The Novels of Nora Roberts, Volume 5

by Nora Roberts

  This was winning. Not just turning a corner, not just holding ground, but winning. An hour passed in smoke and steam and ungodly heat—then another—before she began to lie down, this time in defeat.

  Rowan jogged over to the water line. “She’s rolled back. Head’s cut off and under control. Flanks are receding. Take her down. She’s done.”

  The fire’s retreat ran fitful and weak. By evening she could barely manage a sputter. The pulse of the pump silenced, and Gull let his weeping arms drop. He dug into his pack, found a sandwich he’d ratted in at dawn. He didn’t taste it, but since it awakened the yawning hunger in his belly, he wished he’d grabbed more of whatever the hell it was.

  He walked to the stream, took off his hard hat and filled it with water. He considered the sensation of having it rain cool over his head and shoulders nearly as good as sex.

  “Nice work.”

  He glanced over at Rowan, filled his hat again. Standing, he quirked a brow. She laughed, took off her helmet, lifted her face, closed her eyes. “Oh, yeah,” she sighed when he dumped the water on her. She blinked her eyes open, cool, crystal blue. “You handle yourself pretty well for an ex-hotshot rookie.”

  “You handle yourself pretty well for a girl.”

  She laughed again. “Okay, even trade.” Then lifted her hand.

  He quirked his brow again, the grin spreading, but she shook her head. “You’re too filthy to kiss, and I’m still fire boss on this line. High five’s all you get.”

  “I’ll take it.” He slapped hands with her. “We were holding her, kicking her back some, but we beat her the minute you called for the backfire.”

  “I’m second-guessing if I should have called it earlier.” Then she shrugged. “No point in what-ifs. We took her down.” She put her hard hat back on, lifted her voice. “Okay, kids, let’s mop it up.”

  They dug roots, tramped out embers, downed smoldering snags. When the final stage of the fight was finished, they packed out, all but asleep on their feet, shouldering tools and gear. Nobody spoke on the short flight back to base; most were too busy snoring. Some thirty-eight hours after the siren sounded, Gull dragged himself into the barracks, dumped his gear. On the way to his quarters he bumped into Rowan.

  “How about a nightcap?”

  She snorted out a laugh. He imagined she’d braced a hand on the wall just to stay on her feet. “While a cold beer might go down good, I believe that’s your clever code for sex. Even if my brain was fried enough to say sure, I don’t believe you could get it up tonight—today—this morning.”

  “I strongly disagree, and would be willing to back that up with a demonstration.”

  “Sweet.” She gave him a light slap on his grimy face. “Pass. ’Night.”

  She slipped into her room, and he continued on to his. Once he stripped off his stinking shirt, pants, and fell facedown and filthy on top of his bed, he had time to think thank God she hadn’t taken him up on it before he zeroed out.

  IN THE BUNK in his office, where he habitually stayed when Rowan caught a fire at night, Lucas heard the transport plane go out. Heard it come back. Still, he didn’t fully relax until his cell phone signaled a text.

  Got nasty, but we put her down. I’m A-OK. Love, Ro

  He put the phone aside, settled down, and slid into the first easy sleep since the siren sounded.

  LUCAS JUMPED with an early-morning group of eight, posed for pictures, signed brochures, then took the time to discuss moving up to accelerated free fall with two of the group.

  When he walked them in to Marcie to sign them up, his brain went wonky on him. Ella Frazier of the red hair and forest-green eyes turned to smile at him.

  With dimples.

  “Hello again.”

  “Ah . . . again,” he managed, flustered. “Um, Marcie will take you through the rest, get you scheduled,” he told the couple with him.

  “I watched your skydive.” Ella turned her smile on them. “I just did my first tandem the other day. It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

  He stood, struggling not to shuffle his feet while Ella chatted with his newest students.

  “Have you got a minute for me?” she asked him.

  “Sure. Sure. My office—”

  “Could we walk outside? Marcie tells me you’ve got two more tandems coming in. I’d love to watch.”

  “Okay.” He held the door open for her, then wondered what to do with his hands. In his pockets? At his sides? He wished he had a clipboard with him to keep them occupied.

  “I know you’re busy today, and I probably should’ve called.”

  “It’s no problem.”

  “How’s your daughter? I followed the fire on the news,” she added.

  “She’s fine. Back on base, safe and sound. Did I tell you about Rowan?”

  “Not exactly.” She tucked her hair behind her ear as she angled her face toward his. “I Googled you before I signed up. I love my son, but I wasn’t about to jump out of an airplane unless I knew something about who I was hooked to.”

  “Can’t blame you.” See, he told himself, sensible. Any man should be able to relax around a sensible woman. A grandmother, he reminded himself. An educator.

  He managed to unknot his shoulders.

  “Your experience and reputation turned the trick for me. So, Lucas, I was wondering if I could buy you a drink.”

  And his shoulders tensed like overwound springs while his brain went to sloppy mush. “Sorry?”

  “To thank you for the experience, and giving me the chance to show off to my grandchildren.”

  “Oh, well.” There went that flush of heat up the back of his neck. “You don’t have to . . . I mean to say—”

  “I caught you off-guard, and probably sounded like half the women who come through here, hitting on you.”

  “No, they . . . you—”

  “I wasn’t. Hitting on you,” she added with a big, bright smile. “But now I have to confess to a secondary purpose. I have a project I’d love to speak to you about, and if I could buy you a drink, soften you up, I’m hoping you’ll get on board. If you’re in a relationship, you’re welcome to bring your lady with you.”

  “No, I’m not. I mean, there isn’t any lady. Especially.”

  “Would you be free tonight? I could meet you about seven, at the bar at Open Range. I could thank you, soften you up, and you can tell me more about training for the AFF.”

  Business, he told himself. Friendly business. He discussed friendly business over drinks all the damn time. No reason he couldn’t do the same with her. “I don’t have any plans.”

  “Then we’re set? Thanks so much.” She shot out a hand, shook his briskly. “I’ll see you at seven.”

  He watched her walk away, so pretty, so breezy—and reminded himself it was just friendly business.

  9

  As she had done in her tent, Rowan lay with her eyes closed and took morning inventory. She decided she felt like a hundred-year-old woman who’d been on a starvation diet. But she’d come out of it—as fire boss—uninjured, her crew intact, and the fire down.

  Added to it, she thought as she opened her eyes, tracked her gaze around her quarters, during her two days out the pig-blood fairies had not only mopped and scrubbed but rolled a fresh coat of paint on her walls.

  She owed somebody, and if she could drag herself out of bed she’d find out who.

  When she did, her calves twinged, her quads protested. The bis and tris, she noted, shed bitter tears. The hot shower she’d all but slept through had helped, a little, but the eight hours in the rack after two arduous days required more.

  Fuel and movement, she ordered herself. And where was Gull with his breakfast sandwich when she needed one? She settled for a chocolate bar while she dressed, then hobbled off to the gym.

  She wasn’t the only one hobbling.

  She grunted at Gibbons, who grunted back, watched Trigger wince through some floor stretches. She studied Dobie—wiry little guy—as he bench-pressed
what she judged to be his body weight.

  “I’m back on the jump list tomorrow,” he told her as he pumped up with an explosion of breath. “I’m ready. Hell of a lot readier than you guys, from the looks of it.”

  She shot him the finger, then moaned into a forward bend. She stayed down, just stayed down and breathed for as long as she could stand it, then with her palms on the floor, arched her back and looked up.

  The yellow bruising on Dobie’s red-with-effort face made him look like a jaundiced burn victim. And he’d shaved off his scraggly excuse for a beard—an improvement, to her mind, since he looked less like a hillbilly leprechaun.

  “Somebody cleaned up and painted my room.”

  “Yeah.” With another explosion of breath, he pushed the weights up, then clicked them in the safety. “Stovic and me, we had time on our hands.”

  She brought herself back to standing. “You guys did all that?”

  “Mostly. Marg and Lynn did what they could with your clothes. Salt’s what gets blood out; that’s what my ma uses.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Doesn’t work so well on walls, so we got them painted up. It kept us from going stir-crazy while the rest of you were having all the fun. Hell of a mess in there, and smelled like a hog butchering. Made me homesick,” he added with a grin. “Anyhow, that broad must be crazy as a run-over lizard.”

  She walked over, bent down, kissed him on the mouth. “Thanks.”

  He wiggled his eyebrows. “It was a big, stinkin’ hell of a mess.”

  This time she drilled her finger into his belly. After walking back to her mat, she stretched out her muscles, soothed her mind with yoga. She’d moved to floor work when Gull came in. Fresh, she thought. He looked fresh and clean, with his gait loose and easy as he crossed to her.

  “I heard you’d surfaced.” He crouched down. “You’re looking pretty limber for the morning after.”

  “Just need some fine-tuning.”

  “And a picnic.”

  She lifted her nose from her knee. “I need a picnic?”

  “With a big-ass hamper loaded with cuisine by Marg and a fine bottle of adult beverage enjoyed in the company of a charming companion.”

  “Janis is going with me on a picnic?”

  “I’ve got the big-ass hamper.”

  “There’s always a catch.” Danger zone, she warned herself. The man was a walking temptation. “It’s a nice thought, but—”

  “We’re not on the jump list, and L.B. cleared us for the day. Now that we’ve been through fire together, I think we can take a short break, have some food and conversation. Unless you’re afraid a little picnic will drive you into uncontrollable lust until you force yourself on me and take advantage of my friendly offer.”

  Temptation and challenge—both equally hard to resist. “I’m reasonably sure I can control myself.”

  “Okay then. We can leave whenever you’re ready.”

  What the hell, she decided. She lived and breathed danger zones. She could certainly handle one appealingly cocky guy on a picnic.

  “Give me twenty. And you’d better pick your spot close by because I’m starving.”

  “I’ll meet you out front.”

  She hunted up Stovic first, gave him the same smack on the lips as Dobie. She paid her debts. She had a report to write and turn in on the fire, but that could wait a couple hours. Check and reorganize her gear, she thought as she pulled on cropped khakis. Deal with her chute, repack her PG bag. She buttoned on a white camp shirt, slapped on some makeup and sunscreen and considered it good enough for a friendly picnic with a fellow jumper.

  She shoved on her sunglasses as she walked outside, then narrowed her eyes behind them. Gull leaned on the hood of a snazzy silver convertible chatting it up with Cards.

  She sauntered over. “How’s the leg?” she asked Cards.

  “Not bad. Knee’s a little puffy yet. I’m going to ice it down again.” He patted the hood beside Gull’s hip. “That’s some ride, Fast Feet. Some hot ride. Today’s word’s got to be virile, ’cause that machine’s got balls. You kids have fun.” He winked at Rowan and, still limping, went back in.

  Hands on her hips, Rowan took a stroll around the hot ride. “This is Iron Man’s car.”

  “Since I doubt you’re claiming I stole it from your father, I conclude you’re a woman who knows her superheroes and her motor vehicles.”

  She stopped in front of him. “Where’s the suit?”

  “In an undisclosed location. Villainy is everywhere.”

  “Too true.” She angled her head, skimming a finger over the gleaming fender while she studied Gull. “Iron Man’s a rich superhero. That’s why he can afford the car.”

  “Tony Stark has many cars.”

  “Also true. I’m thinking, smoke jumping pays pretty well, in season. But I can’t see selling tokens and tracking games at an arcade’s something that pays for a car like this.”

  “But it’s entertaining, and I get free pizza. It’s my car,” he said when she just kept staring at him. “Do you want to see the registration? My portfolio?”

  “That means you have a portfolio, and I’m damned if you built one working an arcade.” Considering, she pursed her lips. “Maybe if you owned a piece of it.”

  “You have remarkable deductive powers. You can be Pepper Potts.” He stepped over, opened her door. She slid in, looked up.

  “How big a piece?”

  “I’ll give you the life story while we eat if you want it.”

  She thought it over as he skirted the hood, got behind the wheel. And decided she did.

  He drove fast, had a smooth, competent hand on the stick shift—both of which she appreciated.

  And God, she did love a slick machine.

  “Do I have to sleep with you before you let me drive this machine?”

  He spared her a single, mild glance. “Of course.”

  “Seems fair.” Enjoying herself, she tipped her face up to the wind and sky, then lifted her hands up to both. “Riding in it’s a pretty decent compromise. How did you manage to get this all set up?”

  “Staggering organizational skills. Plus I figured I’d grab a few hours while I had them. The food was the easy part. All I had to do was tell Marg I was taking you on a picnic, and she handled the rest of that section. She’s in love with you.”

  “It’s mutual. Still, I’d’ve had a hard time planning anything when I managed to crawl out of bed.”

  “I have staggering recuperative powers to go with the organizational skills.”

  She tipped down her sunglasses to eye him over them. “I know sex bragging when I hear it.”

  “Then I probably shouldn’t add that I woke up feeling like I’d been run over by a sixteen-wheeler after I hauled a two-hundred-pound bag of bricks fifty miles. Through mud.”

  “Yeah. And it’s barely June.”

  When he turned off on Bass Creek Road, she nodded. “Nice choice.”

  “It’s not a bad hike, and it ought to be pretty.”

  “It is. I’ve lived here all my life,” she added as he pulled into the parking area at the end of the road. “Hiking the trails was what I did. It kept me in shape, gave me a good sense of the areas I’d jump one day—and gave me an appreciation for why I would.”

  “We crossed into the black yesterday.” He hit the button to bring up the roof. “It’s harsh, and it’s hard. But you know it’s going to come back.”

  They got out, and he opened the hood with its marginal storage space.

  “Jesus, Gull, you weren’t kidding about big-ass hamper.”

  “Getting it in was an exercise in geometry.” He hefted it out.

  “There’s just two of us. What does that thing weigh?”

  “A lot less than my gear. I think I can make it a mile on a trail.”

  “We can switch off.”

  He looked at her as they crossed to the trailhead. “I’m all about equal pay for equal work. A firm believer in ability, determinat
ion, brains having nothing to do with gender. I’m even cautiously open to women players in the MLB. Cautiously open, I repeat. But there are lines.”

  “Carting a picnic hamper is a line?”

  “Yeah.”

  She slid her hands into her pockets, hummed a little as she strolled with a smirk on her face. “It’s a stupid line.”

  “Maybe. But that doesn’t make it less of a line.”

  They walked through the forested canyon. She heard what she’d missed during the fire. The birdsong, the rustles—the life. Sun shimmered through the canopy, struck the bubbling, tumbling waters of the creek as they followed the curve of the water.

  “Is this why you were studying maps?” she asked him. “Looking for a picnic spot?”

  “That was a happy by-product. I haven’t lived here all my life, and I want to know where I am.” He scanned the canyon, the spills of water as they walked up the rising trail. “I like where I am.”

  “Was it always Northern California? Is there any reason we have to wait for the food to start the life story?”

  “I guess not. No, I started out in LA. My parents were in the entertainment industry. He was a cinematographer, she was a costume designer. They met on a set, and clicked.”

  The creek fell below as they climbed higher on the hillside.

  “So,” he continued, “they got married, had me a couple years later. I was four when they were killed in a plane crash. Little twin engine they were taking to the location for a movie.”

  Her heart cracked a little. “Gull, I’m so sorry.”

  “Me too. They didn’t take me, and they usually did if they were on the same project. But I had an ear infection, so they left me back with the nanny until it cleared up.”

  “It’s hard, losing parents.”

  “Vicious. There’s the log dam,” he announced. “Just as advertised.”

  She let it go as the trail approached the creek once more. She could hardly blame him for not wanting to revisit a little boy’s grief.

  “This is worth a lot more than a mile-and-a-half hike,” he said while the pond behind the dam sparkled as if strewn with jewels.