“Two more pies coming up.” Avery stood and wished she could run and tumble across the lawn like she had at seventeen, a wild, happy girl who never once worried what people thought of her or what the future might hold. For now, she would be glad that walking that far didn’t seem impossible. “Then let’s head back to the park, get the car. We can come up with some awesome prank to play on the mothers.” She spun as Sam stood. “Remember that time we convinced them that we were planning to join the army together?”
“Yeah,” Sam said as he massaged his arm. “When she figured out we were joking, my mother poked my arm so hard that I can still feel the bruise.”
Avery brushed his arm. “Yeah, we need a good one, one they don’t figure out until you’re gone. Save that delicate arm.” She trotted away as he mimed a clumsy kick her direction, the chuckles bubbling through her a happy gift.
Whatever happened, she would be okay. Putting one foot in front of the other was going to be a breeze. It was good to be home, and Sam was a big part of that.
She should figure out how she felt about that.
Later. After pie.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THERE WAS SOMETHING about walking into kids’ story time dressed in full battle gear that made a man feel invincible. Sam never had completely gotten over the thrill of slapping on the helmet, even if he was only marching forward to stand in front of seven first-graders. The way their eyes lit up matched what he thought might happen if a superhero landed between the storybooks and the encyclopedias for young readers.
The opportunity to impress Avery while wearing his cape? Really sweet. She’d be impressed, no doubt.
The fact that he was already counting the days since he’d seen her worried him, but it was easy to tell himself it was because they were still catching up. And he was concerned about her health and well-being and so forth.
Forget about how well she’d distracted him from his obsession with his email for an entire afternoon.
The restless energy always hit before he launched into his presentation. Today he paused outside the small meeting room, where Astrid had set up a ring of kiddie-sized chairs. Avery was standing in front of the whiteboard, a picture book open in one hand while she tried to turn the pages with the other. Since the other was covered in what appeared to be a wizard puppet, turning the pages was a complicated, clumsy process.
Her audience? They were over it. One little boy was drooping as if she’d already put him to sleep.
“‘And then Princess Kijai escaped through the window,’” Avery read as she bobbled the book, “‘and—’” The book fell and landed with a hard slap on the polished concrete floor. “Oh, sorry about that.” She scrambled to pick the book up, but her puppet-covered hand knocked it under a chair and Sam had to save her again.
“Who wants to be a firefighter? Who wants to have the best, most exciting, most important job in the whole world?” Sam bellowed as he entered the library’s children’s area on Saturday afternoon. He’d learned the hard way that hesitation was a tell that let them know he was nervous. And once kids learned he was nervous, things got boring fast. They got quiet. Then he did, too.
The cheers accompanying his entry were due to both an excitement to see him and relief that Avery was done. She hovered as if she intended to insist that she finish her story, but he motioned to the door with his head. When she walked away, the kids cheered again and Sam cupped his hands around his mouth to shout, “Let’s talk about firefighting.”
His hyping skills had improved significantly. The way Noah Hawkins jumped up and down made him smile. He never missed one of Sam’s days. In about twenty years, Noah Hawkins would be gunning for Sam’s job.
If he hadn’t made the jump to Colorado and the Highland fire crew by then, he should give the kid his chance.
“Come on, Noah. Let’s tell them a story.” Sam held up the fire ax he’d gotten special permission from his captain, Astrid, the town’s mayor and Noah Hawkins’s mother to carry into story time.
“The one with the collapsed bridge, Sam,” Noah said as he clapped his hands. “It’s my favorite.”
Sam had told this particular story so many times it had the same feeling as making a grocery list, but kids loved it.
That had something to do with the bear cubs.
Sam eased down on the stool and pointed to Noah. “Only if you’ll help me tell it.” Noah’s eyes grew and he nodded wildly before he raced to the small pile of toys to yank a bedraggled teddy out of the jumble. Sam began, “It was a regular August afternoon. The fire module was out fighting a routine lightning strike. It was a small blaze in one of the remote areas of the reserve, up toward Dogwood Gap near one of the backcountry campsites.”
Sam studied his audience and knew every kid there was hanging on his every word.
“We’d dug a firebreak and were watching the fire burn itself out. Why do we do that, Noah?”
“To make sure the fire doesn’t jump the line.” Noah thrust the bear in the air for added emphasis.
“Right,” Sam said as he gently rescued the stuffed animal that Noah was now slowly and surely strangling. “Fire almost always follows the rules we understand, but sometimes it changes course, even after we’ve studied the weather and the surrounding land carefully. We’d already had a long day of digging and working to contain the blaze, but none of us were quitting.” The small movement of air in the cramped room drew his attention to the doorway. Astrid was blocking the entrance, shifting her weight from side to side as if she was crossing things off her mental to-do list.
And Avery had joined her. She was seated on the low desk inside the door, one long leg extended to brace herself. If the kids were excited he was there, her face was completely serious. Surely she had to be relieved her disaster of a story was over. Was she always that bad?
If there was a story-time contest, he’d totally take the title. That felt good.
“And they had to hike in because the helicopter couldn’t drop them off that day on account of bad scheduling,” Noah added with a nod.
Sam was certain he should explain away that comment, but he wasn’t exactly sure how to do it. The kid had a way of shouting the truth.
Sam cleared his throat. “This one almost got away from us because the lightning struck a spot with heavy, old growth. That makes it difficult to reach and means there’s lots to burn in every single direction. Crews have to split up instead of forming a solid front, but we’d managed to contain it. The sun was going down, though, and we were ready to go home. At the end of a long day in the heat and smoke, fatigue makes it hard to stand sometimes.”
“Did the fire jump the break or not?” the lone little girl in the front row asked, her impatient tone reminding him a bit of Avery every time she’d ordered him around as a kid.
“No, but he met a bear,” Noah yelled with bloodthirsty glee. “A mama bear.”
Everyone in the room was silent. Since he and Avery had climbed Yanu Falls a hundred different times and remembered each time they saw a bear as a special occasion, he’d expected her to be jealous. Instead, the lines on her forehead deepened. Why? She couldn’t be worried. He’d obviously met the bear and come out on the other side. He was sitting on a stool in the library.
“Actually, we found the babies,” Sam said, “and we were concerned about leaving them in the burn zone. She had two small cubs. They were tangled in old brush.” Sam raised his hand. “Everyone put up your hand if you know what to do when you run into a bear in the woods.” A few tiny hands shot up. “What do we do?”
Noah thrust a fist in the air. “We run like—”
“Running is not the first answer, but you aren’t far off track.” Sam cleared his throat and watched Astrid’s shoulders shake. “If the bear doesn’t see you, back away slowly, but don’t turn around. If the bear sees you and starts to come
toward you, make yourself as big as you can. Create as much noise as you can. Bears want to get as far away from the threat as possible.”
Noah pointed at Sam. “Unless you got their babies.”
“Yeah, if you’re too close to their babies,” Sam said with a sigh, “quick retreat is the best option. This time, we hiked back to the engine so we could live to fight another day. A smart firefighter knows when to take a break. We could come back later to make sure the fire was out, after Mama Bear and her babies had found safer space.”
“But the bridge was out,” Noah shouted, “and they had to call for rescue.” He jumped up and down. “Firemen had to call other firemen to save their—”
“That’s why we’re all part of teams,” Sam interrupted again. He should introduce himself to Noah’s father. The kid’s mother didn’t strike him as the type to make her speech more colorful through the use of four-letter words, but Noah was picking it up somewhere. He’d already fit in around a firehouse dinner table.
The little girl in the front row thrust her hand in the air.
Mentally bracing himself, Sam said, “Yes, Miranda?” She had attended the last story time and managed to argue persuasively that every firefighting team should have a dalmatian on the payroll as a kind of rallying mascot to build morale and be a symbol of loyalty to the lands they served. Her passion had almost convinced him to broach the subject with the crew superintendent.
Then he realized he’d be the one responsible for the dog.
“My father says that, while firefighters are heroes—” Miranda pushed her glasses up her nose “—it’s teachers who have the most important job in the world. Plus, you don’t have to die. I’m glad my daddy is a teacher. I don’t want him to die.” She tipped her head to the side, ready for whatever his response would be. A beat of silence followed her words.
“But nearly dying is awesome!” Noah punched a fist in the air. “Like a superhero.”
Confused over the correct path, hype or honesty, Sam searched the room for help. He understood Noah’s enthusiasm. Testing his limits and winning was awesome, but telling a small crowd of impressionable children that seemed unwise. Even nearly dying was bad.
Astrid shrugged. Avery was frowning, her concern clear. She wasn’t sure how he was going to get himself out of this, either.
Sam took a knee in front of Miranda. “It’s hard to argue with your daddy, Miss Miranda. Teachers are heroes, no two ways about that.” He bent closer. “And here’s a secret. I’d be a pure disaster trying to teach you how to spell.”
“That’s okay, Sam,” Miranda said as she patted his arm. “I already know how to spell.”
Sam nodded seriously. “Right, because of your daddy. But I wanted to be a hero, too. This is how I found my way. I love the forests and the animals and I want to work to keep them safe, even when it’s dangerous.” He turned to look straight at Noah. “And the nearly dying? It doesn’t happen often enough to keep things exciting, because I work with some strong, smart firefighters.”
“So, you’re both right?” Miranda said slowly, clearly puzzled how that could possibly be. “Both of them are the greatest jobs in the world?”
“I guess so, and whatever you decide you want to do should be the greatest job in the world.” Sam glanced at Avery. “That’s what we all need to find, the job that convinces us it’s the best one ever.”
He raised both eyebrows at Miranda. “Does the prosecutor rest?”
“You think I don’t know what that means, but my daddy tells me all the time he’s not on trial.” Miranda sighed. “I don’t have to be a lawyer if I don’t want to. That’s what my mommy says and she’s never wrong. I would be good at it, though, possibly the greatest in the world.” Her mouth curled slowly.
Again, her logic was impossible to defeat, so Sam offered her his hand. She shook it firmly.
“Who wants to try on the helmet?” Sam asked as he stood. As he’d expected, every hand in the room shot up. He waved it at Avery. “How about you, Miss Avery?” Instead of jumping at the chance to slap it on and take the fire ax for a bonus swing, Avery held up a hand and then stood. She bent to whisper something to Astrid and left the room.
Disappointed that she didn’t hang around to listen to him, explore the gear he’d brought in or wonder at his amazing way with children, Sam refocused on making his career talk memorable. He’d done this a dozen times. Coming up with something new to keep everyone interested was getting harder and harder, but showing off the equipment on the truck never got stale.
“Let’s go check out the engine,” he said as he headed for the side door leading to the tiny parking lot, a pack of lively kids hot on his heels.
* * *
LEAVING HER CHARGES in the hands of Astrid and Sam was not the best way to finish off her second week at the Sweetwater Library. Did anyone miss her? No, but she’d never skipped out on a job. She’d worked through college, carried a full load to finish a double major in English and history, and managed to make the dean’s list more often than not.
She’d been exhausted but too overworked to spend much time finding a better balance.
That was why Robert’s insistence that cutting back to spend more time together had made absolute sense.
Now this part-time job working with kids was beating her.
At some point, she and Astrid were going to have to have a serious talk about what a disaster she was with the kids, but not today. Sam was in control and she could hear the excited voices all the way out here.
Sam Blackburn was better at story time than she was.
It annoyed her, irritated the winner inside her, but it was impossible to ignore.
She might have hung around, tried to pick up some pointers, but watching Sam celebrate taking risks had hit her hard. His eyes had lit up with excitement at retelling a story where he could have died in at least three different ways. Avery sat down in the chair behind the large polished desk and willed someone to call or to approach her with a book to check out.
She didn’t want to think about Sam in danger.
And she didn’t want to again experience the crushing weight of losing someone she loved. Her father had been the first man who’d died too soon. Then Robert, the man she’d planned to raise a family with.
Sam’s pleasure at cheating death was too scary to watch. In her head, she’d imagined he stood behind a hose and aimed water at a bonfire. Controlled burns took up most of his time. Controlled. Widespread fire, angry, frightened bears, destroyed bridges...none of that was under control.
Pippi raised her head with a soft meow as Avery shifted back and forth in the rolling chair, discreet squeaks annoying enough to disturb a library cat.
“And you have nerves of steel, don’t you, Pippi?” Avery murmured as she ran a hand down the cat’s back. Pippi licked her lips and settled back to sleep, one suspicious eye slowly sliding shut.
“You okay?” Astrid said as she stopped in front of the desk, the noise from the children’s area proof that Sam’s time was up. Soon there would be a flood of easy readers and middle-grade books stacked on this desk.
“Fine.” Avery stood, ready to relinquish her spot. “I needed a minute. Sorry to bail.”
“Well, it was story time, but you weren’t technically in charge at that point, so...” Astrid braced her hands on the desk. “I’ll insist you convince me you’re really okay.”
Avery rubbed her forehead as she tried to come up with a good answer for something she wasn’t sure she understood herself. “I used to be him. I used to be like Sam, ready for adventure and certain that life on the edge was the only way to live. But now...” Avery checked her khaki skirt and the short-sleeved sweater she’d put on without much thought. “Hiking boots. Jeans with enough holes in them to be comfortable. A messy ponytail. And I was so happy. Alive. Like Sam is.”
> That had to be what was bothering her. She’d attempted the climb up to Yanu Falls and failed, while Sam was charging at every adventure put in his path.
“And cheating death sometimes,” Astrid said as she picked up Pippi and gave the cat a quick scratch on the chest. “Sure that doesn’t have something to do with it? The death part?”
Avery dropped down in the seat behind the desk, her knees weak suddenly.
“Because you’ve already seen how some people aren’t able to outrun it.” Astrid put the cat back on the desk. “Until my mother died, I was nearly certain she’d live forever. So would I and nothing would change. But it did, and now, because of that, I can’t ever see this world or time or the days we have with the people we love the same.” Astrid took a deep breath. “You know?”
Avery squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to figure everything out. “Yeah, but he’s...a friend, a guy I knew years ago who’s planning to move on soon. We need firefighters. He’s a good one. Why does listening to him talk about doing his job make it hard to breathe?”
Astrid seemed to struggle with whether or not to answer. “Because he’s the person you used to be, the one you want to be now? And he’s not invincible. You’re not invincible.” She held up both hands in surrender. “Sorry. Thinking out loud.” Then she turned on one heel to go and referee a fight over the most popular beanbag chair.
“Not invincible,” Avery murmured as she traced one finger down Pippi’s tail. “But so alive and in love with his job. Maybe she’s right.”
Avery smiled at the disorderly line forming at the doorway to the children’s area. In half a second, she’d have clamoring readers in front of her, library cards waving in the air. That was one of the most rewarding half hours of her job, when story time was over and kids were desperate for their books. The little girl who’d been ready to correct Sam over the greatest job in the world had elbowed her way to the front of the line, and the determined jut of her chin suggested no one was going to make her move.
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