“You okay there?” she asked.
“Whatever, Blue. Let’s just see if you can keep up.”
Her bag felt heavy as she started on the trail. She was too tired to be doing this, and she’d packed all wrong. She’d forgotten her rain jacket, even though there was no telling what the weather might do. She hadn’t forgotten impractical underwear, though.
Lace. On a camping trip. With Tyler. Who was never going to see her underwear again.
She really did confuse herself sometimes.
But it wasn’t the underwear weighing her down. It was the gear she’d taken to study wind, soil, vegetation, animal life—anything that would help her build a case against the firebreak.
Which was also a case against Tyler, she had to remind herself. So she’d better stop staring at the cut of his calf muscles as he pushed off a rock.
The trail didn’t give them any time to ease in. Tyler had longer legs and was walking fast, but Abbi pushed just as hard. She’d be damned if she’d let him leave her behind.
And the truth was that she loved the burn through her lungs and the strain in her legs. It was the only way she’d survived the whispers and stares after the headmaster himself spotted her leaving Mr. Cash’s house on a Sunday morning, hair disheveled, sleepy looking, wearing the same clothes as the night before.
That was when she’d discovered the mountains around campus, endless trails where she could wander until darkness, hunger, and a vague sense that she should probably do some homework drew her in. She had her favorite spots where she could sit and read a book or look out at the view and pretend she wasn’t stuck on that campus at all.
It had amazed her what she could see once she started paying attention. Bald eagles, fawns, once even a bobcat carrying a bloody snowshoe hare in its jaws. A whole world unfolding for her. A huge, beautiful one where she wasn’t a victim, or a slut, or whatever else they were calling her in the dorms.
Even now, all these years later, she still felt the most at home, and the most herself, when she was deep in the woods.
She was glad she’d followed Sam’s advice and not waited to get out here. The best way to figure out what she needed to know was to see it for herself. She’d been cooped up in the office for too long, dealing with maps and coordinates and data, so much data, until she couldn’t make sense of it anymore.
But this was what mattered. It was all here, in the woods and the life unfolding around them. This was what she worked for. She knew she’d make a great head naturalist, if only she had the chance.
She took a deep breath, inhaling the spice of pine and the rich, damp earth. Tyler, mistaking the noise in her chest, asked if she wanted to stop.
“Not on your life,” she said, and picked up the pace.
…
Abbi thought her legs were going to fall off by the time the trees opened to a grassy expanse covered in wildflowers. They could pause here before crossing the meadow and climbing to the ridge.
She dropped her pack as soon as she stepped into the view. Above them in every direction rose jagged peaks that stretched to the horizon, layers of blue that, somewhere in Canada, vanished into sky.
Tyler fanned himself and gulped water. She was passing him the mixture of nuts, berries, and chocolate she’d packed before she remembered she was supposed to want nothing to do with him—especially since she still hadn’t gotten her cherries. But he took it gratefully, as though they were two ordinary people out for an ordinary hike and not two people who’d fucked and still wanted to, or fucked and regretted it, or fucked and still thought about it. But knew they never could again.
“That close peak is Gold Mountain.” Abbi pointed to the distinctive bump, still with a bit of snow on top—although less than in years past. She named the other mountains, pointing out routes that traversed the wilderness, trails that continued for weeks along the spine of the Cascades and others good for a steep, grueling push up a towering peak. She was the one with the brilliant plan to hike together. She might as well make conversation.
But Tyler wasn’t looking at the peaks. He was looking down in the valley, where so much of what used to be green had faded to a tangle of brown. Some of the trees had died from disease, others from lack of water. It frustrated Abbi not to know how to fight so many problems at once.
“Look at all that kindling,” Tyler said, shaking his head. “Add in the light snowfall you’ve gotten this year and the lack of rain, and you’re looking at prime conditions for a fire to blaze.”
“I know,” Abbi said, hoisting her pack onto her back again.
“Then I don’t understand why you’ve staked your career on opposing a project that can actually help.” He seemed genuinely perplexed, which made Abbi all the more frustrated.
She pointed across the meadow to the ridge where they were heading. “Look at where the proposed firebreak is. Notice anything?”
“It’s higher than I’d normally put a break. Obviously I know that. But at lower elevations you have the valley, you have the roads around the town, and you have natural features, like North and South Lake, to act as a buffer.”
“If it’s so obvious, you could have backed me up when I pointed that out to Walker and Chip instead of acting like I was the one with the problem.”
“Saying it’s higher than average isn’t a good enough reason not to do it altogether,” Tyler argued. “There’s nothing in place to stop a higher elevation fire here. And like I said, look at all those dead trees. Lightning, arson, an illegal campfire that doesn’t get put out, a cigarette dropped in the woods at the right angle, the right time when a wind is coming through—”
“A fire like that’s going to rip through here,” she interrupted. “Like you said, it’s obvious. But at a higher elevation, it’ll stick to the crowns of trees. A firebreak isn’t going to stop a blaze like that from spreading.”
“So what? We don’t have a perfect option, so we should do nothing?”
“No, but we could start by not wasting time and money on Band-Aid solutions—especially not when any construction will seriously impact the species around here.”
“That impact is still better than the alternative. And people want to feel safe, Abbi. They want to know someone is making sure they’re taken care of.” Tyler cocked his head at her. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
Abbi flashed to a memory: Cash grabbing her arm as she tried to leave his house to go back to her dorm where she belonged. “Stay, Abbi. I already made dinner. Why won’t you let me take care of you?”
Abbi pinched her eyes shut, willing the feel of Cash’s hand on her skin to retreat. When she opened her eyes, she was steady again. Back in the present, where she was a grown-ass woman in charge of her life, and nothing—not even a firefighter with a smile like sunlight—could stand in her way.
“Do I want someone to feed me platitudes and rock me into a false sense of security so I can avoid the other things that are wrong in my life? No, Tyler. I don’t.”
“Jesus, Abbi.” His eyes widened. “Everything isn’t one or the other. We can put resources into fighting fires and building firebreaks and addressing ecological concerns.”
“Or we can face reality head-on and try to make the best decisions with the lowest ecological impact for the greatest benefits, which is what the nature center is trying to do.”
He shook his head at her, and she, swallowing a cry of annoyance, picked up her pack again and set off. She didn’t need his help. She didn’t need his approval. She reported to her boss—not to him.
But it was fucking infuriating to be so easily dismissed.
They were all the way across the meadow and heading to the ridge when he finally spoke again.
“Firebreaks help,” he said. And although Abbi had a dozen responses to that, all she could do was laugh.
“It took you that long to come up with that argument?”
“I’m not arguing,” Tyler said. “I’m stating the facts.”
“The facts as
you see them.”
“The facts as anyone who knows anything about wildfires would see them.”
Oh, this was rich. “So now you’re questioning my expertise?”
“Abbi, I have a master’s in forestry.”
“So do I.”
“I’m a trained EMT.”
“And that’s relevant to firebreaks because…?”
“I’ve fought fires. Lots of them. I’ve seen wildfires rage out of control, and I’ve seen how firebreaks can help contain the momentum.”
They were walking side by side and she couldn’t miss how he suddenly turned away, swallowing back the sentence as if there’d been something more he wanted to say.
She wanted to ask what he meant, what he’d seen—what sorts of disasters did someone get used to when they ran toward fire and not away?
But then he said, as though he hadn’t even paused, “At the very least, they provide a bare area where firefighters can regroup to back burn. I’m not saying a firebreak is a guarantee, but you can’t argue that they never do anything.”
“Have you heard of the spotted owl?” Abbi asked.
“The what?”
“The spotted owl. Cutest little bird there is. When you have two of them together, side by side on a tree, their faces all smooshed up on these round little bodies, big, glassy eyes staring at you—”
“I get it. You love owls,” Tyler said. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that while you’re busy bulldozing these trees—”
“Technically, it’s your boyfriend who’s going to be doing the bulldozing—”
“Russ is not and has never been my boyfriend,” Abbi said. “We fucked. That was it. Get over it.”
Tyler shrugged. “Abbi Haas. Incurable romantic.”
“Now you know. Anyway.” She glared at him. “While you and Russ are working together as a team, all buddy-buddy as you bulldoze the trees surrounding Gold Mountain, the spotted owl is losing its home. Because they only nest in old growth forest. The same old growth forest being targeted by your little plan.”
“You make it sound like we’re razing the entire woods. We’re taking one little stretch—”
“Little? Size does matter, I’ll have you know.”
“You weren’t complaining about my measurements the other night,” Tyler shot back.
“Are you looking for me to compliment your penis, Tyler?” Abbi asked, and was satisfied by the flame of red up his face. Men. Wanted to insinuate that they were the greatest. Couldn’t handle when a woman didn’t giggle and act shocked.
“Because I can,” she went on. “You have a great dick. Seriously. People talk about size but the shape matters, too, and of course that you know what to do with it. You want it thick enough to feel it but not have a boxing match with the cervix. You’re a good lay, Tyler. You should be proud.”
“Wow,” Tyler said. “Usually I find out if a woman is an asshole before I go to bed with her.”
“We didn’t spend any time in bed,” Abbi corrected him. “And you’re the one who said you were my boyfriend. I didn’t start this at all.”
“I thought we were talking about firefighting,” Tyler said. “Why are we now talking about us?”
“Because you couldn’t even tell me before fucking me that you were here to ruin my job!”
“You didn’t want to talk about work that night, either. You didn’t want to know who I am, why I’m here, or anything about me. It’s not my fault that blew up in your face.”
“Both our faces,” Abbi reminded him. “It’s not like you can get out of this any more than I can.”
“Something I really don’t need you to remind me of,” he grumbled.
“Let’s just get to the ridge,” Abbi said, and, ignoring the fact that her legs were screaming at her, started walking even faster.
Chapter Nine
Apparently the fact that they were preparing dinner together didn’t mean they had to speak to each other.
Tyler was used to camping with Scott, who’d tell jokes even after Tyler told him to shut up already. Now he would have given anything to hear Scotty raise his plastic cup and announce, “Lettuce eat!”
This wasn’t the comfortable silence of two people who’d been around each other forever, watching the clouds thread over the stars. This was the kind of strain that reminded Tyler of living with his father, his dad focused on his new job, new house, new family. Focused on anyone but the kid who could have used someone asking how his day went.
He almost wished they were back in the office, or even at the farmers market again—anywhere where all those watchful eyes at least made her talk to him. Made her face light up, even if the smile wasn’t real.
“I don’t do the silent treatment,” Tyler finally said when he couldn’t take it anymore. They were heating water on a camping stove for dinner. Packets of dehydrated lasagna weren’t going to win any culinary awards, but it was light, easy, and Tyler had definitely had worse.
Abbi looked at him in surprise. Had she really expected him to camp with her but not address the fact that they hadn’t spoken all afternoon?
“I’m not ignoring you,” she said, brushing a hand through her hair. He wondered if she’d reapplied the dye last night because in the darkening light it looked brighter, deeper than before.
Had she done it to look even hotter to go camping? Or was it her way of telling him to fuck off?
Or maybe it had nothing to do with him, and he should stop hoping she thought of him in that way—in any way—at all.
He couldn’t get a read on her. He’d thought she never wanted to see him again, and then she showed up to do this whole walkthrough together. It made him want to come back for more, to push and prod until she opened up whatever she was concealing underneath that bright hair and sharp tongue and the way she moved so fast he could barely keep up, no matter how in shape he was.
“You haven’t spoken to me for hours,” he said.
“We’ve been working. I was thinking. I didn’t mean for it to be a big deal.”
“Oh.” Tyler sat back on his haunches. “I thought you were mad at me.”
“For being a pawn to the Forest Service and not publicly stating that this firebreak isn’t going to accomplish what people want it to? Yeah, kind of.” She licked rehydrated sauce off the back of her camping spork and made a face. “But I’m not planning on ignoring you all night because of it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Gee, thanks.” He paused. “Maybe we should talk about something else.”
“You mean not wildfire strategy?”
“Where’d you grow up?”
Abbi laughed. “Are you serious?”
“We’re camping together. We’ve had sex. Our entire office thinks we’re madly in love. Is it so crazy to actually talk?”
So over soggy noodles and too-salty sauce, he asked Abbi about her childhood, her family, when she knew she wanted to become a naturalist, and why.
“Grilling me,” Abbi corrected him when he said he just wanted to ask her some questions. “You’re grilling me.”
“What are you, CIA? What do you have to hide?”
“Okay, here’s the rundown. Childhood in Seattle. Some time in New Hampshire and a few points in between. My father’s a cardiac surgeon. My mother’s a psychiatrist, which I still find hard to believe. I’ll have you know that both of them are perennially disappointed in me.”
“Really?” Tyler couldn’t hide his surprise. “How could you have possibly disappointed them?”
Abbi held out her left hand. “Do you see a ring on this finger?”
“Ah,” Tyler said. “So the fact that you’re single-handedly saving the spotted owl in the state of Washington doesn’t impress them?”
Abbi screwed up her face, and this time it wasn’t the effect of rehydrated lasagna. “Now you’re just making fun of me.”
“Am not. I swear.” But he smiled, because even if he was, a little, the truth was that he
knew what spotted owls looked like, and he liked them. The costs to their habitat weren’t enough to stop him from taking the job. But it wasn’t like he didn’t care.
“No changing the subject,” Tyler said. “Siblings?”
“Three, all older.” She went through their spouses, occupations, and kids. “If you met them, you’d think I’d been brought by aliens. Or dropped on my head. Or both.”
“I think that anyway,” Tyler said, and Abbi mimed throwing her spork at him. “Don’t worry, when you meet my family you’ll be running for the hills.”
As soon as he saw Abbi’s expression, he realized the slip.
“I meant that if you met my family, you’d run. Don’t look so appalled. I’m pretending to be your boyfriend, not your husband—remember?”
“I should have known that stunt would only make Russ madder at me. I wasn’t even thinking about the office, my job, any of that shit when I went along with it.”
“I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry it made such a mess. Are you really sure he’s not trouble?”
Tyler didn’t like when Abbi didn’t answer right away.
“Ninety percent sure,” she finally decided, and he frowned into his bowl.
“I’m not crazy about that last ten percent.”
“Is this, like, your thing?” Abbi asked.
“Huh?”
“Fight the fire. Save the town. Rescue helpless women at the bar.”
“You weren’t helpless,” Tyler said.
“I know that. I wasn’t sure you did.”
“Come on, admit you had fun.” He grinned, and Abbi flushed. No matter that she’d run away from him at the gazebo, or that she’d promised just last night to dump him. That he was sure she really had been avoiding him this afternoon.
She couldn’t deny that she’d enjoyed every tremble as she’d come undone.
Just the thought of it made him shift uncomfortably on the log he was sitting on. Here they were outside again, darkness falling, nothing but the wind in the trees, the sounds of nocturnal animals beginning to wake. The two of them, alone again.
Fuck. Clearly he was going to spend the entire night yelling at his dick to stay down.
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