by Mari Carr
Into the Fire
Compass Boys, book 2
Mari Carr
Jayne Rylon
Copyright © 2017 by Mari Carr
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Author’s Note
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
More Compass
About the Authors
Other books by Mari Carr
Also By Jayne Rylon
Author’s Note
Into the Fire and Heaven on Earth run concurrently, meaning their timelines overlap. Therefore, some of the events depicted at the beginning of Into the Fire happen before things that occurred in the latter half of Heaven on Earth.
This book is dedicated to the Compass fans. I don’t think Jayne and I could have foreseen all the twists and turns this series would have taken us on back when we decided to collaborate in 2011. To quote the Grateful Dead, “What a long, strange trip it’s been,” and we’re so grateful you’ve walked every step of it with us.
I know the Compass Boys books were a long time coming, and we hope they were worth the wait!
Prologue
Glass struck the wall behind him, shattering with enough force that James Compton didn’t want to think about how much that bottle would have hurt if it had hit its target.
His face.
That thought was fleeting when he was sucker punched in the kidneys from behind. He whirled on his attacker and landed a solid uppercut on the fucker’s jaw. The cowboy’s head flew back, something James would have felt better about if he hadn’t split the skin on his knuckles delivering the blow.
The back room where he’d been peacefully playing pool not more than five minutes earlier had descended into an all-out brawl, and James didn’t have time to lick his wounds. Some scrawny dude leapt onto his back, and if James hadn’t been close enough to the pool table to use it to hold him up, he would have definitely face planted on the floor. He whirled around as the scrappy asshole clung to one of his shoulders, landing more than a few blows on the side of James’s head.
James backed up, pounding the guy against the wall behind them, dislodging him hard enough that there was no way the guy hadn’t gotten a few busted ribs in the process. The man grunted as he slumped to the ground. James wanted to say a few choice words to the fucker, but before he could, a strong hand grabbed the back collar of his shirt.
He whirled around swinging. This was a punch first, ask questions later situation. However, he pulled up short—thank God—allowing Jake Cartwright, who’d obviously anticipated the blow, enough time to catch his fist mid-swing.
“What the ever-loving fuck are you doing?” the older man asked.
James grinned, then winced as the action widened the split lip he hadn’t noticed until that second. There were too many other parts of him that hurt worse. “Assholes accused me of cheating. Said I was hustling them.”
“Were you?” Jake asked, dodging a chair that was swung wildly in their general direction. The bar’s bouncers had arrived and were trying to regain control of the chaos. It was working…sort of. At least, with the addition of three men who weren’t trying to kill him, James had a few seconds to catch his breath.
“Of course I wasn’t,” James said, even though he had been. Stupid fucks had been asking for it, strutting around calling themselves road warriors, bragging about their skills. He shut them up pretty quick, after having some fun with them.
“Yeah right.” Jake probably had more to say, but someone had called the cops. Sirens sounded in the distance. “Get your sorry ass out of here before you wind up spending the night in jail. There’s no way Sawyer’s going to bail you out for bullshit like this.”
James followed his honorary uncle out of the redneck dive. Jake Cartwright had worked on his family’s ranch—Compass Ranch—for over forty years. It wasn’t like James had a shortage of uncles. If there was one thing he had an abundance of, it was family. And in Compton Pass, Wyoming, the Comptons were something akin to royalty. Which made him a fucking crown prince. A title that chafed worse than wool pants with no underwear.
Jake wasn’t related by blood. He was related by choice. James always figured Jake had taken on the role that would have been filled by his granddaddy JD. His grandfather had died before James was born, but the stories about him around these parts were the stuff of legends. James and his brother, Doug, and his male cousins, Austin and Bryant, had a reputation for being wild, and Jake, though much older, wasn’t annoyed by that as much as their parents were. Jake seemed like the only one in town who really got them, really understood, and even got a kick out of the Compass Boys’ antics.
His family’s name and standing in town were among the reasons James did his partying outside the city limits. He’d suffered too many disapproving looks and tsk tsk tsks and “what would your father—or Silas or Sawyer or Sam—think if he saw you?” comments to even try to step foot in any of Compton Pass’s bars.
They’d just hit the parking lot when two police squad cars roared in. Jake kept a firm grip on his upper arm.
“Keep your head down and your mouth shut,” Jake muttered. “Don’t need them recognizing you and telling your uncle Sawyer you were here.”
At that moment, James knew he was safe. Jake wasn’t going to tell his dad about tonight. Not that he thought Jake would. The Compass Boys had gotten into more than their fair share of mischief in the past, usually harmless stuff like accidentally setting a shed on fire and cow tipping, and Jake had never ratted them out.
James pulled up short when the older man tried to walk by his motorcycle. “My ride is right here.”
“Come get it tomorrow.”
James stopped, but Jake was no slouch in the strength department. The grip on his arm tightened, and he was propelled forward a couple of steps against his will.
“How’d you get in that place?”
James scowled. “What do you mean?” He knew what Jake meant, but he wasn’t in the mood to play nice.
“I mean you’re nineteen years old and they card at the door.”
James shrugged.
“Thought your dad found that fake ID and cut it up.”
The memory of that made James smile, a bad reaction, given Jake’s current state of mind. Dad had cut up one, but not all of them.
“He did cut it up.”
“Mmm-hmm. And you used another one just to get in there to play pool. Not to drink?”
James might have had one beer. Actually, he’d been on his second, but most of that was on him now, the first casualty in the brawl. He smelled like a brewery, which ensured Jake wouldn’t let him get anywhere near his bike. “Fine. I’ll get a friend to run me over here tomorrow.”
“That’s what I thought,” Jake grumbled. “Damn fool. We’ll be lucky if your dad doesn’t notice the ranch truck is gone and ask me where my midnight errand took me.”
His dad, Seth Compton, was a force to be reckoned with, but that fact didn’t discourage James from pushing things to the limit…and beyond. Peopl
e around Compton Pass seemed to think James was going to follow in his dear old dad’s footsteps. Stick around their godforsaken town and work on the family ranch and be some goddamn pillar of the community.
But James’s dreams were bigger than this pissant town. Problem was he hadn’t really figured out what those dreams were yet. He’d graduated from high school nearly a year earlier, and since then he’d been floundering. There’d never been any question about him going to college like his sister Sienna had, or like they all knew his brainiac cousin Bryant would one day. He had been a solid C-minus student, meaning he’d done just enough to get the hell out. His parents hadn’t been thrilled when he’d announced he wasn’t applying to any colleges, but his dad had accepted it. Probably because he hadn’t needed to go to college to find success. However, Dad always assumed that meant James was staying home to work on the ranch, eventually stepping up to take over the horse-breeding operation on the Compass Ranch with Doug.
And for six months, he had. He’d gotten up and done the same chores he’d done since he was a kid, going through the motions, living the life while hating every minute of it. Then he’d gotten into a knockdown, drag-out fight with his dad and quit. Told him he was done with it all.
James had packed a bag, climbed on his bike and taken off, fighting like the devil not to let his mother’s tears convince him to turn around.
He hadn’t gotten far before he’d realized he had no plan and very little money. Something Dad had no doubt known when he’d crossed his arms, remaining silent and unmoved as he’d watched him kick back gravel in his hasty retreat.
“Get in,” Jake demanded, his gruff tone warning James he was in for it. Funny thing about it was, James didn’t mind it as much when Jake gave him the what-for. He wasn’t sure what the difference was between Jake’s lectures and his dad’s, but somehow James was able to tolerate and even listen to Jake. Anything that came from his dad sent James’s temper into orbit within seconds, the two of them standing toe-to-toe, going at it, neither one backing down.
His mom said it was because they were too similar, birds of a feather. Mom obviously thought that was a compliment, but every time she said it, it went through James like broken glass. He was nothing like his holier-than-thou, stick-in-the-mud father. And he never would be.
Jake started up the truck. “You still staying with the Sugars boy and his ma?”
James nodded, watching as the cowboy who’d sucker punched him and the short guy were led out of the bar in handcuffs. He’d only just dodged that bullet. Glancing over, he mumbled out a quiet, “thanks” to Jake, who observed the same arrests.
James had headed to his best friend Travis’s house after hightailing it away from his folks’ place, and, between the two of them, they’d convinced Travis’s mom to let him stay a while. Since then, he’d been sacked out on their couch. Travis worked on another local ranch and volunteered at the Compton Pass Fire Department, something he’d encouraged James to start doing shortly after he’d moved in with him. Apart from the time spent at the fire station, James had only managed to find some smaller part-time jobs, painting and fixing up shit for some of the older women in town. When he was really low on money, he hustled pool.
He was floundering like a fish washed up onshore, and he couldn’t find a way out. Only thing he knew for sure was he couldn’t go back to his dad and admit he was failing miserably at life.
“You planning on coming home anytime soon?” Jake asked after a few quiet minutes.
James shook his head.
“You got more pride than sense, boy.”
He rolled his eyes. “Seems to me I’ve heard that a few thousand times.”
Jake turned on his blinker and took the left turn that would lead them back to Compton Pass—and it suddenly occurred to James that Jake shouldn’t have been in that bar.
“How did you find me?”
“Bucky called me. He was sitting in the corner booth when you walked in. He’s got a girl in Clarke he’s sweet on. Knows you’re only nineteen.”
“Remind me to kick his ass next time I see him,” James muttered, though there was no heat in his threat. It looked like he’d have to drive one town farther away from Compton Pass next weekend.
“You should thank the man for calling me and not Seth. Or Sawyer. Or Silas.”
James shuddered at the thought of Uncle Silas showing up at the bar to pull him out. While James’s dad was strict, Uncle Silas was fucking scary.
He glanced out the passenger window and sighed. He was too young to feel this damn old.
“Hear you’re volunteering at the fire station.”
“Yeah.” James wasn’t surprised Jake knew. Everyone knew everything about everybody in Compton Pass. While his family seemed to find comfort in that, James felt strangled by it.
“You like it?”
James nodded. He enjoyed his time at the fire station. It was the one place in town where he got to be James. Not Seth’s son.
“You need to get out of Compton Pass, son. Sooner would be better than later.”
James turned to look at Jake. It was the first time anyone had ever confirmed what he’d always felt. That he needed to leave.
“I don’t know where to go.”
Jake snorted. “Yeah. I get that, but I don’t see you looking too hard either.”
James couldn’t argue with that. He hated school, so college wasn’t an option. He wasn’t interested in the military, and his only work experience involved ranching. And that was what he was trying to get away from. He and his dad hadn’t spoken more than a hundred words in the past six months, and James was too stubborn to ask his old man for help.
Help he knew Seth would give in a heartbeat if James would just fucking reach out for it.
“Here.” Jake tossed a brochure at him.
James looked at it curiously. “Smokejumping?”
“Read it.”
James read the brochure word for word, the description of the work sparking something deep inside him.
When he looked up, Jake was smiling. “Sounds like you, doesn’t it? Fighting fires, jumping out of planes, living away from home. Perfect combination of adventure and helping others. Gives your life a little more purpose than hustling pool in a shithole bar.”
The job called to him in a way nothing ever had in the past. Jake had found the perfect answer.
Suddenly James had a purpose, a goal.
And a way out of Compton Pass.
Chapter One
Eight years later
James stopped when a bright flash of hot pink caught his attention. Hot pink in the middle of this secluded part of the forest was weird enough, but what concerned James was the fact hot pink had strayed from the trail. Not a smart thing to do in Yellowstone, and definitely not in this less-traveled section of the park.
He waited a second to see if the woman he’d only gotten a glimpse of returned. She didn’t.
James sighed then left the trail, picking his way through the underbrush. He’d walked about ten minutes before he heard a voice—just one voice—speaking.
Peering around a lodgepole pine, he found his pretty quarry standing about thirty yards away talking to a fir tree.
For six years, he’d been making this trek, an annual tradition he started the first year he’d served as a smokejumper on the West Yellowstone Squad. He’d felt equal parts excited and overwhelmed that very first day, so at the suggestion of his supervisor, Roscoe Wagner, he had taken a hike. Roscoe thought it would do him good to see what it was he was fighting to protect, to save.
He’d studied a map, seeking a quieter trail, and he’d found this one. He had also chosen it because it had been the scene of a particularly nasty fire a few years earlier, so he had been able to see up close the damage fire wrought on a beautiful forest.
It had been a decade since that fire, and while ten years could heal a lot, it would never be able to conceal everything. The woman was standing beside one of the more damaged trees.
Douglas firs were strong, hearty trees, but this one had taken a hit, the wood still charred and scarred from its brush with fire.
For six years, this hike hadn’t failed to do exactly what Roscoe had hoped it would that first day. It centered James, calmed him down, gave him a real sense of purpose. Today, however, it was giving him a few regrets.
A woman alone in the woods, off the trail, talking to a tree, could not be a good thing. He checked his cell phone, immediately feeling foolish for the pointless effort. One glance confirmed what he already knew. No service.
James contemplated his next move. He didn’t want to scare her if she was sane. Hell, he didn’t want to spook a crazy woman either. And that was definitely what he was leaning toward when the woman pulled out a pint bottle of Jack Daniel’s, drank one quick swig, and then started to water the tree with the rest.
He took the opening, stepping out from behind the tree and walking a bit closer. “Seems like a waste of good whiskey. If you don’t like it, I’ll drink it.”
The woman jumped at the sound of his voice, some of the bourbon splashing onto her jeans. “Shit,” she muttered, slapping at the drops, trying to lessen some of the damage before glancing back up at him. James’s heart stuttered for a single beat when the biggest, brightest, iciest blue eyes met his. He prayed to God she wasn’t insane, because he was afraid he’d already fallen a little bit in love—okay, lust—with her.
“Are you a murderer?” she asked.
He grinned and shook his head, thinking that was the kind of question a sane woman would ask.