Flash of Fire

by M. L. Buchman

  Everyone at the table rose to give him a standing ovation.

  And they kept coming. A whole phalanx of local kids on their bicycles done up with red and white streamers, Canadian flag capes, and beanie hats with little propellers on the top.

  “That does it,” Robin shouted into Mickey’s ear to be heard over the cheering. “This is too cute for words; I’m moving here.”

  He just grinned and kissed her on the temple.

  Robin looked at the people. Could see the hard edges of long Arctic nights, on the edge of desperate survival against a lean year.

  But in this moment, they were perfect.

  * * *

  “I don’t know if I’ve ever been this happy.” Cal had his camera out and was snapping pictures. “I’ve got blackmail material for years.”

  Mickey sat front and center of Diamond Tooth Gerties’ main floor and looked up at the stage, couldn’t look away from it. Gerties’ cancan girls were conducting a class and Mickey was being overwhelmed by the spectacle of the MHA women dressed in period costumes, practicing high kicks and stepping in unison.

  Laced-up form-hugging bodices of black leather. Long legs flashing out from ruffled skirts. Low black heels and occasional flashes of barely discreet black underwear.

  The place was packed with Canada Day revelers. The long, wooden bar with its bartenders in idealized period costumes of suspenders, straw hats, and those elastic gathers around the biceps of their button-down white shirts. The waitresses in all black cancan dresses and black feathers in their hair. Gamblers crowded about the roulette and blackjack tables.

  But Mickey only had eyes for what was happening on the stage. And if he’d never imagined her on a motorcycle, he’d absolutely never thought to see Robin Harrow in a dress, especially not a risqué piece of French frippery from the Klondike gold rush era.

  But it wasn’t only his Robin, shining like a golden icon, that was blowing him away.

  It was the “his” that was doing it to him.

  He was feeling terribly possessive and was discovering that he liked the feeling. A lot. Not that she belonged to him, but more that he was the one who could hold her close, kiss her on the temple until his senses were overwhelmed by her, and could make her laugh.

  “She’s laughing.” Vern leaned in from beside him. “I had no idea Harrow could laugh.”

  Mickey did. Her joy seemed boundless when they were together. Her amused laugh trickling out at the oddest moments.

  “Look at your own lady, buddy.” Mickey wanted to distract Vern from the subject. He wasn’t ready to share his true feelings about Robin with anyone, not even her just yet.

  They’d had problems finding a dress small enough for Denise, but they had. The generally silent and deeply reserved mechanic was up there with the rest of the women on full display.

  “Life is good.” Vern sighed.

  “And how,” Tim agreed, his long legs stretched out before him.

  Robin, Denise, Macy, and Jeannie were the four onstage. Carly and Steve had disappeared somewhere, perhaps to walk the town as it wound down after the day’s celebration, perhaps to a quiet hotel room—definitely to escape. The group had left Akbar and several of the other smokejumpers—still stumbling from their weeklong ordeal—asleep on a patch of green grass not far from where the picnic table had stood. Only Tim Harada had remained with them, and that only because of his wife’s sticking with the other female pilots.

  “You’re not doing yourselves any good from here, boys.” Mark appeared among them.

  “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be up there with them?”

  “Harrow may think so, but I’m not that malleable.”

  Mickey had to nod. With Mark Henderson, that was one thing that was for damn sure. Though he suspected that if Emily was here… But she wasn’t.

  In her place was Robin Harrow. She was chaotic, unpredictable, and screamingly competent. He could feel the stupid-happy grin on his face as he watched her throw herself into a stomp-knee raise-stomp-kick-stomp-knee raise routine.

  “C’mon.” Mark tipped Mickey out of his chair. Gave Vern a shove. “Get up there if you guys have even half a brain.” He thumped Tim on the arm hard enough to dislodge an elephant. Cal stumbled to his feet quickly enough when Mark moved his way and slung his camera around behind his back.

  Mickey decided that if Emily were up there on stage, Mark would have been right there with her from the first second. He was right; Mickey was being stupid. Well, no longer.

  While the other guys were still protesting, Mickey ambled up to the lip of the stage. It was about four feet above the main floor. He could stand here and watch Robin dreamily as she worked on a crossover step or…

  He gave a small jump and vaulted up onto the well-worn hardwood.

  There was a drunken round of applause and encouraging cheers from the audience that he completely ignored.

  Mickey walked up to Robin. She didn’t stop her kick rhythm, but her smiling blue eyes tracked his every step in her direction. In moments, the cancan instructor, a fine-looking woman in her forties with long, dark-red hair, had him holding Robin’s waist from behind to support and steady her.

  The other guys, either following his lead or giving in to Mark’s harangue, soon joined him and were added to the line.

  By themselves, the four women had been merry, laughing, goofy, and beautiful in their blushing self-embarrassment. Only Robin had wholeheartedly thrown herself into the act, raising her skirt high for the kicks, tossing her head as if her hair was billowing waves instead of the elfin chop that it was.

  With the four men on the stage, it became a quieter group. Not somber, not dampened. But more intense. He could feel it himself. As he followed the instructor’s guidance on how to lift and twirl Robin, on how to lean her back when she kicked high, the instructor and the other couples fell away.

  His awareness of Robin grew until nothing else mattered, not the other dancers, not the crowded bar, not even a very self-satisfied-looking Mark Henderson, who had taken Mickey’s chair.

  Mickey’s arms were full of a beautiful woman in a stunning dress, and he was so gone on her.

  The next time he laid her back in a dance step, he kissed that lovely, laughing mouth of hers.

  He was far more than gone.

  * * *

  The next morning, they were out at the airfield packing up the camp for the long flight back to the states.

  Robin could still feel how Mickey had held her, both onstage and last night after they were alone in his tent. She’d been so relieved at surviving that first fire, at somehow belonging with these people, even having a place on that stage, in ways she’d never imagined, that she’d let the fantasy sweep her away.

  Robin liked men who were strong, it made them more fun. She’d never let herself become lost in their strength. But for one single night, she had let herself do just that. Mickey’s hands around her waist had lifted her so effortlessly that she felt as if she was flying. And when he had made love to her afterward, she had let him take control and submitted wholly to his whim. And his whim had been very, very good.

  No rooms left in any of the hotels, they had retreated once more to his tent along the airfield, and he had made it feel like a luxury room, albeit a very small one. He had done it by lavishing her with attention and sensation so complete that it had almost redefined who she was.

  In the morning sunlight, she collapsed her own little-used tent and stowed it aboard Firehawk One. Then she moved over to help Betsy restow the cook tent.

  Robin continued to reconsider the prior night. The inner shift in her thinking was that she was worthy of such attention. It was a novel concept. In the past, her body had earned her what she’d wanted from a man…and nothing more.

  Not Mickey. He had gone silent, barely spoken a word to her all night. But the intensity with which he
had made love to her—she no longer winced at the phrase, not totally—left no room for doubts about what was on his mind.

  She’d thought to tell him to dampen down the fire a bit, but then had become so lost in that powerful need of his to hold her, to be with her, that she let him do whatever he wanted. When he beckoned her to climb atop him, she had. Later, when he chose to dominate, the heat between them had burned equally high.

  “Daydreaming there, Robin,” Jeannie said from close by her elbow. Her dark eyes were sparkling. “If Mickey was even half as attentive as my Cal, I can see why.”

  Robin scanned to make sure none of the men were close by before answering. “Attentive might be an understatement.”

  “Aren’t men wonderful?” Denise did her crop-up-from-nowhere trick.

  “They do have their moments,” Robin agreed and ignored the slight blush on Denise’s cheeks. Gave her shoulder a friendly rub instead.

  These women were welcoming her, had welcomed her. Robin could always pick up men, but women friends had been few and far between. While she was in the Guard, she’d attributed it to being in a man’s world. And once out, she’d attributed it to being a soldier suddenly caught in a civilian’s world.

  Last night that hadn’t been the case. They had been women together, dancing in their men’s arms.

  And these women were accepting her, even Jeannie who had the most reason not to. Robin did her best to respond in kind.

  “He made it glorious,” she confessed.

  “The way you two were dancing onstage would have made me really jealous if Cal hadn’t come along.”

  “The dancing didn’t stop onstage.”

  The other two women sighed happily. “No, it didn’t,” they agreed in unison.

  Robin threw open her arms, and in moments, they were sharing a group hug. It was as new and different as Mickey being in her life, and somehow it felt just as important.

  * * *

  “Damn!” Mickey exhaled it on a sigh.

  Vern stood close beside him. “Beautiful, happy women in the morning sun.”

  “Yep” was all Mickey could think to say. No woman had ever given to him the way Robin had last night. He’d never get enough of her, even if he spent a lifetime trying to please her.

  Vern slapped him on the shoulder. “Uh-huh. That’s exactly how it feels.”

  “Okay.” Mickey used Robin’s phrase because it was the best he could come up with. He knew what it was.

  Mark’s two-finger whistle sliced through the quiet air and he waved them all over to Firehawk One.

  Everyone gathered around.

  Mickey wanted to slip up to Robin, but she was firmly between Denise and Jeannie.

  “Leave it alone, bro,” Vern whispered over his shoulder.

  “Right. Male solidarity and all that.”

  “Uh-huh.” Vern’s affirmative grunt wasn’t very convincing, especially not as he sidled up on Denise’s other side and leaned down to kiss her atop her head.

  Akbar’s crew was mostly loaded back on the MHA aircraft. Akbar alone trotted over for the meeting. The Alaska Fire Service team were mostly loaded as well, though Tim and Macy came over to say good-bye.

  “We’ve got a bit of a changeup here,” Mark started out. “Don’t know if anything’s going to come of it, but we’re going to divide up for the moment.”

  Mickey caught the change. Quick glances between Denise and Jeannie. If Robin hadn’t been between them, he might have missed it, but they had leaned forward to look at each other.

  Vern and Cal looked suddenly grim. No other reactions around the circle, and it looked as if Robin had missed it all. Then, after the others had all schooled their expressions back to neutral, Robin glanced at him. She hadn’t missed a thing, which he acknowledged with the tiniest tip of his head.

  Something was up and neither of them was in the loop.

  “Akbar, you and yours are headed back to Oregon. There’s a new fire out near the Dalles with your name on it. You’ll take Betsy and her kitchen gear with you on the planes.”

  He must have already told Betsy, because she was busy shifting her pile of gear over to the Shorts Sherpa.

  “The rest of you, we’re going to take a couple days R&R until we know for certain what’s going on. But we are on call. We’ll be dropping in on your hospitality, Tim, over in Fairbanks. Though I’d rather not have four MHA helos parked out in front of the Ladd Army Airfield.”

  “Come on out to Larch Creek,” Macy suggested. “It’s less than a fifteen-minute flight to Fairbanks. We have a field behind the town hangars where you could all park as long as you want.”

  “Oh, man,” Akbar whined. “A chance to visit with you guys and I have to go jump a fire. Tim, why the hell did you have to fall in love with a lady up here?”

  “Why did you fall for a wilderness guide?” Tim returned fire.

  “Well, at least I can ride a horse with her. You looked like a stick man the few times I got you in the saddle. You know that you set the record for—”

  “Boys.” Mark’s tone stopped them. Then he turned to Macy. “That sounds perfect. Thanks.”

  Mickey waited, but no other explanation was forthcoming.

  Robin started to speak, then glanced at Mickey. He shook his head to stop her. She scowled but kept her peace.

  “Let’s go.” Mark slapped his hands together and everyone began to disperse.

  Robin came up to Mickey and wrapped him in an unexpected hug. He buried his face against her neck, but rather than nuzzling in as well, she whispered in his ear.

  “What do you know that I don’t?”

  He sighed. He’d never been the most romantic guy, but it looked as if he was the romantic one in this relationship.

  “First”—he shifted so that he wasn’t mumbling against her neck—“Mark only ever gives out as much instruction as he’s willing to. No amount of questioning shifts that.”

  “Asshole.” But there was a laugh in her voice. “Second?”

  “There’s more to MHA than fighting forest fires. I don’t know what it is, but there’s shit that happens that no one talks about afterward. I’m guessing this could be one of those.”

  Robin held him a moment longer. “The nondisclosure agreement and the governmental security check.”

  He nodded. “I don’t know what’s behind that curtain, but it’s possible we’re about to find out.”

  She gave him an extra squeeze and then stepped out toward Firehawk One.

  “Hey,” he called to her. Not even a kiss?

  She must have read it clearly on his face. “Couple days off in small town, Alaska. You just might get lucky, sailor.”

  That was an encouraging thought. “It’s flyboy, not sailor, Ms. Robin of the Hood.”

  Her laugh sparkled in the sunlight and she started to prep her helo.

  Mickey turned to do the same to his.

  There was a third thing he knew that Robin didn’t, though it was too soon to share.

  Mickey knew he was completely in love with one Robin Harrow.

  Chapter 8

  Fairbanks sat four hundred miles west along the Yukon River watershed from Dawson City—though the meandering river easily traveled twice that distance to make the journey. Larch Creek was a little town thirty miles south of Fairbanks, perched in the foothills of the Alaska Range.

  It was one of the most breathtaking places Mickey had ever been. An isolated valley with a wide basin but high hills wrapping the town in a vast bowl. It stretched along one side of a small, active river that looked to be draining directly from the big glaciers of Denali. Despite being seventy miles away, the tallest mountain in North America dominated the view at the head of valley. It surprised him at every turn: driving into town from the tiny airport—whose runway was actually a chunk of the one road into town—stepping
out of the small B&B that Macy had called ahead to reserve for them before stepping into the town’s one restaurant/bar—a massive log structure with French Pete’s carved deeply into the log over the doorway with a hatchet. He turned, and there was Denali’s white twenty-thousand-foot peak.

  But it was the river that caught his attention.

  “How far upstream can you kayak?” He turned to Macy, who had landed beside him at the big lunch table.

  “What?” She cupped an ear in his direction.

  The interior of French Pete’s was a surreal space with caribou and moose antlers adorning the walls and a thousand odd collectibles tacked up between them. A massive, wood-spoked ship’s wheel hung on the wall with glass floats dangling off each spoke, even though they were hundreds of miles from the ocean. Paintings of dogsleds that might have dated back to Jack London and the gold rush days. A large American flag that took him a moment to realize why it looked wrong—it had only forty-nine stars, made in the eight months between Alaskan and Hawaiian statehood. Old license plates. Even more had been stacked up haphazardly on the porch out front, a great jumble of unfathomable content.

  But what had caught his eye was the half of a kayak bolted to the ceiling. The paddler was a dummy—at least he hoped it was a dummy and not a corpse—and wore a full set of scuba gear, with his flippered feet sticking out where the missing half of the boat should have been.

  Robin and Denise were chatting away like two best friends to his other side. The table was a cheerful mayhem of conversations and laughter in one corner of the surreality.

  He pointed upward and raised his voice.

  “Kayaking, how far upstream?”

  “Only Class I and II rapids for about ten miles. The same again another five miles beyond that. They’re separated by a Class III rapid that runs about a half mile and no way on the planet to portage around them. There’s some Class IV above that, but it’s probably no good with the low snowpack this season. For the few kayakers who make it to Larch Creek, I deliver them upstream with my LongRanger.”

  “Where can I rent gear for two?”

  Macy shrugged. “In Larch Creek? Wow, that’s a good question. A couple of us have canoes when we want to go hunting in the woods across the river, but I don’t know anyone with a kayak except Carl.” And she too pointed upward. “And that’s only a half one. Maybe you could fly into Fairbanks. I think that they’ve got those plastic boats for the day-trippers on the Tanana River along the Fairbanks waterfront. Don’t know as I’d want to run a rapid in one though.”