Californian Wildfire Fighters: The Complete Series

by North, Leslie

  She laughed and socked him gently in the shoulder. "I'll grab us some iced tea."

  Maybe now wasn't the right time after all, Lana thought to herself as she made her way into the kitchen. Maybe that was why telling Hank the truth was so difficult. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do. Maybe she had sensed that, deep down, Hank was still uncertain about where he belonged . . . and that the man who never hesitated to make hard decisions still doubted his place in Cedar Springs.

  And by her side. And in her bed.

  Hank had to make a decision. And he had to do it without her telling him about the pregnancy. And if he decided Alaska was calling him home, and he left town again?

  She supposed she would just have to cross that bridge when they came to it.

  "Damn you, you complicated man," Lana muttered to herself as she pulled the pitcher of tea out of the fridge. She shook her head grudgingly, lovingly, as she pulled down two glasses and joined him outside on the porch.

  13

  HANK

  Hank rose early the next day. He took his time sneaking out of bed, casting frequent glances back at Lana's sleeping form. It wasn’t like he could help himself—it wasn’t like he could keep from looking at her, anyway. Her gorgeous dark blonde hair streamed around her peacefully sleeping face, and her lips parted occasionally on a sigh of what he could only assume (or hope) was contentment. Even if he wasn't trying to sneak away, he would never bring himself to interrupt such a perfect vision.

  Once dressed, he paused in the doorway to drink her in one last time before departing.

  He went directly to Dyna's. He was on a mission that morning. He was going to wrestle up some breakfast for himself and Lana and bring it home to her, maybe even before she woke up. He entertained the idea of quickly unboxing everything upon arrival and pretending like he had made it himself, until she called him out on it, laughing. There was just no not recognizing Dyna's impeccable cooking.

  Hank shouldered the door open. The familiar bell jangled above his head.

  He recognized the figure standing at the register, ordering her own breakfast to go with a side of steaming black coffee.

  He came up beside her. When Alex turned to notice him, he nodded his head. "Morning, Alex. Early shift today?"

  The nurse smiled. "You got it. Same for you?" She seemed to catch herself, but too late.

  Hank just shook his head. Landon would've already told her the news. "Not me. The Alaskan squad has been dismissed. Guess this town doesn't need us anymore."

  "Oh, I don't know about that." Was it just his imagination, or was Alex suddenly averting her eyes as if she knew something he didn't?

  Before he could think to dig deeper, Dyna returned to the cash register with Alex's order, boxed and bundled. She set it down on the counter and wrapped Hank in a quick hug. "Be right back with you, love! Alex, I just need your signature on the receipt."

  "Of course." Alex fished a pen from the cup beside the register as Dyna bustled off toward a booth.

  "Short-staffed today," Hank noted.

  "If you chose to stick around town, I bet she would offer you a job," Alex said dryly.

  "I bet you're right."

  He thought he knew where this was going. Landon had likely told Alex of his plans to return to Alaska. Alex was a good friend of Lana's, and probably hell-bent on talking him into staying.

  When she said nothing more and appeared about to leave with her breakfast, Hank caught her arm.

  Now that was odd. She averted her eyes again, and now he knew he hadn't only been imagining things the first time. Alex had something to say to him, but whatever it was, she was struggling with it. It might be better to just let her go and let the conversation drop.

  Hank found that he could only do one of those things. He let his hand fall from her arm. "Sorry, Alex. We don't get to talk often. I wondered if you had a minute to catch up."

  "I've got to get to work. But . . ." Her eyes tracked to the clock on the wall. "I guess I do have a minute.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and firmed her jaw. “There's something I want to say to you, Hank."

  Here it goes. Hank braced himself, already guessing the lecture he was about to get.

  "Lana is a good friend of mine, Hank. It feels like I've known her forever. And even though I know you guys go further back than that, I . . ." Alex's eyes suddenly locked with his, her gaze penetrating. Hank had never seen the other woman so intensely focused on something that wasn't work. Or Landon, come to think of it. "I can appreciate what you mean to her. But you seem to be hesitating. It seems to me like you want all the fun and excitement of recapturing the past, but none of the responsibility."

  Hank was completely taken aback. He felt like an idiot now, having anticipated that Alex would list all the reasons he should stay. He stepped away from her and dropped his eyes, briefly studying the floor. Unfortunately, no good answer to her razor-sharp accusations lay at his feet.

  "I didn't realize Lana had been talking to you," was the best he could come up with on such short notice.

  Alex laughed, a little cynically. "Of course she does! You must have no idea how women work, Mr. Logan." Her cynicism dissolved toward something resembling sympathy then, and Hank didn't know which was worse.

  "It's not something I ever expected to deal with," he said gruffly. Again, not his most eloquent, but he had never been good at trying to hold this kind of conversation.

  "So how complicated do you think this is for Lana?" Alex demanded. "Do you have any idea what she's going through right now? You have a good thing here, Hank. No one gets to go back. But . . . you need to think this whole thing through. Carefully."

  Alex spoke firmly, but Hank noticed that the hands that gripped her takeout shook slightly. He knew about her past, the death of her husband. She was speaking to him from a place no one else could come from.

  "Alex, Lana and I are . . ." he trailed off, wishing he had planned this sentence before commencing it. Wishing he knew what it was that he and Lana were supposed to be.

  "Hank, I don't have time to stand here and listen to you try and work things out," Alex interrupted. "Anything you need to say, you need to say it to Lana."

  She took her coffee and left the diner, and that was the end of the conversation.

  Hank stood alone at the register. When Dyna rapped the counter with her knuckles, he finally glanced up. She had an order in hand for him, and a receipt.

  "What's this?" His eyebrows drew together in confusion.

  "It's what you came here for." Dyna slid the order over to him. "The same thing you always order. And the same thing Lana always orders. That will be fifteen dollars, even. So what's up?"

  Dyna eyed him as he pulled out his wallet. Hank could swear there was something else she was looking for besides his money, something on his face. Was it information she sought? The encounter with Alex had already thrown him for a loop. Was everyone trying to get something out of him?

  "How's Lana doing?" Dyna inquired.

  "Good." Hank paid and took his grub.

  "Yeah? That's good to hear." Dyna continued to size him up. He could have walked out the door with a nod and farewell, but something kept him rooted to the spot. Maybe it was just the intensity of her look. She looked like she wanted to stick a damn pin in him if it meant keeping him there. She surprised him further by saying, "Hey, I've got a question for you."

  "What's that?"

  "If you could do anything you wanted to do, and there were no consequences, what would that be?

  "That's mighty deep of you, Dyna." Hank considered for a moment. "I don't think I really know. Go back in time and do a whole lot of things different."

  "Sounds to me like you know just fine." Dana smiled, then laughed softly. "And honey, everybody would do that if they could. You need to do the next best thing, whatever that is.” Her gaze grew sharper. “Lana is a good woman."

  "I know she is," he said softly.

  He left after that, not even thinking to
say goodbye. When he turned back around in the parking lot, he saw Dyna waving to him and knew that he was forgiven. He had too much on his mind. She had given him too much to mull over in the span of a single question, and she probably knew it, too.

  What was the next best thing to doing things differently?

  "To not repeat the mistakes of the past," Hank said quietly to himself. "And to not make the same mistake again."

  14

  LANA

  When Lana woke, her heart was already in her throat before she could open her eyes. She struck out with her hand and found the other side of the bed empty.

  Her eyes flew open.

  "Hank?"

  The light was on in the kitchen, and the sounds of activity—and of another body moving about—chased away Lana's unease. She fell back into the pillow, covered her face with her hands, and then scrubbed at her eyes.

  She rose, threw on a shirt, and padded into the kitchen.

  Hank was fully dressed and spreading out two orders of chicken and waffles.

  Lana's mouth watered. "Somebody went to Dyna's."

  He looked up from setting their plates and grinned crookedly. "Morning, sunshine."

  Lana's face warmed as if she really was the sunshine. He pulled out a chair for her at the kitchen table, and she sat down. "Dyna got to wake up to you this morning? Lucky lady."

  "So did you." His lips brushed her forehead in a soft kiss, and he sat down.

  They ate breakfast together, smiling and laughing as they took turns dishing up butter and drizzling maple syrup. Hank recounted Dyna's cryptic behavior that morning at the diner. Lana chuckled in all the appropriate places, but she wasn't sure she was getting the full story. When Hank mentioned how Dyna had asked about her, her fork froze on the way to her mouth. She recovered herself quickly before he could notice.

  She knew exactly what Dyna had been driving at. The older woman had to know she was pregnant . . . otherwise, why had she sent that side order of pickles along? It was another perceived eccentricity that Hank just shook his head at.

  After breakfast, they went for a walk, hands linked in full view of anyone in the town who might pass by and see them. Lana was in heaven. It was enough to make her forget the acrid taste of the smoky air and imagine they were back in high school. Regardless of what remained said, or unsaid, between them, this felt like being back together. It was comfortable, lighthearted, and fun.

  They went for a short hike together; then, they dropped in on the diner to have milkshakes in the afternoon.

  "Think you'll be hungry for dinner?" Hank asked her as Lana gulped down her chocolate shake and asked for another (smaller) one to go. He didn't bother hiding his curiosity.

  She nodded, grinning from ear to ear. "I hope so. After all this eating out, I thought I could give Dyna a break and treat us both. I had a meal planned for two." Or rather, three, she thought, and hated the knowing look Dyna gave her when she dropped off the mini milkshake.

  Lana rotated the diminutive cup around in her hands as Hank finished paying. Small things tugged at her heart now—literally small things. A tiny hat left on top of Dyna's lost and found, the little pair of water shoes the mother in the parking lot outside had been trying to coax her toddler son into . . . they spoke of the existence of a miniature world that was fast approaching.

  All the signs and symptoms of her pregnancy were already there. She had gotten good at concealing them, but it was only a matter of time before she started to show.

  But Hank might be long gone by then . . .

  She looked sidelong at the man leaned up against the bar, chatting beside her. Seeing his chiseled profile overwhelmed her with feelings as equally strong as the ones that came over her anytime she noticed children these days. It's just your hormones, Lana, she consoled herself. But it wasn't much consolation at all. There was such a stark difference between the outer calm she projected and the inner turmoil that stirred her up inside and muddled all logical thought.

  Out in the parking lot, she couldn't hold herself back any longer. She sucked down a quick chocolaty sip of her milkshake for good luck, held her drink safely to the side, and . . . "Hank?"

  "Yeah?"

  He turned to her, clearly curious about the second of silence that followed.

  Lana slipped her hand behind his neck, raised up on her toes, and kissed him gently. His lips were warm and dry, and her mouth caught on his surprised lower lip as she settled back on her heels.

  His arms circled her waist, suddenly, and pulled her in against him. What she had intended to be a chaste show of her affection for him transformed into something heady, something more. The muscled forearms that banded around the small of her back and nestled into the curve of her spine were unyielding and unhesitating. Her heart trembled as Hank's mouth teased her own open. Suddenly, there was no escaping.

  Lana wondered if there had ever been.

  They walked back to her house. They didn't hold hands this time, but Hank's arm stayed around her waist, linking her close to him. His hand occasionally descended to find the right rear pocket of her jeans, and the heat of his palm would cradle the curve of her ass as they strolled. Lana knew she should swat at him playfully to stop, but she couldn't bring herself to. She suddenly wondered how soon in the future she would be missing the heat of his hand there.

  When they arrived back at her house, she had only seconds to deposit her milkshake safely on the kitchen island before Hank's hands started to make very persistent memories all over her body. His fingers skated over every inch of her, and when no inches were immediately available, they delved beneath her clothes to skim bare skin. Lana breathed in, breathed out, ragged, shaking sighs, as he dispensed with her clothing.

  He had her naked before they made it to her bedroom.

  They fell into bed together. Her breathing, still uneven, impossibly seemed to match his. Intake for out, pulse for stuttering pulse, they moved together in a rhythm sweeter than the score of any song Lana had ever heard.

  Afterward, they lay in bed together in a warm wedge of evening sunlight that filtered in through the drawn curtains. Hank's hand swept through the wild, post-sex tangle of her hair, winding and twisting it in his fingers. Lana lifted her eyes when he wasn't looking and gazed up at his handsome face, relaxed in repose.

  His eyes were shut, and his breathing was even. She watched his bare chest rise and fall beneath her trailing fingers. It was the chest of the boy she had known, growing up, yet it wasn't. It was the developed, well-muscled chest of a man from Alaska, a man who fought fires and rushed headlong into danger.

  Why was it so easy to recognize Hank—and at the same time, so hard to find him? To reach him? Shouldn't she feel one way only? He rested right here beneath her hands, yet instinct told her he could be snatched from her at any moment. When would she learn to appreciate the heaven she had without worrying so much about the hell that might follow?

  Hank peeled one eye open and turned to her. Lana blinked in surprise. She wondered if she should feel caught in the act. His arm constricted around her harder, and she couldn't help laughing in relief. Again, thoughts of being caught by Hank struck her as pleasant ones to be having. "You hungry?" She pushed against his chest and sat up.

  "Starving," he admitted. "I'm really getting my workouts in with you."

  Lana blushed. She slipped out of bed, stretched, and gathered up her clothes. She wasn't about to take the risk of cooking naked when Hank's squad had already proved their willingness to show up on her doorstep out of the blue. She threw him a playful wink as she exited to the kitchen.

  Less than five minutes later, Hank joined her. He circled his arms around her waist and swayed with her as she monitored the chicken in the oven. When he dropped his mouth to her shoulder and planted a soft kiss at the curve of her neck, she quaked a little. She couldn't shake the impression that her earlier worry might have some foundation after all. But on what? Everything had gone better than she could have hoped for today.

&nb
sp; Maybe that was the problem. Things between them were too good to believe. And the way Hank was holding her . . . it was almost like he was trying to make a lasting memory of his own. Like he was already saying goodbye.

  They didn't trade any more words until dinner was finished. Lana plated the roasted chicken and rice and served them both up. Hank sat down without pulling her chair out for her, his expression preoccupied. Lana's heart quavered.

  "I love you, Lana."

  ". . . all right." Lana sat down, joining him at the table, even though lowering herself into the chair suddenly felt like dipping too fast into a bath of hot water. Hank's declaration hadn't felt like a real and unsolicited statement of his love; it had felt like a segue into something else. "Why do I feel like there's a big invisible 'but' suddenly hanging in the air between us?"

  "I do. I . . . really love you," he insisted. "Maybe more than you know. I sure as hell love you more than I know how to convey."

  His words tugged at Lana's heartstrings, but she crossed her arms to keep her heart firmly in place. "Hank, what are you saying? What is this really about?"

  Hank removed the patterned cloth napkin from his lap and placed it on the table. He had barely touched his food, but then again, the few bites Lana had managed before this turn in the conversation suddenly felt like lead weights filling up her stomach. "You and I both have our own separate lives now. I wish I could go back and do it all over again. Make different choices." Lana watched him twist the napkin in a tightening fist. Her heart twisted accordingly. "But I can't. And there's things . . . there's things between us you don't know. Things that would change how you feel about me."

  "Like what?" she prompted. "Hank, you can talk to me." Was there really something he had kept secret from her? For how long? All these years? Lana certainly knew she was keeping a massive secret, but if whatever weighed on Hank was even more enduring than that . . .