The rod and staff. Guidance and discipline through the darkness.
Except he’d let his pride tell him he didn’t need either.
“‘Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies…’” Larke’s words ended in a whimper as the wind raked over them again. “I don’t think I can hold on much longer.”
His arm tightened around her and he moved his mouth to her ear. “‘Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over…’”
Riley, say it again, with me.
He’d stared up into the dark, solemn eyes of his father, one of his early deployments. “If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew to serve your turn long after they are gone, and so hold on when there is nothing in you, except the will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’…”
Maybe the gap between who he was and who he wanted to be could be bridged by God. By letting the Almighty lead him through the valley of darkness to the banquet table. Letting Him pour blessings over him.
Riley let go of Larke’s hand under him and stretched out his arm beside hers, gritting his teeth, moving into the pain as he cupped his hand around hers. The heat seared his knuckles, but he bore down against her shaking arm.
And maybe he wasn’t broken. Maybe God had made him exactly who he was supposed to be…risky, but not reckless.
“‘Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life…’”
The whoosh released high above him, and the sound of it gave a three-second warning, allowing Riley to tighten his body over hers as the water pummeled down over them. A waterfall of fresh, cold lake water that whisked away the heat and washed the fire from the places where it lapped into the shelter.
He took the hit like fists on his body, but beneath him, Larke lay safe.
And then, just like that, the cracking, the snapping, the sauna heat lifted. Dying embers hissed around them.
Riley released her hand, and she lifted the edge of the shelter.
Black encircled them, white smoke peeling off the burned ground. He flipped the shelter up and spotted through the haze the belly of a red and white Otter.
Gilly’s plane?
Larke lifted her head and turned over underneath him. Dirt and sweat grimed her face, pressed into her pores, and her eyes were cracked, red, still watery.
But she pressed her hand to his face and offered the slightest of smiles. “‘And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.’”
Her house. He glanced behind him.
Oh, her house. It was still burning, the roof collapsed inside, the walls fallen, the beams charred. “Oh, Larke—”
“Shh. It’s okay. I’m okay. I…I don’t need the house anymore.”
He turned back to her, searching her eyes. “Why?”
She grinned. “Because I found more.”
Then she leaned up and kissed him. And sure, he was filthy, sweaty, and smelled like a locker room, but the sun shone down upon them and they were alive.
Very, very much alive.
So, he braced himself over her and let himself surrender to her touch, leaning in and loosing the good man—the hero—inside who deserved to kiss the woman he loved.
Yes, loved. Wow, he loved her, and the immensity of it nearly stopped his heart. Because she saw the man he wanted to be.
Had helped him believe it for himself.
She leaned back and met his eyes. “I’m in love with you, Riley McCord.”
He grinned. “Of course you are. I’m a hero, after all.”
She laughed. “Whatever.”
Then he kissed her again, because he’d kept his promise.
And he was getting that kiss.
For the last two days, half of Alaska had invaded Sky King ranch.
Or at least half of their firefighting force, including a hand crew from Anchorage, the Midnight Sun jumpers from Fairbanks, two air tankers, and even Riley’s boss, Jed, who’d left before the fire had started five—only five?—days ago.
How Larke’s life had changed in five days.
Except, she was still serving coffee and had even made cookies for the crew now assembled on the porch, surveying their work.
The fire had stopped at the ridge overlooking the charred remains of her homesteaded cabin, and Riley’s fast thinking had saved the lodge, the hangar, the core of their operation, not to mention the cabins that anchored the glacial lake. Now, a cloudless sky turned it a rich, nearly turquoise blue, a stark contrast to the black that surrounded it to the west.
Larke set a tray of cookies on the railing to the deck. A few grimy smokejumpers from the Midnight Sun team helped themselves.
She saw Skye standing across the yard with the dark-haired FBI agent in a semi-heated discussion, her face animated. Apparently, the agent—Rio—had been undercover, protecting Darryl in prison.
She’d tracked down Alicia at the Copper Mountain Regional Hospital and stopped in yesterday to see her and her baby boy.
“Darryl’s not coming back,” Alicia had said quietly. “But I’m going to be okay. My son and I will be okay.” Yes, she would. Because Alicia was a survivor.
Larke spotted Riley out in the yard talking with Tucker and their boss, Jed, who had returned.
She was about to join them when a hand slid onto her shoulder. “How you doin’, kiddo?”
Her father hadn’t shaved, his whiskers coming in whitened, his face lined with the craggy stress of the past week.
Of seeing his only daughter nearly die.
She hadn’t thought of that—how it felt to send his children, his daughter and sons, to war. Or for them to bring it home in their hearts.
She should write to her brothers, probably. After all, she was the big sister.
“I’m okay, Dad.”
He cast a look out to the blackened skeleton of her house. Shook his head. “All your hard work.”
“It’s just a house.”
He pressed his lips to her head. “I know. But you felt safe there.”
Her gaze went back to Riley. He wore a black T-shirt, his green pants low on his lean hips, firefighting boots, and a baseball cap over that unruly golden brown hair. With his strong back to her, those thick arms crossed over his chest, the memory of his body braced over her, protecting her, stirred inside her.
Oh, she loved him. A fast, bright, hot love that surprised her—but maybe she, like Riley, was built to run into fire. She hadn’t seen that about herself, not until he’d turned to her as they stared at her house and clutched her against his trembling frame and quietly, desperately, yelled at her for leaving him.
Never again.
Still, she did have a habit of running into the flames—in Afghanistan, and even thinking she might bring home the hot firefighter without getting burned.
Although, she hadn’t gotten burned, because Riley turned out to be the guy who wasn’t afraid to follow her into the fire. To protect her from herself.
He still favored his arm—he spent the past two days helping supervise the firefight, calling in water dumps, directing the mop-up.
Not reinjuring his shoulder. Not being invincible. Proving that he didn’t have anything to prove to anyone, including himself.
“Maybe safety isn’t in a place, but in a truth,” she said quietly, now, to her father.
She looked up at her father, who had raised an eyebrow.
“The Lord is my shepherd. Full stop. Amen.”
One side of his mouth quirked up.
“All this time, I thought I was alone. But…no. He sent Freeman, and then Riley…and you, Dad. He’s been with me this entire time, through the people who are willing to run outside the fence and…and—”
“And do what the good shepherd does for you? Rescue you? Protect you? Love you? I know what Freeman did for you. And even Riley. I couldn’t see anything with all that smoke and flame, and yet he just went out the door into nothing on blind faith that he could find you. Bravest thing I ever saw. But that’s what God does for us—abandons eve
rything to find us and bring us home.”
Home. “I was thinking that I wouldn’t rebuild. I might… I think it’s time for me to stop hiding, Dad. I was talking to Riley about moving to Montana. He said that there’s a search and rescue team I could possibly join, and—”
“It’s about time.” He smiled.
Her throat tightened, and she heard a step behind her on the porch. Her father looked up, let her go. Met Riley’s hand.
Riley grinned at him, wearing a strange expression. As if…
“Wait. Have you two already talked about this?”
Riley’s arm curled around her shoulders, and he pulled her back against himself as her dad winked and headed off the porch.
She turned in Riley’s embrace. “What did you say to him?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I quoted poetry. Your dad’s a real softy for Kipling.” He put his hand to her cheek. “A bunch of us are going to the Midnight Sun. Vic’s putting on a spread for the firefighters. I was thinking…maybe we need a redo on our date.”
He met her eyes, a little fire in them.
But probably it was always there. And that’s just how she liked it.
“Promise to keep me out of trouble?” she said, her voice low, a little husky.
“Nope,” he said and kissed her.
Whatever.
10
Vic, the bartender and owner of the Midnight Sun Saloon had baked enough ribs to feed Alaska.
Which might be just the amount she needed to satisfy the hunger of the congregation of firefighters who packed into the place. Riley snagged a basket for himself and one for Larke and fought his way to the place by the bar where it had all started.
Pretty girl on a stool, dressed in a black tank top, her white-blonde hair long and wavy around her shoulders, looking at him like he might be her hero.
Yeah, maybe.
Riley set the baskets down on the bar. Grabbed a couple napkins. “These things are messy.”
“I like messy,” Larke said and reached for a rib. She grinned, her pale blue-green eyes warm, almost hot, and oh boy, he hadn’t a clue how he was supposed to keep his promise to her father.
She needs someone honorable. Someone who will let her go but watch her back. And someone I can trust.
Okay, okay, yes, that was him. He’d even quoted his father’s poem to Barry and threw in the SEAL promise. “I am that man.” Even the other guy was on board, the one inside who just wanted to jump back on her bike and motor them off to watch the sunset.
Which, apparently, in this neck of the woods, took a very long time.
“I saw Stevie—that US marshal—outside. She asked me again about Thorne.” He picked up a rib. “She said that her father told him that he thought Thorne had been shot when she and Tucker staged some kind of rescue attempt and tried to take down March.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That I didn’t know where he was, which, frankly, is true, by now.”
She nodded. “Think he’ll make it home?”
He said nothing. Raucous shouts rose from his guys at a nearby table—Romeo and Seth, Hanes and Eric, along with a handful of the Midnight Sun jumpers. And Redbone was back on the jukebox—clearly a well-worn choice.
Come and get your love…
The place smelled of beer, barbeque, smoke, and camaraderie, and as he finished off a rib, the music twined through him.
But the whole thing had him thinking.
Riley wiped his fingers, washed the rib down with a salty ale, and took a breath. “I know you’ve been talking to Jed about coming to Montana—and I love that idea, but…”
She set down her food. Reached for a wipe, her smile dimming.
“How do you feel about San Diego?”
She raised an eyebrow as she washed off her fingers. “As in Coronado? SEAL training?”
“Obviously, that’s a long way down the road, but maybe it’s time—”
“Yes.” A slow smile curved up her face. “Absolutely. Where you go, I go.”
Oh. Wow. And the confidence of her answer rocked him back, as if…
“What did I do to deserve you?” he said, the words simply spilling out, unchecked. “I don’t… This is—”
“Green meadows.” She touched the well of his neck, light fingers that then pressed to his chest, right over his heart. “I keep thinking about that tiny green patch of grass in the middle of all that black and…that’s what you are to me, Riley. Green meadows in the middle of the fire.”
Crazy, but his eyes heated, and he looked away.
Her hand touched his cheek and moved his face back to hers. “Besides, I have a feeling you’ll need your own personal medic.”
And how. He grinned and stepped closer to her, cradled between her legs, and caught her face in his hands. The song had switched, Otis Redding singing “Stand By Me.” So, darling, darling…
He bent close, his voice turning dark and smoky. “The truth is, I don’t deserve you.” His lips brushed the delicious skin at her neck. “But I get a lot of things I don’t deserve.”
Then he kissed her, and the music, the smells, the crowd all faded into that amazing, sweet truth.
Green meadows.
“Cmon, Skye. I don’t belong here, and you know it.”
Skye stood outside the Midnight Sun Saloon, the tangy smell of the barbecue awakening the beast inside, but she ignored it and followed Rio as he paced around the corner of the Midnight Sun.
They’d been fighting since Tucker declared the fire out, had ended their callout. Which, apparently, meant to Rio that it was time to walk out of her life.
He’d barely looked at her since she’d showered, shown up at the lodge in a fresh T-shirt and jeans, her hair back in a ponytail. In fact, he’d taken one look at her and turned downright pale.
He too had showered, and Barry had given him some clothing, pilfered from his absent sons’ closets. Now he wore a cocoa brown Take to the Sky King ranch T-shirt that only turned his eyes devastating and did dangerous things to his physique. It also illuminated the tattoos that inked his arm.
Her gaze had fallen on the tribal tats, like the sleeve that wound up his right arm, into his neck, and down around his chest. It added a dangerous appeal, one that must have shone in her eyes because he’d turned weirdly cool and announced he was leaving for Anchorage.
And when she’d caught up to him, grabbing him and pulling him around, he’d told her that she was better off without him.
What?
Yes, they’d had that fight in low tones in the yard of Sky King ranch. She’d barely talked him into joining them at the Midnight Sun—an offer sweetened by the fact that Larke had let him drive one of her brothers’ motorcycles. Which meant that Skye got to ride behind him, her hands wrapped around his firm torso.
She wasn’t letting him go, no matter what he said.
Or how far he stalked away from her and the building.
She caught up to him, grabbing his arm. “Rio!”
He whirled around. Came back at her, eyes flashing. “What, Skye? What do you think happens next?” His eyes were nearly reddened, as if he’d been fighting some errant emotions.
His intensity rocked her back. “I don’t know. I…just, let’s go inside.”
He gave a her a hard look. Shook his head. “I don’t belong in there. With your team. With you.”
She stared at her. “What do you mean, with me? Of course you—”
“Look at you!” He stepped away from her. “You look about sixteen—”
“I’m twenty-four.”
“And I’m thirty.”
“So?”
He dragged a hand through his tousled black hair, shook his head. “And I don’t know what I was thinking out there. Just…that you needed my protection—”
“I did need your protection. But I’m not a child, Rio. I know what I’m doing.”
“I know.” He held up his hand as if to push away her words. Cut his voice low. “I saw you fight
ing fire the past two days, Skye. You’re amazing, brave, capable, strong. But…we live in different worlds.”
“You said you wanted a different world.”
He flinched.
Looked away.
Took a breath.
She touched her hand to his chest, his heart thundering under her palm.
“What’s going on, Rio?”
He looked at her, and the pain in his eyes could make her wince. “You’re just so…so good, Skye. Clean and pretty and…young. You don’t need me in your life.”
She blinked at him. “But…I want you.” And she put so much fierceness into her voice, she shocked herself. “I want you, Rio. And not just because you saved my life but because you help me remember that God shows up. He provides exactly what I need, when I need it. And I need you.”
He touched her arms. He stared at her, swallowed. And his voice fell. “And I need you.” He closed his eyes. “So much, it hurts.”
“Then—”
“But I shouldn’t, Skye. Because…” He opened his eyes. “Look at me. I’m…not a hero. I’m…you need to be with someone in there.” He gestured to the bar and grill. “One of your smokejumpers. Someone brave and heroic—”
“You’re brave and heroic—”
“Someone who looks brave and heroic. Not someone people immediately think is going to rob them!”
He made to step away from her, but she grabbed his hands. Softened her voice. “I see a warrior. A man who has battle scars. The man who will stand in front of a gun to protect me. I see exactly the kind of hero I want.”
His gaze softened on her, and finally, he pulled her close against him, wrapping his arms around her. “Skye,” he said softly. “I don’t know what happens from here.”
“I do.” She pressed her lips to his neck. Salty, but the smell of his soap fragranced his skin. “You’re going to tell the FBI that you’re done being their prisoner.”
“I am?” He caught her face in his hands, ran his thumbs along her cheekbones.
Those amber eyes filled with the finest tenor of heat.
“Yep. See, you took me hostage in the mountains, and now it’s my turn.”
Summer of the Burning Sky Page 37