by Lisa Childs
“Oh, damn,” Tammy murmured. “It’s too late for you, isn’t it?”
Fiona nodded. It was too late. Even though she was furious with him, she still loved Wyatt. And the last thing she’d done was slap him for kissing her. What if that had been their last kiss?
“Here you are,” a male voice murmured.
Had he been sent back? Was he safe?
But when she spun around, it was Matthew she saw through her tears. His face was tense with worry—for her. He reached for her, but she swiveled the stool back toward the TV. She had to keep watching the blaze. The fire was consuming acres of forest and everything within that forest, as well. Somewhere in there was Wyatt.
“Sis,” Matthew said. “Are you okay?”
No. She was a mess, her heart racing—her breathing fast and shallow. She was on the verge of a panic attack.
“Where is he?” she asked, peering at the TV as if she might see him within the flames. “Will he be okay?”
“Of course he will,” Matthew assured her. “He’s Wyatt. He knows what he’s doing. He’ll be just fine.” While she appreciated his effort to comfort her, she heard the hollow ring of her brother’s words. He didn’t believe what he was saying any more than she did.
Wyatt was in a lot of danger. Despite all of his expertise, there was no guarantee that he would make it out alive.
*
IT WAS TURNING on him—just as Fiona had. And it was even hotter and angrier than she’d been either time she had stomped into the firehouse workout room.
The fire felt like a living entity. But he had to keep going. His shoulders burned as he held the chainsaw, cutting through tree after tree. He was trying to knock down some of the fuel—trying to build the break between the fire and the campsite. He couldn’t hear the hum of the chainsaws wielded by his team members. Maybe because the crackle of the fire had grown louder; maybe because he’d become separated from them. He was moving faster, urgency coursing through him. He had to find those kids—the Boy Scouts trying to earn their early camping badges—before the fire consumed them as it had all the trees and new grass.
No one had heard from the Scout leaders. The campers were lost. And the Hotshots had to find them before they were lost forever.
Wyatt was a sawyer—one of the guys who cut down the fuel. Swampers followed them and would clean up the fuel so they could build the break. But the wind was picking up, shifting.
He could see sparks riding on the air—dancing in a different direction than they had earlier. Beneath his helmet his radio crackled as someone hit their switch to speak. Maybe a Scout leader had contacted someone at the command center.
“Wyatt, where are you?” Braden asked through the headset. He was no longer the captain of their small-town firehouse. He was the superintendent of the twenty-member Hotshot crew.
Wyatt cut power to his chainsaw and reached for the talk button on his radio. “I’m where you told me to be,” he replied. As an assistant superintendent, he’d taken over for Braden when he’d returned to the command center to assess the fire and discuss strategy with the other fire teams. “I’m leading the sawyers cutting the break.”
“Dawson said they lost sight of you…”
Hess was the other assistant superintendent; every Hotshot team had two. He was leading up the swampers today.
“They’d be a ways behind me,” Wyatt pointed out. But he turned back to look. He saw only smoke.
The radio crackled again. “Wyatt?” It was Cody’s voice now. “Where the hell are you?”
“In the lead,” he said. Too far in the lead. He’d gotten separated from the other members of his team.
“I can’t see you anymore, man,” Cody said.
The younger man was fast; he shouldn’t have been that far behind Wyatt. But the smoke was thickening—becoming almost impenetrable. Maybe he wasn’t that far behind him.
“This thing is shifting.” Braden said what Wyatt had already realized. “I’m pulling the team out. Now!”
“Those kids are out here,” Wyatt said. “They don’t have the right equipment to survive the fire.” Not even Boy Scouts were prepared for a monster like this.
“It’s too dangerous,” Braden said. “I can’t risk the entire team on what might prove to be a suicide mission.”
“Then don’t,” Wyatt said. “Pull the rest of them.”
“Wyatt!”
“I’m already separated from them.” Caught between his team and those hapless campers.
“We’ll find you,” Cody said. “You can’t be that far ahead of us. You’re old and slow.”
Wyatt chuckled—like the younger man had wanted him to. He was older than Cody but only by a few years. “And yet you can’t keep up with me,” he teased the other man. “So who’s the slow one?”
“Since you’re so fast,” Braden cut in, “get your asses back here. Now!”
Wyatt scanned the area again. The radio had gone curiously quiet, so he listened for the sound of chainsaws. He doubted that Cody would have stopped yet. But he heard only the crackle and roar of the fire.
It was close. Too close.
He could turn back the way he’d come—follow the break back to his crew. But that was away from the campers. Could he leave them out there alone? Especially now that the fire had shifted.
He remembered being that eleven-year-old kid watching the news—knowing that his parents were vacationing somewhere in the midst of the wildfire that had monopolized all the television broadcasts. He’d been scared for them.
Those kids out at the campsite were the age he’d been, and they were out there watching the fire come toward them. They were scared for themselves. And somewhere, their parents watched the news, terrified for their children.
He couldn’t turn back. He couldn’t save himself without first trying to save those kids. He owed it to them—and he owed it to that Hotshot who’d broken away from his crew, who’d given his life trying to save Wyatt’s parents.
So that man hadn’t died in vain, Wyatt had to try to rescue those kids. He turned away from the direction of his team and instead turned toward the campsite area—just as the fire had.
He knew what he had to do, and he had only one regret. Fiona…
Was she watching the news like those parents were? Was she worried about him? Or was she so mad that she didn’t care what happened to him?
He was glad that he’d kissed her—even though he could still feel the imprint of her hand against his face. Hell, he was glad of that, too.
Maybe it was better that she’d been angry with him at the end. Because he worried that it wasn’t just their relationship that had ended, but maybe his life, too.
18
“HOW DID YOU get us in here?” Fiona whispered in wonder as she looked around the tent that had been set up at the edge of the safe zone—just outside Northern Lakes. From here Superintendent Braden Zimmer commanded his team of Hotshots.
Matthew shook his head. “I didn’t get us in here. You did.”
“I did?”
“Everybody knows you’re Wyatt’s girlfriend.”
But that wasn’t true. She and Wyatt hadn’t actually been seeing each other. They’d only been using each other. “I’m not…”
Braden was the only one of Wyatt’s friends that she recognized. The others had to be out at the fire still—with him. She wanted to talk to the superintendent. But he was busy, talking into a radio and with other fire crew leaders who stood around him.
What was going on? She could sense the urgency in Braden and see the tension in his face. Something was wrong.
Or maybe that was how he acted at every fire. Leading a crew of Hotshots had to be a stressful job. He was sending them out into the blaze—risking their lives. She couldn’t imagine his level of responsibility or anxiety.
Just watching him made her fearful. Had he seen her? Was that how she and Matthew had been allowed inside the tent? Maybe he’d gestured to someone that it was okay to let
them in. But why hadn’t he come over to her?
Why wouldn’t he even look at her now?
Sure, he was busy. But she worried that it was something more. Something far, far worse…
“I’m sorry,” Matthew said.
And she jumped, fear overwhelming her. “What are you sorry about?”
Had he heard something? She could barely hear over the sound of her own pulse pounding in her ears. Other people spoke—inside the tent. And outside, where the reporters had been stopped at the perimeter. But she couldn’t hear their individual voices—just the dull din of them all combined. She wished she could hear Superintendent Zimmer. But he was too far away and too focused on whatever he was saying into the radio.
If only she could read lips…
Maybe Matthew could.
“Why are you sorry?” she asked again—anxiously. And she focused on him instead of all the people around them.
But he looked away from her. His shoulders slumped with guilt and regret, he said, “I shouldn’t have blamed you because the forest service rejected me as a candidate for the forestry fire department.”
Guilt flashed through her now. She didn’t deserve his apology when she’d had every intention of doing whatever was necessary to prevent him from joining. It didn’t matter that she actually hadn’t had to do anything at all.
If she believed him, Wyatt hadn’t done anything, either. He’d had nothing to do with the hiring process—just as he’d told her all along. And she believed him.
He didn’t lie. Maybe he wasn’t always as forthcoming with what he knew as she would like. But he didn’t lie.
Neither would she.
“I would have stopped you,” she told her brother. “If I could have…” Especially now as she stared at all the worried faces around them. She wasn’t the only one concerned for a loved one. There were so many others. Wives and families of the other Hotshots?
Many of the women looked like women like her. Women who would have a hard time handling their husband or significant other risking his life every day he did his job.
Matthew sighed. “Wyatt must have never intended to recommend me for a position on the Hotshot team anyway.”
“What position?” someone asked. She and Matthew turned toward the young man who’d approached them. The kid had curly dark hair and big brown eyes full of curiosity.
“Isn’t there a position opening up on the team?” Matthew asked the question. Fiona couldn’t have cared less; she cared only about finding out if Wyatt was okay.
If he was safe…
If he would be getting out of the fire soon…
The young man shook his head. “No, Cody Mallehan took the last one a year or so ago. There aren’t any current openings, and knowing how well this team works together, there won’t be any in the near future, either.”
Matthew’s jaw dropped open in shock. Maybe Fiona was getting hysterical, because a laugh slipped between her lips at his reaction.
“All of this and there wasn’t even an opening?” Or maybe he’d thought he could get on the team just because he wanted to. Then she laughed again because she’d thought the same thing.
She had been such a fool. She understood now why Wyatt had kept assuring her she had nothing to worry about. Without revealing too much, he’d been trying to let her know that there was no danger of Matthew making the team. Because there was no opening…
Even if the forest service had hired him as a firefighter, he wouldn’t have been able to join a Hotshot team for maybe years. Not that she wanted him to be a firefighter, either. That was nearly as dangerous as being a Hotshot.
“We’re a couple of idiots,” she told her brother.
He grimaced, his face a study in misery. He had really wanted this—so much that he had quit school. He hadn’t wanted the backup plan she’d suggested; he’d wanted only this.
Sympathy warmed her heart for him, and she squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“For calling me an idiot?” he asked, his lips curved into a faint, strained smile.
She shook her head. “For the rejection. I know you really wanted this.” She squeezed his arm again. “I’m sorry…”
He flinched as if her apology was a slap in the face. But he didn’t pull away from her. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder and gave her a half hug. It was more than she’d gotten out of him in years.
She blinked away the tears stinging her eyes and, as Wyatt always had, she teased. “Don’t worry. I’m the bigger idiot because I actually fell for Wyatt.” And the tears rushed back, choking her voice and filling her vision.
His other arm slid around her, and he pulled her fully into a hug. “I’m sorry, sis…”
She nodded, but she couldn’t speak. Not yet…
“I shouldn’t have brought you here,” Matthew said. “It’ll be too hard on you.”
She pulled back, her body tense. Too hard on her? Did he suspect she would hear only bad news here? Did he doubt Wyatt would make it out alive?
Because she was beginning to have those doubts herself…
“We can leave,” Matthew suggested. “We don’t have to stay here.”
But then a ripple went through the crowd—a gasp of horror. A silence followed it—broken only when someone asked, “Is it true?”
“What?” a man standing beside Superintendent Zimmer asked. He wore firefighting gear, too, but his wasn’t the bright yellow Braden and his team wore. But it was only Braden and this man in black and gray who actually looked like firefighters inside the tent.
The rest of the firefighters were out battling the fire. But those on the front lines were the Hotshots; they were the soldiers who stormed the beach. But maybe it was easier to dodge bullets than flames.
“A reporter outside just claimed that the fire shifted,” an older man said.
That was the ripple that had gone through the crowd, each person repeating the news to the next like the childhood game of telephone.
Braden stepped up to a podium at the front of the tent. His face tense and eyes dark, he confirmed, “The fire has shifted.”
“What does that mean?” Someone asked the question on Fiona’s lips. The woman was like her, her face white with fear. Tears streamed from her haunted eyes. “Is it heading toward the campsite?”
Braden hesitated for just a moment before nodding. “Unfortunately, yes.”
That woman screamed; another shrieked in terror.
And Fiona began to shake.
A man cleared his throat and asked, “What does this mean? Is there no hope for our kids?”
“Kids?” Fiona whispered.
And Matthew’s face paled, too. His arm tightened around her. But she wasn’t sure if he was offering her comfort or seeking it.
The curly-haired young man standing near them spoke again, softly, “A Boy Scout troop was camping in the middle of the national forest. The Hotshots were trying to cut a break between the campsite and the fire, to keep it away from them and get them out…”
The other man—in the gray and black—stepped up to the podium with Braden. “I’m the spokesperson for this information post,” he said. “Captain Cowell.”
The dad, who’d just spoken, spoke again, “We’ve gotten very little information so far.”
Apparently Braden agreed, because he shouldered aside the spokesperson and reached for the microphone. “I’ve been in contact with my team of Hotshots on the front line of the fire. They’re not just setting up the break. They’re doing a search and rescue, too.”
Someone sighed with relief.
But the others, like Fiona, saw the tension on the superintendent’s face.
“Something’s happened,” the dad said.
“The fire shifted,” Braden repeated what he’d said the first time he’d stepped to the mike.
“What does that mean?”
This time it was a different question. It wasn’t a request for a definition of a term but for more information.
Braden recognized it for what it was. “I had to call my team out,” he said.
“Why!” A woman shrieked the question.
Despite how Braden had taken over, the official spokesperson jumped to his defense. “He couldn’t risk the lives of all of his men. Some of them have families, too. Children of their own…”
It had been a tough call. Fiona could see that on Braden’s face. But he’d called out the team. They were coming back. They would be safe.
“What about our kids?” the dad asked again, his voice cracking with fear. Other parents held each other and sobbed.
Guilt and sympathy both filled Fiona. She clutched at her brother as the feelings overwhelmed her. She was grateful that Wyatt would be safe, but at what cost to these families?
Braden leaned toward the mike again. “One of my men refused to leave,” he said. “He refused to come back without at least trying to perform a rescue.” And finally he looked at Fiona, his gaze meeting hers across that crowded tent.
She knew which man had been insubordinate, which one would have willingly disregarded his own safety to save the lives of others.
“Has he found them?” the dad asked.
Braden shook his head. Then he cleared his throat and added, “We lost radio contact with him some time ago.”
A gasp rippled through the crowd. This time it emanated from Fiona. The pain stabbing her heart confirmed her greatest fear. Wyatt…
He was lost.
Braden met her gaze again and held it, speaking only to her in that tent full of people. “A couple other members of the team insisted on going back for him.”
Translation: they had been insubordinate, too. From the way they’d jumped to his defense during that bar fight, she could guess who: Dawson Hess and Cody Mallehan.
“They’ll find him and the kids…” Braden sounded as though he was just trying to convince himself now—that he hadn’t lost three men.
“Maybe there will be an opening after all,” that young man murmured before moving through the crowd.
Fiona shivered. And Matthew slid his arm around her, offering her comfort. “The kid’s wrong,” he assured her. “Wyatt will make it out.”