“I have never thought you were any of those things.” His words were solemn, and I glanced at him as we pulled up across from the lot where five or six men were busy wrapping foil insulation around a small structure. His eyes held mine and something passed between us, something that made my skin feel tight and my insides twist.
“Okay,” I said, my voice giving away every bit of confusion I felt at this change in Sam.
“I just…” Sam spread his big hands on the dashboard in front of him, and we both stared at them for a second. His fingers were long and tapered, his nails neatly kept, and his hands looked strong and capable.
What an odd thing for me to be noticing.
“The thing is,” Sam continued, sounding uncertain, “I think you’re actually the opposite of all that. You’re smart and optimistic, and you’ve always thought the best of everyone.”
He was right, except maybe I hadn’t always thought the best of him. Maybe I’d judged him too harshly, let all the embarrassment and humiliation of high school settle into anger. And maybe since he’d been there—since he always seemed to be there—I’d aimed that anger at him.
“I’m not always a good person,” I said, thinking that maybe it was me that owed Sam an apology.
He shook his head. “You are, as far as I can tell.” He pulled his hands back to his muscled thighs and turned to look at me then, his soulful eyes searching mine. “It’s just been hard for me to tell you what I really think of you for so long. I guess I’ve fallen into a habit pattern, maybe out of fear or a sense of self-defense. I mean, I know you’re interested in my brother, so…” Sam trailed off, his eyes dropping mine, and I found myself leaning forward, wishing he’d finish his thought.
“What do you—?” I began, but my words were cut off by one of the rangers tapping on the driver-side window behind me. I jumped and let out a tiny shriek, and Sam’s face broke into a wide smile. Only for once, I realized he wasn’t laughing at me exactly. He was just laughing.
“You guys out here to help?” The ranger asked.
“Yes, sir. I’m Ranger George’s daughter. He said you guys could maybe use a hand.” I told him.
“Happy to have it.”
We got out of the car and the ranger introduced us to a few of the people already at work. He directed us to a roll of aluminum wrap and sent us with a staple gun to the next lot over, where we began wrapping a long shingled cabin.
Eventually the other men from the Palmer crews joined us, and soon the drivers who’d volunteered to take the Palmer vehicles to the valley had arrived, too. Armed with ladders, staple guns and lots of the radiant heat-repellant foil, we were soon moving from house to house. Despite the numerous hands available, Sam and I stayed close together and worked as a team, developing a kind of rhythm over the course of the task.
Some kind of peace had evolved between us over the past couple days, and I found that I liked his steady presence at my side. We made a good team. Maybe it was because we’d known each other so long, but we found we didn’t have to speak in order to work effectively together. He’d reach for something and I’d hand it to him; I’d turn to ask for something, and he’d be there with it instinctively.
It was comforting, actually, having Sam there with me. If nothing else, he was familiar and comfortable. And at a time when everything I loved was at stake, it was nice to keep that comfort close.
The day passed quickly, the dry heat of the mountain air making our fingertips crack and bleed as ash continued to drift down around us. We stopped frequently to drink from the coolers perched in the back of the Palmer trucks, and to wipe sweat from our faces with sleeves, or stand for a few minutes in the shade of the big evergreen trees that surrounded us.
Toward the end of the day, I sipped from a plastic cup, exhausted as I looked behind me at the road down which we’d moved, now populated with shining foil structures. I didn’t know how tin foil could possibly stand up to a raging wildfire, but if it might give people even a chance to keep their homes, I was all for it.
I sat on a stump, resting my forearms on my knees and trying to catch my breath when Sam sat down next to me, sipping from a cup. He didn’t say anything, but he leaned into my shoulder for a quick second, a tiny gesture that seemed to say, “look at what we’ve done,” or “you doing all right?” or maybe both things at once. Warmth flooded me at his touch, and I turned and smiled at him, surprised at my own change of heart where he was concerned. The irritation I usually felt around Sam had dissolved, replaced over the course of several long days with a kind of trust that could only be developed between two people who knew each other well.
Sam squinted at me and his mouth opened as if he was about to say something when a distant rumble sent us both to our feet.
“What was that?” I asked in a whisper.
I was answered by another rumble, a deep unsettled shifting in the sky high above us that was accompanied by a bank of low dark clouds moving in from the north.
“Is that…?” We both stared up at the dark mass of storm clouds rolling overhead.
A crash of lightning ripped through the sky, followed by a sudden earth-shaking boom that sent me leaping into Sam’s chest. His strong arms went around me. And then the world seemed to still for long seconds as everyone around us gazed into the dark steel sky, which just moments before had been a foreboding shade of purpling orange. As I stared upward, a drop splashed onto my face, hitting me directly between the eyes. An involuntary cry escaped my lips.
Sam looked down at me, a disbelieving smile on his face, and another drop pelted my cheek. All around us, a steady ticking sound began to develop as fat raindrops splatted the dry ground, and within minutes, the sky had opened up and we stood in the midst of an all-out downpour.
“Yes!” Sam cried, pumping a fist into the air, and as everyone around us cried out in celebration, Sam’s arms dropped to my waist and he lifted me off the ground, swinging me in a celebratory circle. I kept my face turned up to the sky as the water poured down, and it wasn’t until Sam put me back on my feet that I realized my own arms were around his neck, and that my body was pressed firmly against his chest.
He grinned down at me, and I felt a maniacal smile on my own face as I stared back up at him. Strange thoughts flew through my reeling mind.
I’ve known Sam almost my whole life. His arms feel so right around me. He really does have the prettiest eyes.
And when he leaned forward ever so slightly, I didn’t resist. His full soft lips brushed mine, and I found myself pressing fully against him, my body instinctively searching for more.
The rain poured down around us, washing the village with new hope for potential salvation, and I let myself enjoy kissing the Palmer brother I’d never thought twice about, a vague scent of black licorice filling my senses and a strange new elation filling my heart.
Chapter 17
Sam
I had no idea how it had happened. I didn’t plan it. I’d dreamed it for years, for as long as I’d been old enough to consider what Miranda’s softness would feel like in contrast to my own body, what it would be like to pull her tightly against me, to hold her near. To breathe her.
To love her.
I’d known Miranda George practically my whole life, and still I felt like being near her was a privilege I hadn’t earned yet, like touching her was a prize I had yet to win.
But we’d spent the day together working side by side, both of us focused on a singular goal, a specific and important task. And in the face of life and death, in the face of losing absolutely everything we’d each ever known, all the petty years-old confusion between us fell away. All the grumbling and irritating jockeying for the upper hand became inconsequential, and for once in our lives we were moving in the same direction. It was as if we were stones working our way down a long canyon on the side of a mountain, tumbling and falling, constantly bumping into one another as we each looked for the most direct path, and finally we were both driving straight down on a parallel
course, side by side.
When the sky opened up, and the first fat raindrop splattered on Miranda’s forehead, the world we knew seemed to trickle away in rivulets of falling rain, washing everything pretentious and irrelevant from us and leaving only what was true.
Miranda.
Me.
Her laughter ringing through the spattering rhythm of the falling rain.
The furious beating of my heart.
Her head thrown back and her mouth open. Her throat exposed as she laughed up at the opening sky.
Wrapping her in my arms in that moment was as natural as taking a breath, and when I spun her around and she threw her arms around my neck, my heart swelled, and I could feel it expand inside my chest.
This.
I could live in this moment for the rest of my life and it would be enough.
But when Miranda slid down to the ground, her body molding to my own and her arms still holding me close, when she stared up into my eyes and moved in, touched her lips to mine—that was perfection.
For that one moment in time, I had everything I’d ever wanted.
And then it was gone.
Chapter 18
Miranda
After a long minute, my brain stepped in to take over for my body, which had clearly gotten out of control. I dropped my arms from Sam’s neck and pulled my face from his, my mind spinning, trying to make sense of the desire rushing through me.
I stepped back from Sam’s embrace, as the village began to gleam, washed clean of months of accumulated dust and glistening with rain.
I ran a hand over my ponytail, awkward discomfort replacing the searing heat I’d felt a moment before, and I turned away to help the others gather the tools lying around and pack them back into truck cabs and cars. Forest Service radios were squawking on the belts of the few rangers guiding our efforts, and the news was encouraging. The storm, which had developed quickly somewhere east of Tahoe, had rolled down the Sierra Nevadas and hung up just over us. Any rain was good rain in California right now, and in a place where the threat of fire was real and terrifying, it was like being touched by the hand of God.
Giddy with hope and exhaustion, those of us who’d been wrapping cabins had hugged each other—or in some cases, kissed—and then climbed back into cars to head back into town and get whatever news might be available.
As I pulled the car keys from my pocket, Sam asked, “Want me to drive?”
I clung to the familiar irritation I found inside me at his words. It was easier than looking at the other feelings his nearness suddenly inspired in me. “Why would I want you to drive?” I made a face at him and we both got into the car. We were soaked, but the air had been so warm before, there was no worry about being cold, and my little truck had definitely been through worse than a couple of soggy passengers. I squeezed the rain out of my hair before I pulled the door shut and draped it over my left shoulder, starting the engine.
“Just trying to be helpful. Thought you might be tired.”
I glanced over at Sam, something in his voice was tight and careful now.
“I’m okay.” Neither of us had said a word about the strange kiss we’d shared, but my mind kept replaying it. Tension zinged between us, replacing the warm familiarity that had been there before.
We drove back into town through the soaked and darkening village, and I kept poking at the memory of the kiss as if something about it might change upon examination. It had been warm and tender. It had been comforting, and…exciting. Sam’s arms around me had felt good—solid and strong. Sexy, even.
Oh, God, what was wrong with me? Kissing Sam Palmer should have been like kissing my brother (if I’d had one). Especially since what I wanted was to be kissing his brother. What had made him do it? Why had I responded?
It must have been some kind of reaction to the stress and relief of the day, shared by two people who’d been through a lot together. That had to be it. Just a reflex like my mother’s uncontrollable need to smooth wrinkles from any tablecloth she sees. It was nothing. And I wasn’t going to think about it anymore.
“Miranda.” As we pulled up in front of the diner where everyone seemed to have wordlessly agreed to regroup, Sam turned to face me.
I glanced at him, but the sincerity and confusion I saw in those eyes didn’t match the decision I’d just made. That the kiss was nothing. And if it wasn’t nothing, then it was surely a mistake.
“About the kiss—”
It was immature, but I hopped out of the car just as he started speaking and slammed the door before he could possibly expand on that thought. We were not going to talk about it.
“Come on,” I urged, as he stepped slowly from the passenger side. “I want to see what my dad has heard.”
Rain continued to fall around us, more softly now but still steady. I just hoped it would be enough to give the firefighters an edge on the fire.
I could see my father inside the diner, the group we’d just been with gathered around, listening. We stepped through the doors in time to hear him answering questions.
“So it’s not raining in the backcountry?” One of the men asked.
“The storm moved through there,” Dad said. “But it rolled through quickly and didn’t hang up until it reached us. The good news is that the structures and ground around them are good and wet, and will be even moreso if this rain lasts into the night as they’re predicting. The firefighters were able to contain one part of the leading edge, down to the south. But the western edge is still marching forward, and Kings Grove is still in its path.”
My heart sank and I fell onto a stool at the counter. Dean Apcott leaned on his forearms on the other side and was watching me thoughtfully. I gave him a weak smile and he stood up straight and returned with a Coke. “You look like you could use this.”
“Thanks,” I said.
Sam slid onto the stool next to me, and Dean slid a beer in front of him. “And I’m guessing you could use one of these.”
“Thanks,” Sam said.
Dad stopped behind me on his way out of the diner, dropping both his big hands on my shoulders. “Heard you did some good work out there today, you two.”
I shook my head. “Doesn’t sound like it’ll matter.”
“The rain buys us some time, and that’s what the guys need to get a handle on this thing. If the winds die down for a day or so behind this storm, maybe we’ll still have a shot.”
“That’s something,” Sam said. His voice was hollow and dull, devoid of the laughter I’d heard in it all day as we’d worked. I was saddened at the loss of the sound.
“Get some rest,” Dad suggested. “If you’re up for it, we could use more help tomorrow. See you at home, pudding.”
Sam lifted an eyebrow at my Dad’s pet name for me, but it dropped back into place when I scowled at him. “See you later, Daddy.”
Neither Sam or I said anything as we sipped our drinks, letting the hum of quiet conversation around us subsume the need for chatter between us. I was afraid he might try to bring up the kiss again, and I definitely didn’t want to talk about that. I still couldn’t believe I’d let it happen.
Now when I thought about it, I was able to work up a tiny bit of the shock I would have felt a few weeks ago if someone had suggested I kiss Sam Palmer. The weird thing was, I really had to try. And if I was honest, the shock felt a lot like something else. Excitement.
Mom had spent her day cooking and freezing meals, making labels for Tupperware containers full of “Tuna Casserole” and “Lasagna.” She turned guiltily from the open freezer when I stumbled in, her hands frantically trying to fit too many square containers into the small space.
“It’s a fire, Mom. Not a zombie apocalypse. We’re not preppers.”
“I need to stay busy,” she said, finally managing to shut the freezer door.
“If we have to evacuate, we’ll just leave it all.”
She shook her head, sending gray curls shaking around her shoulders. “I’ve got one
space in the car left for the cooler, and we can pack all of this in there if we do it just right. I measured the space, and it’s almost exactly the same volume as the freezer.” She picked up a diagram from the kitchen counter that looked like a complicated Jenga game someone had drawn. I guessed that it showed all the Tupperware fitting into a cooler.
If we were ordered to evacuate, I couldn’t imagine taking the time to follow this diagram just to get that last tuna casserole into the car, but I wasn’t going to say anything about it now. We all coped the best we could in times of stress. I pulled a box of Raisinets from my stash under the counter and flopped down on the couch.
“What have you heard, Miranda? Did Daddy tell you if the rain helped with the fire?” Mom stood before me, wringing her hands again with worry.
“Sit down, Mom.” I sighed, watching my mother settle into Dad’s big recliner, and then told her everything about what had happened today. Well, not absolutely everything.
A strange look came over Mom’s face, and she stood back up, and then pulled a pad of paper, a pencil, and a ruler from her desk at the far side of the room and sat back down. “How wide are the sheets of foil, you say?” She had begun sketching a scale picture of our house.
“Mom—” I was beginning to worry about her.
“I’ll just figure out the most efficient way for you to wrap our house. It’ll help tomorrow when the Forest Service comes around this way.”
I just nodded and let Mom do her thing. Once I’d told her everything I knew about the FireZat wrapping we’d been using all day, I excused myself to take a long hot shower and go to bed. I pulled on a pair of comfortable jersey pants and my favorite 49ers jersey and climbed into the steel-framed bed beneath the quilt my grandmother had made for it when I was a kid.
These things around me, these things I’d always taken for granted—they’d been part of my entire life, and they’d been here, in these mountains, for years before I’d arrived. My family had been here since 1925, and I couldn’t believe there was a chance this might be the end of it. I pulled the familiar soft old quilt up around my chin despite the heat, and stared at the rafters over my head. Whorls of knots marred the wood between the eaves of the roof, and I could see individual nail heads where my grandfather had pounded them in when he’d expanded the original structure.
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