23. Chapter 23
twenty-three
“Old times,” Tanner says as we screech out of the parking lot, an orange glow on the western horizon.
“Yeah.” I scrub a hand over my jaw, reeling over what she did tonight, in front of God and country.
Her dad, too. Dabbo Hayes has never had any use for me. His acknowledgement in the meeting—it all did something to me, loosened something I’ve been holding onto as long as I can remember.
Scary as fuck.
“Mercy and I watched,” Tanner says, flicking his eyes toward me. “You were like you were before.”
“Don’t jinx it, man.” I shift in my seat.
It’s not safe, wanting her the way I do. It felt so natural. Too natural. Too easy. This can’t last.
I throw it back at him. “You and Mercy—”
Tanner exhales through his nose, drumming his fingers once on the console. “Yeah, I don’t know. She’s a pistol. There’s no one quite like her.”
“So?”
“So, what?” He cuts me a quick side-eye.
“You two—”
“Haven’t gone there.” He shrugs one shoulder, watching the glow on the horizon. “Don’t want to mess up the good thing we’ve got.”
“I saw the way she looked at you.”
“Yeah, what way is that?” His mouth twitches. He’s fighting a smile.
“She’s into you, fuckhead. She just can’t admit it to herself.”
Tanner snorts as I pull into the VFD parking lot—most everyone’s here.
“It’s on Bender’s Ridge!” Truitt yells from the open bay of the fire department.
“That’s a turbine fire,” I grumble, loud, grabbing my gear bag from the backseat. Wind turbines line that ridge as far as the eye can see.
“Don’t care what started it!” Truitt waves, urging us to hurry. “I just want to get it out before it spreads! Get your gear and get in!”
Reaching Bender Ridge, men pile out of the two brush trucks and fan across the ridge, headlamps slicing through the darkness. The engine sits farther back on the caliche road, its scene lights the dark. Won’t be long before they’re up and cutting through the smoke.
The tanker rumbles behind it, ready to refill whoever runs dry.
Hand crews spread out with flappers and rakes, thirty volunteers falling into the same roles we always do. Nobody has to say a word. Tanner and I take the hoses.
The turbines groan overhead, blades whooshing like giant lungs, pushing the fire faster across the dry grass. Wind never stops up here—exactly why they planted these damn things six hundred feet above the rest of the county. Tonight, they’re doing the fire more favors than us.
I wish they’d outlaw these damn things.
The wind shifts without warning, shoving smoke sideways, making the flames leap for new fuel.
Fuck. This is going to be a long night.
“We need another truck!” someone yells.
“We don’t have another truck!” Truitt yells back. “We’ve got to handle this!”
“Can someone tell them to turn those fuckin’ turbines off?” I yell over the roar of the flames and hum of the goddamn blades.
“Waddy!” Truitt yells. “Have sheriff’s dispatch tell Lone Star Wind to shut these fuckers down!”
“On it!”
What a joke. By the time the turbines fall still—we have the fire out and the sun’s crawling up the eastern horizon.
“We’ve got to have that other truck,” Truitt says flatly, as two men walk the hose, lifting it from one end to the other to push the water out. We can’t wrap it up ’til it’s empty.
Gives the rest of us time to sit and catch our breath.
“I was at that meeting,” Truitt says. “My family’s not sitting in those stands until we get that report back.”
“I wouldn’t either.”
He narrows his eyes as he asks, “You and that girl, Laurel. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. She’s divorcing. Came back home so her parents can help her with her son while she teaches.”
“You go way back.” Not a question. He heard that shit in the meeting.
I cut my eyes at him. “Yeah.”
“And she’s going through a divorce? What happened to you two in the first place?”
“Long story.” Damn, I wish I had a beer.
Truitt stands, stretching his back. “Listen to me, Calder. I know you’re hard-headed but hear this.
I’ve been around the block. A woman who’s going through a divorce is about as stable as that fucking range fire.
She doesn’t know which end is up. Take your time before you jump in, because it’s a fact of life.
You don’t want to be the rebound guy and get your heart broken. ”
He holds up his palm as my goddam jaw sags, our gazes tight. “Not saying it won’t work. Not saying she’s not the best woman alive. I’m just saying divorcees… they need to enjoy their freedom a while before they settle down again.”
Well, fuck.
I fall into bed exhausted. Wired to the gills after tonight—her, us, the fire.
My body’s dead tired but my mind won’t shut up.
It keeps replaying the night like a loop I can’t break—that fucker wrapped around her. I know her. She’d have cracked him with that pool cue if I hadn’t gotten there first. Would’ve been a helluva scene.
Then her laugh, her hand on my chest, the way she leaned into me like no time had passed at all. God, it felt good.
Before she stood up for me, I’d resolved to keep my distance, knowing I can’t keep my damned hands off of her.
The way she was in that meeting changed everything. She was there for me in a way I never dreamed she’d be. Even her old man backed me. I left there in a damn daze.
I couldn’t get out of those clothes quick enough. Something told me she’d be at the Dust Devil. I know Mercy too well.
I drag a hand over my face, trying to scrub the feeling out of my chest, but it’s still there—warm, dangerous, alive. I haven’t felt like this since—fuck. I don’t want to think about it.
I thought she was safe. She wasn’t.
She felt safe in the Dust Devil.
She isn’t. Not anymore.
I want to pretend she never left. I can’t.
I don’t trust myself. This is too fast.
Truitt’s words keep circling back, digging into that same damn wound that never healed. A woman going through a divorce is like a range fire. Unpredictable. Fast-moving. Beautiful and deadly all at once.
I press my fingertips against my eyelids. I know she’d never hurt me intentionally, but she can still break my fucking heart.
And I cannot go there again.
I can’t be the rebound—the mistake she makes on her way to figuring herself out.
I want to be the choice she makes when she’s steady. When she’s sure. When she’s free.
I sit up in bed with a new resolve—I’ve got to put on the brakes.
If this is happening—it’s happening slow. When the divorce is final. After she’s had time alone.
It’s against every instinct in me. I want to grab on and never let go—but I can’t.
Sleep drags me under, in fits.
We’re young again, dancing outside the door of my old truck, sunlight behind her, hair blowing across her face. She smiles at me, that heart-stopping familiar smile, the one that knocks the breath out of me.
Then she’s holding her hands, nervous, like she did the night she said goodbye—right before she tore the ground out from under me… She’s gone, swallowed by smoke rolling over the ridge.
I jerk awake, my heart drumming in my ears, my chest tight.
Damn.
I roll onto my side, stare at the wall, and let the truth settle in my bones. I want her more than life itself. I can’t walk away. It’s not in me.
But I’m fucking terrified. I’m wading in slow.
For her. For me. For that little boy. For whatever the hell this could be if we don’t screw it up.