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  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.”

  Chapter Two

  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 hi
ps. “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.