Instead she woke the sun and ran a soft hand over his bare chest.
Her first words were, “Can you stay a while?”
Not yeah, but hell yeah.
10
You have to go!” It was going to kill her if he did, but she knew it was true. Somehow the summer had moved along and not touched them.
Danny looked up at her like she was ripping out his guts. The dawn light was just bright enough that she could see the pain as he lay on their narrow cot—after all these weeks it wasn’t hers anymore, it was theirs.
“You know I’m right. The last of the nobo hikers are already racing through; you’ve seen them hurrying to beat the weather. After walking way over two thousand miles, quitting now with just six hundred to go…you’ll never forgive yourself.”
“I leave you and I’ll never forgive myself!” His snarl appeared to surprise him as much as it did her.
She laid her forehead against his chest, his wonderful chest, and hid there. For an entire glorious August, they had lived in their mountaintop idyll. They’d only come down off the mountain once, a long hike out and back to restock supplies, the substitute lookout coming up for two days for that purpose.
Lexi was so completely gone on him that she couldn’t stand it. If the future didn’t hold Danny Chay in it, she didn’t know what she’d do. Would he fall into the arms of some other lookout-tower babe or some trail-bait? She couldn’t imagine it. Didn’t want to risk it. But still she knew…
Danny began cursing. A long, effusive string of bitter anger. She was going to miss that. She was going to miss him reading aloud to her every chance they had. She was going to miss the incredible sex and the gift of lying in his arms. She was…
Going to make herself stark raving mad.
“It’s not like I’m going anywhere,” she managed.
“Neither am I, god dammit!” But she could hear now that he understood he had to go while there was still time—before the winter snows closed the northern trail. He just wasn’t ready to accept it yet.
“You’ll finish the hike and then you’ll come back to me,” she did her best to say it so that they’d both believe it.
“Said I wasn’t going,” though it was hardly even a snarl.
Crap! She was even going to miss his moods.
“I never was real good about staying in touch with women.”
That jolted her upright, “But you are this time or I’ll kick your ass!”
“Like to see you try, Lexi.” That smile that he brought out when he was teasing her shown in the early morning light.
She leaned back down and kissed him hard, running her hands over his body until he groaned with his need for her. If it was even half the need she had for him, he had to come back. He just had to.
11
Six weeks without a word.
Lexi cleaned the windows of the cab one last time before re-hanging the heavy wooden shutters. The fire season was over. The first flurries had already painted the peaks white and the Forest Service was calling all of the lookouts back down. She didn’t know where to go or what to do. So she took it by the minute rather than the day, ignoring the tears that kept blurring her vision.
Her pack was full. No garbage left behind. She’d bagged the books she’d brought in Ziplocs so that they’d survive the winter for the next lookout. She took only the Bourne books because Danny had loved them so. She could even hear them now, read out in his deep warm voice.
Danny Chay and Jason Bourne, both men on a path to discovering their true identity. The irony of that only caught up with her now and it made her cry even more than she already was. He was out there somewhere doing just that…she was the one who was completely lost.
She padlocked the door and descended the stairs a final time. The Forest Service asked if she’d be back next summer. Unable to imagine how she could ever come back to all of these memories, she’d refused. Next summer was too far away to think about anyway.
Next season…Crap!
The next hour was almost too much.
She couldn’t even look at the tower as she walked away from it.
For three hours she descended the trail, hiking down into misery.
When she reached her Subaru Forester—“Lexi and Subaru Forester,” how sad was that as a life’s statement—and circled to the rear to stow her pack, the sight that awaited her didn’t make any sense. She dumped her pack on the ground.
A big pack was already leaning against the Subaru’s rear bumper. A pack that she knew because it had sat in the corner of her tower cab for a month. More battered. Snow crampons and an ice axe tied onto it, but still the same pack.
She spun around desperately searching…and saw Danny sitting on a fallen tree close beside the forest road.
Lexi didn’t walk, she flew. Her landing carried him backward right over the log and onto the forest floor covered in fall leaves and deep pine needles.
He held her tight while she wept anew. It was all she could do. Nothing had ever been so big in her life and she simply couldn’t hold it inside.
“You made it!” The first words she was able to gasp out.
“Mexico to Canada.” By his tone she could hear how doing that had changed him. Made him more complete.
No, it had shown him that he was as complete as she’d already known he was.
He climbed back up on the log and settled her in his lap but she couldn’t stop her hands from running over him.
“You’re here. You’re really here.”
“Surprised the shit out of me too,” he teased. “But after that place called Pintler Lookout, I could only think about one thing.” He kissed her nose and she just leaned into him.
He told her about the rest of the hike, running into the high snows, but buying the gear and going for it anyway. Then hitching a ride back across Montana, rushing to get to her before she came off the mountain.
“I wanted to meet you up above,” he pointed at the trailhead to the lookout, “but the Ranger station said you were coming down today. Didn’t want to somehow miss you in the woods. Longest damned wait of my life.”
She nodded. It was all she had in her.
“I called that number in the back of the trail book.”
They’d both puzzled at that final instruction from his enigmatic friend Kee.
“Open invite for both of us if we want to see what the hell winter is like working on a Montana ranch.”
Again she nodded, mute with the wonder of the word “we.”
“One catch though.”
She looked at him and waited. Instead of the teasing smile, he looked nervous. Lexi didn’t know of a whole lot of things that could make Danny Chay nervous. When he didn’t speak, she slid out of his lap and onto the log to sit beside him.
“Turns out there’s a reason other than the incredible color of your eyes that these are called the Sapphire Mountains.” Then he nodded down.
In his hands was a small velvet box. In the center of it was a silver ring with a single, brilliant blue sapphire mounted on it.
“It’s not much, but it’s all I could scrape together. I wanted to get you—”
“Shut up, Danny.”
He looked at her in hurt surprise.
“Just shut up. If you say one more thing about something so perfect, I’ll kick your ass.”
He grinned at that. “Like to see you try, Lexi.”
“I absolutely will.” The laughter built inside her. She didn’t know whether to look at the amazing ring or the incredible man offering it to her. “But first—”
“But first?” He frowned at her, the worry back.
“First you better kneel down properly, propose, and then put that ring on my finger like a really good man should.”
And he did just that. Her incredible man who had hiked to her out of the wi
lderness, knelt before her, and, at a complete loss for words, used his eyes to beg her to be his wife.
Unable to speak herself, she just nodded and held out her hand.
He slid it on her finger and like a miracle, the future wasn’t dark or scary. It was as bright as sunlight on a mountaintop.
When he finally stood once more before her, she noted that the log on which they’d been sitting was close behind his knees.
He reached for her.
She shoved hard against his chest and he toppled once more onto the soft leaf and pine.
He managed to snag her hand as he went down and she happily followed him all the way.
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A Hotshot Christmas
I wanted to end the year with a bang. This was to be my last Hotshot short story, my last Firehawks short story, and actually, my last Firehawks tale of any kind—the last Firehawks novel, Wild Fire, was written earlier and released only a dozen days after this story.
I had made one previous attempt at a Hotshot Christmas story, The Firelights of Christmas, and I definitely wanted to try another. Leavenworth, Washington is a delightful tourist village—pleasant enough that I’ve considered moving there a couple of times. And the most fun time of year there is Christmas.
I wanted to celebrate that. I wanted to roll around in it and have fun.
My answer?
I dropped a character into the midst of the scene who hates the town and the crowds and Christmas and…
She’s not Ms. Scrooge. She’s a soldier who can’t understand the strange world she encounters once she’s out of the Army. Sheila was born from a conversation I had years ago with a female Black Hawk crew chief who had left the Army after serving four years and two tours in Iraq.
“No one pays my rent. No one makes my food. I never had to pay bills because I enlisted straight out of high school. I try to explain my confusion of having to make so many choices, but it doesn’t make sense to any civilians. My buddies are all still inside. It’s so hard you can’t begin to imagine.”
Sheila is my attempt to understand, and to give that crew chief a happy ending that I hope she found.
1
Sheila inspected the heavy dark beams and white plaster of the restaurant. A hostess—in a bad Bavarian costume of ruffled sleeves, low-cut above blousy, cotton-cupped breasts—smiled at her as she sashayed across the hardwood floor in incongruous heels.
“Table for one?” Just one notch too perky for her to swallow.
“No, thanks. Just looking in.” Sheila turned abruptly and nearly trampled a couple and their kids coming in the door.
Civilians!
Too close!
She kept the epithet to herself and stepped around them and back out into the crisp darkness.
To her left was the snow sprinkled faux-Bavarian town of Leavenworth, Washington, so perfect it was like a goddamn life-sized snow globe. To her right was a McDonald’s with a wood and plaster Germanic facade. She’d promised herself that she’d do better than McD’s for a Thanksgiving Day dinner, but crowds were kind of a problem for her and the town was packed.
Saddle up, girl.
She didn’t even bother raising her camo jacket’s collar as she turned to tromp through the snow—even the damned falling snow was picturesque—and into the heart of the town. Somewhere there had to be a bar with a burger, a brew, and a minimum of Bavarian.
She’d been driving to…well, nowhere. She’d been driving away from the family Thanksgiving in Seattle. Five hours through packed city roads and over slick mountain ones.
Not a soul understood what it meant that she was out of the Army. No one got that a TBI diagnosis didn’t mean she was nuts. Traumatic Brain Injury meant that she’d been blown up one too many times for the Army to trust her at the wheel of her big transport truck. Didn’t meant she was crazy. Please let it not mean she was crazy.
Which totally explained why she was in a resort town, that looked about as inauthentic as most of the ones in the real Bavaria did, looking for a quiet place to get drunk on Thanksgiving night.
A polka band playing out on the town’s square made her wonder how the tuba player’s lips didn’t freeze to his mouthpiece. Children skidded around despite all the salt and sand laid down on the sidewalks. One ran into her legs hard enough to fall back on its butt.
She stopped, knelt down, and picked up the kid to put it back on its feet. See, acting perfectly normal. Helping out.
It took one look at her, burst out crying, and raced away.
Sheila closed her eyes for a moment…before standing and continuing. She crossed the street to get clear of the square.
Bavarian Bistro. Not a chance.
Soup Cellar. O Tannenbaum playing on the juke because Thanksgiving was over in another half dozen hours. She didn’t even make it halfway down the stairs.
She closed her eyes to get past the garish Christmas store and let the tourists bounce off her until she was clear.
King Ludwig’s. The Mad King. Not a freaking chance.
She jostled and was nudged along until she fell out the other end of the town. Four blocks. She’d survived four blocks. Sometimes the victories are small. She hated when the psychs were right, especially when it felt more like defeat.
At the far end of the tourist strip, the town collapsed back into small American town. Dimly lit, cold. She leaned against the concrete wall of a closed warehouse and did what she could to catch her breath.
“Been following you,” a deep male voice.
She really didn’t need this shit right now. She rested her hand on her sidearm, but the Glock 19 wasn’t on her hip where it should be. Where it used to be.
“No need for that,” the voice continued as she started a hand up to her concealed shoulder carry. Her back was turned, he shouldn’t have been able to spot her motion.
Sheila risked a glance.
Big guy. Ten feet back. Standing planted on the sidewalk. No one behind or to the sides. Alone. She recognized the stance.
“You got somewhere to be?” His voice was soft, steady. She could deal with that. “I can help you get there.”
Sheila could only shake her head. No, she had nowhere to be. Might never again.
He waited a while before continuing, like he was studying her and thinking.
“What?”
“Got a place you might like.”
“Shit! Not looking for a goddamn roll in the hay.”
“More like snow, this time of year,” he said it with barely a hint of smile. “Besides, it’s not that kinda place. And my wife would kick my ass.”
“Must be some tough wife to keep you on a short leash.”
He shrugged, “Works for me.”
Sheila stared at him, but he just waited. Military recognized military. She could do worse. She offered him a shrug. Didn’t really matter anyway.
He pointed past her.
She waved for him to lead the way.
Being a smart man, he also saw that he should circle wide out onto the empty street rather than try to come by her on the sidewalk.
2
Randall sat close beside Jess and Jill. They were about the funniest damn couple on the whole team and who better to sit with while Thanksgiving dinner was cooking.
The two Js met on a wildfire in the middle of last season and Jess had somehow swept her up before she’d even hit the damned fire line.
Or maybe she’d swept him up. Randall had long since learned that being five-four, blond, and cute as hell had nothing to do with Jill’s skills. The woman totally rocked it, offering her sunny smile the whole time.
“Sure you don’t have a twin sister?” He asked for the hundredth time.
“Nope! My moms only had the one kid.”
“Crap!” They shared a smile. He’
d met her moms at the wedding, two of Seattle’s finest firefighters.
A cold gust of air crawled up his back.
“Close the goddamn door!” Randall shivered. He really should move, but this crew area of the Leavenworth fire station was maxed out. The volunteer firefighters and their families would have made it crowded enough. But Captain Cantrell had invited his daughter’s entire Interagency Hotshot Crew to his Thanksgiving Feed. No wildfires in the winter in the Cascade Mountains, but half of them had found ways to keep busy and keep local. Candace was the kind of superintendent who helped make good things like that happen.
“Happy Thanksgiving to you too, asshole,” Luke smacked him on top of the head as he came through the door and they both laughed.
Then a shadow slipped in behind him and did close the door. She was close to six feet, not gaunt, but not far from it. She had dark hair that fell in soft waves past her shoulders and narrowed her pale face even more. Her fists were jammed deep in the pockets of her unzipped hunting jacket. She wore a turtleneck and a thin white sweater that flowed down her slender frame, apparently oblivious to the biting cold.
She wasn’t exactly beautiful, but she was as dramatic as hell.
“What’s your problem?” Her voice was low, rough.
“Breathing around you,” was all Randall managed.
Somewhere in the background Jill laughed. He couldn’t tell whether or not it was at him, but he sure wasn’t going to risk looking away to find out. She might evaporate if he did, or stab him.
Her dark eyes studied him for a long moment, then glanced aside to look out the door’s frosted window.
“Sorry. Rude. I know. Never think first. You’ll have to get used to that if you’re going to hang around me. I’m Randall. Randall Jones,” he held out a hand.
Again those piercing eyes studied him for a long moment. Then she cursed emphatically.
He started to draw back his hand, but she reached out and shook it once. Solidly. With a damned strong grip. And her fingers were cold as ice.
The Ides of Matt 2016 Page 27