Burning Flame: Californian Wildfire Fighters Book Three

by North, Leslie

  Hank's hand smoothed down along her belly. Lana froze. It wasn't possible that a part of him knew, was it? He touched her so tenderly that she could almost believe Hank sensed there was more going on. She caught his hand with hers before he could retract it and pressed it to her stomach. Their hands rose and fell together as she breathed.

  This was it. The moment. She would tell Hank now. Come what may, they would face this uncertain future together, and maybe, just maybe . . .

  "Hank?"

  His phone buzzed the same instant she said his name. Lana clamped her mouth shut, then laughed quietly to herself as the interruption persisted.

  Hank glanced at her curiously before rolling over to reach for his cell. "Station's texting me," he said. "Looks like I've got another meeting with the commissioner in half an hour."

  "Bet he saw the weather report," Lana said.

  Hank rolled back over and scooped her into his arms. She laughed with delight at the surprise embrace. It was as if the old Hank was returning to her, slowly, his icy exterior thawing by degrees. "What were you saying?" He stroked a strand of hair back from her eyes.

  "Just that this was nice," she lied. She pressed her hands against his chest. "I'll see you after, okay? If you want to stop by."

  "I do want to stop by." Hank pressed a kiss to her lips, and Lana melted. She wondered if every fire chief was capable of liquefying a girl with even a chaste touch, or if Hank was just a special exception. "I'll bring dinner," he said.

  "You don't have to do that."

  "I'd like to."

  Lana beamed as Hank slipped his arm out from underneath her and replaced it with a pillow.

  He rose to get dressed. She watched him change, drinking in the sight of his tall, muscular body as it slipped its way easily from motion to motion. I could get used to this, she thought.

  Hank paused, hovering in the doorway, to look back at her. Lana lifted her hand in a shy wave. "See you soon," he said.

  She waited until she heard the front door close behind him. Then Lana sank back down into the bed and hid her face in her hands. She couldn't stop smiling, no matter how hard she tried. That's what good sex does to you, she thought, but knew it was so much more than that.

  It was Hank. Hank had come back to her. She couldn't suppress her love for him any more than she could forget about a picture hidden away in a drawer.

  Or a pregnancy test. Lana pulled her hands back and sighed. That was twice now she had resolved to tell him, and twice she had let a last-minute distraction get in the way. Now it was her turn to roll over and hunt for her phone on the bedside table.

  The day was still young, and she needed some advice.

  9

  HANK

  "The timeline has been accelerated."

  This time, Hank stood at the back of the room, arms crossed, as the commissioner took the floor. He wasn't surprised to hear it. The language used in the previous meetings had left little room to wonder what direction the commissioner's office was veering.

  "Because of the wildfire that just broke out in Southern Cali?" someone asked. This was news to Hank, but his manner didn't change. His expression remained grim.

  The commissioner nodded. "That's why we're downgrading the crisis here. The state offices and the feds had determined that the wildfire here is less of a threat now than it was before. We're going to start reallocating our resources south."

  "This feels premature." Hank surprised himself by speaking up. Recently, he hadn't been as directly involved in these discussions, preferring to sit back and listen while he reasoned himself out of feeling like he had a personal stake. He had sensed his dismissal coming, and figured it was better to leave the decision-making to those who would be sticking around longer after he was gone.

  But he couldn't let this latest assessment slide without saying something. He pushed off from the wall and rejoined the other chiefs. "We should wait and see which direction the storm blows."

  A murmur of agreement came from the other volunteers.

  The Cedar Springs chief looked to the commissioner, but the commissioner shook his head. "Science has already told us which direction she'll blow. The local meteorologists are all in agreement."

  "Yeah, because those weather jockeys have never been wrong before," the volunteer chief from Oregon piped up.

  "The decision has already been made," the commissioner said firmly. "The local fire department and the National Guard members still assigned here will be more than adequate, should anything arise. I consider this meeting dismissed."

  Hank equally considered the conversation over. He trusted that people more qualified than an Alaskan fire chief were working out their calculations behind the scenes; he believed it—because he had to. His caution wasn't an adequate reason to raise an argument, his gut feeling even less so. Hadn't he just spent half of his summer trying to teach his men that there was more to firefighting than instinct—and devil-may-care audacity in the face of danger?

  "Feels wrong." The Oregon chief, Greg, confirmed his worry as they walked out of the meeting together. "Glad you said something. I think the commissioner's office got tired of taking my phone calls."

  "We just have to trust they know what they're talking about," Hank replied.

  "That good enough for you?"

  "No." But what else could he do? His hands were tied. He had given up any real say he might have had in the town's future when he’d left Cedar Springs a decade ago. It was up to the real local authorities to decide what was and wasn't right.

  He stood off to the side of the hallway with Greg as the others trickled out. Hank saw the dissent in their faces, but their postures spoke of reluctant acceptance. It wasn't a good look on them. These were proud men and women for a reason, and they were now reduced to second-guessing their own intuition. He saw the Cedar Springs chief attempt to pull the commissioner aside for a private talk, but the secretary from the commissioner's office hustled over to intervene.

  "These damn officials just hate spending money, especially in a rural place like this," Greg remarked.

  "Nothing we didn't already know or expect," Hank replied. "You take what they're willing to give you and improvise the rest."

  Greg chuckled and shook his head in agreement. "Same thing happens back home every time fire season starts up again. There never used to be a 'fire season', but that's the world we live in now."

  "Keeps guys like us employed, unfortunately."

  "Yeah. Unfortunately." Greg clapped him on the back. "My squad's expecting to be dismissed any day now. I'll miss seeing you around, Logan. My guys liked teaming with yours."

  "The feeling was mutual." They shook hands and parted ways, leaving Hank to wonder if this might be the last time he saw Greg again. The man’s comments certainly had the ring of finality. He wondered, too, how long it would be now before he received his own marching orders. Then it would be up to him to decide whether he stayed or went.

  The fact that he was even considering options was something to worry about.

  "Options. What options might those be, Logan?" he muttered to himself. He stood on the porch of the station, leaning against one of the support beams, and gazed off down the street toward the hub of town. The haze hadn't lifted, but it definitely seemed to be thinning some. Cedar Springs was finally letting its kids out now to enjoy what remained of their summer vacation. He watched a troop of them jump down from the steps of the ice cream shop and shoot across the street, laughing and balancing the multi-level scoops heaped atop their waffle cones. Locals that he recognized from growing up here—and now nodded to in passing—stopped to chat with each other on the sidewalks in front of stores and milled around with their dogs.

  He could come home. He could be a part of it again.

  "Hell," he said again. He rubbed his nose, but the friction didn't ignite any clear ideas. What should he do? Stay here and try to see if he could make something work with Lana, or run back to the life he had made for himself in Alaska?
r />   If you could call it a life.

  Neither option seemed like the right answer. So he was stuck, loving Lana—and unable to stay because he loved her.

  She was better off without him.

  He just wished he could keep himself away from her.

  10

  LANA

  "I brought wine!" Alex sing-songed as she danced up the drive. She swung a bottle bigger than her forearm as she came.

  Lana had been sitting on the porch for the last ten minutes as she waited for her friend to arrive. She had enjoyed the cool breeze that almost lacked the singed smell of burning wood. Maybe it was just her imagination playing tricks on her after seeing the latest news report, but it really felt as if the wildfire was finally passing Cedar Springs by. She attributed any late-night feelings of misgiving to everything else that was going on with her.

  She rose to greet Alex with a hug. Her lips tugged up in a smile. "You always bring wine," she noticed.

  "And you always help me drink it," Alex agreed as they went inside together. The other woman took the liberty of grabbing two glasses out of Lana's cabinet before joining her in the living room.

  When Alex went to pour the wine, Lana held out her hand. "Sorry, Alex. I'm afraid I won't be much help to you tonight." Or for the next eight-plus months, she thought dismally, though she didn't say as much out loud. She still wasn't certain she wanted to bring anyone else in on her secret.

  But she should have known better, dealing with a nurse as intuitive as Alex. It was as if the other woman read the silent addendum in her mind. Alex's eyes skated her up and down, and she leaped suddenly out of her chair.

  Her reaction was so unexpected that Lana glanced at herself in alarm. Had a spider dropped from the ceiling onto her? Had she forgotten to put a shirt on? Had she suddenly, insanely, gained all of her baby weight in the span of a single glance?

  "You're pregnant," Alex stated. Her flat affect was a stark contrast to the wired, ready-to-act posture of her body.

  Lana bowed her head.

  "When?" Alex demanded.

  "You're going to have to be a bit more specific in your questioning," Lana said gently. She reached to coax Alex back down onto the couch cushion beside her. "When did it happen? When is the due date?"

  "When were you planning to tell me?"

  Lana shook her head. "Alex, honestly. I practically just found out myself."

  "Does anyone else know?" her friend exclaimed.

  "I think Dyna suspects." Lana winced.

  "Does the father . . .? Oh, God, the father. Lana!" Alex pressed a hand to her forehead. "Is Hank the father?"

  Lana winced again.

  Alex was working things out without any help. "Of course he's the father. What am I saying? You've been faithful to that damn man for the past ten years." Alex ran her fingers through her hair, then snatched Lana's hand and leaned in.

  Lana didn't lean away from her intensity. She felt . . . relieved at finally having someone know the truth. Never mind that she hadn't been able to say it to herself in so many words. Baby steps, she thought. And how true that expression has become for you.

  "You have to tell him, Lana." Alex's blue eyes were sharp and earnest.

  "I know." Lana squeezed her hands. "I'm not keeping it a secret from him on purpose, Alex. It's just . . . I have to find the right time. And every time it finally seems like the right moment rolls around, I can't bring myself to. I'm not trying to keep it to myself. I'm just afraid . . ." Her throat closed on the word, but she persevered.

  This was Alex. Alex had been through her own hell, and she was the last person who would judge Lana now. ". . . I'm afraid what we've started is so fragile already. There are so many outcomes now. So many answers Hank could give me . . . and I'm afraid only one in a hundred will be something I want to hear."

  "You once told me Landon was a good man," Alex stressed. "Lana, it's my sworn duty to tell you now that Hank is a good man."

  Lana bowed her head. "I know he is."

  "Do you really think, knowing about the baby, that he would just up and leave you? Of course he would stay! Hell, he might invite you to move to Alaska with him!"

  "That's exactly what I'm afraid of!" Lana said urgently, lifting her head to stare into her friend’s eyes. "Alex, if the baby is what makes him decide he wants a life with me . . . how can I ever be sure it was really what he wanted?” She took a deep breath. “I want Hank to make the choice. I don't want a surprise circumstance between us to force his hand."

  Alex's mouth twisted in sympathy. They were both silent for a long moment. Finally, Alex broke from her long enough to pour herself a brimming glass of wine. She swigged it down like water.

  Lana massaged her forehead and hid a faint smile. "Yeah. Wish I could join you in that," she said eventually.

  "Well, you can't keep it from him forever," Alex said after a pause. "It'd be wrong to let Hank go through life not knowing there's a kid out there—a kid he fathered.”

  "I know." Lana laced and unlaced her hands. "I just . . . is it wrong to want him to come back to me because we love each other—and miss each other?"

  "Of course it isn't." Alex folded Lana into her arms, then, and Lana sighed gratefully. She didn't care if a little wine sloshed over the side of the glass and colored some of her hair.

  "Please keep my secret, Alex. At least, for now."

  "I really hate this," Alex said as she drew back. "But I'll do it. For you. Just promise me you'll tell him soon."

  "I promise."

  The front door eased open then, and both women jumped. Alex quickly, thoughtfully, grabbed up their glasses (with Lana's still unused) and ferried them into the kitchen.

  Hank poked his head in. "Lana? You got company?"

  "Alex came by after work," Lana explained. Her heart hammering so hard she feared it would the break the walls of her ribcage. If Hank had come home even a second sooner . . .

  "Hey, Hank," Alex said as she returned. "I was just on my way out." She snatched up the wine bottle and corked it.

  "You don't have to leave on my account," Hank said.

  "That's all right. I've gotta get home and . . . feed the cat. And the dog.” Alex smiled suddenly and added, “And then let Landon feed me."

  Hank nodded. "All right. Take care. And tell Landon to check in with me in the next twenty-four hours."

  "Will do. Good night, Lana. And good luck." Alex fixed her with a last meaningful look before departing.

  "What was that about?" Hank asked as he joined her in the living room.

  Lana twisted a strand of hair nervously around her finger. "She’s had a few glasses of wine." It was a lame excuse. She was just glad Alex had left before the other girl could realize she was getting thrown under the bus.

  "Yeah? How many did you have?"

  "I—"

  Hank’s lips were on hers before she could give him an answer. Relief washed over her, and it wasn't just that he had inadvertently rescued her from having to respond to his question. His kisses were a balm to her aching heart, and the solution that always dissolved all her inner worries. It was too easy to get swept up by him.

  "Hm. I don't taste any," he noticed as he pulled back.

  Lana sighed. "I can tell you've been to the bar." The sharp, smoky note of whiskey lingered on his tongue. She dearly hoped that deeply kissing an inebriated Hank didn't count as partaking, herself. "Unless they started pouring shots at the meeting?"

  "May as well have. The way the county commissioner was going on, you'd think his department reached out and squashed the fire singlehandedly. I'm surprised they found the time, considering all the back-patting they've been doing."

  "But the fire's still burning, isn't it?" Lana turned into him as he joined her on the couch. "And now they're saying the one down south—"

  "Lana." The heavy look in his eyes would have interrupted her even if he hadn't said her name. "I love you."

  Lana stared. After a few seconds, she looked down and realized she
was trembling. It felt like her bones were vibrating inside her, like his sudden confession had the power to resonate inside her for all eternity. She had heard him say those words only once before, in the moments they had stolen together the night Michael died. There had been no time for anything afterward, no time to examine or revisit, or . . .

  "It's not the alcohol talking," Hank whispered.

  "I know it isn't." And she did. "I think I'd know it if you didn't mean it, Hank."

  "Then why do you look like you're about to cry?" He cupped her face in his hand. Lana leaned into it and clenched her eyes closed over the threat of tears.

  "It's been so long since I heard those words . . ." she whispered. "And the last person to say them to me was you. I've never forgotten—"

  "Neither have I. I tried to forget, Lana. I tried to forget the accident, tried to forget Cedar Springs. I tried to forget you."

  She reached up to grip his hand. She knew it already, but hearing him say it in almost the same breath he told her he loved her hurt. People didn't leave as abruptly as he had if they wanted to remember.

  "I couldn't," Hank whispered.

  "I couldn't, either. I told myself I needed to move on. That life here without you wasn't a true life, when all I could keep thinking about was that you might return."

  "You knew me better than I knew myself." Hank smiled ruefully. "I couldn't stay away any longer, Lana. The minute I heard about the fire, I came. They didn't even call me first. I called the station to let them know I was already on my way."

  "You never needed an excuse to come back to me!" she sobbed. Now the tears spilled freely down her face.

  "God, Lana. What do we do? We can't just pick up where we left off."

  "I don't want to pick up where we left off." She caught his face between her hands. "I want you as you are, now."