re-encounter in a bar and decided to condense ten years into a few hours. Filling in the blanks was nice, but strangely impersonal. So, all in all, it was too bad she didn’t have the beer. Then maybe she’d have found the courage to ask him why he was pushing her away when that was the last thing she wanted.

Instead, she hiked along beside him and didn’t know whether she should be relieved or disappointed when he paused and pointed.

“There,” he said, and moments later they broke out of the trees and onto the edge of a large field. “That’s our pickup point, right there in the middle.”

Overhead a tanker finished dropping its load of retardant and lumbered away southeast. Another smaller, sleeker plane moved in, taking the tanker’s place. Sam eyed the newcomer from behind his aviator glasses.

“That’s a Donovan Brothers plane, so they’ll have Spotted Dick running the controls. He’s one of the best in the business. Watch—he and his kicker will put that load down square in the bottom of the canyon.”

Sam followed the plane moving into position like a man eyeing a football and the distance to the uprights down field. He was all hotshot now, his concentration sexy as hell as he measured the tall ponderosas lining the clearing with obvious concern.

Thin ribbons of colored streamers flew out the door of the DC-13, riding the air down until Livy lost sight of the streamers in the treetops.

“They’ll unload now.” Unexpectedly, Sam took her hand, pulling her up against his side. His fingers tangled with hers. She wished they were skin to skin, without the Nomex barrier between them, but safety came first.

“Yeah, baby,” he muttered, squeezing her hand, as the plane finished its recon pass, turned steeply, and the pilot—this Spotted Dick—lined it up with the patch of bare ground that was apparently the day’s drop zone.

Spotted Dick came back, smooth and steady down the canyon, the sun lighting up the plane’s tail. Before the plane reached the field, a series of cardboard boxes wrapped in webbing harness shot out the open side door one after the other and fell towards the ground. Seconds later, chutes snapped open above the boxes, slowing the free fall. One after another, the boxes floated lazily down and slammed into the cleared space with a bone-jarring thud. Whooping, the guys hanging back on the edge of the clearing swarmed the cargo, thumbs-upping the pilot.

Sam let go of her hand and started towards the jumpers.

“We should be able to hitch you a ride back to Big Bear with the jumpers who are ready to pack out.”

The events of the previous day and night seemed like a dream. Logically, she understood that they both had jobs to do—and those jobs were pulling them in separate directions just like that last summer ten years ago. Now wasn’t the time for kisses. Sam needed to go back to his hotshot crew, and she needed to hunker down at the local FBI office and debrief. She’d taken down a domestic terrorist. She’d earned her promotion. So why did she feel so lost? Why couldn’t she stop thinking about last night and about Sam and second chances?

As they got closer, the noise got louder. Smoke jumpers catcalled and teased one another, filling the air with good-natured cursing and instructions beneath the deafening roar of the tankers overhead. There was fire here, too, but less than what she’d seen yesterday, and none of it had crossed the raw, black line of earth cutting along the edge of the clearing.

Maybe that was because there had to be—she did a quick headcount—at least ten smoke jumpers digging hard and fast. And damned if the fire wasn’t giving way before their fierce determination. If sheer strength of will could put out flames, these boys had this fire contained.

When Sam pushed through the brush and approached, they slapped him on the back, nodded their heads towards her, and kept on digging. Like two more people popping out of a wildfire was just par for the course and nothing mattered more than that line in the dirt.

Sam headed straight for the big-ass man at the end of the line. “You got room for one more on your next pickup?”

The jumper directed a curious look towards her. “Sure. But who’s your new friend?”

“You got a new dating service out here in the bush?” The man cutting line next to the first jumper eyed her and smiled, a slow, hot smoky smile that should have been illegal—and that definitely should have made her feel something. But nope. Nada. The man was a walking ad for naughty, even two days into the job, and she didn’t care. For a moment, she panicked, but she knew the reason for her don’t-give-a-damn was standing next to her. She only had eyes for Sam Clayton and that was the real problem.

Mr. Tall, Golden, and Sexy continued his play, sending her another bone-melting grin. “’Cause, if that’s so, you got to sign me up. She’s way better looking than this lot.”

“Special Agent Albert.” Sam nodded towards the big smoke jumper and then at the man cutting line next to him. “Evan Donovan. Rio Donovan.”

Fleetingly, she wondered how two such polar opposites could be brothers. In the end, she supposed it didn’t matter. God help the female population. Both of them were well-built men who clearly knew a thing or two about working with their hands. They’d make most women wonder what they’d be capable of in their downtime. In bed. On the floor. Hell, in their fire engine. If a woman was going to fantasize, she might as well go all the way.

“Ma’am.” Evan’s large hand swallowed hers. Hell. He might be built like a linebacker, but his grip was careful. A quick close-and-release before she even had time to worry that he might accidentally crush her fingers.

He turned to Sam. “They’re looking for her on the radio. Boys she’s riding with are anxious to have her back.”

“Right here,” she said and Sam laughed.

“Yeah. Sorry.” Evan smiled ruefully and waved towards the middle of the field. “Bird’s inbound now and will be here in five. Take a seat in the departure lounge and we’ll be boarding soon.”

Sam led her over to join a group of five jumpers waiting on the other side of the clearing. It certainly wasn’t like waiting for United Airlines to load a plane. The jumpers lounged on the ground, using their packs as impromptu seats. They looked bone-weary, dirty, and smoky as they swapped war stories about fires fought and one-upped each other. The flames, she noted, grew bigger and longer with each retelling. Maybe it was a guy thing.

A few stories later, a Sikorsky roared overhead, dropping its load of retardant over the ridge before swinging round in a wide arc and heading for the clearing. The plume of white fell away beneath the chopper like a veil settling on the ground.

The whole world narrowed to the chopper coming in, the rotors beating a heavy rhythm as the red-and-white bird dropped over the treeline. Dust exploded up from the ground as the pilot put her down.

“Go,” Sam roared in her ear, his hand steadying her elbow and pulling her up into a crouch. She ran with him, making for the chopper’s side. The pilot flashed a thumbs-up when they crossed his sight line. Dirt, rocks, and the odd twig slammed into their legs, kicked up by the rotor wash.

Sam grabbed the door, sliding it open. She seized the handle and climbed in. Then she paused. Sam wasn’t right behind her.

“You’re not coming?” she yelled, fighting to be heard over the chopper’s noise.

“Not yet.” Anything else he said was swallowed up by the roar of the rotors. Then he was backing away from the door and heading back towards the fire.

She grabbed a seat and buckled in as the jumpers clambered onboard. Two minutes later and the chopper was air bound, the forest falling away beneath them. The clearing where the jumpers were working was smack in the path of the inferno, which just figured. All untouched green on one side, fuel waiting to burn, and a maelstrom of white, black, and orange on the other. As the chopper moved, black char replaced the smoking trees below where the fire had come and gone. From her bird’s-eye view in the sky, she couldn’t tell if anything was left besides the smoldering trunks.

“Base, this is X-ray-Four-Foxtrot.”

“X-ray-Four-Foxtrot, Base. Go ahead.”

“I’m inbound to base from the Big Bear fire with a load of five jumpers and one civilian pickup. ETA is thirty minutes.”

She settled back in her seat, picking at the buckle while she stared out the window and the blades chewed up the air with ruthless efficiency. The firefight was part of her past now. As was her night on the crest line with Sam Clayton.

But was there still hope for the second chance she now wanted so badly?

 

Evan Donovan leaned on his shovel and watched Sam for a long minute. “That’s likely the last chopper out of here until tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Sam grabbed a tool from the neat stack and set to work. Evan Donovan was a big, dark, irritable bear of a man who could have taken his place on a medieval battlefield and fit in just fine. He didn’t talk much either, which was good with Sam. Soot streaked his stubbled jaw and face, a red flag that Evan had spent the night working his ass off to hold the fire, while Sam had spent the better part of
his
night holding Livy. He knew Evan couldn’t know about those sweet, watchful hours, but damned if he didn’t feel guilty anyhow. Somehow, he should have found a way back to the fight.

“All right.” Evan punched the Pulaski’s sharp edge through the ground in front of him. Flipped a load over. Those muscled forearms promised he could dig line for hours more if he had to.

Somehow, the idea of pulling an all-nighter no longer held any appeal for Sam. He wanted to be headed back to Big Bear Lake. Hell, who was he kidding? He wanted to go home to Olivia Albert, even though she hadn’t given him any indication that she’d consider something permanent with him.

Evan shot him a look and Sam hoped like hell that those thoughts weren’t written across his puss.

“You don’t need me here?” He countered Evan’s two words with five more of his own.

Evan thought it over, shook his head, and cleared another foot on his part of the line before opening his mouth. “Needing isn’t the problem.”

There was more than enough daylight for the chopper to make it safely back to base. He figured Livy would be on the ground in thirty, forty minutes tops. She’d probably have to debrief with the FBI—or whatever it was the feds did when someone took out the man riding the top of the most wanted list—but then she’d probably be done for the day. He tried to imagine where she would go or what she would do, but he drew a blank. He didn’t even have an address or a phone number so, if she headed straight out of town, he was S.O.L. Again.

“You saying I’m the problem?” He knew he sounded defensive. Hell. He was still half watching that chopper wing away like some kind of lovesick hero in the movies. The rest of him was just glad that Livy was well on her way to safety. He didn’t want her out here in the middle of a wildland fire.

“Maybe,” Evan said finally. “You want that girl. The one you let go. A blind man could see that.”

“It’s not a question of
wanting
.” He gave the other man back his words. “Letting her go is the right thing to do.”

“Shit.” Evan actually stopped shoveling for a moment and rested his arms on the handle. “Did you ask her what she wanted? Or did you just jump in to rescue her? Because I’ve got it on good authority that women like asking.”

Now that was a damned good question. Tonight was going to be a long one, and he was still feeling the effects of an all-night watch followed by his hand-to-hand with Holm Arthurs. Tomorrow would hurt like a son-of-a-bitch.

“Jumped,” he finally admitted.

At least their line was shaping up well. Beautifully straight, that line was eighteen inches of raw dirt. They’d dug straight down to the mineral soil, clearing out the vegetation on either side. Swipe and step, following in the footsteps of the guy in front of you with another guy behind you. Dade had complained once that digging line was like a line of dancing elephants, linked trunk to tail, but Sam liked the simplicity of it all.

“Hell.” Evan shot him a commiserating look. “Well, she’s got twenty-four hours to calm down before you see her again. At which point, I recommend doing some apologizing.”

“And groveling,” Rio called, grinning. His teeth were a wicked slash of white in his soot-streaked face. If anyone knew women, it was Rio. The man had dated his way through most of the Western states and, as far as Sam could tell, the majority of those women were still talking to him. Sam had no idea how Rio managed it.

“You think it’ll come to that?”