Liz is being too kind to this man.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You don’t really need our permission to access the lake, do you? This is just a polite formality, isn’t it?” Liz asks.
“Yes, ma’am.”
The firefighter returns to his truck to speak into a radio to give the helicopter its orders.
“The helicopter...” The firefighter points to the chopper over our heads. “…is fitted with tanks. We need to siphon water from your lake through a hanging snorkel. No one will step foot on your property. The chopper will do all the work while in flight. We’ve already dipped into the surrounding reservoirs and large rivers,” the firefighter explains.
“Is the fire being contained or will we need to evacuate?” Liz asks.
“We’re not sure at this time, ma’am. Watch the news reports on television stations for complete fire coverage. We hope we can contain the fire and avoid evacuation. However, with unpredictable winds working against us, who knows what will happen? Lives and homes are more important than dollars and cents. We are doing the best we can.”
Liz thanks them effusively for their efforts while I look in dismay as the trucks drive toward the fire. My phone rings. It is Doug, concerned after watching television reports. I end the call and announce to Liz that we have a place to stay if we have to evacuate.
“I’m sure it won’t come to that,” Liz says, reassuring me as she takes me by the crook of the arm to walk back to the truck.
“Liz, you were too nice to the firefighters.” I look over. “You’re too nice to everyone,” I add.
“I know.” Liz shrugs nonchalantly. “I was nice to you many years ago. That’s what you first liked about me, wasn’t it?”
“Well, don’t be nice to everyone,” I say with a smug look on my face.
“Just you?” she asks sardonically.
I wink at her as if to say, “Yes, only be nice to me.”
When we return to the cabin, the aircraft has positioned itself above the lake. I hear the roar of its engine and the whir of its familiar blades. I’m not used to seeing an aircraft ripple the waters of the lake or seeing an enormous hose siphoning water.
“I wonder how many times it will return today,” I say to Liz as I help her down from the truck.
“Who knows?” Liz shrugs. “You won’t even see a difference in the water’s elevation when they are done,” she adds.
We watch the water, which is getting sucked out of the lake and then the hose recoils into the chopper while Liz clutches my forearm.
“This reminds me when we would infiltrate with special operations helicopters. The chopper wasn’t required to land. Our team would clip harnesses to ropes or rope ladders. We were the stay behind forces that went in first and waited until friendly forces arrived in the area. The helicopter would come in and hover as this one is over the lake. Then it would fly away to an area where it was safe to land.”
The helicopter returned a second time. We keep our eyes on the siphoning of water before it glides away to the dismal eastern skies.
“I’m used to seeing Hueys and AH-1 Super Cobra attack helicopters keeping a watchful eye as we would patrol through villages and farms, but this one is different,” I tell Liz.
“Come inside, Jake. I’ll make some caramel popcorn and we’ll watch the news reports. The air is too thick. We shouldn’t stay outside.”
Liz pulls me gently by the forearm to follow.
I never watch news reports. I hate CNN, can’t stand presidential announcements from the White House or even the local news reports from Calgary that I am able to pick up via satellite. I used to watch the news all the time, but not since returning. I’ve learned it’s better for me not to stay up to date with what is happening in the world. I make inferences, read between the lines, and jump to conclusions about what is not being said. Last time I tracked the news, it was for Liz, and it only brought her misery.
Liz flips through channels on the flat screen. She finds a news station with fire coverage. I quickly turn it off with one click of the remote.
Liz looks at me, baffled. “Don’t we need to know if we have to evacuate?”
“I’m not going anywhere.” I make my declaration clear to Liz and she doesn’t argue as she returns to the kitchen counter to pour hot caramel over the popcorn she just air popped.
Liz hands me a wooden spoon and pushes the large mixing bowl over to me.
“Help me stir in this topping while I clean the pan.”
I’m surprised she is not fighting me to keep the news reports on or insisting that we leave here immediately as I stir the quickly stiffening caramel into the kernels. Liz reaches her hand into the bowl to take a sweetened kernel and pops it into her mouth. She sits on a bar stool next to me.
“Are you okay with that, Liz?” I ask.
“With what? With not watching the news? You not leaving? Or both?”
With any of it. With me. How can she tolerate me? I don’t say anything. I keep my eyes on the wooden spoon.
“Jake, I’m sure everything will be fine,” she says as she gently takes hold of my hand.
“If we sit on the edge of the couch, watching every minute by minute update on the fire, we will both become anxious and agitated. This is your home and I, of all people, will not be able to drag you out of here. That is physically impossible. However, you do have a friend who will not let you be a stubborn ass. If things get bad, Doug will get you out of here. I have no doubt.”
I slip my hands behind her neck to pull her into a kiss. I love this woman. She understands and already knows me so well.
Instead of watching news reports, we sit side by side on the east side of the wraparound porch eating caramel popcorn and watch the ashen skies. My fingers become sticky and Liz licks them clean. I quiver at her touch as her blue eyes peer through her eyelashes. The air is thick and Liz does not want to stay outside much longer. She begins to cough, making me feel like I am being so selfish,staying at the cabin.
“Maybe we should pack the truck and stay with Doug and Jennifer,” I say, but then I wish I could pull the words back into my mouth once Jennifer’s name rolls off my tongue.
Laughter begins to bubble in Liz’s throat. She is trying to swallow it down.
“Let’s see…hang out here and get cabin fever with you, or see you drink excessively to tolerate being around Jennifer…I choose here, if you don’t mind.”
Liz takes the unfinished bowl of caramel popcorn and walks to the cabin door. I catch up to her, quickly grabbing her fingers just before they touch the door handle.
“Wait a minute! Don’t get your sticky fingers all over the handle!” I tease.
I take each of her tiny fingers into my mouth and suck the sticky caramel off. She bites her lower lip at my touch. I am hardening the more I lick her fingers and walk her through the threshold of the cabin.
Liz walks into the kitchen to set the bowl on the counter top. I follow, taking her other sticky fingers into my mouth. She takes her free hand and undoes my top button to give me room to breathe. Her small hand reaches for me and I am lost in her touch.
I pick up Liz and she wraps her legs around my waist as I carry her to the loft, her room, the room I love being in with her, the room where I sleep with her every night.
I pull off her shirt before laying her on the bed. I pull the cup of her bra down to find the caramel coloring of her nipples to manipulate with my tongue. I lick and kiss my way across her chest to the other find the other one aching for my arrival. Her bra unclasps with ease in the front, exposing both of her breasts. When she goes to undo the top button of her jeans, I playfully slap her hand away because I want to undress her. Liz does not refute my gesture as she lies with her hands above her head, allowing me to have my way.
As her zipper glides down, my lips caress her lower abs and hips. I pull off her pants, leaving her lace panties. I gaze down at her delicious body, which awaits me, and my chest heaves as I ponder what I should do
with her first. I pull my shirt over my head and take off the pants Liz has already undone. I softly groan with desire as I lower my head so that my lips meet hers.
The next morning, I awake pleasantly with Liz resting in my arms. I want to wake up each morning like this, nestled against her for the rest of my life. I quietly sneak out of the bed, trying not to disturb Liz from her slumber. I make my way down the stairs to begin making a pot of coffee. I pour myself a mug and walk outside to the porch. The sky is no longer burning and the stench has lessened significantly.
As I sip my coffee, I feel Liz’s hands softly graze my back. She wraps her arms around my waist from behind and kisses my shoulder blade. She must be standing on her tiptoes. I don’t know if I am more relieved the wildfire didn’t spread last night or that I didn’t tackle Liz down when she came up from behind.
“It looks and smells like it’s contained,” she says, slithering her way in front of me.
“Yeah, I’m glad. The land is probably charred and the trees are left scarred and barely alive from the canopies the fire created,” I say, taking another sip.
Liz perches herself on the banister of the porch and tugs the elastic waistband of my pajama bottoms to pull me to her.
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t pin me down to the ground just now,” she says with a sheepish grin.
I smile, averting my eyes while taking another sip of my java.
“I noticed that too.”
She looks so adorable sitting there in my shirt. I have to seize the opportunity to kiss her every chance I get. I pull her chin closer to me and kiss her as the morning sun shines brightly in the eastern sky.
Chapter 39: Liz
“Jake!” I bellow at the top of my lungs in a blood-curdling scream.
A man dressed in camouflage hunting attire from head to toe jumps from a line of trees where Zeke and I sit near the lake. The man startles me. I didn’t hear anyone coming from the main road. He must have come on foot. Zeke barks incisively. My eyes wander down to his thigh where blood saturates his camouflage pants. He must be a misplaced, wounded hunter who crawled under the main gate to access the property, searching for help.
Zeke’s ceaseless barking agitates the man. He takes the rifle in his hand, turns it around, and strikes Zeke in the eye with the rifle’s butt. Zeke yelps.
“Shut your stupid dog up!” the man yells.
I crouch down, turning my attention to Zeke. I am more concerned with the pain inflicted on Zeke than the hunter’s dreadful predicament.
I watch Jake, the Marine, the defender, the trained machine, bolt to my side, rifle in his hand. This time, I do not recoil as he cocks his rifle. Jake bares a robust, bold stature as he aims his rifle directly at the hunter, ready to pull the trigger.
As the man walks closer, I can smell his drunken state. His eyes are dilated and shifty. Jake notices too. Jake has fury in his eyes as he directs his gaze toward him.
I turn to the cabin with the intent to get the first aid kit.
Jake grabs my wrist. “Just go into the cabin, lock the door, and stay there.”
“He’s hurt. I’m going to go get something that might stop the bleeding.”
Zeke runs in a full sprint with me to the cabin. I get a wet washcloth to clean up Zeke’s eye. As I dab Zeke’s eye, gently wiping the blood from his battered eyelid, I hear Jake yelling at the hunter. I cannot interpret what he is saying until I walk to the porch.
“You need to put down the rifle,” Jake asserts. The hunter has inched his way closer to the cabin. I am surprised Jake has granted him the opportunity to move.
“You’re trespassing and have had too much to drink. You need to turn around and leave the way you came,” Jake warns repeatedly.
I grab the first aid kit and walk warily down the steps toward Jake, thinking perhaps there may be at least one useful item in the kit. The wound looks severely marred from a bullet and definitely needs medical attention.
“I don’t have to do anything you tell me, you son of a bitch!” the hunter slurs, stepping abruptly forward, aiming his rifle at Jake.
A shot rings out and smoke suddenly surrounds the barrel of Jake’s gun. He fires the hunter’s rifle out of his hand. Jake’s movements are rather sophisticated with his firearm.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” the man yells as he picks up his rifle from the ground, cocks his gun, and aims it at Jake.
Already injured and drunk, he is delirious as he stands looking weak and small next to Jake’s powerful stance.
Jake gives him another warning to stand down before he nonchalantly shots him in his uninjured leg. The man falls to the ground. His rifle drops from his hand as he grips his new infliction.
“You shot me, you asshole. You shot me!” the hunter yells.
Jake is not concerned with the pain he caused this hunter, who is now wailing on the ground.
“Jake, he’s already hurt and drunk,” I say, alarmed and frightened.
Jake glares at me. “That’s a self-inflicted injury. You can tell from where it entered his leg. I’m not about to let him pull a gun on me or, even worse, hurt you. He’s already taken a jab at Zeke. He shouldn’t be here.”
Jake pitilessly kicks the man and says, “It’s just a flesh wound, and it won’t kill you. Get up!”
Jake doesn’t see the look of horror on my face. I’ve never seen Jake be so shrewd, directing his callousness toward the cowardly injury or the drunken stupor.
“Jake, we have to drive him to the hospital or get Doug here.” Panic stings my voice. “He is losing blood. There is no way he can stand on his own.”
I begin walking closer to the disarmed hunter.
“Liz, don’t go near him,” Jake demands.
“We have to do something.”
Jake doesn’t want to do anything for this hunter as he screams and wails in pain.
“Listen to the bitch!” the hunter yells with his hand covering his open wound.
Jake turns his rifle around and hits the hunter in the eye for calling me a bitch, just as the hunter had hit Zeke. Only Jake hits him much harder and blood is rolling down his eye. His eye instantly puffs and turns a scarlet red. Now, I don’t want to help this drunken hunter, but I do want him gone.
“I’ll get the truck keys,” I say, running back to the cabin.
Jake takes the man’s rifle and unloads it before throwing it back to him. The man doesn’t catch the gun; he allows it to fall by his side with a soft thud as he keeps his hands on his wounds. One is on his leg and the other on his eye, both of which Jake inflicted.
I lock the cabin door after putting Zeke in the kitchen. I have a clean sheet in my hand and the truck keys in my pocket. Jake doesn’t look at me as I try to take his rifle from his vise.
“No, Liz. I’m keeping this with me. You’re being too naive. I’m going to get a tarp to protect the bed of the truck from his spillage.”
I tear the sheet into strips. I crouch down to wrap the man’s wounds. He wails in pain, but his cries affect me more than Jake. I pale at the sight of blood seeping through the makeshift bandages.
I hand off the truck keys to Jake so he can back the truck out of the garage and maneuver the bed of the truck next to the man. The old mattress used with the zip line has been placed in the back of the truck bed along with several old wool blankets.
I help Jake hoist the man into the bed of the truck. Jake slides the man close to the cab of the truck to protect him during the drive to the hospital. I lay the wool blankets over him. He continues to swear and call me foul names. He threatens to have Jake arrested for shooting him. I’m feeling more hostile toward this man. Maybe I should allow Jake to shoot him and dump his remains in the middle of the lake, or bury him so we cannot smell the rot and decay.
I tuck blankets around his body and cover his face gently to keep it from getting cold during the ride. He thinks I’m trying to suffocate him with the blanket and he’s not shy about telling me what crude things are on his mind. The f
oul stench of alcohol and blood make my stomach turn.
When I climb into the truck cab Jake turns to me with piercing eyes. “You’re not coming!”
“I have to, Jake. That man wants to have you arrested for shooting him. You need someone to corroborate your side of the story. That man saw me. He knows my face.”
“Exactly! That’s the main reason why you are not coming,” Jake asserts.
“If you go by yourself and get arrested for shooting this guy, then what am I supposed do?”
“Well, what’s worse? Getting arrested for shooting a man, which probably won’t happen, or getting arrested for abducting you after you’ve been identified?” Jake asks with sternness.
“That’s not going to happen, Jake! My missing report did not make national headlines, so it also didn’t make the news in Calgary. No one here will make the connection. No one has yet. There’s a greater chance this hunter is going to make a scene about you shooting him. Being shot by a U.S. Marine is a much bigger deal!”
Jake grudgingly allows me to come.
When we arrive at the main gate of the property, I say to Jake dryly, “We should just leave him by the gate, but that would be cruel,” I add, even though we are both thinking it would be best for everyone.
“Liz, you would fret over him until he died. Watching a man die a senseless death is not something I want to do today. I’ve already seen it too many times. Let’s stick with your original idea and just drop him off at the closest emergency room.”
Jake drives on the interstate toward Calgary. Jake makes a phone call as he drives. I thought he would be calling Doug since he is his go-to guy for just about everything.
“Hi, Heather, it’s Jake. Where have you been this past week?” There is a pause.
“What if you drove up here this past week and went home today? Would that work?” There is another pause in the conversation.
“I don’t care about that right now. We can talk later. For right now, is it okay if you were at the cabin when a hunter was shot and you were with me when I took him to the emergency room? Then, you drove straight home as you always do. No airline tickets to track. If anyone asks, you used cash for gas and didn’t think to track receipts. We have our stories straight, right? I’ll call you later and we can talk about that other thing. Thanks, Heather, I owe you one.”
Hasty Resolution Page 25