Facing The Fire

by Barrett, Gail

  The dog stopped and shook, then trotted ahead of him to the cluster of pines. Jordan huddled in the windbreak, shivering in her wet clothes. Her dripping hair clung to her pale cheeks, and her lips trembled with cold.

  He scowled. “Why didn’t you change out of those clothes?”

  She moved her mouth, then shook her head. Hell. She was colder than he’d thought. And no wonder. His gut still tensed at the thought of her diving into that river to get the knife.

  Still swearing, he picked up their bags and dropped them at her feet. Unless he warmed her up, she’d never outrun that fire. But to do that, he had to get her into dry clothes.

  Resigned to the delay, he dropped to one knee beside her bag. Using his good hand, he unzipped it, then pulled out a blanket and towel. Then he rummaged back through it again, this time netting a pair of socks, a T-shirt and jeans. And underwear. His hand clenched the strips of white lace, and he felt the blow to his gut.

  So, she still wore that damn sexy underwear. Satin and lace, his biggest weakness. He dragged in an unsteady breath.

  And forced his mind to focus on the problem at hand—getting her warmed up so they could escape the fire. Since she was too cold to move, he scooted over and lifted her foot to his lap. Still using one hand, he loosened the wet laces and pulled off her soaked shoe and sock. He did the same to the other.

  He rose. “Now stand up so I can help take off those clothes.”

  “I c-c-can d-d-do…”

  “No, you can’t. Now stand up.” Trying not to think of this sexually, he pulled her to her feet. He kept his mind carefully blank as he grabbed the hem of her wet shirt and pulled up. She crossed her arms to stop him.

  “I could use some help here,” he said.

  “C-c-cold.”

  “Come on. It’ll only be cold for a minute.”

  “K-k-kay.” She straightened her arms, and he yanked the shirt over her head.

  Despite his intentions, his gaze dropped to her full breasts straining against the wet bra. The moonlight shimmered on her delicate skin, darkening the valley between the soft swells.

  “Turn around,” he said, his voice hard. She pulled her wet hair from her shoulder and turned. But now her smooth, bare back gleamed before him, and without warning, memories crowded in, of undressing before the woodstove. Of sliding kisses down that delicate neck. Of cupping her soft, full breasts in his hands and making her moan….

  He flicked open the clasp on her bra. She shrugged it off and crossed her arms, but not before the sight of her breasts seared his brain—the smooth curves shadowed in moonlight, the nipples tight with cold. The water beading on the firm flesh then trickling to her flat belly.

  His pulse drumming, he grabbed the towel and draped it over her head. “Wipe your hair. It’s dripping.”

  The blood surged hard in his brain as he picked up her dry clothes and faced her again. She dropped the towel and he slung the T-shirt over her head, struggling to get her arms in the sleeves.

  He tried not to look at her swaying breasts, to focus instead on the pain in his shoulder and the searing ache in his ribs. But hell, he was only human.

  And she did have beautiful breasts. Full and lush, with creamy, pebbled nipples. Generous enough to fill his big hands.

  And the memory of how those breasts felt in his palms came rushing back. Soft and slick. Arousing. Fighting the urge to touch her, he clenched his hand into a fist.

  “We forgot the bra,” he croaked.

  “L…l…later.” She pulled down her T-shirt, but the fabric clinging to her naked breasts did nothing to diminish his hunger. His mind banked down. His pulse ran ragged through his brain.

  And he still had to take off her jeans.

  Forcing air into his lungs, he moved closer and reached for the waistband. His hand shaking, he popped the snap and pulled down the zipper, and the electric sound tore through the night. Then he inched the wet pants down her legs.

  He dropped to one knee, and she clutched his shoulder for balance. He welcomed the jolt of pain, especially since he was now eye-level with a scrap of soaked satin. Hardly breathing, he jerked the jeans off her legs.

  He rose to his feet, her wet jeans balled in his hand. And God help him, but he couldn’t pull off that underwear. Because if he reached for her, he wouldn’t stop.

  Knowing what she’d see if he met her gaze, he kept his eyes averted. “Can you manage?” he ground out.

  “Yes.”

  Still not daring to look at her, he turned around, but his ears stayed attuned to every movement. Every rustle brought visions to his mind, of memories he’d struggled to banish. His tension mounting, he picked up the dry lace and waited.

  “Ok-kay.” She stopped moving, and he dragged himself around. He tried not to look; he really did. But his gaze still fell to the thatch of dark hair between her thighs, down her long, slender legs and back up.

  And it was his bad luck that his nerves leaped at the sight, and his body grew instantly hard.

  She reached for the underwear, her hand shaking. He handed it over and turned away. He forced himself to look at the dog nosing around the trees. The moon rising through the thrashing pines. The river winding low on its banks.

  “I’m d-done.” He turned back, but the damn lace wasn’t much better. His face rigid, he knelt and held open her jeans, but getting her inside them took forever. She balanced herself by holding on to his good shoulder, practically pulling his face in her lap. A sweat broke out on his brow.

  He stood, and together they pulled up the jeans. He tried not to think about how close she was standing, about how with one short tug, he could haul her into his arms.

  He jerked up the zipper and reached for the snap. His knuckles brushed her soft stomach and she gasped. Her gaze locked on his.

  The air stalled in his lungs. She stood just inches away, her dark, sultry eyes hot on his. He smelled the velvet of her skin, the dampness of her hair, and felt the old urgency rise between them. His gaze dropped to her lips, and memories roared through his brain of staggering heat and pleasure.

  The sound of the snap closing exploded like a bomb in the silence. He sucked in his breath and stepped back. Almost blindly, he bent and pulled his sweatshirt from his bag, then yanked it over her head. It reached her thighs, covering her like a sack. It didn’t help.

  He handed her the dry socks. “Can you put these on?” She nodded and lowered herself to the ground.

  Struggling to control his libido, he again turned his back. So his desire for her hadn’t faded. It didn’t mean a damn thing, except that he was alive. Nothing had changed between them, or ever would. She couldn’t live with a smokejumper. And he wouldn’t change his identity for anyone, no matter how great their sex life had been.

  His resolve hardening, he shoved the past where it belonged and turned his mind to what mattered—getting them out of the forest.

  But the truth was that they couldn’t continue in this condition. She needed to warm up. And although he hated to admit it, his head ached like hell. His shoulder felt wrenched from its socket, and his ribs burned whenever he breathed.

  He picked up the blanket and draped it awkwardly over her shoulders. She gave him a grateful smile.

  Keeping a safe distance between them, he sat down beside her and pulled off his hard hat. He took his canteen from his bag and rummaged for his bottle of ibuprofen, hoping to take the edge off his pain. When he found it, he thumbed off the plastic lid, tapped a few into his mouth, and swallowed them down with water.

  He glanced at Jordan. “Are you hungry?”

  Snuggled deep in the blanket now, she shook her head. His stomach rumbled, but food could wait. He needed to change out of his wet pants before he got chilled. Jordan wasn’t in any condition to help him, and he doubted he could stand her soft hands on him if she were.

  “We’ll rest here for a while,” he said. He began unlacing his boots.

  “B-b-but the f-f-fire…”

  “We’re safe enoug
h for now. We’ve got the river behind us and the wind’s still pushing west. We can rest for an hour and then start hiking again.”

  “Your arm…”

  “Later, when you’ve warmed up. You can help lace my boots up, too.”

  She looked at him for a long moment, as if she wanted to argue, then finally slanted her head. He tugged off his wet boots and socks.

  He grabbed some dry clothes from his bag, then rose again. “I’m going to change.” He turned his back to her and stepped away.

  Using one hand, he stripped off his wet pants and briefs, and tossed them aside. The movement jostled his shoulder, but he ignored the deepening pain.

  Then he picked up his dry briefs and paused. How was he going to manage this?

  “You n-n-need help?” Jordan asked.

  He froze. No way in hell was he was letting her help, especially after seeing her naked. He’d barely controlled his reaction to her then. “I can do it.” Hoping she wasn’t watching, he awkwardly inched the briefs into place.

  His pants always hung loose during the season, thanks to the weight he dropped fighting fire, so he pulled them on without problems. He secured the zipper and button, and turned around. He’d have to go without the belt.

  He sat back down and grabbed a pair of dry socks from his bag. “Any chance you can help with these?”

  “Sure.” Still wrapped in the blanket, she rose to her knees. Her hands trembled as she picked up his socks and unrolled them. He noticed her gaze didn’t quite meet his.

  He dusted the pine needles from the soles of his feet. “Are you any warmer?”

  “A l-l-little.” Her dark head bent over as she pulled the first sock over his foot.

  He flinched. “Your hands are still cold.”

  “S-s-sorry.” Still not meeting his gaze, she adjusted the sock.

  “You can wear my gloves,” he said. “They’re dirty, but they might keep your hands warm.”

  “Okay.” Her wet hair swung forward as she started on the other foot. He frowned. Aside from his hard hat, he didn’t have anything to warm her head. And they couldn’t risk building a campfire.

  She finished pulling up his sock and sat back.

  “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll put my boots on later.” Maybe she’d be warm enough by then to help him lace them.

  He tossed her his work gloves, then pulled more clothes from his bag to form a long pillow. He placed the radio close by, switching to the scanning position for updates.

  Jordan settled back down beside him. “C-come here, sweetie,” she called to the dog. He wandered over, and she patted the ground.

  “We’ll need to share the blanket to keep warm,” Cade said.

  “Ok-k-kay.” She unwrapped the blanket. He scooted closer, and she helped smooth it over their legs. He couldn’t hold her with his injured shoulder, but his body would still generate heat.

  Stifling a groan, he lowered his back to the ground. He lay flat on the uneven surface, his right arm propped on his chest. His shoulder ached worse than when the tree had crushed it, and a dull pain pressed on his skull. He hoped to God the ibuprofen worked fast.

  The dog paused a few yards from Jordan and began turning in little circles. After several rotations, he plopped down and buried his nose in his tail. Then he let out a sigh.

  “G-g-good d-d-dog.” She lay back and pulled the blanket to her chin.

  Her concern for the stray dog touched him. He’d always admired that about her, that she really cared about others—animals, the elderly, even him. Or so he’d believed.

  She shivered, and he moved closer so that their shoulders touched. The moonlight sifted through the pine trees and outlined the curve of her cheeks.

  He forced his gaze away. His breathing slowed. And the fatigue he’d been fighting settled in, creeping through his heart and lowering his defenses. Rushing his mind back to the past.

  God, he’d been crazy about this woman. She’d been everything he’d ever dreamed of. Gentle and tender. Warm and funny. Sexy as hell, with a passion that left him reeling.

  And he’d been so sure he’d found the one woman who understood him, the one who really cared.

  He’d been wrong.

  But now, lying beside her and listening to her breathing softly, it was hard to hold on to the bitterness. Hard to forget the good parts of their marriage. The months in the cabin. The easy camaraderie. The trust.

  He gazed up at the stars between the swaying treetops and listened to the rush of the river. And wondered for the hundredth time what had gone wrong, and why she’d left him.

  His chest cramped, and for a terrible moment, he let himself relive the past. The incredulity. The disbelief. The bitter hurt and rage.

  She’d hated being alone; he knew that. They’d moved from the cabin to Missoula during the fire season so she could find work and make friends.

  But he’d never expected her to leave. He’d been stunned, shocked. Unable to believe that she’d gone, that something that special to him meant so little to her, and that she could toss it away. Or that he’d misjudged her so completely.

  He closed his eyes and listened to her drift into sleep, just as he had years ago. So why had she left? A lost, lonely feeling weighted his heart.

  Because even after all this time, he still didn’t know the answer.

  Jordan woke a short time later to sounds of Cade rustling through his bag. She snuggled deeper into the blanket, relishing the heat now spreading through her

  body, thanks to her dry clothes and Cade.

  A sudden vision popped into her mind of him removing her clothes. Her shirt and bra, her pants…Her cheeks burned. Not that he’d had much choice. She’d been too cold to do it herself. But still…

  Thankfully, he’d been all business—except for that one incredible moment when their eyes had met. Her heart fluttered wildly. She’d probably imagined that scorching look. Delirium induced by the cold.

  But she hadn’t imagined his naked backside. Her heart jerked, then careened off her rib cage. She hadn’t intended to look, but his struggles had caught her attention. And then she couldn’t tear her gaze away. The powerful lines of his legs, the solid muscles…

  She swallowed hard. Cade was one gorgeous man. And at least she had finally warmed up!

  Her nerves humming now, she moved her stiff body under the blanket. Fatigue weighted her muscles. She wanted to roll over and sleep until morning, but she knew they needed to go. That fire was dangerously close.

  She forced herself to sit up. “Are we leaving now?”

  He stilled, then continued rummaging in his bag. “In a minute.”

  His low voice rumbled through the night, and she shivered. God, she loved that voice, that deep, husky timbre that grew even rougher when they made love.

  “You want some beef jerky?” he asked.

  “Sure.” Their gazes met, and his eyes, dark in the silvery moonlight, burned into hers. Her heart stopped. Oh, God. She hadn’t imagined that look after all.

  But then he turned his head, pulled a bag of jerky from his PG bag and set it down between them. “I’ve got some tuna and coffee we can have later, once we climb that next ridge.”

  She sucked air into her lungs. “I can make sandwiches, too.” She removed Cade’s leather work gloves, took a strip of jerky from the bag and tossed it to the dog. He grabbed it and trotted away.

  And she fought to regain her composure. So she still felt attracted to Cade. And why shouldn’t she be? He was a wildly exciting man.

  Her heart fluttered. Exciting didn’t begin to describe him. Her pulse drummed and leaped at the memories. That shocking hunger, the desperate need…

  She bit off a piece of jerky, determined not to go down that treacherous trail. Thanks to Cade, she knew about thrilling men. The pleasure might be exquisite, but the price of that rapture was pain.

  And she had to keep her priorities straight. She wanted stability when she married again, a man who came home every night. A man who cared
more about her than his job. Not just passion, no matter how exhilarating it felt.

  Determined to keep her mind on track, she finished the jerky and rose. She folded the blanket and stuffed it into her bag, then pulled out the plastic bowl. “Do you mind if I give some of your water to the dog?”

  “Help yourself. You should probably drink some, too.”

  “I’m okay.” She handed the bowl to Cade. He filled it and she set it down a few feet away. “Come on, sweetie,” she called to the dog. When he trotted over, she smiled. “We need to give you a name.”

  She needed to get him on a leash, too. She couldn’t risk him wandering off. But they’d cut off that rope in the river.

  She eyed the belt Cade had tossed beside his bag. “Can I borrow your belt to make a leash for the dog? I can tie a sock to one end and hook it to his collar.”

  “Go ahead.”

  While the dog drank, she busied herself with the makeshift leash. The result wasn’t pretty, but she thought it would hold. With that done, she collected her wet clothes and stuck them in her bag. Then she stepped from Cade’s view to take care of necessities and put on a bra.

  When she returned, Cade was tapping pills into his mouth. He chased them down with a swallow of water.

  And suddenly, she felt guilty. He’d done so much for her, and she hadn’t helped him one bit. “I can lace your boots now,” she said.

  “All right.”

  He rose to his feet in one movement, and she couldn’t help but admire his strength. And his energy. He had to be more tired than she was, yet it didn’t slow him down. Of course, his stamina had always impressed her….

  He stepped into his wet leather boots. Her face flaming, she knelt in front of him and began lacing. “Can you hold the pants out of the way?”

  He pulled up his pant leg, and she secured the knot. “Is that tight enough?”

  “Yeah.”

  She tugged his pants over the top of the high-topped boot, then started on the other. The smokejumping boots brought back other memories, of Cade replacing the laces and oiling the leather, her shock at learning how much they cost. “I hope the river didn’t ruin your boots,” she said.