If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs…
Yeah, yeah. Right, okay.
If you can trust yourself…
He drew in a breath. Yes, he could. She could. He leaned his cheek against her head and closed his eyes.
She shivered against him, and his eyes popped open. Of course she was cold—her jacket was draped over the chair. And he had this nice cotton blanket.
Okay, he could fix this. Just had to move, to ease his arm from under her head…
He positioned himself, one eye closing against a grunt as his shoulder jerked. But he managed to pull his arm free, her head sliding onto the mattress. Then he leaned down and began to work the blanket off himself. He’d leave just the sheet, and wrap the blanket over her like a sandwich.
A sweat beaded on his brow as the pain of his efforts burrowed through him, and oh, this was silly. Better to just call the nurse and get another blanket. But he didn’t know what the rules might be, and calling for help would probably wake Larke, and he didn’t want her jumping up and deciding that getting cozy with him was a bad idea.
Although…
No. He could be the guy she needed. His words from two nights ago rushed back at him and he let them sink in.
I can be more, if that’s what you need.
It struck him that maybe she didn’t need him.
But oh, he needed her. Or at least the way she made him want to be that guy—the one who would run into the firefight and throw his body over hers. The guy who would sacrifice himself—and yes, okay, his personal desires—because he honored her. He respected her.
So, yeah, if she was shivering, she was getting his blanket. And if she was still cold, he would go out into the hall in his flimsy gown and beg.
He gritted his teeth as he worked the blanket over her body. She shifted in her sleep and Riley paused, caught his breath. But when she resettled, he tucked the blanket around behind her, so she was cocooned inside the cotton and flannel.
He rolled onto his side, then slid his arm under her again, giving her a pillow. She sighed, and it arrowed right to his heart.
Then he kissed her forehead. “No nightmares tonight,” he said softly, then closed his eyes and let the morphine take him into his dreams.
It was the nurse who woke him—how many hours later, he didn’t know, but the sun glazed the floor and his body was cramped and yes, a little cold.
He opened his eyes. A middle-aged woman, dark hair, kind expression, walked over to Larke’s side of the bed and said nothing as she looked for his pulse on the arm tucked under Larke. Good thing she found one, because he’d lost feeling in it.
Larke roused and lifted her head. “Oh. Sorry.”
“I just need his blood pressure,” the nurse said, but Larke acted like they’d been caught necking or something and nearly fell off the bed in an effort to untangle herself and get away.
He wanted to call her back, the space next to him hollow and chilly. But she walked over to the window, her hair mussed, her arms akimbo, jumpy as the nurse took his blood pressure, temperature, then made him lay back as she checked his stitches.
He pulled the blanket over himself, suddenly feeling frozen and painfully naked in his flimsy gown.
Larke mercifully looked away, toward the window, and he couldn’t help but follow her gaze.
The sky had blackened, the fire clearly rousing.
“I need to get back to the line,” he said, more of a mutter than intent, although, yeah. He felt a little weak, but get some real food in him, and—
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Larke turned back and her expression spoke the nurse’s words. “You might get discharged later today, but the doctor needs to take a look at you first.”
Larke smiled, just a little triumph.
“Breakfast will be by in an hour or so.” The nurse patted his leg and left.
Silence descended between them as he looked over at Larke.
Then she laughed, just a burble of giggles, and he hadn’t a clue what to do with that.
“What’s so funny?”
“Your expression. Clearly you don’t like being poked and prodded…”
That wasn’t quite the problem, but he shook his head as if in agreement. “Just give me my clothes. Let’s get out of here.”
She stopped laughing. “No.”
“I will get out of this bed in all my hospital gown glory, honey. Or you can save us both that moment when you get a good view of—”
“Fine! I don’t want to see any…unauthorized parts.” She walked over to a bag hanging in the closet, took it out, opened it, and made a face. “You can’t put these back on. They’re filthy.”
“Check my PG bag. I have clean clothes there—at least underclothes, socks, and a shirt.”
She grabbed his backpack and opened it on the foot of the bed, rifling through it.
“There’s a blue compression bag—”
She found it and tossed it to him.
“Toothpaste and the brush?”
She handed him a plastic bag.
“Now, take this stupid thing out of me.” He held out his arm and the IV line.
“Riley—”
“I’ll do it myself.”
“What about your morphine drip?”
“The bag went empty about four hours ago. Please, Larke. I’m fine. I gotta get out of here.”
Her face turned dark. “Listen. You can’t dig or chop or do anything. I don’t know why—”
“Because they’re all I have!” He didn’t mean to raise his voice, so he cut it low. But he met her eyes. “Because those guys are depending on me, and I can’t let them down.”
She stared at him, unblinking. He didn’t move, his jaw tight.
“It’s not up to you to save everyone.” If she wasn’t angry before, he had no doubt about her tenor now. “You don’t have to run into trouble or…or get yourself killed doing something that others can do—
“What if they can’t?” He shook his head. “Listen. I’m not trying to be arrogant here, Larke, but the fact is, for some reason, I’m, well for lack of a better term, fearless. I’ve known for a long time that I’m different. Maybe it’s my ADHD, maybe it’s my curiosity, but I like danger. I like doing the hard things. I like showing up when others can’t. I like…” He sighed. “I like to jump into fire and do anything and everything I can to stop it and save lives.”
He closed his eyes, his jaw tight. “I know that sounds crazy. And reckless and prone to trouble, but…I guess I’m just broken that way.”
She was still silent at the end of the bed.
He opened his eyes. “I know that’s the last thing you need or want. And I’m sorry about that. But that’s who I am.”
She stared at him a long moment. Then she came over to the side of the bed, took his free hand. Met his eyes. “Don’t apologize. You say you’re not like your dad, but you’re everything like him, Riley. Or at least the man I suppose he was. What is the SEAL warrior creed?”
His throat was tight. “‘If knocked down, I will get back up, every time. I will draw on every remaining ounce of strength to protect my teammates and to accomplish our mission. I am never out of the fight.’”
“Yeah, that one.” Then she let go and went into the bathroom.
He leaned his head back on the pillow. No, he was nothing like his old man. His father would have never made a mistake like he had. Never would have landed in some hospital, cozy on pain meds for a little dislocated shoulder while his fellow soldiers were on the line fighting. Maybe for their lives. His dad was a planner who thought out everything.
Not the kind of man to take crazy risks.
Larke emerged from the bathroom with toilet paper and a washcloth. Came over to his arm with the IV.
“This might pinch.”
“Seriously.”
She held the toilet paper over the exit wound, then wrapped the washcloth around the cannula and eased it out. Pushed on the
wound with the paper to stop the bleeding. “You need a bandaid—”
“I’m fine. Just get me out of here.”
She checked the wound, then wrapped the cannula in the paper and placed it on the tray near the bed. “You’re free, hotshot.”
He couldn’t stop himself. He reached up, wrapped his hand around her neck, pulled her down to himself, and kissed her.
And it wasn’t sweet or patient or particularly honorable, but the kind of kiss that spoke of the way she made him feel—as if, even though he had issues that should make a girl run, she still…wanted him.
As if to prove it, she sat on the bed, cupped his face in her hands, and kissed him back, slowing him down, letting him linger.
Letting him know that maybe, just maybe, he had a shot at being the guy who meant his words. I can be more, if that’s what you need.
Yes. Yes, he could.
Her pocket buzzed, and she pulled away, her eyes on his. He was breathing hard, painfully aware now of the flimsy blanket between them and how much really, he didn’t want to go back to the line, but probably should make a beeline for it if he—
“Dad. What’s up?”
She backed away from the bed, her gaze on Riley, her fingers to her lips, as if still reeling from his kiss.
Well, yeah.
“Oh no.”
And right then, his heart might have stopped.
She looked at Riley, and he swallowed. What—?
“Really? Okay. Tell her I’m on my way.”
Her.
Riley held his breath as she hung up and walked over to the bed. “I have a problem. One of my patients is in labor. And I need to go see her before we go back to the ranch.”
Oh.
“Did you think—oh no. You thought that was about your team.” She pressed her hand to his arm. “Sorry.”
“I’m good. Let’s get out of here. Go check on your patient.”
“Really?”
“Larke. Wherever you’re going, I’m going.”
“As long as you end up back fighting fire, right?”
He grinned. “Oh honey, I like it when you talk that way.”
She grinned too. “Get dressed.” She took the cannula and dropped it into the medical waste box. Then she headed to the hallway, but not before stopping at the door. “And, thanks, Riley.”
“I’m getting out of bed now, ready or not—”
She laughed and left the room.
Yeah, maybe he could be the good guy after all.
Riley clearly wasn’t the only one addicted to jumping into the fire.
Larke really was sitting next to the ghost of Freeman.
Not physically, really, because Freeman had been tall, dark haired, dark skinned, with a calm intensity about him that she’d needed overseas when chaos and destruction and daily danger kept her jumpy and on edge.
Riley might just be the complete opposite with his easy smile, tousled golden brown hair, the way he sat next to her in her truck, wearing aviator sunglasses, a baseball cap, and a clean black T-shirt tucked into his grimy fire pants. Riley was fun and flirt and charm.
But he and Freeman shared the same core. The fearlessness, the sense of duty, the determination to finish the job.
To rescue.
I like to jump into fire and do anything and everything I can to stop it and save lives.
Shoot, she was going to get really hurt here.
Because a gust of crazy relief had whooshed through her when Riley said he’d go with her to Alicia’s. Not because she needed him. And certainly not because she wanted to keep him from dropping out of the sky back into danger—although, yeah, that hovered in the back of her mind—but just because…
With him she felt like she might not be on the ground in pieces, listening to the gunshots, smelling the smoke, trapped and not sure how to get to safety. And sure, she was still outside the fence, but with Riley, maybe not alone.
She’d slept hard, for at least five hours. Again.
In Riley’s amazing, strong, safe arms.
Oh, yes, she was in big trouble. Because for the first time, she wanted to figure out how to make it back inside the fence.
Maybe start over again. As her father would say, turn the page.
Riley looked at his cell phone again.
“Did you get ahold of Tucker?”
He shook his head. “And the guys are on a sat radio, so I can’t check in with them, either.” He leaned his head back on the seat. “See the different colors of the smoke? The gray is long burning, less hot ground cover and debris. The black is what we need to worry about. It’s from hot, fresh fire, moving fast and growing.”
He was referring to the mushroom cover of haze that shadowed the park, blurring the mountains and turning the sunshine blood red. She could barely make out the Denali range for the boil of smoke above the lush green foothills.
“You don’t think it could reach the ranch, do you?”
He shrugged, just the one shoulder—the other still encased in the sling. She’d helped him remove it to put his T-shirt on and gotten a glimpse of the ripped core that he’d developed as a firefighter. That and a few scars. He’d given her a funny, almost childish look as she helped him on with his shirt, tugging it up his arm, then over his head, and onto his other arm. She wanted to remind him that she was a medic, that she’d seen men’s bodies before.
Except, she hadn’t harbored medic-type thoughts as she pulled the T-shirt down over his abs, so she’d kept her mouth shut, her face just a little hot.
“I think anything can happen with fire,” he said quietly, and she appreciated the straight answer. “We do our best to plan the most effective attack, but winds can shift, and fire doesn’t always behave, and suddenly you can find yourself in over your head.”
She nodded.
“The smartest thing you can do is know where your safety zones are and try and stay ahead of trouble.”
Now he sounded like Freeman. Be prepared at all times, expect the worst.
But what if trouble found you?
Took you down and left you broken?
“Who is this woman in labor?” Riley asked.
“Just a patient. She lives off the grid with her husband. He’s in jail right now—I don’t know much about it. I checked on her yesterday, and she was tired but not having any contractions. She’s not due for over a week, so it might not be anything, but—”
“Better to check,” he said.
She made a noise of assent.
“What does he look like?”
She glanced at Riley. “Who?”
“Her husband, the prisoner.”
“Uh, I’ve only met him once. He’s a trucker—red hair, sort of pudgy. Nice guy, I think. I’m not sure why he’s in jail.”
Riley was looking at her, something of horror in his eyes.
“What?”
“It’s just—there was a guy who could have been him on the hand crew. He took off with the others.”
“Darryl is one of the fugitives?”
“Could be. Tucker didn’t introduce them to us. They just showed up and started working.”
“Do you think he could be headed to Alicia’s place?”
His jaw tightened. “I don’t know. How dangerous is this guy?”
She shook her head, shrugged.
Riley blew out a breath, nodded. “Okay, then.”
There it was again, the whoosh of relief that he sat beside her in the truck. Sheesh. She’d spent years taking care of herself, and Riley showed up and suddenly she couldn’t function without him?
A smart woman would remember that Riley wasn’t exactly sticking around.
At best, he was another battlefield romance. Well done, Larke, well done.
Maybe that was the only way she could let a man in…when she was in over her head. Afraid.
She shook her head.
The movement made him glance at her. “What?”
“I was just…” She gave him a look. “I think
we need to be real here. I like you, Riley, but you’re leaving as soon as this fire is out, and we both know it. And clearly I’m not the one-night stand girl I thought I could be, so…”
He frowned.
“I guess I should probably come clean. I’ve never…never been the girl who takes a guy home. I don’t know what I was thinking…”
He was shaking his head. “I told you—I don’t have to be the guy you thought you wanted. I—”
“Can be more. I know what you said, but…it won’t work.”
His mouth tightened. “It’s Freeman, isn’t it? His death wasn’t your fault, Larke.”
“It’s not Freeman. I hear you—and I could probably agree, but… I guess I just don’t—”
“Need another guy in your life who could get killed?”
“No. It’s not that… It’s me.” She glanced at him. “I’m broken too, and you know that.”
He gave her a small smile. “Maybe I like that about you.”
Aw shoot, those eyes. “You’re a problem, Riley McCord.”
He winked at her.
She turned off the highway onto the bumpy, narrow road that led to Alicia’s A-frame. Slowed almost to a stop as a branch hung low and scraped over the truck. A couple more branches were broken, evidence of a recent vehicle passing through. Maybe Darryl had made it back.
Or maybe he’d hijacked a car…
“The problem is, I don’t know how to put myself back together. I don’t even know what that looks like. And until I do, I don’t think I can figure out how to put you back together, either.”
He looked at her. “I don’t want to be put back together. I’m just…this way. There’s no fixing me.”
She went over a pothole and the car jerked. “Sorry.”
“Listen, Larke. My mom used to take me to church, back in the days when she was desperate to put a little self-control in me. I usually just got into trouble, but in between that time, some of it stuck. Like the story of David, the kid who God chose to be king. He wasn’t the best or the strongest. He stood up to a giant with nothing but his bare hands, a slingshot and a couple rocks. I think that’s me. A scrapper. I know I’m not a hero, but I can show up—with my bare hands, if that’s what it takes.”
“‘Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.’”
Summer of the Burning Sky Page 32