Surrender: A Bitter Creek Novel

by Joan Johnston

  Taylor was thrown for a loop. Now that she’d caught the tiger by the tail, she had no idea what to do with him. She had visions of Vick catching them together and tattling to Leah. Vick saw things in black and white. Rules were rules. Besides, Taylor was a lot more concerned about getting caught disobeying Leah than she was about disappointing one of “those awful Flynn boys.” After their mother had run off with one of their father’s cowhands, ten-year-old Leah had taken her place and raised her three much younger half sisters.

  Taylor let her eyes flash with disdain. “I wouldn’t date you if you were—”

  He laughed, a soft, teasing sound. “You’ve been wagging that tail of yours at me like some lost puppy for the past three weeks.” Then his eyes did something funny. Softened. And lightened. His callused thumb moved across her cheek in a tender caress. “I’ve always had a soft spot for strays.”

  She felt horrified at his characterization of her as someone who wandered through life without any particular purpose or destination, mostly because it was so close to the mark. But it was too late to escape. She’d already fallen headlong into those two deep, dangerous blue pools that remained focused intently on her.

  So Taylor went out with him.

  She convinced herself she wasn’t betraying her family. She endured without comment the censuring looks Leah gave her at the supper table when, inevitably, her older sister found out. She told Vick that she was merely on a mission to get Brian to fall for her so she could dump him. It would simply be one more trick played by one of King’s Brats on one of “those awful Flynn boys.” She almost believed it herself.

  Things hadn’t gone at all as she’d planned.

  Taylor wondered how Brian had known she needed closeness and comfort all those years ago. And how he’d known she needed it now. She was heartened by the thought that, although she was probably going to die in this cold, creepy place, at least she wasn’t going to die all alone.

  “Brian?”

  “What?”

  She lifted her head from his chest and pointed toward the spot where her light had been aimed. “There’s water streaming down that stone wall.”

  Brian took several steps, following the beam of light, and pressed his hand against the wall. “I’ll be damned.”

  Taylor followed him to the wall and drifted her fingers through the cool stream of water trickling down the stone. It collected in a six-inch-round pool at the bottom, then ran in a groove along the wall toward the back of the cave. “Do you suppose we can drink it?”

  “If the choice is between dying of thirst and drinking it, yeah, I think we can drink it.” A grin flashed, and he gave her a quick, hard hug before letting her go again. “I suddenly feel a lot better about being stuck in here. Maybe, while that potato cooks, we’d better take inventory and see just how bad off we are.”

  The good news was that the PG bag contained the two quart plastic bottles of water he’d retrieved from the cargo box. Once they were emptied, Taylor was sure Brian could figure out a way to refill them from the water streaming down the wall. The bad news was that most of the food—a three-day supply of dried and canned food and two more bottles of fresh water that had been in the cargo box—had never made it inside.

  At least they had a sleeping bag—big enough for one. That should make things interesting.

  Brian’s personal gear bag was a treasure trove of odds and ends. The items that seemed most useful to her included a flashlight with extra batteries, a T-shirt, baby wipes, ibuprofen, a brand-new bar of Irish Spring soap, a toothbrush and paste, and a first-aid kit.

  The pickings were slim where food was concerned: two Snickers bars and a McIntosh apple.

  When they searched Brian’s Kevlar pants pockets, they found another can of pork and beans and twelve packets of instant coffee.

  “Why so much coffee?” she asked.

  “When I’m running out of energy I dump a couple of packets in my mouth and swallow them down with water.”

  “Dry, unbrewed coffee? That sounds disgusting.”

  “Not when it’s three A.M. and the fire is winning and you need the caffeine to stay awake and fight it.”

  Taylor marveled, not for the first time, at the tremendous dedication of wildland firefighters. She knew for a fact they often worked forty-eight to seventy-two hour shifts without a break.

  “Here’s something we can use,” Brian said, holding up an unmarked plastic bottle filled with brown liquid.

  “What is it?”

  “My old friend Jack Daniel’s.”

  She arched a disbelieving brow. “I thought you smoke jumpers drank coffee on the line, not whiskey.”

  “It’s purely medicinal,” he said with a grin and a wink.

  She focused her attention back on his pants pocket. “Look what I found! A sweatshirt.”

  “I haven’t had a chance to wash that. It might stink.”

  She put it to her nose and inhaled. It did smell. Like wood smoke and sweat…and Brian. “I think I can tolerate it.”

  She immediately slipped it over her head and stuck her arms in the sleeves, pushing them up so they wouldn’t drape over her fingers.

  “Are you still cold?”

  “I’m always cold. Too skinny, I guess.”

  “Having just held your breasts and your butt in my hands, Tag, I’d say you’re pretty damn perfect.”

  Taylor was surprised, and surprisingly pleased, by the compliment. “Thanks, Brian.” As her face began to flush, she turned away for one last check through his trouser pockets, which were now empty. She felt the same way about Brian, except he was more than perfect, but she felt awkward about returning the compliment. That would suggest she’d kept an eye on him all these years. Which was true, of course, but she didn’t want him to know it.

  She’d seen the announcement of his wedding in the local paper, and another article when he’d divorced five years later. He’d been single for an entire year, but Taylor had resisted getting in touch with him outside of the work they did together fighting fires—her flying, him jumping. She’d heard high school romances stuck with you for a long time. All she knew was that she’d never felt with another man what she’d felt in those few months she’d spent with Brian Flynn in high school.

  Taylor had thought about it a lot and couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was she’d found in Brian’s arms. Peace. Joy. Which were strange words to use for a high school fling. She’d never really sat down to figure it out. She just knew how she’d felt when she was with Brian. Valued. Cherished.

  Her feelings for Brian had been as powerful as they were confusing. Respect. Adoration. And something else. Something she’d never named. She’d made a point not to say “I love you,” since she was supposedly only dating him with the intention of breaking up with him.

  Fear had kept her from getting in touch with him over the past year. Fear that he would laugh at the very idea. Fear that he would reject her. Fear that she’d imagined all those feelings she’d felt in high school, feelings she’d been unable to re-create with any man since.

  Taylor felt Brian’s hand on her shoulder and bit back a surprised gasp.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you. You were quiet so long, I wanted to be sure you’re okay.”

  She stood up, causing his hand to fall free, aware of his body heat. She noticed how, even though she was tall, her chin came only to his shoulder. Taylor caught a whiff of whatever piney aftershave he’d used that day. She realized she ought to make some explanation for her lengthy silence, but she couldn’t come up with anything.

  Instead she said, “I don’t have much to contribute to our store of food and supplies.” She reached into her back jeans pocket. “My phone.” She turned it on and said, “No service,” and threw it onto the pile. She fished into her front jeans pocket. “A granola bar. Squashed, but edible.” She p
atted her shirt pocket and came out with a package of Kleenex. She held it up so he could see. “That’s it.”

  He grimaced. “Pretty slim pickings. At least we have the parachute.”

  She watched a smile flash briefly before he added, “We already know it makes a pretty comfortable bed.”

  She felt her insides tighten and her nipples bud at the memory of how they’d used the nylon bedding, especially knowing that, with their lovemaking, some threshold had been crossed. The long silence between them had ended. It was up to her what she did with this opportunity. If she’d learned anything from this experience, it was that there were no guarantees in this life. Not even, it seemed, a guarantee of life itself.

  Taylor studied the sparse amount of food, then met Brian’s gaze. “How long can we survive on what we have here?”

  “Rule of three,” he said with surprising cheerfulness.

  “What’s that?”

  “Three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks without food. We’ll be hungry, but it’ll take us a while to starve.”

  Taylor eyed the two cans of pork and beans, the steak and potato, the apple, the two Snickers, the granola bar, and the packaged coffee. That was it. All the sustenance they had.

  Smoke jumpers usually lost weight fighting a fire, since they needed five to six thousand calories of energy each day and didn’t have time to stop and eat enough to sustain themselves. She probably didn’t eat more than twelve hundred.

  “What’s the minimum number of calories we can eat and survive long enough to be found?” she asked.

  Brian shrugged. For once, he didn’t seem to have the answer. “Whatever it is, we’ll need a lot less if we keep our activities to a minimum.”

  Despite Brian’s optimism, their odds of survival seemed slim. Taylor didn’t want to wander through life anymore. She was tired of being the meandering stray Brian had named her so many years ago. She decided to take the risk of asking for something that had seemed impossible as recently as yesterday. “If we’re going to die anyway,” she said, “I don’t see why we can’t enjoy the time we have left.”

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “That we use that sleeping bag for more than sleeping.”

  BRIAN WAS CAUGHT off-guard by Tag’s suggestion, and his body surged to life so quickly he felt like a randy, sex-starved teenager again. He wanted her. Badly. He fought back the impulse to do what his body was demanding. It was easy to see from the bleak look in Tag’s eyes, not to mention her offer of sex, that she didn’t believe they were going to get out of here. He wasn’t willing to admit defeat. Not yet.

  Which meant he had to say no.

  “Let’s not jump the gun.”

  She lifted her chin and said, “The offer is open. Whenever you’re in the mood.” She began untying the sleeping bag to make a bed for them. He knelt beside her to help, aware of her in a way he hadn’t been a mere twenty-four hours ago.

  He still couldn’t quite believe they’d made love. Had sex, he corrected. He reminded himself that, even though he’d been inside her, even though he’d heard those almost-forgotten gasps and moans as he came, their coupling had been more an act of desperation than anything else.

  And yet, he’d been forcefully reminded of the softness and fullness of her breasts, the tight, sucking wetness that surrounded him as he thrust inside her, the taste of her that he’d never forgotten, but couldn’t quite remember, either.

  Brian wished Tag hadn’t made her offer, because now all he could think about was what it might be like to make love when they were both naked and taking their time. He imagined capturing her mouth with his, tasting her, tangling her naked body with his own, while he stuck his nose in her long blond hair and smelled her flowery shampoo.

  Brian hadn’t let himself even think about sex in the year since his divorce, but the possibility of putting himself inside Tag again turned his body hard as stone. And made him chuckle. I sure ended my year of celibacy with a bang. Which turned his chuckle into a chortle. Followed by a snort and a snicker.

  Tag shot him a nervous look, but luckily, didn’t ask him what was so funny.

  He grabbed the flashlight and said, “I’m going to check out the back of the cave.”

  He beat a hasty retreat before he did something he would regret. He didn’t want Tag thinking all hope was lost. He was pretty sure she would draw that conclusion if he didn’t keep his wits about him and resist temptation.

  He hadn’t been in a big hurry to examine the rest of the cave because he was pretty sure what he was going to find: no way out. The knot of fear in his stomach tightened. He didn’t see how they were going to survive this disaster, but he had to be strong for Tag. The longer he could keep her from realizing the truth, the better.

  The truth was they were probably going to die in here.

  Brian figured if he had to spend the last few days of his life with someone, Tag wasn’t a bad choice. At seventeen, he’d fallen hard for her. In those days, she’d had a smile that lit up his day, stunning blue eyes that sparkled with mischief, and a body that begged to be touched.

  He hadn’t seen much of her over the past few years, except when she was flying a plane from which he was smoke jumping. He’d noticed the smile wasn’t present anymore, and the mischief in her eyes had been replaced by caution, but her body still implored a man to touch. Brian didn’t understand why one of the dozens of guys she’d dated hadn’t grabbed her up. Or maybe she was the one who’d rejected them.

  As she’d rejected him.

  They’d dated long enough in high school for Brian to discover that Tag had a lot of hang-ups about a lot of stuff, not the least of which was the fact that she had no mother and a mostly absent father. Her father had stayed away in Cheyenne for eight years, serving two terms as Wyoming governor, and sent Tag to boarding school in Switzerland for middle school.

  Brian wasn’t sure why he’d taken the chance of hooking up with a Grayhawk, even someone as enticing as Tag, when their fathers were constantly looking for ways to cut each other’s throats. But he’d been at an age when he rebelled against just about everything, and dating Tag had been one more way to defy his father and irk his three brothers.

  He’d quickly discovered that he and “that Grayhawk girl” had a lot in common. He had no mother, either. She’d died birthing his youngest brother, Devon. And his father was also absent, even though he never left home, if that made sense. Angus Flynn ruled the roost from his study, where he manipulated everyone and everything around him from sunrise till late into the night.

  Maybe the feud between their fathers was so bitter because, a long time ago, Angus Flynn and King Grayhawk had been best friends. In fact, Angus’s sister, Jane, had been King’s first wife. Unfortunately, after King divorced Aunt Jane, she’d retreated to the Flynn family ranch, gotten hooked on barbiturates, and died of an overdose. Brian would never forget the anguished cry that had echoed through the house when Angus discovered his sister’s dead body. His father blamed King for Aunt Jane’s death and had been exacting revenge, in large ways and small, ever since.

  Brian wondered how his relationship with Tag might have turned out if Aiden hadn’t caught them naked together after the junior prom. Although Aiden’s appearance had interrupted their lovemaking, horribly embarrassing the two of them, his older brother hadn’t confronted Brian immediately. He’d merely walked away, not saying a word until Brian came home that night.

  Then he’d let him have it.

  “One of King’s Brats?” he’d ranted. “Are you crazy, Brian? Or just plain stupid?”

  “I like her.”

  “She’s just using you.”

  Brian had never considered the possibility. The sex between them was something he’d never imagined. It was good. No, great. Holding Tag afterward, while they talked and laughed together, was the best par
t of all. He wasn’t about to give that up. He shot back, “If she is using me, it’s my problem, not yours.”

  “End it. Now. Or I’ll tell Dad.”

  Brian had opened his mouth to say he wasn’t afraid of his father and shut it again. Angus would have ten fits if he found out what Brian was doing. What Brian didn’t understand was Aiden’s interest in his love life. “Why are you threatening me, Aiden? Why should it matter to you what I do?”

  “I don’t want you hurt.”

  Brian frowned. “Hurt?” It was an odd thing to say. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Aiden’s eyes suddenly became shuttered. “Just drop her, Brian. Or you’ll be sorry.”

  Brian had decided to keep on dating Tag, despite Aiden’s warning. It was Tag who’d opted out of the relationship. He’d been shocked and unbearably hurt, the kind of hurt where your heart actually aches inside your chest, when she’d sent him a brief note to tell him she was breaking up with him. She hadn’t even had the decency to tell him to his face. She hadn’t given a reason why she was walking away, and he’d been too wounded to ask. After what Aiden had said, he’d nursed his broken heart—and his bruised pride—in private.

  Maybe, over the next few days—or sometime before they succumbed to starvation—he’d finally get an answer for what had happened all those years ago. It was too bad they had plenty of water. Starving to death would take a lot longer—two or three weeks, maybe—than dying of thirst. He honestly wasn’t sure how long it would take, with the supplies they had on hand, to starve.

  “Brian?”

  Brian wondered how long he’d been standing, staring at a back wall that ended abruptly, silently contemplating their curtailed futures. He turned so his voice would carry and said, “What?”

  “Should I come back there?”

  “No. I’ll come to you.”

  When he returned from the back of the cave, he flashed the light on her face. He watched her try to smile. And fail.