Chapter 7
CHAPTER SEVEN
Most of the men dispersed into the darkness. A few would stay behind, near the perimeters of the flames with radios, but little more could be done until daylight.
Lyndie could see that Griffin didn’t like it as he stood there watching most of the men go. He’d been appalled at their second-rate equipment, saddened and anxious over the men out here without the proper training and tools, and stressed about leading this fight.
“How can it be this bad?” he murmured, taking a moment to lean on the shovel he’d been wielding. “It’s just not right. We’re killing ourselves to save the village and the ranches, and because we’re shorthanded, the north end of the fire is making its way into those mountains.”
Lyndie had watched him work the land all day, the long, lean lines of his body moving with easy strength as he cleared fuel from the path of the fire, never giving up. Over and over again he’d stressed safety to everyone around him, making sure no one got hurt.
What had he done and seen in his experiences as a firefighter that had made him the man he was?
Undoubtedly, he’d been molded by each experience, as she had by her flying, and she wanted to know more.
The wanting made her incredibly wary. She’d always prided herself on her independence, on her no-strings-attached way of life.
She lived as she wanted, when and where she wanted, and had no one to account to.
When she needed a man, she got herself one.
And then went on her merry way.
More than once she’d been told, accused, of being far too much like a man.
She’d never taken that as an insult. She didn’t understand why she should.
Sure, maybe a part of her would have liked to have Griffin on a sexual level.
He was here for two days tops. A hot bout of mutually satisfying sex would have been perfect to ease the fear and danger and tension.
Except for two things.
One, they wouldn’t have time to do anything but breathe and fight the fire. And two…he was just different enough, just complex enough, to complicate things.
She hated complications in her sex life.
And yet she couldn’t deny certain things lingered on her mind, things she’d never spent time lingering over before.
His hands, for one. They were big and work-roughened and warm.
She knew this because as they’d hiked, he kept putting them on her, helping her, guiding her…
which made this all his fault, really. If he’d just have kept them to himself, she wouldn’t be wondering anything right now.
And then there’d been the kissing. She couldn’t stop thinking about that.
Also his fault.
But the way he’d risked himself for her, going back to get her inhaler… “Food and sleep,” she decided out loud. That was all she needed.
“I have a tent and some rations,” he said. “I’ll just—”
“You can’t work two days and nights straight. Come on,” she coaxed. “I’ll even let you drive back.”
That got him. He liked being in charge. The Jeep had been moved twice during the day to keep it safe. They got into it as full darkness hit, the headlights vanishing into the thick smoke as they started back.
The ride felt even more spine-chilling at night.
Without a moon or stars, the landscape was utterly invisible, the only sight being the terrifying glow of the earth burning and the reflection in the smoke hanging overhead.
It was like a bad dream, an out of focus one, and Lyndie found herself blinking over and over again to try to clear her vision.
“I don’t want them to lose it all,” she whispered.
“They won’t.”
She glanced over at his profile, lit only by the Jeep’s instruments. “That’s quite a promise.”
“Just determination.”
Their headlights wavered, muffled by the rising dust from the Jeep’s tires and smoke. He drove with the same fierceness she did, working the steering wheel and gearshift with tense arms. “You were…incredible out there today.”
He glanced at her. “I was just doing my job. But you…”
“What?”
“You were incredible.”
They hit a rut hard. She gripped the dash and tried not to let his praise get to her. “You’re right. It’s much nicer to drive.”
“Yeah.” He reached out and squeezed her leg. “You really doing okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Don’t go all bristly on me, I just—” He took them around a hairpin turn, the two headlights bobbing up and down. “I just meant your asthma.”
“I’m okay.” If she took only shallow breaths.
He shook his head. “Why am I asking? You sure as hell won’t tell me anything.”
“Turn right.”
“I remember the way back. Have you always been domineering and bossy?”
Since the day her grandfather had come and gotten her after her parents’ accident, barking orders to mask his grief, in turn showing her how to do the same. “Yep.”
“Is all your family this way?”
“Turn right again.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” He turned. The lights of San Robledo appeared ahead in the night. Above them, from where they’d just come, glowed the fire.
Not nearly far enough away to suit her.
“Where to?” he asked.
“Your weekend accommodations.” The cobblestone streets rattled their brains, the sweet, quaint, small buildings reminding her of why they’d nearly killed themselves today.
“And I should tell you now,” she warned of the place that had unexpectedly captured her heart five years earlier.
“The Río Vista Inn is not quite a five-star.”
“And here I was, looking forward to a facial and pedicure, along with caviar and a good Sex on the Beach.”
She blinked.
He glanced at her innocently. “The drink.”
“Oh. Right.” Sex on the Beach was a drink, some complicated mixed drink. But he really shouldn’t say the word “sex” in that voice of his—it made her insides do funny things. “I knew that.”
He didn’t laugh, but did smile, and damn if now her hormones didn’t stand up and tap dance.
“How much further?”
She pointed. “Until the end of the road.”
“There’s hardly a road now. How did you find this place the first time?”
“Long story.”
“We happen to have lots of time.”
She lifted a shoulder. “I had plane trouble a few years ago.”
“Plane trouble? I’m almost afraid to ask, but what in your world specifies ‘plane trouble’?”
“I had to make an interesting landing out here, which I thought was the middle of nowhere. Turns out I was right. Turns out I also like it out here in the middle of nowhere. Watch out for that pig in the middle of the road.”
“You, Lyndie Anderson, are a fascinating woman.” He did indeed slow down, moving carefully around the pig, who held its ground in the dark and stared at them, its eyes glowing in their headlights as they passed.
“An ‘interesting’ landing? What does that mean exactly? You had to crash land? Save your passengers single-handedly? Walk through the woods barefoot for days? Rebuild your plane with parts you built yourself?”
“Who do you think I am, MacGyver?” But she was smiling, damn it. God, she so didn’t want to do this, share stories, share herself. It would make things worse in two days when she dumped him back in San Diego and they went their own merry way. “I don’t like to talk about myself.”
“Well, I’m with you there. I was just wondering what ruffled you. I know it’s not hairy Jeep rides, or falling off a cliff, or running from a wall of fire.”
What ruffled her? Tall, rugged, rangy men with expressively haunted eyes and a heartbreaking smile, and a tendency toward unusual courage and a save-the-world soul, all while facing some mysterious nightmare.
That’s what ruffled her. “Nothing gets me,” she finally said, and he let out another of those tummy-quivering low laughs.
They were silent for a moment, the comfortable kind of silence, which in turn made her uncomfortable. She stared at the glowing hill, beyond which were the flames. She could still hear them, smell them. “So you really just usually camp out when you’re fighting fires?”
“Yes.”
“Have you done this…recently?”
“Fishing, Lyndie? For personal information? Because that goes both ways.”
Yes. Yes, it did. “I’m just asking you about your work. Nothing personal.”
“My work?” His face in shadow, he gave nothing away.
“It’s been about a year, but apparently nothing changes.
As you learned today, it’s dirty. It’s hard work, and a good amount of the time, boring as hell.
You’re either struggling against time and the elements, taking orders from a headquarters that can be miles away and clueless, or waiting for the trucks to refill.
Or if you’re lucky, sleeping in pure exhaustion. ”
“If you don’t like it, why do you do it?”
He jerked his head toward her, and in his eyes was pure surprise. “I do like it. I love it.”
“You know what?” she said on a laugh. “You’re crazier than I am.”
“Laugh if you want. Fighting fire is what I do, it’s who I am.”
“Then why doesn’t it make you happy?”
“It used to.” He downshifted for a sharp turn. “It used to be my entire life. I’d go from fire to fire—Colorado, Utah, Idaho, California, Wyoming…you name the state, and if they had a wilderness, I’d been there.”
“Been. Past tense.”
His long fingers tightened on the wheel. “I told you, I haven’t fought a fire in almost a year now.”
“Why?”
“Now that question definitely leaves the realm of work-related topics and dips into personal.”
Right. And she of all people valued privacy, not wanting to be probed at by a sharp stick. But that was when she was the one wanting to avoid something.
He came to a stop at the base of a hill. Above it came the nerve-racking glow from the fire.
“Right is a loop back to downtown. Left is suburbia, Mexican style. You’ll find Tom’s place five down. We need to get him his Jeep back.”