by Nora Roberts
But when he looked at her, laid his hand over hers, she saw him. She knew him. “What’s on your mind, baby?”
“A lot. Bunches.”
“Lay it on me.”
She did just that.
“I feel like I can’t get a handle on things, or keep a handle on. This morning, I thought I did, then it started slipping again. I’ve been having the dreams about Jim again, only worse. But with everything that’s gone on this season, how am I supposed to put that aside anyway? Everything Dolly did, then what happened to her. Add on her crazy father. And the thing is, if he did what they say he did, if he killed her, the preacher, started the fires—and he probably did—why am I more pissed off and disgusted that he ran, left his wife twisting in the wind? And I know the answer,” she said, pushing back to her feet.
“I know the answer, and that pisses me off. My mother ditching us doesn’t define my life. I sure as hell don’t want it to define me. I’m smarter than that, damn it.”
“You always have been,” he said when she turned to him.
“I’m tangled up with Gull so I’m not sure I’m thinking straight. Really, where can that go? And why am I even thinking that because why would I want it to go anywhere? And you, you’re planting flowers and drinking wine, and you have potpourri.”
He had to smile. “It smells nicer than those plug-in jobs.”
“It has berries, and little white flowers in it. While that’s screwing with my head, Dolly’s mother’s giving the baby to the Brayners because she can’t handle it all by herself. It’s probably the best thing, it’s probably the right thing, but it makes me feel sick and sad, which pisses me off all over again because I know I’m projecting, and I know the situation with that baby isn’t the same as with me.
“I may be jumping fire in Alaska tomorrow, and I’m stuck on pumpkin-colored cushions, a baby I’ve never even seen and a guy who’s talking about being with me after the season. How the hell did this happen?”
Lucas nodded slowly, drank a little wine. “That is a lot. Let’s see if we can sift through it. I don’t like hearing you’re having those nightmares again, but I can’t say I’m surprised. The pressure of any season wears on you, and this hasn’t been just any season. You’re probably not the only one having hard dreams.”
“I hadn’t thought about that.”
“Have you talked to L.B.?”
“Not about that. Piling my stress on his doesn’t work for anybody. That’s why I pile it on you.”
“I can tell you what we talked about before, after it happened. We all live with the risks, and train body and mind to minimize them. When a jumper has a mental lapse, sometimes he gets lucky. Sometimes he doesn’t. Jim didn’t, and that’s a tragedy. It’s a hard blow for his family, and like his kin, the crew’s his family.”
“I’ve never lost anybody before. She doesn’t count,” she said, referring to her mother. “Not the same way.”
“I know it. You want to save him, to go back to that jump and save him. And you can’t, baby. I think when you’ve really settled your mind on that, the dreams will stop.”
He got up, put an arm around her shoulders. “I don’t know if you’ll really be able to settle your mind until this business with Leo is resolved. It’s in your face, so it’s in your head. Dolly tried to put the blame for what happened to Jim on you, and it looks like her telling him she was pregnant right before a jump contributed to his mental lapse. Then Leo came at you about Jim, about Dolly—and the cops think he’s the one responsible for her murder. Time to use your head, Ro.” He kissed the top of it. “And stop letting the people most responsible lay the weight on you. Feeling sorry for Irene Brakeman, that’s just human. Maybe you and me tend to be a little more human than most on that score. Ella’s over there right now helping her get through it, and I feel better knowing that.”
“I guess it’s good that she—Mrs. Brakeman—has somebody.”
“I had your grandparents, and I leaned on them pretty hard. I had my friends, my work. Most of all I had you. When somebody walks out, it leaves a hole in you. Some people fill it up, the good and the bad, and get on that way. Some people leave it open, maybe long enough to heal, maybe too long, picking at it now and then so it doesn’t heal all the way. I hate knowing it as much as you, but I think we’ve been like the last.”
“I don’t even think about it, most of the time.”
“Neither do I. Most of the time. Now you’ve got this guy, who’d be the first one you’ve ever mentioned to me as giving you trouble. And that makes me wonder if you’ve got feelings for him you’ve managed to avoid up till now. Are you in love with him?”
“How does anybody answer that?” she demanded. “How does anyone know? Are you in love with this Ella?”
“Yes.”
Stunned, Rowan stepped back. “Just like that? You can just . . . poof, I’m in love.”
“She filled the hole, baby. I don’t know how to explain it to you. I never knew how to talk about this kind of thing, and maybe that’s where I fell down with you. But she filled that hole I never let all the way heal, because if I did, there could be another. But I’d rather take that chance than not have her. I wish you’d get to know her. She . . .”
He lifted his hands as if to grab something just out of reach. “She’s funny and smart, and has a way of speaking her mind that’s honest instead of hurtful. She can do damn near anything. You should see her on a dive. I swear she’s a joy to watch. She could give Marg a run for her money in the kitchen, and don’t repeat that or I’ll call you a liar. She knows about wine and books and flowers. She has her own toolbox and knows how to use it. She’s got great kids and they’ve got kids. She listens when you talk to her. She’ll try anything.
“She makes me feel . . . She makes me feel.”
There it was, Rowan realized. If there’d been an image in the dictionary for the definition of “in love,” it would be her father’s face.
“I have to get dinner on the table.” She turned away to the door, then turned back to see him looking after her, that light dimmed. “Are you, more or less, asking for my blessing?”
“I guess. More or less.”
“Anybody who makes you this happy—and who talked you into getting rid of those ugly curtains in your office—is good with me. You can tell me more about her while we eat.”
“Ro. That means more than I can say.”
“You don’t have heart-shaped pillows on your bed now, do you?”
“No. Why?”
“Because that’s going to be my line in the sand. Anything else I think I can adjust to. Oh, and none of those crocheted things over spare toilet paper. That’s definitely a deal breaker.”
“I’ll take notes.”
“Good idea because I probably have a few more.” She walked to the stove, pleased that light had turned back on full.
25
Feeling sociable, Gull plopped down in the lounge with his book. That way he could ease out of the story from time to time, tune in on conversations, the ball game running on TV and the progress of the poker game he wasn’t yet interested in joining.
Or he could just let all of it hum at the edges of his mind like white noise.
With the idea he might be called up at any time, he opted for a ginger ale and a bag of chips to snack him through the next chapter or two.
“Afraid of losing your paycheck?” Dobie called out from the poker table.
“Terrified.”
“Out?” An outraged Trigger lurched out of his chair at a call on second. “That runner was safe by a mile. Out my ass! Did you see that?” he demanded.
He hadn’t, but Gull’s mood hit both agreeable and sociable. “Damn right. The ump’s an asshole.”
“He oughta have his eyes popped out if he can’t use them better than that. Where’s the ball to your chain tonight?”
Amused, Gull turned a page. “Ditched me for another man.”
“Women. They’re worse than umps. Can’t
live with them, can’t beat them with a brick.”
“Hey.” Janis discarded two cards at the poker table. “Having tits doesn’t mean I can’t hear, buddy.”
“Aw, you’re not a woman. You’re a jumper.”
“I’m a jumper with tits.”
“Unless you’re going to toss them in the pot,” Cards told her, “the bet’s five to you.”
“They’re worth a lot more than five.”
Better than white noise, Gull decided, and likely better than his book.
Across the room, Yangtree—with an ice bag on his knee—and Southern played an intense, nearly silent game of chess. Earbuds in, Libby ticked her head back and forth like a metronome to her MP3 while she worked a crossword puzzle.
A lot of sociable going around, he mused. About half the jumpers on base gathered, some in groups, some solo, more than a few sprawled on the floor, attention glued to the Cardinals v. Phillies matchup on-screen.
Waiting mode, he decided. Everybody knew the siren could sound anytime, sending them north, east, south, west, where there would be camaraderie but little leisure. No time to insult umpires or figure out 32 Across. Instead of raking in the pot, as Cards did now with relish, they’d rake through smoldering embers and ash.
He watched Trigger throw up his hands in triumph as the runner scored, saw Yangtree take Southern’s bishop and Dobie toss in chips to raise the bet, causing Stovic to fold on a grunt of disgust.
“What’s a five-letter word for boredom?” Libby asked the room.
“TV ads,” Trigger volunteered. “Ought to be outlawed.”
“Boredom, not boring. Besides, some of them are funny.”
“Not funny enough.”
“Ennui,” Gull told her.
“Damn it, I knew that.”
“He can spout off all those pussy words,” Dobie commented.
Gull only smiled. He definitely didn’t feel ennui. Contentment, he thought, best described his current state. He’d be ready to roll if and when the call came, but for now knew the contentment of lounging with friends, enjoying the cross talk and bullshit while he waited for his woman to come home.
He’d found his place. He didn’t know, not for certain, when he’d first understood that. Maybe the first time he’d seen Rowan. Maybe his first jump. Maybe that night at the bar when he’d kicked some ass.
Maybe looking over a meadow of wild lupine.
It didn’t matter when.
He’d liked his hotshot work, and the people he’d worked with. Or most of them. He’d learned to combine patience, action and endurance, learned to love the fight—the violence, the brutality, the science. But what he found here dug deeper, and deep kindled an irresistible love and passion.
He knew he’d sprawl out in the lounge, listening to cross talk and bullshit season after season, as long as he was able.
He knew, he thought as Rowan came in, he’d wait for her to come home whenever she went away.
“Man, they let anybody in the country club these days.” She dropped down beside Gull, shot a hand into the chip bag. “Score?”
“Tied,” Trigger told her, “one to one due to seriously blind ump. Top of the fifth.”
She stole Gull’s ginger ale, found it empty. “What, were you waiting for me to get back, fetch you a refill?”
“Caught me.”
She pushed up, got a Coke. “You’ll drink this and like it.” She downed some first, then passed it to him.
“Thanks. And how’s the ball to my chain?”
“What did you call me?”
“He said it.” Gull narked on Trigger without remorse.
“Skinny Texas bastard.” She angled her head to read the cover of the book Gull set aside. “Ethan Frome? If you’ve been reading that I’m surprised I didn’t find you lapsed into a coma drooling down your chin.”
He gave the Coke back to her. “I thought I’d like it better now, being older, wiser, more erudite. But it’s just as blindingly boring as it was when I was twenty. Thank God you’re back, or I might have been paralyzed with ennui.”
“Get you.”
“It was a crossword answer a while ago. How’s your dad?”
“He’s in love.”
“With the hot redhead.”
Rowan’s eyebrows beetled. “I wish you wouldn’t call her the hot redhead.”
“I call them like I see them. How’s by you?”
“I had to get by the flower beds he’s planted, the flowers in vases, candles, the potpourri in the powder room—”
“Mother of God! Potpourri in the powder room. We need to get a posse together ASAP, go get him. He can be deprogrammed. Don’t lose hope.”
Since he’d stretched his legs across her lap, she twisted his toe. Hard. “He’s got all this color in the place all of a sudden. Or all of an Ella. I told myself it was fussy, she’d pushed all this fussy stuff on him. But it’s not. It’s style, with an edge of charm. She brought color to the beige and bone and brown. It makes him happy. She makes him happy. She filled the hole he couldn’t let heal—that’s what he said. And I realized something, that she was right that day we saw her in town. Ice cream day. She said that if I made him choose between her and me, she didn’t stand a chance. And if I’d done that, I’d be just enough like my mother to make myself sick. Either/or, pal, you can’t have both.”
“But you’re not.”
“No. I’m not. I have to get used to it—to her, but she’s put a light in him so I think I’m going to be a fan.”
“You’re a stand-up gal, Swede.”
“If she screws him up, I’ll peel the skin off her ass with a dull razor blade.”
“Fair’s fair.”
“And then some. I need to walk off the not-too-shabby skillet cuisine I prepared, then I’m going to turn in.”
“Wait a minute. You cooked?”
“I have a full dozen entrées in my repertoire. Four of them are variations on the classic grilled cheese sandwich.”
“A whole new side of you to explore while we walk. I want my shoes.”
Gibbons came in as Gull tossed the Edith Wharton onto the table for someone else.
“You might want to wrap up that card game. Everybody’s on standby. It’s not official, but it looks like we’ll roll two loads to Fairbanks tonight, or maybe straight to the fire. L.B.’s working out some details. And it’s looking like Bighorn might need some help come tomorrow.”
“Just when my luck’s starting to turn,” Dobie complained.
“New shoes for baby,” Cards reminded him.
“I rake another couple pots in, I can buy the new shoes without eating smoke.”
“Anybody on the first and second loads might want to check their gear while they’ve got a chance,” Gibbons added.
“I’ve never been to Alaska,” Gull commented.
“It’s an experience.” Rowan shoved his feet off her lap.
“I’m all about them.”
SHE STUFFED more energy bars into her PG bag, and after a short debate added two cans of Coke. She’d rather haul the weight than do without. She changed from the off-duty clothes she’d worn to her father’s, and was just buckling her belt when the siren sang out.
Along with the others, she ran to the ready room to suit up.
The minute she stepped onto the plane, she staked her claim, arranging her gear and stretching out with her head on her chute. She intended to sleep through the flight.
“What’s it like?” Gull poked her with the toe of his boot.
“Big.”
“Really? I hear it’s cold and dark in the winter, too. Can that be true?”
She let the vibration of the engines lull her as other jumpers settled in. “Plenty of daylight this time of year. It’s not the trees as much there to worry about on the jump. It’s the water. They’ve got a lot of it, and you don’t want to miss the spot and land in it. A lot of water, a lot of land, mountains. Not a lot of people, that’s an advantage.”
She shif
ted, found a more comfortable position. “The Alaskan smoke jumpers know their stuff. It’s been dry up there this season, too, so they’re probably spread pretty thin, probably feeling that midseason fatigue.”
She opened her eyes to look at him. “It’s beautiful. The snow that never melts off those huge peaks, the lakes and rivers, the glow of the midnight sun. They’ve also got mosquitoes the size of your fist and bears big as an armored truck. But in the fire, it’s pretty much the same. Kill the bitch; stay alive. Everybody comes back.”
She closed her eyes. “Get some sleep. You’re going to need it.”
She slept like a rock; woke stiff as a board. And grateful they put down at Fairbanks, giving the crew time to loosen up, fuel up, and the bosses time to cement a strategy.
With nearly four hundred acres involved, and the wind kicking flareups, they’d need solid communication with the Alaskan team. She managed to scrounge up a cold soda, preserving the two in her bag, before they performed a last buddy check and loaded.
“You’re right,” Gull said when they flew southwest out of Fairbanks. “It’s beautiful. Not far off midnight, either, local time, and bright as afternoon.”
“Don’t get enchanted. You’ll lose focus. And she’ll eat you alive.”
He had to change his angle to get his first glimpse of the fire, shift his balance as the plane hit turbulence and began to buck.
“Just another maw of hell. I’m focused,” he added when she sent him a hard look.
He saw the white peaks of the mountain through the billows of smoke. Denali, the sacred, with the wild to her north and east burning bright.
He continued to study and absorb as she moved to the rear to confer with Yangtree, and with Cards, who worked as spotter. Others lined the windows now, looking down on what they’d come to fight.
“We’re going to try for a clearing in some birch, east side. The Alaska crew used it for their jump spot. Cards is going to throw some streamers, see how they fly.”
“Jesus, did you see that?” somebody asked.
“Looks like a blowup,” Gull said.
“It’s well west of the target jump spot. Everybody stay chilly,” she called out. “Settle in, settle down. Stay in your heads.”