Scorch (Missoula Smokejumpers Book 6)

by Piper Stone

  “Yes, my wife. The divorce isn’t final. You know we’re still close.”

  “No, I had no idea.” She’d caught an inkling that the ultra-connected Marcy wasn’t the sweet and hapless girl with no brain and zero sex drive he’d portrayed her to be. In fact, she had a feeling Marcy was pulling the strings, keeping her boy in line.

  Christopher sighed and shook his head. “She’s always been important to me.”

  “O-kay.” What the hell was she supposed to say? She bit back a bitter laugh.

  “Anyway, I wanted tonight to be very special for us.”

  Which is why you fucked me like a whore? The words were on the tip of her tongue. “Which means you’re going back to her.”

  He hesitated, moving his wine glass from hand to hand.

  “Just say it, for God’s sake, Christopher. At least don’t be a coward about this.” She was disgusted with everything.

  “Fine. Then I’ll say it. Yes, we’re going to reconcile.”

  “Interesting. Is she into your play room? Does she crave being bound and gagged? Whipped? Oh, no, that’s right. She can’t stand sex.”

  Of course, he had no words for her, no statement of fact or fiction.

  “I love her. You always knew that.”

  Reese nodded several times, a smile curling on her lips. “Yes, I guess I did.”

  “But we can still enjoy tonight.”

  She thought about her options then gulped the entire glass of wine. Wiping her mouth, she slammed the glass down on the wooden table, praying to God the expensive crystal would shatter. “Take me to my car.” As she walked away from him, she snarled. There was no sadness, just a mind boggling frigid chill. However, she made a promise to herself.

  This kind of shit was never going to happen again.

  And, she was going to take several showers.

  Chapter 2

  Whoosh! Boom!

  “Holy Christ. The fucker is burning hot.”

  Sawyer Lincoln wiped soot from his face and panted as he turned in a full circle, studying the swaying trees. The one hundred and fifty foot tall pines were blowing in the wind as flames jumped from tree to tree, creating shooting embers. Ash rained down like graying flecks of snow, blanketing the entire area. “Boone. Get back here!” Boone Martin was his best friend and they were required to stick together, creating control lines on the right flank of the massive fire.

  “We have some issues over here,” Boone called back, his voice muffled by the wind and swirling smoke.

  “Call it in,” Sawyer could barely hear his voice. Growing concerned, he hopped over various limbs already cut by the other smokejumpers, trying to focus as the air became difficult to breathe. Within seconds, he could tell the reason for Boone’s mesmerizing gaze. The fire that had been thought to be contained had been ignited by a series of falling trees, flames licking up the mountainside. “Boone. Call it in!”

  Boone shifted sideways and grabbed for the radio. “Giovanni. Sheffield. On the West side. Need your attention. You should set up a burnout.”

  “Copy that,” Antonio Giovanni called back within seconds, the voice pattern scattered.

  They were all exhausted after almost six continuous hours.

  Sawyer could swear he heard a distinct sound, one unlike any aspect of controlling the fire. Turning, he glanced toward the edge of a cliff, the area leading down to a pasture. They were trying desperately to turn the fire away from the hallowed grounds, hundreds of acres of free range. While the grasses weren’t to the brittle stage yet, any firebrands could potentially set off a cataclysmic reaction, the large embers creating a fire devil, the whirlwind of fire all consuming. There were too many ranches within a few miles, let alone the wild horses.

  “The Rattlesnakes had damn well better be on the East side or I am kicking their mother fuckin’ ass myself,” Boone huffed and headed in Sawyer’s direction, stopping short when they both heard a noise.

  Crack! Boom!

  “Shit!” Boone jumped back as two massive tree tops tumbled down, the hard thudding vibrating the ground.

  Reaching out, Sawyer grabbed his arm, yanking him out of harm’s way. “What’s with you today? Trying to get yourself killed?” The Rattlesnakes. The larger smokejumping crew had also been called out, but they hadn’t seen them in any manner, including help from overhead planes. Dear God, they could use the airborne fire retardant about now.

  “I’m fine.” Boone gave him a nasty look.

  He was well aware Boone had been embroiled in an argument with the other smokejumping team and the Rattlesnakes weren’t the kind of firefighters to take any shit. “Right. You’re like a damn bull in a china shop today. We need to finish these control lines. I’d like to get out of here at some point.”

  “Yeah. Yeah.” Boone waved him off but tugged his ax from his belt, grumbling as he moved closer to the wide ditch.

  After waiting until his buddy was in position, Sawyer swung his ax, the sharp blade cutting through the rocky terrain, stumps and snagging underbrush. They were being followed by Garcia Puevos and Zane Grey, using picks to cut away the dirt. Shit. He could barely see anything in front of him. After taking another swing, he noticed four members of the team racing toward the flames. Thank God, two groups of firefighters were on the ridge, shooting lake water in an effort to squelch the embers. They had to get the damn thing contained.

  They worked side by side for several minutes until the same sound drew Sawyer’s attention again. Rubbing his arm across his brow, he could swear he heard the whinnying of horses and hadn’t realized he was walking toward the craggy edge of the cliff until he heard Boone’s voice.

  “Would you look at this shit?” Boone pointed just as two flares popped over their heads.

  Whoosh!

  Scanning the sky, he watched until the fire sticks were out of sight, cringing the moment he heard a mild explosion. Both Landen Weaver and Stoker Hansen were excellent achieving their intended target. Everyone was working in precision today. “What are you talking about?” He took long strides, realizing Boone had moved out of position once again.

  “Loggers. This is a protected area. What the hell are they doing here?” Boone pointed.

  After closing the distance, he studied the slash, debris left by a careless crew. Either that or one that had been discovered doing illegal activity. Damn the bastards. They had enough shit to deal with. This would only add extra hours that they didn’t need. “We need to get this out of here. More fuel.” He flicked on his radio. “Giovanni. Need a clean-up crew.” He knew that Antonio was doing his best staying in control of the eight other men on the Jackal team, but something had changed in him, as if he no longer wanted the gig.

  “Washington, Frost. Head to the West side,” Giovanni instructed.

  “God damn. This is going to take us hours,” Boone noted.

  “We’re going to need to burn every bit of debris.”

  “Yeah. Might as well get going.”

  The smoke continued to swirl, creating pockets of blackness but they could both feel steam as water was pumped from the ridge. They were finally making some headway.

  “What do you guys have?” Moose Washington swung around the corner, Steel Frost at his heels.

  “Slash from a bunch of loggers,” Boone answered.

  “Let’s get it out of the way,” Moose huffed and swung into action, using his muscular torso to grab a load of limbs and sticks.

  Sawyer continued with the ax, cutting through lower limbs, making a wide berth.

  Whhhaa!

  The sound carried this time, somehow cutting through the foggy haze. He knew the sound damn well given his ranch and the horses he’d hand selected over the last few years. Trotting toward the edge, he peered down at the ravine. A massive group of mustangs were racing across the terrain, heading to safety, their long manes dancing in the wind, their hooves kicking up dust as they raced toward the protection of the river.

  Sawyer found himself getting as close to the edg
e as possible. His heart was racing, his breath skipping, and it had nothing to do with the fire.

  Standing just in front of the herd was a beautiful wild mustang. Almost pure white, his mane somehow glowed in the smoky late afternoon sun. From where Sawyer stood, he could swear there wasn’t a single mark on the beautiful steed. Just pure white. Yet the Mustang’s eyes were penetrating, as if looking into Sawyer’s very soul.

  Drawn to the beautiful animal, he was lost in what could only be described as a trance, a connection shared between them and suddenly, he was at peace. There was no wind, kicking up debris. There was no sound as flames licked behind him. There was only the quietness of their directed energy.

  Boom!

  Another whooshing sound drew his attention and Sawyer shivered, taking several steps backward. He blinked as a swirl of smoke, thick and acrid rushed into his eyes and mouth. Coughing, he yanked down his helmet and searched through the smoke. When the wind allowed a small clearing, he peered again.

  The majestic horse had disappeared.

  “Lincoln!”

  Hearing Moose’s call, he raced back to the section of trees. He could still see a line of fire popping over the ridge.

  “This damn wind is creating havoc,” Frost sputtered as he ripped the cord on his chainsaw, taking the chain to a mangled mass of downed limbs.

  “Jesus,” Boone hissed.

  “Get back to the line. Puevos and Grey have to be close,” Sawyer directed, taking the lead. They were running out of time. “We’re moving southeast in an effort to cut this off. Got it?” He shouted to the other three who grunted their acknowledgment.

  “Got ya, boss,” Boone grinned and waved before moving to the left and closer to the trees.

  They began to cut together, struggling through burning limbs as the crackling sounds continued all around them. All Sawyer could think about was the horse, as if the steed’s appearance had a hidden meaning.

  What had to be thirty minutes later, he noticed Boone was no longer within his sight. “Boone! Where the hell are you?”

  He could only hear the sound of crackling trees, the hissing of flames eating bark. Shielding his eyes, he glanced in an arc, studying the various species of pines. His arborist training was limited, but he knew damn good and well every one of the trees was coming down and soon. They had to get the hell out of here.

  “Round up. We’re heading South. Now!” He grabbed the communications tool and walked toward where he’d last seen Boone. “Giovanni. We need to move out. Too dangerous. Puevos. Grey. Stop your action. Move back to the main site.”

  “I hear you, Lincoln. Men. Roll back!” Giovanni half yelled.

  The crackling sound continued all around them.

  “I don’t like this shit,” Moose snarled.

  “Get the gear. We’re rolling,” Sawyer stated, his tone full of concern. There was something wrong with Boone. He could sense it in his gut.

  “Where the hell is Boone?” Steel demanded as he cut off the saw and headed toward the forest.

  Sawyer stopped him. “No. Get out of here. I’ll find him.”

  “Sawyer. Don’t be some damn hero,” Moose hissed.

  He ignored the statement and trudged over the limbs and underbrush, heading straight for the line of fire. “Boone!”

  Suddenly the wind was sucked and an ominous sound, a crunching and whooshing noise could be heard all around him, as if the entire perimeter was caving in, crushed under the intense flames. No. No! This wasn’t going to happen. Not here. Not now. “Boone!” This was his best friend. This was the man who had protected his life and who would die for him. No!

  Whoosh!

  A roar of flames shot up from the right, incinerating everything in its path.

  “Get out of there!” Moose called.

  Flames licked out, creating a wall of heat as embers floated down from everywhere, covering the ground, immediately starting a series of fires.

  “Not without Boone.” Sucking in his breath, he did the unthinkable.

  He walked into the fire.

  Some say that everyone has a horse spirit, a guide leading us through the passages of life. Once seen, you will never be the same. Only a few humans are spiritual enough to understand the meaning…

  Sawyer kept his eyes closed, envisioning the great white horse, beautiful and free, his mane shimmering in the bright sun. The story had been one told in glorious detail by his father when he was a child, a fairy tale that had kept him enamored for years. And he’d always known what horse belonged to him.

  A Mustang.

  For some reason, the sign was chilling.

  “Woo-wee. You are one dangerous mo-fo,” Moose chortled as he grabbed a towel, giving Sawyer a hard look.

  “Racing into the fire. I thought we were told to stay away from the fire,” Stoker teased, ribbing Sawyer as he walked by, whistling as he headed for the locker room.

  Sawyer planted both hands on the cool tile of the shower and dropped his head, allowing the water to splash down over his head and neck. Nothing was going to ease his sore muscles at this point, even a night with a sexy masseuse.

  “You all right?”

  He didn’t bother to look Boone in the eyes. He knew his buddy was feeling the strain. Hell, almost being crushed by a massive tree could do that to a man. “I’m fine. What about you?”

  “Just a scratch. Nothing a tall beer can’t fix.”

  Exhaling, he rubbed both hands through his wet hair, struggling to find the right words. “You almost died out there. You were careless. You risked all of us.” The anger was overwhelming, cutting his ability to reason.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  A tense silence passed between them.

  Sawyer could see the others leaving the shower room, but he noticed their faces, some of reverence to his heroic actions, others snarling at Boone for his stupidity. Why had he seen the horse? Why now? And for what reason?

  Huffing, Boone leaned against the shower. “I don’t even know what I was doing.”

  “Well, you damn well better figure it out. That kind of shit isn’t going to happen again. Not on my watch. Do you fucking hear me?” The vehemence of his voice surprised even him, and Sawyer snapped his head in the other direction, closing his eyes. Yet, he’d seen the look in Boone’s eyes. Shock. Yeah, well. Whatever.

  After a few seconds, he shifted and took a step away. “I’m sorry, Sawyer. Nothing like that will ever happen again.”

  Hearing the remorse, the sadness in his buddy’s tone of voice was enough to create bile in his throat. He waited until he was alone before slamming his hand against the tile. Over and over again. “Damn. Damn!”

  He kept his eyes closed as he huddled under the water, the memory rushing back in, the same nightmare he’d had for months. Now, here again. Because… Because…

  Sawyer chopped away at the burning wood, his strength almost zapped. Steve had to be somewhere close. He stopped to catch his breath then turned in a full circle, glancing up at the tree line. This had turned into a crown fire, flames consuming the tops of trees. At any second, they could be pummeled with burning debris. “Steve!” The call remained dull, the smoke creating a web around them.

  He continued on the path, the one that had been laid out in the plane upon approach, and swore he was going to kick Steve’s ass when they were finished. The man was risking the entire team with his actions. “Steve!”

  Crack!

  Swiveling to the sound of a sharp noise, he was relieved to see his partner leaping over fallen limbs until he was only feet away from Sawyer. “Damn you!” This time, the words seemed to carry over the roar of the fire. Even in the blackness, he could swear he noticed Steve smiling, the same shit eating grin the man had during every practice or staff meeting. Yeah, kicking the man’s ass was going to happen. He shook his head and took several long strides forward. He could tell by the way the wind had changed they were making headway. They could get this bitch under control if they stuck to their guns.
r />   “Come on. A few more feet and we might be good,” Steve yelled as he motioned for Sawyer to approach.

  Even from where he stood, he could see Steve was changing directions, going against their captain’s orders. The man was the best in the business and his instincts spot on, but this time, this fire, Sawyer held back. “No. We have our orders.” He had no way of knowing whether Steve heard him or not. If he had, the jumper was ignoring him, moving further into the forest. “Steve!”

  Steve waved his hand and continued on his path. Within seconds he was swallowed up by the swirling smoke.

  Sawyer took two tentative steps, studying the trees all around them. While Steve knew about fires, Sawyer had taken several arborist classes. He knew trees. He knew exactly what happened in this kind of fire. “No. Get back here!” He stopped short when he heard another loud snapping sound.

  There was a moment of almost silence, an eerie change in the air around him. He took a single step forward until he heard a series of cracking sounds. As he opened his mouth to scream, Steve popped out of the woods. “No!”

  Wham!

  Sawyer dropped his head again, pushing away the tears, trying to calm his ragged nerves. Saving Boone’s life had brought back the wretched memories, the life he hadn’t been able to save. He’d never felt so damn lonely in his entire life. He had no one to count on or to share his passion and joys. Dear God. What was he actually doing? Nothing.

  “You’re a good man, Sawyer and know your shit. You should give yourself a break. We all have our crosses to bear, but you saved a life today. Maybe more than one.”

  Hearing Antonio’s voice, he sniffed then wiped his eyes. “Yeah, well, not sure that matters right now.” The Italian had been hired only days before Steve’s death and Sawyer had been forced to train the cocky son of a bitch, even considering the younger man his partner for almost two years. Antonio was also the only man who’d seen Sawyer’s grief after the damning incident. Then Sawyer had bottled his emotions, refusing to deal with them ever again. Today had been too damn close, as if karma had found him buried in his own guilt, life sucking blame that no one could ever fully understand.