Chasing Fire

21

Rowan dawdled. She lingered in the shower, took her time selecting shorts and a top as if it mattered. She even put in a few minutes with makeup, pleased when the dawdling transformed her into a girl.

Time enough, she decided, and went to hunt for Gull.

When she stepped out of her quarters, Matt stepped out of his.

“Wow.” She gave him and his dark suit and tie a lusty eyebrow wiggle. “And I thought I looked good.”

“You do.”

“What, do you have a hot date? Going to a wedding, a funer—” She broke off, mentally slapped herself. “Oh, God, Matt, I forgot. I wasn’t thinking. You’re going to Dolly’s funeral.”

“I thought I should, since we’re off the fire.”

“You’re not going by yourself? I’d go with you, but I’ve got to be the last person the Brakemans want to see today.”

“It’s okay. I’m just... I feel like I have to, to represent Jim, you know? I don’t want to, but... the baby.” He shoved at his floppy, sun-bleached hair with his fingers. “I almost wish we were still out on the fire, so I couldn’t go.”

“Get somebody to go with you. Janis packed out with us, or Cards would go if he’s up to it. Or—”

“L.B.’s going.” Matt stuck his hands in his pockets, pulled them out again to tap his fingers on his thigh. It reminded her painfully of Jim. “And Marg and Lynn.”

“Okay then.” She walked over, fussed with his tie though it didn’t need it. “You’re doing the right thing by your family by going. If you want to talk later, or just hang out, I’ll be around.”

“Thanks.” He put a hand over hers until she met his eyes. “Thanks, Rowan. I know she caused you a lot of trouble.”

“It doesn’t matter. Matt, it really doesn’t. It’s a hard day for a lot of people. That’s what matters.”

He gave her hand one hard squeeze. “I’d better get going.”

She changed direction when he left, headed to the lounge. Cards sprawled on the sofa watching one of the soaps on TV.

“This girl’s telling this guy she’s knocked up, even though she’s not, because he’s in love with her sister but banged her—the one who’s not knocked up—when she put something in his drink when she went over to his place to tell him the sister was cheating on him, which she wasn’t.”

He slugged down some Gatorade. “Women suck.”

“Hey.”

“Fact is fact,” he said grimly. “So I’m riveted. I could get hooked on this stuff taking my afternoon, medically ordered lie-down. I get to malinger for another day while I get pretty again.”

She sat, studied the bandage over his cheek. “I don’t know. The hole in your face added interest, and it would’ve distracted from the fact your eyes are too close together.”

“I have the eyes of an angel. And a hawk. An angel hawk.”

“Matt’s leaving to go to Dolly’s funeral.”

“Yeah, I know. He’s wearing Yangtree’s tie.”

“We should get a couple more of the guys to go with him. Libby’s still on mop-up, but Janis packed out.”

“Let it be, Ro. You can’t fix every damn thing.”

He hissed through his teeth when she said nothing. “Look, L.B.’s going to stand for the base, and Marg and Lynn, because they worked with her. Matt, well, he’s like kin now with Jim’s baby and all. But L.B. and I talked about it. The way things ended up here with Dolly, it’s probably best to keep it to a minimum. Probably be easier on Dolly’s mom.”

“Probably,” she agreed, but frowned as she studied him. She knew that face, with or without the hole, and those big camel eyes. “What’s up?”

“Nothing except your interrupting my soap opera. Orchid’s going to get hers when Payton finds out she’s been playing him for a sap.”

She knew a brood when she was sitting next to one. “You’re sulking.”

“I’ve got a frigging hole in my face and I’m watching soap operas, then you come along and start carping about dead Dolly and funerals.” He shot her a single hot look. “Go find somebody else to rag on.”

“Fine.”

She shoved up.

“Women suck,” he repeated with a baffled bitterness that had her easing down again. “We’re better off without them.”

She opted not to remind him she happened to be a woman. “Altogether, or one in particular?”

“You know the one I hooked up with last winter.”

Since he’d mentioned her about a hundred times, shown off her picture, Rowan had a pretty good idea. “Vicki, sure.”

“She was coming out in a couple weeks, with the kids. I was getting a few days off to show her around. The kids were all juiced up to see the base.”

Were, Rowan thought. “What happened?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know. She changed her mind, that’s all. She doesn’t think it’s a good idea—I’ve got my life, she’s got hers. She dumped me; that’s it. She won’t even tell me why, exactly, just how she has to think of the kids, how she needs a stable, honest relationship and all that shit.”

He turned, aiming those angry, baffled eyes at Rowan. “I never lied to her, that’s the thing. I told her how it was, and she said she was okay with it. Even that she was proud of what I did. Now she’s done, just like that. Pissed off, too. And... she cried. What the hell did I do?”

“I guess... the theory of being attached to somebody who does what we do is different from the reality. It’s hard.”

“So I’m supposed to give it up? Do something else? Be something else? That’s not right.”

“No, it’s not right.”

“I was going to ask her to marry me when she came out.”

“Hell. I’m sorry.”

“She won’t even talk to me now. I keep leaving messages, and she won’t answer. She won’t let me talk to the kids. I’m crazy about those kids.”

“Write her a letter.”

“Do what?”

“Nobody writes letters anymore. Write her a letter. Tell her how you feel. Lay it all out.”

“Shit, I’m not good at that.”

“And that’ll make it even better. If you’re hung up enough to want to marry her, you can write a damn letter.”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Hell.”

“Women suck.”

“Tell me about it. Write a letter,” he repeated, brooded into his Gatorade. “Maybe. Talk about something else. If I keep talking about her, I’m going to try to call her again. It’s humiliating.”

“How about those Cubs?”

He snorted. “I need more than baseball to get my mind off heartbreak, especially since the Cubbies suck more than women this year. We’ve got murder, and fire starters. I heard there was another one, another body. And whoever did it started the fire. The cops better catch this bastard before he burns half of western Montana. We can all use the fat wallet, but nobody wants to earn it that way.”

“He got a good chunk of Idaho, too. It’s scary,” she said because they were alone. “We know fire wants to kill us when we’re going there. We know nature couldn’t give a damn either way. But going in, knowing there’s somebody out there killing people and lighting it up who maybe wants to see some of us burn. Maybe doesn’t give a shit either way. That’s scary. It’s scary not knowing if he’s done, or if the next time the siren sounds, it’s because of him.”

She looked over as Gull came in. “What did the cops say?” she demanded.

“It’s not official, but it’s a pretty good bet what we found out there is what’s left of Reverend Latterly.”

Cards bolted up. “The priest?”

“Loosely.” Gull dropped down in a chair. “They found his car out there, and nobody can find him. So, either we did, or he’s taken off. They’re going to be talking to Brakeman after the funeral.”

“They think he killed him and burned him up?” Cards said. “But... wouldn’t that mean... or do they think he killed Dolly and—Her own father? Come on.”

“I don’t know what they think.”

“What do you think?” Rowan asked him.

“I’m still working on it. So far I think we’ve got somebody who’s seriously pissed off, and likes fire. I’ve got to clean up.”

Rowan followed him into his quarters. “Why do you say ‘likes fire’? Using it’s not the same as liking it.”

“I guess since you’re dressed—and you look good, by the way—you’re not going to wash my back.”

“No. Why do you say ‘likes fire’?”

Gull pulled off his shirt. “I increased my passing acquaintance with arson after Dolly.”

“Yeah, you study. It’s a thing with you.”

“I like to learn. Anyway,” he continued, dragging off his boots. “Arsonists usually fall into camps. There’s your for-profit—somebody burning property to collect insurance, say, or the torch who lights them up for a fee. That’s not this.”

“You’ve got the torching to cover up another crime. I have a passing acquaintance, too,” she reminded him as he took off his pants. “Murder’s sure as hell another crime.”

“Maybe that’s what it was with Dolly.” Naked, he walked into the bathroom, turned on the shower. “The accident or on purpose, the panic, the cover-up. But this, coming on top of it, when the first didn’t really work?”

He stepped under the spray, let out a long, relieved groan. “All hail the god of water.”

“Maybe it was a copycat. Somebody wanted to kill Latterly. Brakeman had motive, so did Latterly’s wife if she found out about him and Dolly. One of his congregation who felt outraged and betrayed. And they mirrored Dolly because of the connection. It’s the same motive.”

“Could be.”

She whipped back the shower curtain. “It makes the most sense.”

“In or out, Blondie.” He skimmed those feline eyes down her body. “I’d rather in.”

She whipped the curtain back closed. “The third type doesn’t play out, Gull. The firebug who gets off starting fires, watching them burn. It doesn’t play because of the murders.”

“Maybe he’s getting a twofer.”

“It’s bad enough if it’s to cover the murders. That’s plenty bad enough. What you’re thinking’s worse.”

“I know it. If the vibe I got from the cops is right, it’s something they’re thinking about, too.”

She leaned her hands on the sink, stared at her own reflection. “I don’t want it to be somebody I know.”

“You don’t know everybody, Ro.”

No, she didn’t know everybody, and was suddenly, desperately grateful she knew only a few people who connected with Dolly and Latterly.

But... what if it was one of those few?

“Dolly’s funeral. Where can they have it?” she wondered. “They couldn’t have planned on Mrs. Brakeman’s church, even before this happened.”

“Marg said they’re having the service in the funeral parlor. They don’t expect much of a crowd.”

“God.” She shut her eyes. “I hated her like a hemorrhoid, but that’s just depressing.”

He shut off the water, pulled back the curtain. “You know what you need?” He reached for a towel.

“What do I need? Gee, let me guess.”

“Gutter brain. You need a drive with the top down and an icecream cone.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, you do. We’re third load on the jump list, so we can cruise into town, find ourselves an ice-cream parlor.”

“I happen to know where one is.”

“Perfect. And you look nice. I should take my girl out for ice cream.”

“Cut that out, Gull.”

“Uh-uh.” He wrapped the towel around his waist and, still dripping, grabbed her in for a kiss.

“You’re getting me wet!”

“Sex, sex, sex. Fine, if that’s what you want.”

He managed to chase the blues away, make her laugh as she shoved him back. “I want ice cream.” Since he’d already dampened her shirt, she grabbed his face, kissed him again. “First. Get dressed, big spender. I’ll go check with Ops, make sure we’re clear for a few hours.”

Photographs of Dolly Brakeman, from birth to death, were grouped together in a smiling display. Pink roses softened with sprigs of baby’s breath flanked them. The coffin, closed, bore a blanket of girlish pink and white mums over polished gloss.

As she’d helped Irene by ordering her choice of flowers, Ella sent pink and white lilies. She noted a couple other floral offerings, and even such a sparse tribute overpowered the tiny room with scent.

Irene, pale and stark-eyed in unrelieved black, sat on the somber burgundy sofa with her sister, a woman Ella knew a little who’d come in from Billings with her husband. The man sat, stiff and grim, on a twin sofa across the narrow room with Leo.

Sacred music played softly through the speakers. No one spoke.

In her life, Ella thought, she’d never seen such a sad testament to a short life, violently ended.

Ella crossed the room, took her friend’s limp hands. “Irene.”

“The flowers look nice.”

“They do.”

“I appreciate you taking care of that for me, Ella.”

“It was no trouble at all.”

Irene’s sister nodded at Ella, then rose to sit with her husband. “The photographs are lovely. You made good choices.”

“Dolly always liked having her picture taken. Even as a baby,” she said as Ella sat down beside her, “she’d look right at the camera. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to bury my girl.”

Saying nothing—what was there to say?—Ella put her arms around Irene.

“I’ve got pictures. All I’ve got’s a lot of pictures. That one there, of Dolly and the baby, is the last one I have. My sister Carrie’s bringing the baby soon. She’s been a help to me, coming up from Billings. She’s bringing Shiloh. I know Shiloh won’t understand or remember, but I thought she should be here.”

“Of course. You know you can call me, anytime, for anything.”

“I don’t know what to do, with her things, with her clothes.”

“I’ll help you with that when you’re ready. There’s Reverend Meece now.”

Irene’s hand clutched at Ella’s. “I don’t know him. It’s good you asked him to come do the service, but—”

“He’s kind, Irene. He’ll be kind to Dolly.”

“Leo didn’t want any preacher. Not after what...” Her eyes welled again. “I can’t think about that now. I’ll go crazy if I think about that now.”

“Don’t. Remember the pretty girl in the photographs. Let me bring Reverend Meece over. I think he’ll be a comfort to you. I promise.”

Though she wasn’t much of a churchgoer, Ella liked Meece, his gentle ways. Irene needed gentle now.

“Thank you so much for doing this, Robert.”

“No need for thanks. It’s a hard day,” he said, looking at the coffin. “The kind of day that shakes a mother’s faith. I hope I can help her.”

As she led him to Irene, she saw a trio of staff from the school come in. Thank God, she thought. Someone came. Leaving Irene with Meece, she went over to take on greeter duties as Irene’s older sister seemed unwilling or unable to shoulder the task.

She excused herself when Irene’s younger sister arrived with the baby, her husband and her two children. “Carrie, would you like me to take the baby? I think Irene could use you.”

As people formed their groups, quiet conversations began, Ella cuddled the chubby, bright-eyed orphan.

And Leo surged to his feet. “You’ve got no business here. You’ve got no right to be here.”

The outraged tone had Shiloh’s lip quivering with a whimper. Ella murmured reassurance as she turned, saw the small contingent from the base.

“After what you did? The way you treated my girl? You get out. You get the hell out!”

“Leo.” Across the room, Irene sank back into the sofa. “Stop. Stop.” Covering her face with her hands, she burst into harsh sobs.

Ignoring Leo, Marg marched straight to Irene, sat to embrace the woman, to let Irene cry on her shoulder.

“Mr. Brakeman.” Irene watched a ruddy-faced, towheaded young man step forward—his jaw as clenched as Leo’s fists. “That baby there is my blood as much as yours, and Dolly was her ma. Wasn’t a year ago I buried my brother. We both lost something, and Shiloh’s what we’ve got left. We’ve come to pay Shiloh’s ma our respects.”

The livid color in Leo’s cheeks only deepened. For one horrible moment, Ella imagined the worst. Fists, blood, chaos. Then Lieutenant Quinniock and a woman stepped in, and fear flickered briefly in Leo’s eyes.

“Stay away from me,” he told the young man. Matt, Ella realized. Matt Brayner.

“That’s your uncle,” Ella whispered. “That’s Uncle Matt. It’s okay now.”

Leo turned his back, moved as far away as the narrow confines of the room allowed, folded his arms over his chest.

Ella stepped to Matt. “Would you hold her? I’d like to take Irene out for a minute or two, get her some fresh air.”

“I’d be pleased.” Matt’s eyes watered up when the baby reached a chubby hand to his face.

“She favors Jim a little.” Lynn spoke quietly. “Don’t you think, Matt? She favors Jim?”

Matt’s throat worked as he nodded, as he bent his head to press his cheek to Shiloh’s.

“Come on with us, Irene.” With Marg’s help, Ella got Irene to her feet. “Come on with us for a bit.”

As they led the sobbing woman out, Ella heard Meece’s gentle voice coat over the ugly tension in the room.

Rowan licked her strawberry swirl, enjoying the buzz of pedestrian and street traffic as she strolled with Gull.

“That’s not really ice cream,” she told him.

“Maple walnut is not only really ice cream, it’s macho ice cream.”

“Maple’s for syrup. It’s like a condiment. It’s like mustard. Would you eat mustard ice cream?”

“I’m open to all flavors, even your girlie strawberry parfait.”

“This is refreshing.” As the drive had been, she thought. A long, aimless drive on winding roads, and now a slow, purposeless stroll along the green shade of boulevard trees toward one of the city’s parks.

With two of the four-hour breaks ahead of them, she could let go, relax. Unless the phones in their pockets signaled a call back to base.

For now she’d just appreciate the respite, the ice cream, the company and the blissful rarity of a free summer afternoon.

“I’ll ignore your syrup ice cream because you had a really good idea. Twenty-four hours ago, we’re in the belly of the beast, and here we are poking along like a couple of tourists.”

“One makes the other all the more worthwhile.”

“You know what, if we’re not catching fire, we should complete our tequila shot competition tonight. We can pick up a bottle of the good stuff before we head back.”

“You just want to get me drunk and take advantage of me.”

“I don’t have to get you drunk for that.”

“Suddenly I feel cheap and easy. I like it.”

“Maybe we can get Cards into it. He could use the distraction.”

She’d told Gull the situation on the drive in. “The letter’s a good idea. He should follow through.”

“Maybe you could help him.”

“Me?”

“You’ve got good words.”

“I don’t think Cards wants me playing Cyrano for his Roxanne.”

“See?” She drilled a finger into his arm, and put on a bumpkin accent. “You got all that there book-larning.”

“Rowan?”

She glanced over at the sound of her name. Feeling awkward, mildly annoyed and uncertain what came next, Rowan lowered her ice cream. “Ah, yeah. Hi.”

Ella stayed seated on the bench. “It’s nice to see you. I heard you got back this morning.” Ella mustered up a smile for Gull. “I’m Ella Frazier, a friend of Rowan’s father.”

“Gulliver Curry.” He stepped over, offered his free hand. “How’re you doing?”

“Honestly? Not very well. I’ve just come from Dolly’s funeral, which was as bad as you can imagine. I wanted to walk it off, then I thought I could sit it off. It’s so pretty here. But it’s not working.”

“Why were you... Mrs. Brakeman works at your school,” Rowan remembered.

“Yes. We’ve gotten to be friends the last year or so.”

“How is she... It’s stupid to ask how she’s doing, if she’s okay. She couldn’t be okay.”

“She’s not, and I think it may be worse yet. The police were there, too, and took Leo in for questioning after the service. Irene’s in the middle of a nightmare. It’s hard to watch a friend going through all this, knowing there’s little to nothing you can do to help. And I’m sorry.” She caught herself, shook her head. “Here you are on what I’m sure is very rare and precious free time, and I’m full of gloom.”

“You need ice cream,” Gull decided. “What flavor?”

“Oh, no, I—”

“Ice cream,” he repeated, “is guaranteed to cut the gloom. What would you like?”

“You might as well pick something,” Rowan told her. “He’ll just keep at you otherwise.”

“Mint chocolate chip. Thank you.”

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

Only more awkward now, Rowan thought as Gull jogged back in the direction of the ice-cream parlor. “I guess you saw the group from the base.”

“Yes. Leo started to cause a scene, which might have escalated. But between Matt, then the police coming in, it died off into awful tension, resentment, grief, smothered rage. And, enough.” She closed her eyes. “Just enough of all that. Will you sit? You know your delightful man took off not only to get me ice cream but to give us a few minutes on our own.”

“Probably. He likes to put things in motion.”

“He’s gorgeous, and strikes me as tough and sweet. That’s an appealing blend in a man.” Ella angled on the bench, putting them face-to-face. “You’re uncomfortable with me, with my relationship with your father.”

“I don’t know you.”

“No, you don’t. I feel like I know you, at least a little, because Lucas talks about you all the time. He loves you so much, is so proud of you. You have to know there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you.”

“It’s mutual.”

“I know it. Just as I know if you made it a choice between you and me, I wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“I’m not going to—”

“Just let me finish, because you don’t know me and, at this point, don’t particularly like me. Why should you? But since we have this opportunity I’m going to tell you your father is the most wonderful, the most endearing, the most exciting man I’ve ever known. I made the first move, he was so shy. Oh, God.” She pressed a hand to her heart, her face lighting up in the dappled sunlight. “I’d hoped we’d get to know each other, date, enjoy each other’s company. And we did. What I never expected was I’d fall in love with him.”

Battling a dozen conflicting emotions, Rowan stared at her melting ice cream.

“You’re so young. And I know you don’t think you are. But you’re so young, and it has to be impossible to understand how someone my age can fall just as hard, as deep and terrifyingly as someone yours. But I have, and I know where the power is, Rowan. I hope you’ll give me a chance.”

“He’s never... He hasn’t been involved with anyone since my mother.”

“I know. That makes me very, very lucky. Here comes Gull. From where I’m sitting, we’re both very lucky.”

Gull skimmed his gaze over Rowan’s face before shifting to Ella. “Here you go.”

“That was quick.”

“We call him Fast Feet.” Not sure what to think, Rowan attacked the drips running down her cone.

“Thank you.” After the first taste, Ella smiled, tasted again. “You were right, this cuts the gloom. Take my seat,” she said as she got up. “I think I can walk this off now. It was nice to talk to you, Rowan.”

“Yeah. You too.” Sort of, Rowan thought, as Ella walked away.

Gull sat, looked after her. “She’s hot.”

“Jesus Christ. She’s old enough to be your mother.”

“My aunt’s also hot. A guy doesn’t have to want to sleep with a woman to acknowledge the hotness.”

“She said she’s in love with my father. What am I supposed to say to that? Do about that? Feel about that?”

“Maybe that she has good taste in men.” He patted her thigh. “You’ve got to let these crazy kids work these things out on their own. Anyway, my first—if brief—impression. I liked her.”

“Because she’s hot.”

“Hot is a separate issue. She was sitting here grieving for a friend’s loss, worried for that friend and what she might still have to face. Empathy and compassion. She’s pissed off at Leo Brakeman, which shows good sense and a lack of hypocrisy. She told you how she felt about your father, when it’s pretty clear you’re not too crazy about the whole matchup. That took guts, and honesty.”

“Maybe you could be her campaign manager.” Rowan sat back. “She dropped it in my court, and that was smart. I have the power. So you can add smart to her list of virtues.”

“Would you rather see your dad with somebody dumb, selfish, coldhearted and hypocritical?”

“You’re no dummy, either. Hell, let’s buy two bottles of tequila. I could use a good drunk tonight.”

“Who says I’m a good drunk?”

Rowan checked in on Matt when they got back to base, and found him sitting on the side of his bed tying his running shoes.

“I heard it was pretty bad.”

“It was, but it could’ve been worse. Why he wants to blame me and L.B. and, jeez, Marg and Lynn for Dolly getting fired? She brought that on herself.”

Good, she thought, he was pissed off, not broody. “Because people suck and generally want anything crappy to be somebody else’s fault.”

“At the damn funeral? He starts yelling and threatening us at his daughter’s funeral?”

“At my mother’s funeral, her parents wouldn’t even speak to me. They wouldn’t speak to me really loud.”

“You’re right. People suck.”

“We’re going to have a tequila shooter contest in the lounge later. You’re on third load, too. I’ll float your entry fee.”

That got a smile. “You know I can’t compete with you there. I’m going for a run. It’s cooled off a little.” He fixed on his cap. “I got to see the baby anyway, and even held her a few minutes. I’m thinking my parents ought to talk to a lawyer, about custody or rights and all that.”

“That’s a tough call, Matt.”

He gave the bill of his cap a quick jerk into place as he frowned at Rowan. “She’s their blood, too. I don’t want to screw with Mrs. Brakeman. I think she’s a good person. But if that dickhead she’s married to goes to jail, how is she supposed to take care of Shiloh all alone? How’s she supposed to pay for all the stuff Shiloh needs on her salary cooking in the school cafeteria?”

“It’s a hard situation, and, well, I know you already gave Dolly money for the baby.”

Those faded blue eyes flattened out. “It’s my money, and my blood.”

“I know that. It was good of you to want to help with Shiloh’s expenses, to stand in for Jim that way.”

He relaxed a little. “It was the right thing to do.”

“And it’s not always easy to do the right thing in a hard situation. I guess I’d worry bringing lawyers in might murk it up even more. At least right now.”

“It doesn’t hurt to talk. Everybody should do whatever’s best for the baby, right?”

“They should. I... I’m probably the wrong person to ask about something like this. Maybe, I don’t know, Matt, if your mother came out... if she and Mrs. Brakeman talked about everything, they could work out what’s best, what’s right.”

“Maybe. She looks like a Brayner, you know? The baby? Even Lynn said so. I’ve got to think about it.”

She supposed they did, Rowan decided when he headed out for his run. Matt, his family, the Brakemans, they’d all have to think about it. But she knew what it was to be the child everybody was thinking about.

It wasn’t an easy place to be.

22

Rowan watched Dobie painfully swallow shot number ten. His eyes had gone glassy on eight, and now his cheeks took on a faint, sickly green hue.

“That’s twenty.”

“Count’s ten, Dobie,” Cards, official scorekeeper, told him.

“I’m seeing double, so it’s twenty.” Laughing like a loon, he nearly tipped out of his chair.

Janis, official pourer, filled shot number eleven for Yangtree. “Experience,” he said, and knocked it back smooth. “That’s the key.”

Rowan smirked, licked salt off the back of her hand, then drank hers down. “I’d like to thank the soon-to-be loser for springing for the prime.”

“You’re welcome.” Gull polished off eleven.

“I got another in me.” Stovic lifted his glass, proved he did—before he slid bonelessly to the floor.

“And he’s out.” Cards crossed Stovic off the board.

“I am not out.” From the floor, Stovic waved a hand. “I’m fully conscious.”

“You leave your chair without calling for a piss break, you’re out.”

“Who left the chair?”

“Come on, Chainsaw.” Gibbons got his hands under Stovic’s arms and dragged him out from under the table.

Dobie made it to thirteen before surrendering. “It’s this foreign liquor, that’s what it is. Oughta be homegrown bourbon.” He got down, crawled on his hands and knees and lay down next to a snoring Stovic.

“Rookies.” Yangtree got number fourteen down, then laid his head on the table and moaned, “Mommy.”

“Did you mean uncle?” Cards demanded, and Yangtree managed to shoot up his middle finger.

Rowan and Gull went head-to-head until Janis split the last shot between them. “That’s all there is, there ain’t no more.”

“Shoulda bought three bottles.” Rowan closed one eye to focus and click her glass to Gull’s. “On three?”

Those still conscious in the room counted off, then cheered when the last drops went down.

“And that’s a draw,” Cards announced.

“I’m proud to know you.” Janis dropped a hand on each shoulder. “And wish you the best of luck with tomorrow’s hangover.”

“Gull doesn’t get ’em.”

He smiled, a little stupidly, into Rowan’s eyes. “This might be the exception. Let’s go have lotsa drunk sex before it hits.”

“’Kay. Drunk sex for everybody!” She waved her hands and smacked a barely awake Yangtree in the face. “Oops.”

“No, I needed that. Everybody still alive?”

“Can’t make that much noise dead.” Rowan gestured to snoring-in-stereo Stovic and Dobie as she swayed to her feet. “Follow me, stud.”

“I’m with the blonde.” Gull staggered after her.

“We can do this.” She fumbled at his shirt when he booted the door shut on the third try. “Soon as the room stops spinning around.”

“Pretend we’re doing it on a merry-go-round.”

“Naked at the carnival.” On a wild laugh she defeated his shirt, but started to teeter. When he grabbed for her, she took them both onto the floor, hard.

“I think that hurt, but it’s better down here, ’cause of the gravity.”

“Okay.” He shifted off her to struggle with her clothes. “We should do naked tequila shots. Then we wouldn’t have to take them off after.”

“Now you think of it. Alley-oop!” She held up her arms to help him strip off her shirt. “Gimme, gimme.” She locked her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck, then latched her mouth onto his.

The heat burned through the tequila haze, fired in the senses. The world rolled and turned, yet she remained constant, chained around him. Caged, he met the desperate demand of her mouth, rocking center to center until he thought he’d go mad.

The chains broke. She rolled on top of him, biting, grasping, lapping, then rolled off again.

“Get naked,” she ordered. “Beat ya.”

They tugged at shoes, clothes in a panting race. With clothes still landing in heaps, they dived at each other. Wrestling now, skin damp and slick, they rolled over the floor. Knees and elbows banged, and still her laughter rang out. The moonlight turned her dewed skin to silver, glowing and precious, irresistible.

Breathless with pleasure, crazed with a whirling, spinning need, she threw her head back when he plunged into her.

“Take me like you mean it.”

And he did, God, he did, filling her up, wringing her out while she pushed for more. Catching fire, she thought, leaping into the heart of the blaze. She rode the heat until it simply consumed her.

“Merry-go-round,” she murmured. “Still turning. Stay right here.” This time she drew him close before they slept.

Another fire woke her, the fire that killed, that hunted and destroyed. It growled behind her, pawing at the ground as she ran. She flew through the black, yet still it came, stalking her to the graveyard where the dead lay unburied on the ground. Waiting for her.

Jim’s eyes rolled up in the sockets of the charred skull. “Killed me dead.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Plenty of that going around. Plenty of dragon fever. It’s not finished. More to come. Fire can’t burn it away. But it can sure try.”

From behind her, it breathed, and its breath ignited her like kindling.

“Hey, hey.” Gull pulled her to sitting, shaking her by the shoulders on the way. “Snap out of it.”

She shoved at him, gulping for air, but he tightened his grip. He couldn’t see her clearly, but he could feel her, hear her. The shakes and tremors, the cold sweat, the whistle of air as she fought for breath.

“You had a nightmare.” He spoke more calmly now. “A bad one. It’s done.”

“Can’t breathe.”

“You can. You are, just too fast. You’re going to hyperventilate if you keep it up. Slow it down, Rowan.”

Even as she shook her head, he started rubbing her shoulders, moving up her neck where the muscles strained stiff as wire. “It’s a panic attack. You know that in your head. Let the rest of you catch up. Slow it down.”

He saw her eyes now as his own vision adjusted, wide as planets. She pressed a hand to her chest where he imagined the pressure crushed like an anvil. “Breathe out, long breath out. Long out, slow in. That’s the way. Let go of it. Do it again, smooth it out. You’re okay. Keep it up, in and out. I’m going to get you some water.”

He let her go to roll to her cooler, grab a bottle.

“Don’t guzzle,” he warned her. “We’re in slow mode.” When she gulped the first swallow, he tipped the bottle down. “Easy.”

“Okay.” She took another, slower sip. She stopped, went back to breathing, with more control, less trembling. “Wow.”

He touched her face, leaned in to rest his brow on hers. The shudder he’d held back rocked through him.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

“That makes two of us. I didn’t scream, did I?” She glanced toward the door as she asked.

Trust her, Gull thought, to worry about embarrassing herself with the rest of the crew. “No. It was like you were trying to and couldn’t get it out.”

“I was on fire. I swear I could feel my skin burning, smell my hair going up. Pretty damn awful.”

“How often do you have them?” Now that the crisis had passed, he could coddle her a little—a comfort to himself, too. So he touched his lips to her forehead as he shifted to rub her back and shoulders.

“I never used to have them. Or just the usual monster-in-the-closet deal once in a while when I was a kid. But I started having them after Jim. Replaying the jump, then how we found him. They eased off over the winter, but started coming back at the start of the season. And they’re getting worse.”

“You found another fire victim, someone else you knew. That would kick it up some.”

“He’s started to talk to me in them—cryptic warnings. I know it’s my head putting words in his mouth, but I can’t figure it out.”

“What did he say tonight?”

“That it wasn’t finished. There’d be more coming. I guess I’m worried there will be, and that’s probably all there is to it.”

“Why are you worried?”

“Well, Jesus, Gull, who isn’t?”

“No, be specific.”

“Be specific at half past whatever in the morning after twisting myself up into a panic attack?”

The irritation in her tone settled him down. “Yeah.”

“I don’t know. If I knew, I’d... Dolly and Latterly, obviously that’s connected. The odds of them both running afoul of some homicidal arsonist are just short of nil. If we were dealing with random, that would be cause for some serious worry. But this isn’t, and they’re probably going to bust Brakeman for the whole shot. But...”

“But you’re having a hard time buying he’d set fire to his own daughter’s body. So am I.”

“Yeah, but that’s what makes the most sense. He finds out Dolly’s not only lying but screwing the preacher. They fight about it, he kills her—in a rage, by accident, however. Then panics, does the rest. It broke something in him.”

Tears running down his face, she remembered.

“He shoots at us, kills Latterly. Case closed.”

“Except you don’t quite believe it. Hence—”

“Hence,” she repeated, and snickered.

“That’s right. Hence you have nightmares where Jim—who’s connected to you and to Dolly—verbalizes what you’re already thinking, at least on a subconscious level.”

“Thanks, Dr. Freud.”

“And your fifty minutes are up. You should catch the couple hours’ sleep we’ve got left.”

“We’re still on the floor. The floor was most excellent, but for sleep, the bed’s better.”

“The bed it is.” He rose, grabbed her hand to pull her up. Then, to make her laugh, swept her up in his arms.

Laugh she did. “I may have shed a few this season, but I’m still no lightweight.”

“You’re right.” He dropped her onto the bed. “Next time, you carry me.” He stretched out beside her. “One thing, it looks like your nightmare blew any potential tequila hangover out of me.”

“Always the bright side.”

He snuggled her in, gently stroking her back until he felt her drop off.

After the morning briefing, she got in her run, some weight training and power yoga with Gull for company. She had to admit, having someone who could keep up with her, and more, made the daily routine more fun.

They hit the dining hall together where Dobie slumped over a plate of toast and what Rowan recognized as a glass of Marg’s famed hangover cure.

“Mmm, look at these big, fat sausages.” Rowan clattered the top back on the warmer. “Nothing like pig grease in the morning.”

“I’ll hurt you when I can move without my head blowing up.”

“Hangover?” she asked sweetly. “Gosh, I feel great.” There might have been a dull, gnawing ache at the base of her skull, but all things considered, small price to pay.

“Hurt you, and all your kin. Your pets, too.”

She only grinned as she sat down with a full plate. “Not much appetite this morning?”

“I woke up on the floor with Stovic. I may never eat again.”

“How’s Stovic?” Gull asked.

“Last I saw him, his eyes were full of blood, and he was crawling toward his quarters. If I ever pick up a glass of tequila again, shoot me. It’d be a mercy.”

“Drink that,” Rowan advised. “It won’t make you jump up and belt out ‘Oh, What a Beautiful Morning,’ but it’ll take the edge off.”

“It’s brown. And I think something’s moving in there.”

“Trust me.”

When he picked up the Tabasco Lynn kept on the table for him, Rowan started to tell him he wouldn’t need it—then smiled to herself as she cut into a sausage.

Dobie doused the concoction liberally, gave a brisk, bracing nod. “Down the hatch,” he announced. Closing his eyes, he drank it down fast.

And his eyes popped open as his face went from hangover gray to lobster red. “Holy shitfire!”

“Burns like a helitorch.” Struggling with laughter, Rowan ate more sausage. “It may scorch some brain cells while it’s at it, but it fires through the bloodstream. You’ve been purified, my child.”

“He’s not going to speak in tongues, is he?” Gull asked.

“Holy shitfire. That’s a drink. All it needs is a shot of bourbon. Man, makes me sweat.”

Fascinated, Gull watched sweat pop out on Dobie’s red face. “Flushing out the toxins, I guess. What the hell’s in there?”

“She won’t tell. She makes you start with the M-and-M Breakfast—Motrin and Move-Free—with a full glass of water, then drink that, eat toast, drink more water.”

“Said I had to do my run, too.”

“Yeah.” Rowan nodded at Dobie. “And by lunchtime, you’ll feel mostly human and be able to eat. Somebody ought to drag Stovic down here—and Yangtree. Hey, Cards,” she said when he walked in. “How about hauling Stovic’s and Yangtree’s pitiful asses down here so we can pour some of Marg’s hangover antidote into them?”

He said nothing until he’d taken the chair beside hers, angled it toward her. “L.B. just got word from the cops. The rangers found a gun, half buried a few yards from where they found the preacher’s car. They ran it. It’s one of Brakeman’s.”

“Well.” Deliberately she spread huckleberry jelly on a breakfast biscuit. “I guess that answers that.”

“They went to pick him up this morning. He’s gone, his truck’s gone.”

Jelly dripped off her knife as she stared at him. “You don’t mean as in gone to work.”

“No. It looks like he took camping gear, a shotgun, a rifle, two handguns and a whole hell of a lot of ammo. His wife said she didn’t know where he’d gone, or that he’d packed up in the first place. I don’t know if they believe her or not, but from what L.B. says, nobody seems to have the first goddamn clue where he is.”

“I thought—I heard they were going to take him in after the funeral yesterday.”

“For questioning, yeah. But he has a lawyer and all that, and until they had the gun, Ro, they didn’t have anything on him for this shit.”

“For Christ’s sake,” Gull exploded. “Didn’t they have him under surveillance?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know dick-all about it, Gull. But L.B. says he wants you to stay on base, Ro, unless we catch a fire. He wants you to stay inside as much as possible until we know what the fuck. And he doesn’t want to hear any carping about it.”

“I’ll work in the loft.”

“They’ll get him, Ro. It won’t take them long.”

“Sure.”

He gave her arm an awkward pat. “I’ll roust Yangtree and Stovic. It’ll be fun watching the smoke come out of their ears when they drink the hangover cure.”

In the silence that followed Cards’s exit, Dobie got up, poured himself coffee. “I’m going to say this ’cause I have a lot of respect for you. And because Gull’s got more than that for you. If I took off into the hills back home, if I had the gear—hell, even without it, but if I had the gear, a good gun, a good knife, I could live up there for months. Nobody’d find me I didn’t want finding me.”

Rowan made herself continue eating. “They’ll find his truck, maybe, but they won’t find him. He’ll lose himself in the Bitterroots, or the Rockies. His wife’ll lose her home. She put it up for his bond, and he just fucking broke that. I didn’t believe he’d done it—or not Dolly. He’s running, and left his wife and granddaughter twisting in the wind. He abandoned them.

“I hope he screws up.” She shoved to her feet. “I hope he screws up and they catch him, and they toss him in a hole for the rest of his life. I’ll be in the loft, sewing goddamn Smitty bags.”

As she stomped out, Dobie dumped three heaping spoons of sugar into his coffee. “How do you want to play this, son?”

“Intellectually, I don’t think Brakeman’s coming back around here, or worrying about Rowan right now.”

“Mmm-hmm. How do you want to play it?”

He looked over. Sometimes the most unlikely person became the most trusted friend. “When we’re on base, somebody’s with her, round the clock. We make sure she has plenty to do inside. But she needs to get out. If we hole her in, she’ll blow. I guess we mix up the routine. We usually run in the mornings, early. We’ll start running in the evening.”

“If everybody wore caps, sunglasses, it’d be a little harder to tell who’s who at a distance. The trouble is, that woman’s built like a brick shithouse. You just can’t hide that talent. I don’t guess she’d transfer to West Yellowstone, or maybe over to Idaho for a stretch.”

“No. She’d see that as running. Abandonment.”

“Maybe. But maybe not, if you went, too.”

“She’s not there yet, Dobie.”

Dobie pursed his lips, watching Gull as he drank coffee. “But you are?”

Gull stared down at his half-eaten breakfast. “Fucking lupines.”

“What the hell’s lupines?”

Gull just shook his head. “Yeah, I’m there,” he said as he got to his feet. “Goddamn it.”

Southern, Gibbons and Janis came in, still sweaty from PT, as Gull stormed out.

“What’s that about?” Gibbons demanded.

“Sit down, boys and girls, and I’ll tell you.”

Temper bubbling, Gull tracked down L.B. outside a hangar in conversation with one of the pilots.

“How the fuck did this happen?”

“Do you think I didn’t ask the same damn thing?” L.B. tossed back. “Do you think I’m not pissed off?”

“I don’t care if you’re pissed off. I want some answers.”

L.B. jerked a thumb, headed away from the hangar and toward one of the service roads. “If you want to jump somebody’s ass, find a cop. They’re the ones who screwed this up.”

“I want to know how.”

“You want to know how? I’ll tell you how.” L.B. picked up a palm-sized rock, heaved it. “They had two cops outside the Brakeman house. Shit, probably looking at skin mags and eating donuts.”

He found another rock, heaved that. “My fucking brother’s a cop, over in Helena, and I know he doesn’t do that shit. But goddamn it.”

Gull leaned over, picked up a rock, offered it. “Go ahead.”

“Thanks.” After hurling it, L.B. rolled his shoulder. “They were out in the front, watching the house. Brakeman’s truck is around the side, under a carport. So he loads it up sometime in the middle of the night, then he pushes it right across the backyard, cuts a truck-sized hole in the frigging fence, then pushes it right across the neighbor’s yard to the road. Then God knows where he went.”

“And the cops don’t see the truck’s gone until this morning.”

“No, they fucking don’t.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? That’s it?”

“It’s an answer. I do better with answers. She’s third load. Can you put her on Ops if we get a call for one or two?”

“Yeah.” L.B. picked up another rock, just stared at it a moment, then dropped it again. “I’d figured on it. I just wanted to wait until she’d cooled off.”

“I’ll tell her.”

“She’s been known to kill the messenger. That’s why I sent Cards,” L.B. added with a slow smile. “He’s just off the DL, so I figured she’d take it easy on him.”

“That’s why you’re chief.”

Gull swung by the barracks to grab a Coke, considered, and though he thought it the lamest form of camouflage outside a Groucho mustache, he grabbed caps and sunglasses.

On the way to the loft, he pulled out his phone, called Lucas.

Since most of the unit was doing PT or still at breakfast, he found only a handful working in the loft along with Rowan. She inspected, gore by gore, a canopy hanging in the tower.

“Busy,” she said shortly.

He tipped the Coke from side to side. “You know you’re jonesing by now.”

“Very busy.” Using tweezers, she removed some pine needles lodged in the cloth.

“Fine, I’ll drink it.” He popped the top. “L.B. wants you in Ops if we catch a fire.”

She jerked around. “He’s not grounding me.”

“I didn’t say that. You’re third load, so unless we catch a holocaust, you’re probably not going to jump on the first call. You’re a qualified assistant Ops manager, aren’t you?”

She grabbed the Coke from him, gulped some down. “Yeah.” She shoved it back at him, returned to her inspection. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“No problem. About this situation.”

“I don’t want or need to be reassured, protected, advised or—”

“Jesus, shut up.” He shook his head at the ceiling towering above, took another drink.

“You shut up.”

He had to grin. “I’m rubber; you’re glue. You really want to sink that low? I don’t think Brakeman’s your problem.”

“I’m not worried about him. I can take care of myself, and I’m not stupid. I’ve got plenty to keep me busy, here, in manufacturing, in the gym when I’m not out on a fire.”

Meticulously she removed a twig, marked a small, one-inch tear for repair before she lowered the apex to examine higher areas.

“Last night, Brakeman eluded two cops by pushing his full-size pickup across his backyard, cutting a fence, pushing it across another yard until he reached the road. He loaded up everything he’d need to live in the wild. That tells me he’s not stupid, either.”

“So he’s not stupid. Points for him.”

“But he leaves weapons, twice, so they’re easily found. A handgun properly registered to him, a rifle that has his name on it. That’s pretty damn stupid.”

“You’re back to thinking he didn’t do any of this.”

“I’m back to that. I’d rather not be, because this way, we’ve got nothing. We don’t know who or why. Not really. On the other hand, I’m also thinking it’s unlikely anyone’s going to be using you or the base for target practice. Unlikely isn’t enough, but it’s comforting.”

“Because it would be stupid for somebody else to shoot at me, when Brakeman’s on the run and the cops know what weapons he’s got with him.”

No, she wasn’t stupid, she reminded herself, but she’d been too angry to think clearly. Gull, it seemed, didn’t have the same problem.

“But if it’s not him, Gull, why is somebody working so hard to make it look like him?”

“Because he’s an asshole? Because he’s plausible? Because they want to see him go down? Maybe all three. But the point is, you’ve got to be smart—and you are—but I don’t think you have to sweat this.”

She nodded, inspected the apex bridle cords, then the vent hoods.

“I wasn’t sweating it. I’m pissed off.”

“Your subconscious sweats it, then.”

“All right, all right.” She inspected the top of each slot, then the anti-inversion net. There she marked a line of broken stitching.

Gull waited her out until she’d attached the inspection tag to the riser.

“I guess I have to call my father. Word travels, and he’ll get worried.”

“I talked to him before I came up. We went over it.”

“He came by? Why didn’t he—”

“I called him.”

She faced him with one quick pivot. “You did what? What do you mean calling my father about all this before I—”

“It’s called male bonding. You’ll never get it. I believe women are as capable as men, deserve equal pay—and that one day, should be sooner than later, in my opinion, the right woman can and should be leader of the free world. But you can’t understand the male bonding rituals any more than men can understand why the vast majority of women are obsessed with shoes and other footwear.”

“I’m not obsessed with shoes, so don’t try to make this something cultural or—or gender-based.”

“You have three pairs of jump boots. Two is enough. You have four pairs of running shoes. Again, two’s plenty.”

“I’m breaking in a third pair of jump boots before the first pair gets tossed so I don’t get boot-bit. And I have four pairs of running shoes because... you’re trying to distract me from the point.”

“Yes, but I’m not done. You also have hiking boots—two pairs—three pairs of sandals and three of really sexy heels. And this is just on base. God knows what you’ve got in your closet at home.”

“You’ve been counting my shoes? Talk about obsessed.”

“I’m just observant. Lucas wants you to call him when you get a chance. Leave him a text or voice message if he’s in the air, and he’ll come by to see you tonight. He likes knowing I’ve got your back. You’d have mine, wouldn’t you?” he asked before she could snap at him.

So she sighed. “Yes. You defeat me with your reason and your diatribe over shoes. Over which I am not obsessed.”

“You also have a good dozen pairs of earrings, none of which you wear routinely. But we can discuss that another time.”

“Oh, go away. Go study something.”

“You could give me a rigging lesson. I want to work on getting certified.”

“Maybe. Come back in an hour, and we’ll—”

When the siren sounded she stepped back. “I guess not. I’m switching to Ops.”

“I’ll walk you over. Here.”

He handed her her cap and sunglasses, then put on his own while she frowned at them.

“What is this?”

“A disguise.” He grinned at her. “Dobie wants you to wear them. Let’s give him a break, or he might order fake mustaches and clown noses off the Internet.”

She rolled her eyes, but put them on. “And what, this makes us look like twins? Where are your tits?”

“You’re wearing them, and may I say they look spectacular on you.”

“I can’t disagree with that. Still, everybody should stop worrying about Rowan and do their jobs.”

By four P.M., she was jumping fire, doing hers.

23

July burned. Hot and dry, the wild ignited, inflamed by lightning strikes, negligence, an errant spark bellowed by a gust of wind.

For eighteen straight days and nights Zulies jumped and fought fire. In Montana, in Idaho, Colorado, California, the Dakotas, New Mexico. Bodies shed weight, lived with pain, exhaustion, injury, battling in canyons, on ridges, in forests.

The constant war left little time to think about what lived outside the fire. The manhunt for Leo Brakeman heading into its third week hardly mattered when the enemy shot firebrands the size of cannonballs or swept on turbulent winds over barriers so effortfully created.

Along with her crew, Rowan rushed up the side of Mount Blackmore, like a battalion charging into hell. Beside her another tree torched off, spewing embers like flaming confetti. They felled burning trees on the charge, sawed and cut the low-hanging branches the fire could climb like snakes.

Can’t let her climb, Rowan thought as they hacked and dug. Can’t let her crown.

Can’t let her win.

So they fought their way up the burning mountain, sweat running in salty rivers in the scorched air.

When Gull climbed up the line to her position, she pulled down her bandanna to pour water down her aching throat.

“The line’s holding.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “A couple of spots jumped it, but we pissed them out. Gibbons is going to leave a couple down there to scout for more, and send the rest up to you.”

“Good deal.” She took another drink, scanning and counting yellow shirts and helmets through the smoke. On the left the world glowed, eerie orange with an occasional spurt of flame that picked out a hardened, weary face, tossed it into sharp relief.

In that moment, she loved them, loved them all with a near religious fervor. Every ass and elbow, she thought, every blister and burn.

Her eyes lit when she looked at Gull. “Best job ever.”

“If you don’t mind starving, sweating and eating smoke.”

Grinning, she shouldered her Pulaski. “Who would? Head on up. We’re still making line here so—” She broke off, grabbed his arm.

It spun out of the orange wall, whipped by the wind. The funnel of flame whirled and danced, spinning a hundred feet into the air. In seconds, screaming like a banshee, it uprooted two trees.

“Fire devil. Run! ” She pointed toward the front of the line as its wind blasted the furnace heat in her face. She grabbed her radio, watching the flaming column’s spin as she shouted to the crew, “Go up, go up! Move your asses. Gibbons, fire devil, south flank. Stay clear.”

It roared toward the line, a tornadic gold light as gorgeous as it was terrifying, spewing flame, hurling fiery debris. The air exploded with the call of it, with its lung-searing heat. She watched Matt go down, saw Gull haul him up, take his weight. Keeping her eye on the fire devil, she shifted, got her shoulder under Matt’s other arm.

“Just my ankle. I’m okay.”

“Keep moving! Keep moving!”

It snaked toward them, undulating. They’d never outrun it, she thought, not with Matt stumbling and limping between them. Behind Matt’s back, Gull’s hand gripped her elbow, and in acknowledgment, she did the same.

This is it. Even thinking it she pushed up the ridge. No time for emergency gear, for the shelters.

“There!” Gull jerked her, with Matt between them, to the right, and another five precious feet. He shoved her under the enormous boulder first, then Matt, before crawling under behind them.

“Here we go,” Gull breathed, and stared into Rowan’s eyes while the world erupted.

Rock exploded and rained down like bullets. Through smoke black as pitch, Rowan saw a blazing tree crash and vomit out a flood of flame and sparks.

“Short, shallow breaths, Matt.” She gripped his hand, squeezed hard. “Just like in a shake and bake.”

“Is this what Jim felt?” Tears and sweat rolled down his face. “Is this what he felt?”

“Short and shallow,” she repeated. “Through your bandanna, just like in a shelter.”

For an instant, another, the heat built to such mad intensity she wondered if they’d all just torch like a tree. She worked her other hand free, found Gull’s. And held on.

Then the screaming wind silenced.

“It’s cooling. We’re okay. We’re okay?” she repeated, in a question this time.

“What can you see?” Gull asked her.

“The smoke’s starting to thin, a little. We’ve got a lot of spots. Spots, no wall, no devil.” She shifted as much as she could. “Get behind me, Matt, so I can look out.” She angled beside Gull, cautiously eased her head out to look out, up. “It didn’t crown, didn’t roll the wall. Just spots. Jesus, Gull, your jacket’s smoking.” She beat at it with her hands as he worked to shrug out of it. “Are you burned?” she demanded. “Did it get you?”

“I don’t think so.” He crab-walked back. “The ground’s still hot. Watch yourselves.”

Rowan crawled out, reaching for her radio. On it Gibbons shouted her name.

“It’s Ro, Gull, Matt. We’re good. We’re clear. Is everybody all right? Is everybody accounted for?”

“We are now.” Relief flooded his voice. “Where the hell are you?”

She stood, scanned the area to give him the best coordinates. “Matt’s bunged up his ankle. Gull and I can handle these spots, but we dumped most of the gear on the run so... Never mind,” she said as she heard the shouts, saw the yellow shirts through the smoke. “Cavalry’s coming this way.”

Dobie came on the run with Trigger right behind him. “Jesus Christ, why don’t you just give us all heart attacks and get it over with?”

He grabbed Gull, slapped his back. “What the hell happened to you?”

“A little dance with the devil. Better put out those spots before we end up having to run again.”

Trigger crouched beside Matt, held out a scorched and mangled helmet. “Found your brainbucket, snookie. You’re a lucky bastard.” He put Matt in a headlock, a sign of relief and affection. “A lucky son of a bitch. Have a souvenir.”

He set the helmet beside Matt before hurrying over to help Dobie with the spot fires.

“Let’s check that ankle out.” Rowan knelt to undo his boot.

“I thought we were finished. I would’ve been finished if you and Gull hadn’t gotten me in there. You saved my life. You could’ve lost yours trying.”

She probed gently at his swollen ankle. “We’re Zulies. When one of us goes down, we pick them up. I don’t think it’s broken. Just sprained bad enough to earn you a short vacation.”

She looked up, smiled at him as she started to wrap it. “Lucky bastard.”

Though he protested, they medevaced Matt out, while the rest of the crew beat the fire back, finally killing it in the early hours of the morning. Mop-up took another full day of digging, beating, dousing.

“You volunteered to stay back, confirm the put-out,” Rowan told Gull.

“I’ve got to quit all this volunteering.”

“With me. The rest are packing out.”

“That’s not such a bad deal.”

“We’ve got MREs, a cool mountain spring, in which the beer fairy has snugged a six-pack.”

“And people say she doesn’t exist.”

“What do people know? I wanted to see this one through, all the way, and take a breath, I guess. So you’re good with it?”

“What do you think?”

“Then let’s take a hike, start doing a check before the sun goes down.”

They moved through the burnout at an easy pace, looking for smoke and smolder.

“I wanted to wait until it was over—all the way—before I said anything about it,” Rowan began. “I didn’t think we were going to make it back there against the fire devil. If you hadn’t spotted those boulders, reacted fast, we’d have all ended up like Matt’s now-famous helmet.”

“I don’t plan on losing you. Anyway, if you’d been on my side, you’d’ve seen the boulders.”

“I like to think so. It was beautiful,” she said after a moment, and with reverence. “It might be crazy to say that, think that, about something that really wants to kill you, but it was beautiful. That spinning column of fire, like something from another world. In a way, I guess it is.”

“Once you see one, it changes things because you know you can’t beat it. You run and hide and you pray, and if you live through it, for a while, all the bullshit in real life doesn’t mean dick.”

“For a while. I guess that’s why I wanted to stay out, stick with it a little longer. There’s a lot of bullshit waiting out there. Leo Brakeman’s still out there. He’s no fire devil, but he’s still out there.”

She blew out a breath. “Every time we get a call, I wonder if we’re going to stumble over another body. His, someone else’s. Because he’s out there. And if he didn’t start those fires, whoever did is out there, too.”

“It’s been three weeks. That’s a long time between.”

“But it doesn’t feel over and done.”

“No. It doesn’t feel over and done.”

“That’s the bullshit waiting.” She gestured. “Why don’t you take that direction, I’ll take this one. We’ll cover more ground, then meet back at camp.” She checked her watch. “Say six-thirty.”

“In time for cocktails and hors d’oeuvres.”

She beat him back to the clearing by the bubbling stream. The campsite, a hive the night before of very tired, very grungy bees, held quiet as a church now, and shimmered in the rays of evening sun. She stowed her gear, checked on the six-pack of beer and the six-pack of Coke she’d asked L.B. to drop.

She’d rather have that, she realized, in this remote spot on the mountain than a bottle of the finest champagne in the fanciest restaurant in Montana.

In anywhere.

She went back for her PG bag and her little bottles of liquid soap and shampoo.

Alone in the sunlight, she pulled off her boots, socks, stripped off the tired work clothes. The stream barely hit her knees, but the cool rush of the water felt like heaven. She sat down, let it bubble over her skin as she looked up to the rise of trees, the spread of sky.

She took time washing, as another woman might in a hot, fragrant bubble bath, enjoying the cool, the clean, the way the water rushed away with the froth she made.

Drawing her knees up, she wrapped her arms around them, laid her cheek on her knees, closed her eyes.

She opened them again as a shadow fell over her, and smiled lazily up at Gull. Until she saw the camera.

“You did not take my picture like this. Am I going to have to break that thing?”

“It’s for my private collection. You’re a fantasy, Rowan. Goddess of the brook. How’s the water?”

“Cold.”

He, as she did, pulled off his boots. “I could use some cold.”

“You’re late. It’s got to be close to seven.”

“I had a little detour.”

“Did you find fresh spots?”

“No, all clear. But I found these.” He picked up a water bottle filled with wildflowers.

“You know you’re not supposed to pick flowers up here.” But she couldn’t stop the smile.

“Since we save them, I figured the mountain could spare a few. Yeah, it’s pretty damn cold,” he said as he stepped into the water. “Feels great.”

She pulled out the bottle of soap she’d shoehorned between rocks, tossed it to him. “Help yourself. It feels like we’re the only two people in the world. I wouldn’t want to be the only two people in the world for long—who’d do the cooking?—but it’s nice for right now.”

“I heard birds in the black. They’re already coming back, at least to see what the hell happened. And in the green, across the meadow where I got the flowers, I saw a herd of elk. We may be the only people here, but life rolls on.”

“I’m going to get dressed before I freeze.” She stood, water sliding down her body, sun glinting to turn it to tiny diamonds.

“Wow,” Gull said.

“For that, and the bottle of wildflowers, I guess you’ve earned a beer.” She got out, shivering now, rubbing her skin to warm and dry it. “We’ve got spaghetti and meat sauce, fruit cups, crackers and cheese spread and pound cake for dinner.”

“Right now I could eat cardboard and be happy, so that sounds amazing.”

“I’ll get the campfire going,” she told him as she dressed. “And you get the beer when you get out. I guess cocktails and hors d’oeuvres will consist of—Holy shit.”

“That I don’t want to eat, even now.”

“Don’t move. Or do—really fast.”

“Why?”

“Life rolls along, including the big-ass bear on the other bank.”

“Oh, fuck me.” Gull turned slowly, watched the big-ass bear lumber up toward the stream.

“This may be your fantasy come true, but I really think you should get out of the water.”

“Crap. Throw something at him,” Gull suggested as he stayed low, edging through the water.

“Like what, harsh words? Shit, shit, he’s looking at us.”

“Get one of the Pulaskis. I’m damned if I’m going to be eaten by a bear when I’m naked.”

“I’m sure it’s a more pleasant experience dressed. He’s not going to eat us. They eat berries and fish. Get out of the water so he doesn’t think you’re a really big fish.”

Gull pulled himself out, stood dripping, eyeing the bear and being eyed. “Retreat. Slowly. He’s probably just screwing with us, and he’ll go away, but in case.”

Even as Rowan reached down for the gear, the bear turned its back on them. It squatted, shat, then lumbered away the way it came.

“Well, I guess he showed us what he thinks of us.” Overcome, Rowan sat on the ground, roared with laughter. “A real man would go after him, make him pay for that insult—so I could then tend your wounds.”

“Too bad, you’re stuck with me.” Gull scooped both hands through his dripping hair. “Christ, I want that beer.”

As far as Gull was concerned, ready-to-eat pasta and beer by a crackling campfire in the remote mountain wilderness scored as romantic as candlelight and fine wine in crystal. And beat the traditional trappings on the fun scale by a mile.

She’d relaxed for the first time in weeks, he thought, basking in the aftermath of a job well done and the solitude of what they’d preserved.

“Does your family do the camping thing?” she asked him.

“Not so much. My aunt’s more the is-there-room-service? type. I used to go with some buddies. We’d head up the coast—road trip, you know? Pick a spot. I always figured to head east, take on the Appalachian Trail, but between this and the arcade, I haven’t pulled that one off.”

“That’d be a good one. We mostly stuck to Montana, for recreation. There’s so much here anyway. My dad would work it out so he’d have two consecutive days off every summer, and take me. We’d never know when he’d get them, so it was always spur-of-the-moment.”

“That made it cooler,” Gull commented, and she just beamed at him.

“It really did. It didn’t occur to me until after I’d joined the unit that wilderness camping on his days off probably wouldn’t have been his first choice. I imagine he could’ve used that room service.”

“Kids come first, right? The universal parental code.”

“I guess it should be. I was thinking about Dolly and her father earlier, and the way they’d tear into each other. Was it their fractured dynamic that made her the way she was, or did the way she was fracture the dynamic?”

“Things are hardly ever all one way or the other.”

“More a blend,” she agreed. “A little from each column. Don’t you wonder what aimed her at Latterly? There are plenty of unmarried men she could’ve hooked up with. And he was, what, about fifteen years older and not what you’d call studly.”

“Maybe he was a maniac in bed.”

“Yeah, still waters and so on, but you’ve got to get into bed to find that out. A married guy with three kids. A God guy. If she’d really planned on reeling him in toward the ‘I do’s,’ didn’t she consider what her life would be like? A preacher’s wife, and stepmother of three? She’d have hated it.”

“It might just have been a matter of proving something. Married God guy, father of three. And she thinks, I could get him if I wanted.”

“I don’t get that kind of thinking,” she stated. “For a one-night stand, I can see it. You’ve got an itch, you scope out the talent in the bar, rope one out of the herd to scratch it. I don’t see wrecking a family for another notch on the bedpost.”

“Because you’re thinking like you.” Gull opened the last two beers. “The older-man thing. He’d probably be inclined to indulge her, and be really grateful that a woman her age, with her looks, wanted to sleep with him. It’s a pretty good recipe for infatuation on both sides.”

She angled her head. “You know, you’re right. A guy a little bored in his marriage, a needy young single mother. There’s a recipe. Of course, for all we know Latterly might’ve been a hound dog boning half the women in his congregation, and Dolly was just the latest.”

“If so, the cops’ll find out, if they haven’t already. Sex is never off the radar.”

“Maybe they’ll have this thing wrapped up when we get back.” She broke off a piece of pound cake. “Nobody talks about it much, but it’s on everybody’s mind. L.B.’s especially because he’s got to think about everybody, evaluate everybody, worry about everybody.”

“Yeah, he’s handling a lot. He has a smooth way of juggling.”

“My rookie season, we had Bootstrap. He was okay, ran things pretty smooth, but you could tell, even a rook could tell, his head was already halfway into retirement. He had this cabin up in Washington State, and that’s where he wanted to be. Everybody knew it was his last season. He kept a distance, if you know what I mean, with the rookies especially.”

Gull nodded, sampled pound cake. Ambrosia. “He didn’t want to get close. Didn’t want to make any more personal bonds.”

“I think that was a good part of it. Then L.B. took over. You know how he is. He’s the boss, but he’s one of us. Everybody knows if you need to bitch or whine or let off steam, you can go to him.”

“Here’s to L.B.”

“Bet your ass.” She tipped her head as they clinked beer cans. “I like having sex with you.”

Those cat eyes gleamed in the firelight. “That’s a nonsequitur I can get behind.”

“Seriously. It occurs to me that the season’s half over, and I’ve never had another one like it. Murder, arson, mayhem, and I’m having sex regularly.”

“Let’s hope the last element is the only one that spills over into the second half.”

“Absolutely. The thing is, Gulliver, while I really like sex with you, I also realize that if we stopped having sex—”

“Bite your tongue.”

“If we did,” she said with a laugh, “I’d still like sitting around the fire with you, and talking about whatever.”

“Same here. Only I want the sex.”

“Handy for both of us. What makes it better, over and above the regular, is you don’t secretly wish I’d be something else. Less tied up with the job, more inclined to fancy underwear.”

He pulled out a cigar, lit it. Blew out a long stream. “I like fancy underwear. Just for the record.”

“It doesn’t bother you that I had a hand in training you, and I might be the one giving you orders on a fire.”

She took the cigar when he offered it, enjoyed the tang. “Because you know who you are, and that matters. I can’t push you around, and that matters, too. And there’s this thing I didn’t think mattered because it never did. But it does when it’s mixed in with the rest. When it’s blended, like we said before. You bring me flowers in a bottle.”

“I think of you,” he said simply.

She pulled on the cigar again, giving her emotions time to settle, then passed it back to him. “I know, and that’s another new element for the season. And here’s one more. I guess the thing is, Gull, I’m in care with you, too.”

He reached out for her hand. “I know. But it’s nice to hear you say it.”

“Know-it-all.” Still holding his hand, she tipped her head back, looked at the star-swept sky. “It’d be nice to just stay here a couple of days. No worries, no wondering.”

“We’ll come back, after the season’s over.”

She couldn’t see that far. Next month, she thought, next year? As distant as the stars. As murky as smoke. Always better, to her way of thinking, to concentrate on the right now.

Toward dawn, Gull slipped through a dream of swimming under a waterfall. He dove deep into the blue crystal of the pool where sunbeams washed the gilded bottom in shimmering streaks. Overhead water struck water in a steady, muted drumbeat while Rowan, skin as gold and sparkling as the sand, eyes as clear and cool as the pool, swam toward him.

Their arms entwined, their mouths met, and his pulse beat like the drumming water.

As he lay against her, his hand lazily stroking along her hip, he thought himself dreaming still. He drifted toward the surface, in the dream and out of the dream, and the water drummed on.

It echoed in the confines of the tent when he opened his eyes. Smiling in the dark, he gave Rowan a little shake.

“Hey, do you hear that?”

“What?” Her tone, sleepy and annoyed, matched the nudge back she gave him. “What?” she repeated, more lucidly. “Is it the bear? Is it back?”

“No. Listen.”

“I don’t want... It’s rain.” She shoved him with more force as she pushed to sit up. “It’s raining!”

She crawled to the front of the tent, opened the flap. “Oh, yeah, baby! Rain, rain, don’t go away. Do you hear that?”

“Yeah, but I’m a little distracted by the view right this minute.”

He caught the glint of her eyes as she glanced over her shoulder, grinned. Then she was out of the tent and letting out a long, wild cheer.

What the hell, he thought, and climbed out after her.

She threw her arms up, lifted her face. “This isn’t a storm, or a quick summer shower. This is what my grandfather likes to call a soaker. And about damn time.”

She pumped her fists, her hips, high stepped. “Give it up, Gulliver! Dance! Dance to honor the god of rain!”

So he danced with her, naked, in the rainy gloom of dawn, then dragged her back in the tent to honor the rain gods his way.

The steady, soaking rain watered the thirsty earth, and made for a wet pack-out. Rowan held on to the cheer with every step of every mile.

“Maybe it’s a sign,” she said as rain slid off their ponchos, dripped off the bills of their caps. “Maybe it’s one of those turning points, and means the worst of the crap’s behind us.”

Gull figured it was a lot to expect from one good rain in a dry summer—but he never argued against hope.

24

Rowan refused to let the news that Leo Brakeman remained at large discourage her, and instead opted for Gull’s glass half full of no further arson fires or connected murders in almost a month.

Maybe the cops would never find him, never solve those crimes. It didn’t, and wouldn’t, change her life.

While she and Gull packed out, a twelve-man team jumped a fire in Shoshone, putting the two of them back on the jump list as soon as they’d checked in.

That was her life, she thought as she unpacked and reorganized her gear. Training, preparing, doing, then cleaning up to go again.

Besides, when she studied the big picture, she couldn’t complain. As the season edged toward August, she’d had no injuries, had managed to maintain a good, fighting weight by losing only about ten pounds, and had justified L.B.’s faith in her by proving herself a solid fire boss on the line. Most important, she’d had a part in saving countless acres of wildland.

The fact she’d managed to accomplish that and build what she had to admit had become an actual relationship was cause to celebrate, not a reason to niggle with the downsides.

She decided to do just that with something sweet and indulgent from the cookhouse.

She found Marg out harvesting herbs in the cool, damp air.

“We brought the rain down with us,” Rowan told her. “It followed us all the way in. Didn’t stop until we flew over Missoula.”

“It’s the first time I haven’t had to water the garden in weeks. Ground soaked it right up, though. We’re going to need more. Brought out the damn gnats, too.” Marg swatted at them as she lifted her basket. She spritzed a little of her homemade bug repellant on her hands, patted her face with it and sweetened the air with eucalyptus and pennyroyal. “I guess you’re looking for some food.”

“Anything with a lot of sugar.”

“I can fix you up.” Marg cocked her head. “You look pretty damn good for a woman who hiked a few hours in the rain.”

“I feel pretty damn good, and I think that’s why.”

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain good-looking, green-eyed jumper?”

“Well, he was hiking with me. It didn’t hurt.”

“It’s a little bright spot for me.” Inside, Marg set her herb basket on the counter. “Watching the romances. Yours, your father’s.”

“I don’t know if it’s... My father’s?”

“I ran into Lucas and his lady friend at the fireworks, and again a couple days ago at the nursery. She was helping him pick out some plants.”

“Plants? You’re talking about my father? Lucas black-thumb Tripp?”

“One and the same.” As she spoke, Marg cut a huge slice of Black Forest cake. “Ella’s helping him put in a flower bed. A little one to start. He was looking at arbors.”

“Arbors? You mean the...” Rowan drew an arch with her forefingers. “Come on. Dad’s gardening skills start and stop with mowing the lawn.”

“Things change.” She set the cake and a tall glass of milk in front of Rowan. “As they should or we all just stand in the same place. It’s good to see him lit up about something that doesn’t involve a parachute or an engine. You ought to be happy about that, Rowan, especially since there’s a lot of lights dimming around here right now.”

“I just don’t know, that’s all. What’s wrong with standing in the same place if it’s a good place?”

“Even a good place gets to be a rut, especially if you’re standing in it alone. Honey, alone and lonely share the same root. Eat your cake.”

“I don’t see how Dad could be lonely. He’s always got so much going on. He has so many friends.”

“And nobody there when he turns off the lights—until recently. If you can’t see how much happier he is since Ella, then you’re not paying attention.”

Rowan searched around for a response, then noticed Marg’s face when the cook turned away to wash her herbs in the sink. Obviously she hadn’t been paying attention here, Rowan realized, or she’d have seen the sadness.

“What’s wrong, Marg?”

“Oh, just tough times. Tougher for some. I know you’d probably be fine if Leo Brakeman wasn’t seen or heard from again. And I don’t blame you a bit for it. But it’s beating down on Irene.”

“If he comes back, or they find him, he’ll probably go to prison. I don’t know if that’s better for her.”

“Knowing’s always better. In the meanwhile, she had to take on another job as her pay from the school isn’t enough to cover the bills. Especially since she leveraged the house for his bail. And taking on the work, she can’t see to the baby.”

“Can’t her family help her through it?”

“Not enough, I guess. It’s the money, but it’s also the time, the energy, the wherewithal. The last time I saw her, she looked worn to the nub. She’s ready to give up, and I don’t know how much longer she can hold out.”

“I’m sorry, Marg. Really. We could take up a collection. I guess it wouldn’t be more than a finger in the dike for a bit, but the baby’s Jim’s. Everybody’d do what they could.”

“Honestly, Ro, I don’t think she’d accept it. On top of it all, that woman’s shamed down to the root of her soul. What her husband and her daughter did here, that weighs on her. I don’t think she could take money from us. I’ve known Irene since we were girls, and she could hardly look at me. That breaks my heart.”

Rowan rose, cut another, smaller slice of cake, poured another glass of milk. “You sit down. Eat some cake. We’ll fix it,” she added. “There’s always a way to fix something if you keep at it long enough.”

“I like to think so, but I don’t know how much long enough Irene’s got left.”

When Ella came back downstairs, Irene continued to sit on the couch, shoulders slumped, eyes downcast. Deliberately Ella fixed an easy smile on her face.

“She’s down. I swear that’s the sweetest baby, Irene. Just so sunny and bright.” She didn’t mention the time she’d spent folding and putting away the laundry in the basket by the crib, or the disarray she’d noticed in Irene’s usually tidy home.

“She makes me want more grandbabies,” Ella went on, determinedly cheerful. “I’m going to go make us some tea.”

“The kitchen’s a mess. I don’t know if I even have any tea. I didn’t make it to the store.”

“I’ll go find out.”

Dishes piled in the sink of the little kitchen Ella always found cozy and charming. The near-empty cupboards, the sparsely filled refrigerator, clearly needed restocking.

That, at least, she could do.

She found a box of tea bags, filled the kettle. As she began filling the dishwasher, Irene shuffled in.

“I’m too tired to even be ashamed of the state of my own kitchen, or to see you doing my dishes.”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of, and you’d insult our friendship if you were.”

“I used to have pride in my home, but it’s not really my home now. It’s the bank’s. It’s just a place to live now, until it’s not.”

“Don’t talk like that. You’re going to get through this. You’re just worn out. Why don’t you let me take the baby for a day or two, give yourself a chance to catch your breath? You know I’d love it. Then we could sit down, and if you’d let me, we could go over your financial situation, see if there’s anything—”

She broke off when she turned to see tears rolling down Irene’s face. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Abandoning the dishes, she hurried over to wrap Irene in her arms.

“I can’t do it, Ella. I just can’t. I’ve got no fight left. No heart.”

“You’re just so tired.”

“I am. I am tired. The baby’s teething, and when she’s fretful in the night, I lie there wishing she’d just stop. Just be quiet, give me some peace. I’m passing her off to anybody who’ll take her for a few hours while I work, and even with the extra work, I’m not going to make the house payments, unless I let something else go.”

“Let me help you.”

“Help me what? Pay my bills, raise my grandchild, keep my house?” Even the hard words held no life. “For how long, Ella? Until Leo gets back, if he comes back? Until he gets out of prison, if he goes to prison?”

“With whatever you need to get you through this, Irene.”

“I know you mean well, but I don’t see getting through. I wanted to believe him. He’s my husband, and I wanted to believe him when he told me he didn’t do any of it.”

With nothing to say, Ella kept silent while Irene looked around the room.

“Now he’s left me like this, left me alone, and taking money I need out of the ATM on the way gone. What do I believe now?”

“Sit down here at the table. Tea’s a small thing, but it’s something.”

Irene sat, looked out the window at the yard she’d once loved to putter in. The yard her husband had used to escape, to run from her.

“I know what people are saying, even though it doesn’t come out of their mouths in my hearing. Leo killed Reverend Latterly, and if he killed him, he must’ve killed Dolly. His own flesh and blood.”

“People say and think a lot of hard things, Irene.”

The bones in Irene’s face stood out too harshly under skin aged a decade in two short months. “I’m one of them now. I may not be ready to say it, but I think it. I think how he and Dolly used to fight, shouting at each other, saying awful things. Still... he loved her. I know that.”

She stared down at the tea Ella put in front of her. “Maybe loved her too much. Maybe more than I did. So it cut more, the things she’d do and say. It cut him more than me. Love can turn, can’t it? It can turn into something dark in a minute’s time.”

“I don’t know the answers there. But I do know that you can’t find them in despair. I think the best thing for you now is to concentrate on the baby and yourself, to do what you have to do to make the best life you can make for the two of you, until you have those answers.”

“That’s what I’m doing. I called Mrs. Brayner this morning before I went into work. Shiloh’s other grandmother. She and her husband are going to drive out from Nebraska, and they’ll take Shiloh back with them.”

“Oh, Irene.”

“It’s what’s best for her.” She swiped a tear away. “That precious baby deserves better than I can give her now. She’s the innocent in all this, the only one of us who truly is. She deserves better than me leaving her with friends and neighbors most of the day, better than me barely able to take care of her when I’m here. Not being sure how long I can keep a roof over her head, much less buy her clothes or pay the baby doctor.”

Her voice cracked, and she lifted the tea, sipped a little. “I’ve prayed on this, and I talked with Reverend Meece about it. He is kind, Ella, like you told me.”

“He and his church could help you,” Ella began, but Irene shook her head.

“I know in my heart I can’t give Shiloh a good life the way things are, and I can’t keep her knowing she has family who can. I can’t keep her wondering if her grandpa’s the reason she doesn’t have her mother.”

Ella reached over, linked her hands with Irene’s. “I know this isn’t a decision you’ve come to lightly. I know how much you love that child. Is there anything I can do? Anything?”

“You didn’t say it was the wrong decision, or selfish, or weak. That helps.” She took a breath, drank a little more tea. “I think they’re good people. And she said—Kate, her name’s Kate. Kate said they’d stay in Missoula a couple days or so, to give Shiloh time to get used to them. And how we’d all work together so Shiloh could have all of us in her life. I... I said how they could have all the baby stuff, her crib and all, and Kate, she said no, didn’t I want to keep that? Didn’t I want it so when we fixed it so Shiloh could come see me, it would all be ready for her?”

Ella squeezed Irene’s hands tighter as tears plopped into the tea. “They do sound like good people, don’t they?”

“I believe they are. I’m content they are. Still, I feel like another part of me’s dying. I don’t know how much is left.”

Her conversation with Marg had Rowan’s wheels turning. The time had come, she decided, for a serious sit-down with her father. Since she wanted to have that sit-down off base, she walked over to L.B.’s office.

She saw Matt step out. “Hi. Is he in there?”

“Yeah, I just asked him for a couple days at the end of the week.” His face exploded into a grin she’d rarely seen on his face since Jim’s accident. “My parents are driving in.”

“That’s great. They get to see you, and Jim’s baby.”

“Even more. They’re taking Shiloh home with them.”

“They got custody? That’s so fast. I didn’t think it worked so fast.”

“They didn’t get a lawyer. They were talking about maybe, but they didn’t get one yet. Mrs. Brakeman called my ma this morning and said she needed—wanted—them to have Shiloh.”

“Oh.” Not enough long enough, Rowan thought, and felt a pang of sympathy. “That’s great for your family, Matt. Really. It’s got to be awfully rough on Mrs. Brakeman.”

“Yeah, and I’m sorry for her. She’s a good woman. I guess she proved it by doing this, thinking of Shiloh first. They’re going to spend a couple days, you know, give everybody a chance to adjust and all that. I figured I could help out. Shiloh knows me, so that should make it easier. It’s like I’m standing in for Jim.”

“I guess it is. It’s a lot, for everybody.”

“The way Brakeman ran?” The light in his face died into something dark. “He’s a coward. He doesn’t deserve to even see that baby again, if you ask me. Mrs. Brakeman’s probably going to lose her house because of him.”

“It doesn’t seem right,” Rowan agreed, “for one person to lose so much.”

“She could move to Nebraska if she wanted, and be closer to Shiloh. She ought to, and I hope she does. I don’t see how there’s anything here for her now anyway. She oughta go on and move to Nebraska so the baby has both her grans. Anyway, I’ve got to go call my folks, let them know I got the time off.”

One family’s tragedy, another family’s celebration, Rowan supposed as Matt rushed off. The world could be a harsh place. She gave L.B.’s door a tap, poked her head in.

“Got another minute for somebody looking for time off?”

“Jesus, maybe we should just blow and piss on the next fire.”

“An interesting new strategy, but I’m only looking for a few hours.”

“When?”

“Pretty much now. I wanted to hook up with my father.”

“Suddenly everybody wants family reunions.” Then he shrugged. “A night off’s okay. We’ve got smoke over in Payette, and up in Alaska. The Denali area’s getting hammered with dry lightning. Yellowstone’s on first attack on another. You should count on jumping tomorrow.”

“I’ll be ready.” She started to back out before he changed his mind, then hesitated. “I guess Matt told you why he wanted the time.”

“Yeah.” L.B. rubbed his eyes. “It’s hard to know what to think. I guess it’s the best thing when it comes down to it, but it sure feels like kicking a woman in the teeth when she’s already taken a couple hard shots in the gut.”

“Still no word on Leo?”

“Nothing, as far as I know. Fucker. It makes me sick he could do all this. I went hunting with the bastard, even went on a big trip up to Canada with him and some other guys once.”

“Did you tell the cops all the places you knew he liked to go?”

“Every one, and I didn’t feel a single pang of guilt. Fucker,” he repeated, with relish. “Irene’s a decent woman. She doesn’t deserve this. You’d better go while the going’s good. If we get a call from Alaska, we’ll be rolling tonight.”

“I’m already gone.” As she left, Rowan pulled out her phone and opted to text, hoping that would make her plans a fait accompli.

Got a couple hours. Meet you at the house. I’m cooking! Really want to talk to you.

Now she had to hope he had something in the house she could actually cook. She stopped by the barracks, grabbed her keys, then stepped into the open doorway of Gull’s quarters.

“I cleared a few hours so I can go over and see my father.”

Gull shifted his laptop aside. “Okay.”

“There are some things I want to air out with him. One-on-one.” She jingled her car keys. “We’ve got potential situations out in Yellowstone, down in Wyoming, up in Alaska. We could be up before morning. I won’t be gone very long.”

“Are you waiting to see if I’m going to complain because you’re going off base without me?”

“Maybe I was wondering if you would.”

“I’m not built that way. Just FYI, I wouldn’t mind maybe having dinner with you and your father sometime, maybe when things slow down.”

“So noted. See you when I get back.” She jingled her keys again. “Hey, I just remembered, my car’s low on gas. Maybe I can borrow yours?”

“You know where the base pumps are.”

“Had to try.”

She’d talk him into letting her drive it before the end of the season, she promised herself as she headed out to her much less sexy Dodge. She just had to outline the right attack plan.

The minute she drove off the base, something shifted inside her. As much as she loved what she did, she felt just a bit lighter driving down the open road. Alone, away from the pressure, the intensity, the dramas, even the interaction.

Maybe, for the moment, she realized, especially the interaction. A little time to reconnect with Rowan, she thought, then in turn for Rowan to reconnect with her father.

She could admit to the contrary aspect of the feeling. If L.B. had insisted she take time off, had pulled her off the jump list, she’d have fought him tooth and nail. Asking for the little crack in the window was more a little gift to herself, and one where she chose the wrapping and the contents.

Maybe, too, it hit just close enough to the camping trips her father had always carved out during the season—this one evening together, her making dinner in the house they shared half the year. Just the two of them, sitting at the table with some decent grub and some good conversation.

Too much had happened, too many things that kept running around inside her head. So much of the summer boomeranged on her, making her think of her mother, and all those hard feelings. She’d shaken off most of them, but there remained a thin and sticky layer she’d never been able to peel away.

She liked to think that layer helped make her tougher, stronger—and she believed it—but she’d started to wonder if it had hardened into a shield as well.

Did she use it as an excuse, an escape? If she did, was that smart, or just stupid?

Something to think about in this short time alone, and again in the company of the single person in the world who knew her through and through, and loved her anyway.

When she pulled up in front of the house, the simple white two-story with the wide covered porch—the porch she’d helped her father build when she was fourteen—she just sat and stared.

The slope of lawn showed the brittleness of the dry summer, even in the patches of shade from the big, old maple on the east corner.

But skirting that porch, on either side of the short steps, an area of flowers sprang out of a deep brown blanket of mulch. Baskets hung from decorative brackets off the flanking posts and spilled out a tangle of red and white flowers and green trailing vines.

“I’m looking at it,” she said aloud as she got out of the car, “but I still can’t quite believe it.”

She remembered summers during her youth when her grandmother had done pots and planters, and even dug in a little vegetable garden in the back. How she’d cursed the deer and rabbits for mowing them down, every single season.

She remembered, too, her father’s rep for killing even the hardiest of houseplants. Now he’d planted—she didn’t know what half of them were, but the beds hit hot, rich notes with a lot of deep reds and purples, with some white accents.

And she had to admit they added a nice touch, just as she had to admit the creativity of the layout hadn’t come from the nongardening brain of Iron Man Tripp.

She mulled it over as she let herself into the house.

Here, too, the difference struck.

Flowers? Since when did her father have flowers sitting around the house? And candles—fat white columns that smelled, when she sniffed them, faintly of vanilla. Plus, he’d gotten a new rug in the living room, a pattern of bold-colored blocks that spread over a floor that had certainly been polished. And looked pretty good, she had to admit, but still...

Hands on hips, she did a turn around the living room until her jaw nearly landed on her toes. Glossy magazines fanned on the old coffee table. Home and garden magazines, and since when had her father... ?

Stupid question, she admitted. Since Ella.

A little leery of what she’d find next, she started toward the kitchen, poked into her father’s home office. Bamboo shades in spicy tones replaced the beige curtains.

Ugly curtains, she remembered.

But the powder room was a revelation. No generic liquid soap sat on the sink, no tan towels on the rack. Instead, a shiny and sleek chrome dispenser shot a spurt of lemon-scented liquid into her hand. Dazed, she washed, then dried her hands on one of the fluffy navy hand towels layered on the rack with washcloths in cranberry.

He’d added a bowl of potpourri—potpourri—and a framed print of a mountain meadow on a freshly painted wall that matched the washcloths.

Her father had cranberry walls in the powder room. She might never get over it.

Dazed, she continued on to the kitchen, and there stood blinking.

Clean and efficient had always been the Tripp watchwords. Apparently fuss had been added to them since she’d last stood in the room.

A long oval dish she thought might be bamboo and had never seen before held a selection of fresh fruit. Herbs grew in small red clay pots on the windowsill over the sink. An iron wine rack—a filled wine rack, she noted—graced the top of the refrigerator. He’d replaced the worn cushions on the stools at the breakfast counter, and she was pretty damn sure the glossy magazines in the living room would call that color pumpkin.

In the dining area, two place mats—bamboo again—lay ready with cloth napkins rolled in rings beside them. If that didn’t beat all, the pot of white daisies and the tea lights in amber dishes sure rang the bell.

She considered going upstairs, decided she needed a drink first, and a little time to absorb the shocks already dealt. A little time, like maybe a year, she thought as she opened the refrigerator.

Okay, there was beer, that at least was constant. But what the hell, since he had an open bottle of white, plugged with a fancy topper, she’d go with that.

She sipped, forced to give it high marks as she explored supplies.

She felt more at home and less like an intruder as she got down to it, setting out chicken breasts to soften, scrubbing potatoes. Maybe she shook her head as she spotted the deck chairs out the kitchen window. He painted them every other year, she knew, but never before in chili pepper red.

By the time she heard him come in, she had dinner simmering in the big skillet. She poured a second glass of wine.

At least he looked the same.

“Smells good.” He folded her in, held her hard. “Best surprise of the day.”

“I’ve had a few of them myself. I poured you this.” She offered him the second glass. “Since you’re the wine buff now.”

He grinned, toasted her. “Pretty good stuff. Have we got time to sit outside awhile?”

“Yeah. That’d be good. You’ve been busy around here,” she commented as they walked out onto the deck.

“Fixing things up a little. What do you think?”

“It’s colorful.”

“A few steps out of my comfort zone.” He sat in one of the hot-colored deck chairs, sighed happily.

“Dad, you planted flowers. That’s acres outside your zone.”

“And I haven’t killed them yet. Soaker hose.”

“Sorry?”

“I put in a soaker hose. Keeps them from getting thirsty.”

Wine, soaker hoses, cranberry walls. Who was this guy?

But when he looked at her, laid his hand over hers, she saw him. She knew him. “What’s on your mind, baby?”

“A lot. Bunches.”

“Lay it on me.”

She did just that.

“I feel like I can’t get a handle on things, or keep a handle on. This morning, I thought I did, then it started slipping again. I’ve been having the dreams about Jim again, only worse. But with everything that’s gone on this season, how am I supposed to put that aside anyway? Everything Dolly did, then what happened to her. Add on her crazy father. And the thing is, if he did what they say he did, if he killed her, the preacher, started the fires—and he probably did—why am I more pissed off and disgusted that he ran, left his wife twisting in the wind? And I know the answer,” she said, pushing back to her feet.

“I know the answer, and that pisses me off. My mother ditching us doesn’t define my life. I sure as hell don’t want it to define me. I’m smarter than that, damn it.”

“You always have been,” he said when she turned to him.

“I’m tangled up with Gull so I’m not sure I’m thinking straight. Really, where can that go? And why am I even thinking that because why would I want it to go anywhere? And you, you’re planting flowers and drinking wine, and you have potpourri.”

He had to smile. “It smells nicer than those plug-in jobs.”

“It has berries, and little white flowers in it. While that’s screwing with my head, Dolly’s mother’s giving the baby to the Brayners because she can’t handle it all by herself. It’s probably the best thing, it’s probably the right thing, but it makes me feel sick and sad, which pisses me off all over again because I know I’m projecting, and I know the situation with that baby isn’t the same as with me.

“I may be jumping fire in Alaska tomorrow, and I’m stuck on pumpkin-colored cushions, a baby I’ve never even seen and a guy who’s talking about being with me after the season. How the hell did this happen?”

Lucas nodded slowly, drank a little wine. “That is a lot. Let’s see if we can sift through it. I don’t like hearing you’re having those nightmares again, but I can’t say I’m surprised. The pressure of any season wears on you, and this hasn’t been just any season. You’re probably not the only one having hard dreams.”

“I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Have you talked to L.B.?”

“Not about that. Piling my stress on his doesn’t work for anybody. That’s why I pile it on you.”

“I can tell you what we talked about before, after it happened. We all live with the risks, and train body and mind to minimize them. When a jumper has a mental lapse, sometimes he gets lucky. Sometimes he doesn’t. Jim didn’t, and that’s a tragedy. It’s a hard blow for his family, and like his kin, the crew’s his family.”

“I’ve never lost anybody before. She doesn’t count,” she said, referring to her mother. “Not the same way.”

“I know it. You want to save him, to go back to that jump and save him. And you can’t, baby. I think when you’ve really settled your mind on that, the dreams will stop.”

He got up, put an arm around her shoulders. “I don’t know if you’ll really be able to settle your mind until this business with Leo is resolved. It’s in your face, so it’s in your head. Dolly tried to put the blame for what happened to Jim on you, and it looks like her telling him she was pregnant right before a jump contributed to his mental lapse. Then Leo came at you about Jim, about Dolly—and the cops think he’s the one responsible for her murder. Time to use your head, Ro.” He kissed the top of it. “And stop letting the people most responsible lay the weight on you. Feeling sorry for Irene Brakeman, that’s just human. Maybe you and me tend to be a little more human than most on that score. Ella’s over there right now helping her get through it, and I feel better knowing that.”

“I guess it’s good that she—Mrs. Brakeman—has somebody.”

“I had your grandparents, and I leaned on them pretty hard. I had my friends, my work. Most of all I had you. When somebody walks out, it leaves a hole in you. Some people fill it up, the good and the bad, and get on that way. Some people leave it open, maybe long enough to heal, maybe too long, picking at it now and then so it doesn’t heal all the way. I hate knowing it as much as you, but I think we’ve been like the last.”

“I don’t even think about it, most of the time.”

“Neither do I. Most of the time. Now you’ve got this guy, who’d be the first one you’ve ever mentioned to me as giving you trouble. And that makes me wonder if you’ve got feelings for him you’ve managed to avoid up till now. Are you in love with him?”

“How does anybody answer that?” she demanded. “How does anyone know? Are you in love with this Ella?”

“Yes.”

Stunned, Rowan stepped back. “Just like that? You can just... poof, I’m in love.”

“She filled the hole, baby. I don’t know how to explain it to you. I never knew how to talk about this kind of thing, and maybe that’s where I fell down with you. But she filled that hole I never let all the way heal, because if I did, there could be another. But I’d rather take that chance than not have her. I wish you’d get to know her. She...”

He lifted his hands as if to grab something just out of reach. “She’s funny and smart, and has a way of speaking her mind that’s honest instead of hurtful. She can do damn near anything. You should see her on a dive. I swear she’s a joy to watch. She could give Marg a run for her money in the kitchen, and don’t repeat that or I’ll call you a liar. She knows about wine and books and flowers. She has her own toolbox and knows how to use it. She’s got great kids and they’ve got kids. She listens when you talk to her. She’ll try anything.

“She makes me feel... She makes me feel.”

There it was, Rowan realized. If there’d been an image in the dictionary for the definition of “in love,” it would be her father’s face.

“I have to get dinner on the table.” She turned away to the door, then turned back to see him looking after her, that light dimmed. “Are you, more or less, asking for my blessing?”

“I guess. More or less.”

“Anybody who makes you this happy—and who talked you into getting rid of those ugly curtains in your office—is good with me. You can tell me more about her while we eat.”

“Ro. That means more than I can say.”

“You don’t have heart-shaped pillows on your bed now, do you?”

“No. Why?”

“Because that’s going to be my line in the sand. Anything else I think I can adjust to. Oh, and none of those crocheted things over spare toilet paper. That’s definitely a deal breaker.”

“I’ll take notes.”

“Good idea because I probably have a few more.” She walked to the stove, pleased that light had turned back on full.

25

Feeling sociable, Gull plopped down in the lounge with his book. That way he could ease out of the story from time to time, tune in on conversations, the ball game running on TV and the progress of the poker game he wasn’t yet interested in joining.

Or he could just let all of it hum at the edges of his mind like white noise.

With the idea he might be called up at any time, he opted for a ginger ale and a bag of chips to snack him through the next chapter or two.

“Afraid of losing your paycheck?” Dobie called out from the poker table.

“Terrified.”

“Out?” An outraged Trigger lurched out of his chair at a call on second. “That runner was safe by a mile. Out my ass! Did you see that?” he demanded.

He hadn’t, but Gull’s mood hit both agreeable and sociable. “Damn right. The ump’s an asshole.”

“He oughta have his eyes popped out if he can’t use them better than that. Where’s the ball to your chain tonight?”

Amused, Gull turned a page. “Ditched me for another man.”

“Women. They’re worse than umps. Can’t live with them, can’t beat them with a brick.”

“Hey.” Janis discarded two cards at the poker table. “Having tits doesn’t mean I can’t hear, buddy.”

“Aw, you’re not a woman. You’re a jumper.”

“I’m a jumper with tits.”

“Unless you’re going to toss them in the pot,” Cards told her, “the bet’s five to you.”

“They’re worth a lot more than five.”

Better than white noise, Gull decided, and likely better than his book.

Across the room, Yangtree—with an ice bag on his knee—and Southern played an intense, nearly silent game of chess. Earbuds in, Libby ticked her head back and forth like a metronome to her MP3 while she worked a crossword puzzle.

A lot of sociable going around, he mused. About half the jumpers on base gathered, some in groups, some solo, more than a few sprawled on the floor, attention glued to the Cardinals v. Phillies matchup on-screen.

Waiting mode, he decided. Everybody knew the siren could sound anytime, sending them north, east, south, west, where there would be camaraderie but little leisure. No time to insult umpires or figure out 32 Across. Instead of raking in the pot, as Cards did now with relish, they’d rake through smoldering embers and ash.

He watched Trigger throw up his hands in triumph as the runner scored, saw Yangtree take Southern’s bishop and Dobie toss in chips to raise the bet, causing Stovic to fold on a grunt of disgust.

“What’s a five-letter word for boredom?” Libby asked the room.

“TV ads,” Trigger volunteered. “Ought to be outlawed.”

“Boredom, not boring. Besides, some of them are funny.”

“Not funny enough.”

“Ennui,” Gull told her.

“Damn it, I knew that.”

“He can spout off all those pussy words,” Dobie commented.

Gull only smiled. He definitely didn’t feel ennui. Contentment, he thought, best described his current state. He’d be ready to roll if and when the call came, but for now knew the contentment of lounging with friends, enjoying the cross talk and bullshit while he waited for his woman to come home.

He’d found his place. He didn’t know, not for certain, when he’d first understood that. Maybe the first time he’d seen Rowan. Maybe his first jump. Maybe that night at the bar when he’d kicked some ass.

Maybe looking over a meadow of wild lupine.

It didn’t matter when.

He’d liked his hotshot work, and the people he’d worked with. Or most of them. He’d learned to combine patience, action and endurance, learned to love the fight—the violence, the brutality, the science. But what he found here dug deeper, and deep kindled an irresistible love and passion.

He knew he’d sprawl out in the lounge, listening to cross talk and bullshit season after season, as long as he was able.

He knew, he thought as Rowan came in, he’d wait for her to come home whenever she went away.

“Man, they let anybody in the country club these days.” She dropped down beside Gull, shot a hand into the chip bag. “Score?”

“Tied,” Trigger told her, “one to one due to seriously blind ump. Top of the fifth.”

She stole Gull’s ginger ale, found it empty. “What, were you waiting for me to get back, fetch you a refill?”

“Caught me.”

She pushed up, got a Coke. “You’ll drink this and like it.” She downed some first, then passed it to him.

“Thanks. And how’s the ball to my chain?”

“What did you call me?”

“He said it.” Gull narked on Trigger without remorse.

“Skinny Texas bastard.” She angled her head to read the cover of the book Gull set aside. “Ethan Frome? If you’ve been reading that I’m surprised I didn’t find you lapsed into a coma drooling down your chin.”

He gave the Coke back to her. “I thought I’d like it better now, being older, wiser, more erudite. But it’s just as blindingly boring as it was when I was twenty. Thank God you’re back, or I might have been paralyzed with ennui.”

“Get you.”

“It was a crossword answer a while ago. How’s your dad?”

“He’s in love.”

“With the hot redhead.”

Rowan’s eyebrows beetled. “I wish you wouldn’t call her the hot redhead.”

“I call them like I see them. How’s by you?”

“I had to get by the flower beds he’s planted, the flowers in vases, candles, the potpourri in the powder room—”

“Mother of God! Potpourri in the powder room. We need to get a posse together ASAP, go get him. He can be deprogrammed. Don’t lose hope.”

Since he’d stretched his legs across her lap, she twisted his toe. Hard. “He’s got all this color in the place all of a sudden. Or all of an Ella. I told myself it was fussy, she’d pushed all this fussy stuff on him. But it’s not. It’s style, with an edge of charm. She brought color to the beige and bone and brown. It makes him happy. She makes him happy. She filled the hole he couldn’t let heal—that’s what he said. And I realized something, that she was right that day we saw her in town. Ice cream day. She said that if I made him choose between her and me, she didn’t stand a chance. And if I’d done that, I’d be just enough like my mother to make myself sick. Either/or, pal, you can’t have both.”

“But you’re not.”

“No. I’m not. I have to get used to it—to her, but she’s put a light in him so I think I’m going to be a fan.”

“You’re a stand-up gal, Swede.”

“If she screws him up, I’ll peel the skin off her ass with a dull razor blade.”

“Fair’s fair.”

“And then some. I need to walk off the not-too-shabby skillet cuisine I prepared, then I’m going to turn in.”

“Wait a minute. You cooked?”

“I have a full dozen entrées in my repertoire. Four of them are variations on the classic grilled cheese sandwich.”

“A whole new side of you to explore while we walk. I want my shoes.”

Gibbons came in as Gull tossed the Edith Wharton onto the table for someone else.

“You might want to wrap up that card game. Everybody’s on standby. It’s not official, but it looks like we’ll roll two loads to Fairbanks tonight, or maybe straight to the fire. L.B.’s working out some details. And it’s looking like Bighorn might need some help come tomorrow.”

“Just when my luck’s starting to turn,” Dobie complained.

“New shoes for baby,” Cards reminded him.

“I rake another couple pots in, I can buy the new shoes without eating smoke.”

“Anybody on the first and second loads might want to check their gear while they’ve got a chance,” Gibbons added.

“I’ve never been to Alaska,” Gull commented.

“It’s an experience.” Rowan shoved his feet off her lap.

“I’m all about them.”

She stuffed more energy bars into her PG bag, and after a short debate added two cans of Coke. She’d rather haul the weight than do without. She changed from the off-duty clothes she’d worn to her father’s, and was just buckling her belt when the siren sang out.

Along with the others, she ran to the ready room to suit up.

The minute she stepped onto the plane, she staked her claim, arranging her gear and stretching out with her head on her chute. She intended to sleep through the flight.

“What’s it like?” Gull poked her with the toe of his boot.

“Big.”

“Really? I hear it’s cold and dark in the winter, too. Can that be true?”

She let the vibration of the engines lull her as other jumpers settled in. “Plenty of daylight this time of year. It’s not the trees as much there to worry about on the jump. It’s the water. They’ve got a lot of it, and you don’t want to miss the spot and land in it. A lot of water, a lot of land, mountains. Not a lot of people, that’s an advantage.”

She shifted, found a more comfortable position. “The Alaskan smoke jumpers know their stuff. It’s been dry up there this season, too, so they’re probably spread pretty thin, probably feeling that midseason fatigue.”

She opened her eyes to look at him. “It’s beautiful. The snow that never melts off those huge peaks, the lakes and rivers, the glow of the midnight sun. They’ve also got mosquitoes the size of your fist and bears big as an armored truck. But in the fire, it’s pretty much the same. Kill the bitch; stay alive. Everybody comes back.”

She closed her eyes. “Get some sleep. You’re going to need it.”

She slept like a rock; woke stiff as a board. And grateful they put down at Fairbanks, giving the crew time to loosen up, fuel up, and the bosses time to cement a strategy.

With nearly four hundred acres involved, and the wind kicking flareups, they’d need solid communication with the Alaskan team. She managed to scrounge up a cold soda, preserving the two in her bag, before they performed a last buddy check and loaded.

“You’re right,” Gull said when they flew southwest out of Fairbanks. “It’s beautiful. Not far off midnight, either, local time, and bright as afternoon.”

“Don’t get enchanted. You’ll lose focus. And she’ll eat you alive.”

He had to change his angle to get his first glimpse of the fire, shift his balance as the plane hit turbulence and began to buck.

“Just another maw of hell. I’m focused,” he added when she sent him a hard look.

He saw the white peaks of the mountain through the billows of smoke. Denali, the sacred, with the wild to her north and east burning bright.

He continued to study and absorb as she moved to the rear to confer with Yangtree, and with Cards, who worked as spotter. Others lined the windows now, looking down on what they’d come to fight.

“We’re going to try for a clearing in some birch, east side. The Alaska crew used it for their jump spot. Cards is going to throw some streamers, see how they fly.”

“Jesus, did you see that?” somebody asked.

“Looks like a blowup,” Gull said.

“It’s well west of the target jump spot. Everybody stay chilly,” she called out. “Settle in, settle down. Stay in your heads.”

“Guard your reserves!” Cards pulled in the door.

Gull watched the streamers fly, adjusted with the bank and bounce of the plane. The wind dragged the stench and haze of smoke inside, a small taste of what would come.

Rowan got in the door, shot him a last grin. She propelled herself out, with Stovic seconds behind her.

When it came his turn, he evened his breathing, listened to Cards tell him about the drag. He fixed the clearing in his head and, at the slap on his shoulder, flew.

Gorgeous. He could think it while the wind whipped him. The staggering white peaks, the impossibly deep blue in glints and curls of water, the high green of summer, and all of it in sharp contrast with the wicked blacks, reds, oranges of the fire.

His chute ballooned open, turning fall into glide, and he shot Gibbons, his jump partner, a thumbs-up.

He caught some hard air that tried to push him south, and he fought it, pushing back through the smoke that rolled over him. It caught him again, gave him a good, hard tug. Again he saw that deep dreamy blue through the haze. And he thought no way, goddamn it, no way he’d end up hitting the water after Rowan had warned him.

He bore down on the toggles, saw and accepted he’d miss the jump spot, adjusted again.

He winged through the birch, cursing. He didn’t land in the water, but it was a near thing as his momentum on landing nearly sent him rolling into it anyway.

Mildly annoyed, he gathered his chute as Rowan and Yangtree came running.

“I thought for sure you’d be in the drink.”

“Hit some bad air.”

“Me too. I nearly got frogged. Be grateful you’re not wet or limping.”

“Tore up my canopy some.”

“I bet.” Then she grinned as she had before jumping into space. “What a ride!”

Once all jumpers were on the ground, Yangtree called a briefing with Rowan and Gibbons while the others dealt with the paracargo.

“They thought they could catch it, had forty jumpers on it, and for the first two days, it looked like they had it. Then it turned on them. A series of blowups, some equipment problems, a couple injuries.”

“The usual clusterfuck,” Gibbons suggested.

“You got it. I’ll be coordinating with the Alaska division boss, the BLM and USFS guys. I’m going to take me a copter ride, get a better look at things, but for right now.”

He picked up a stick, drew a rough map in the dirt. “Gibbons, take a crew and start working the left flank. They’ve got a Cat line across here. That’s where you’ll tie in with the Alaska crew. You’ve got a water source here for the pumpers. Swede, you take the right, work it up, burn it out, drown it.”

“Take it by the tail,” she said, following his dirt map. “Starve the belly.”

“Show’em what Zulies can do. We catch her good, shake her by the tail and push up to the head.” He checked the time. “Should reach the head in fifteen, sixteen hours if we haul our asses.”

They discussed strategy, details, directions, crouched in the stand of birch, while on the jump site the crew unpacked chain saws, boxes of fusees, pumpers and hose.

Gibbons leaped up, waved his Pulaski toward the sky. “Let’s do it!” he shouted.

“Ten men each.” Yangtree clapped his hands together like a team captain before the big game. “Get humping, Zulies.”

They got humping.

As planned, Rowan and her team used fusees to set burnouts between the raging right flank and the service road, sawing snags and widening the scratch line as they moved north from the jump spot.

If the dragon tried to swing east to cross the roads, move on to homesteads and cabins, she’d go hungry before she got there. They worked through what was left of the night, into the day with the flank crackling and snarling, vomiting out firebrands the wind took in arches to the dry tundra.

“Chow time,” she announced. “I’m going to scout through the burn, see if I can find how close Gibbons’s crew is.”

Dobie pulled a smashed sandwich out of his bag, looked up at the towering columns of smoke and flame. “Biggest I’ve ever seen.”

“She’s a romper,” Rowan agreed, “but you know what they say about Alaska. Everything’s bigger. Fuel up. We’ve got a long way to go.”

She couldn’t give them long to rest, she thought as she headed out. Timing and momentum were as vital tools as Pulaski and saw because Dobie hadn’t been wrong. This was one big mother, bigger, she’d concluded, than anticipated and, she’d already estimated by the staggered formation of her own line, wider in the body.

Pine tar and pitch tanged in the air, soured by the stench of smoke that rose like gray ribbons from the peat floor of the once, she imagined, pristine forest. Now mangled, blackened trees lay like fallen soldiers on a lost battlefield.

She could hear no sound of saw, no shout of man through the voice of the fire. Gibbons wasn’t as close as she’d hoped, and she couldn’t afford to scout farther.

She ate a banana and an energy bar on the quickstep hike back to her men. Gull gulped down Gatorade as he walked to her.

“What’s the word, boss?”

“We’re shaking her tail, as ordered, but she’s got a damn long one. We’ll be hard-pressed to meet Yangtree’s ETA. We’ve got a water source coming up. It should be about a hundred yards, and a little to the west. We’ll put the baby hoses on her, pump it up and douse her like Dorothy doused the Wicked Witch.”

She took his Gatorade, chugged some down. “She’s burning hot, Gull. Some desk jockey waited too long to call in more troops, and now she’s riding this wind. If she rides it hard enough, she can get behind us. We’ve got to bust our humps, get to the water, hose her down and back.”

“Busting humps is what we do.”

Still, it took brutal, backbreaking time to reach the rushing mountain stream, while the fire fought to advance, while it threw brands like a school-yard bully throws rocks, its roar a constant barrage of taunts and threats.

“Dobie, Chainsaw, beat out those spots! Libby, Trigger, Southern, snags and brush. The rest of you, get those pumps set up, lay the hose.”

She grabbed one of the pumps, connected the fuel can line to the pump, vented it. Moving fast, sweat dripping, she attached the foot valve, checked the gasket, tightened it with a spanner wrench from her tool bag.

Beat it back here, she thought, had to, or they’d be forced to backtrack and round east, giving up hundreds of acres, risk letting the fire snake behind them and drive them farther away from the head, from Gibbons. From victory.

She set the wye valve on the discharge side of the pump, began to hand-tighten it. And found it simply circled like a drain.

“Come on, come on.” She fixed it on again, blaming her rush, but when she got the same result, examined the valve closely.

“Jesus Christ. Jesus, it’s stripped. The wye valve’s threads are stripped on this pump.”

Gull looked over from where he worked. “I’ve got the same deal here.”

“I’m good,” Janis called out on the third pump. “It’s priming.”

“Get it warmed up, get it going.”

But one pump wouldn’t do the job, she thought. Might as well try a goddamn piss bag.

“We’re screwed.” She slapped a fist on the useless pump.

Gull caught her eye. “No way two stripped valves end up on the pumps by accident.”

“Can’t worry about that now. We’ll hold her with one as long as we can, use the time to saw and dig a line. We’ll double back to that old Cat line we crossed, then retreat east. Goddamn it, give up all that ground. There’s no time to get more pumps or manpower in here. Maybe if I had some damn duct tape we could jerry-rig them.”

“Duct tape. Hold on.” He straightened, ran to where Dobie shoveled dirt over a dying spot fire.

Rowan watched in amazement as he ran back with a roll of duct tape. “For Dobie it’s like his Tabasco. He doesn’t leave home without it.”

“It could work, or work long enough.”

They worked together, placing the faulty valve, wrapping it tight and snug to the discharge. She added another insurance layer, continued the setup.

“Fingers crossed,” she said to Gull, and began to stroke the primer. “She’s priming,” she mumbled as water squirted out of the holes. “Come on, keep going. Duct tape heals all wounds. Keep those fingers crossed.”

She closed the valve to the primer, opened it to the collapsible hose.

“It’s going to work.”

“It is working,” she corrected, and flicked the switch to start and warm the engine. “Trigger, on the pump! Let’s get the other one going,” she said to Gull.

“Not two of them,” Gull repeated while they worked.

“No, not two of them. Somebody majorly fucked up or—”

“Deliberately.”

She let the word hang when she met his eyes. “Let’s get it running. We’ll deal with that when we get out of this mess.”

They beat it back, held the ground, laying a wet line with hoses, hot shoveling embers right back in the fire’s gullet. But Rowan’s satisfaction was tempered with a simmering rage. Accident or deliberate, carelessness or sabotage, she’d put her crew at risk because she’d trusted the equipment.

When they reached Yangtree’s proposed rendezvous time, they were still over a half mile south of the head with fourteen hours’ bitter labor on their backs. She deployed most of the crew north, sending two back to check the burnout, and once again cut across the burn.

She took the time to calm, to radio back to Ops with a report of the faulty equipment and the progress. But this time when she crossed the dead land, she heard the buzz of saws.

Encouraged, she followed the sound until she came to Gibbons’s line.

“Did I call this a clusterfuck?” He paused long enough to swipe his forearm over his brow. “What’s the next step up from that?”

“Whatever this is. We’ve run into everything but Bigfoot on this. I had two pumps with stripped wye valves.”

“I had three messed-up chain saws. Two with dead spark plugs, one with a frayed starter cord that snapped first pull. We had to—” He stopped, and his face reflected the shock and suspicion in hers. “What the fuck, Ro?”

“We need to brief on this, but I’ve got to get back to my crew. We’ll be lucky to make the head in another three hours the way it’s going.”

“How far east are you now?”

“A little more than a third of a mile. We’re tightening her up. We’ll talk about this when we camp. We may catch her tonight, but we’re not going to kill her.”

“The crew’s going to need rest. We’ll see how it goes. Check back in—if we don’t tie up before—around ten, let’s say.”

“You’ll hear from me.”

She caught up with her men, following the sound of saws as she had with Gibbons, found them sawing line through black spruce.

They’d been actively fighting for nearly eighteen hours. She could see the exhaustion, the hollow eyes, slack jaws.

She laid a hand on Libby’s arm, waited until the woman took out her earplugs. “Extended break. An hour. Nappie time. Pass it up the line.”

“Praise Jesus.”

“I’m going to recon toward the head, see what we have in store for us.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll kick its ass, if I have my nappie time.”

She signaled to Gull. “I’m going to recon the head. You could come with me, but you’d miss an hour’s downtime.”

“I’d rather walk through the wilderness with my woman.”

“Then let’s go.”

They walked through the spruce while around them jumpers dumped their tools, dropped down on the ground or sprawled on rocks.

“Gibbons had three defective chain saws—two dead spark plugs, one bad starter cord.”

“I’d say that makes it officially sabotage.”

“That’s unofficial until the review, but, yeah, that’s what it was.”

“Cards was spotter. That puts him as loadmaster.”

“Load being the operative word,” she reminded him. “He wouldn’t check every valve and spark plug. He just makes sure everything gets loaded on, and loaded right.”

“Yeah, that’s true enough. Look, I like Cards. I don’t want to point fingers at anybody, but this kind of thing? It has to be one of us.”

She didn’t want to hear it. “A lot of people could get to the equipment. Support staff, mechanics, pilots, cleaning crews. It’s not just who the hell—it’s why the hell.”

“Another good point.”

Because she felt shaky, she took out one of her precious Cokes for a shot of caffeine and sugar, and used it to make yet another energy bar more palatable.

“We wouldn’t have been trapped,” she added. “We had time to take an escape route, get to a safe zone. If we hadn’t fixed the hoses and held that line, we’d have gotten out okay.”

“But,” he prompted.

“Yeah, but if the situation had been different, if we’d gotten in a fix and needed the hoses to get out, some of us could’ve been hurt, or worse.”

“So the why could be one, wanting to screw around, cause trouble. Two, wanting to give fire an advantage. Or three, wanting somebody to get hurt or worse.”

“I don’t like any of those options.” Each one of them made her sick. “But the way this summer’s been going, I’m afraid it might be three. L.B.’s ordering a full inspection of all equipment, right down to boot snaps.” She pulled off her gloves to rub her tired eyes.

“I don’t want to waste the energy being pissed about it,” she told him, “not until we demob anyway. God, Gull. Look at her burn.”

They stopped a moment, stood staring at the searing wall.

She’d fought fire on more than one front before. She knew how.

But she’d never fought two enemies in the same war.

26

Ella studied Lucas across the pretty breakfast table she’d set up on the deck. She’d gone to a little trouble—crepes and shirred eggs on her best china, fat mixed berries in pretty glass bowls, mimosas in tall, crystal flutes, and one of her Nikko Blue hydrangeas sunk into a low, square glass vase for a centerpiece.

She liked to go to the trouble now and again, and Lucas usually showed such appreciation. Even for cold cereal and a mug of black coffee, she thought, he always thanked her for the trouble.

But this morning he said little, and only toyed with the food she’d so carefully prepared.

She wondered if he was regretting taking the day off to be with her, to go poking around the Missoula Antique Mall. Her idea, she reminded herself, and really, did any man enjoy the prospect of spending the day shopping?

“You know, it occurs to me you might like to do something else today. Lucas,” she said when he didn’t respond.

“What?” His gaze lifted from his plate. “I’m sorry.”

“If you could do anything, what would you want to do today?”

“Honestly. I’d be up in Alaska with Rowan.”

“You’re really worried about her.” She reached over for his hand. “I know you must worry every time, but this seems more. Is it more?”

“I talked to L.B. while you were fixing breakfast. He thought I should know—No, she’s fine. They’re fine,” he said when her fingers jerked in his. “But the fire’s tougher and bigger than they thought. You get that,” he added with a shrug. “The thing that’s got me worried is it turns out they jumped with several pieces of defective equipment, tools.”

“Aren’t those kind of things inspected and maintained? That shouldn’t happen.”

“Yeah, they’re checked and tested. Ella, they think these tools may have been tampered with.”

“You mean... Well, God, Lucas, no wonder you’re worried. What happens now?”

“They’ll examine the equipment, investigate, review. L.B.’s already ordered a complete inspection of everything on base.”

“That’s good, but it doesn’t help Rowan or the rest of them on the fire.”

“When you’re on a fire, you’ve got to depend on yourself, your crew and, by God, on your equipment. It could’ve gone south on my girl.”

“But she’s all right? You’re sure?”

“Yeah. They worked nearly twenty-four hours before making camp. She’s getting some sleep now. They’ll hit it early today; they’ll have the light. They dropped them more equipment, and they’re sending in another load of jumpers, more hotshots. They’re sending in another tanker, and...” He trailed off, smiled a little, waved his hand. “Enough fire talk.”

She shook her head. “No. You talk it through. I want you to be able to talk it through with me.”

“What they had was your basic clusterfuck. Delays in calling in more men and equipment, erratic winds and a hundred percent active perimeter. Fire makes its own weather,” he continued, and pleased her when talking relaxed him enough to have him cutting into a crepe. “This one kicked up a storm, kept bumping the line—that means it spots and rolls, delays containment. Blowups, eighty-foot flames across the head.”

“Oh, my God.”

“She’s impressive,” he said, and amazed Ella by smiling.

“You really do wish you were there.” She narrowed her eyes, pointed at him. “And not just for Rowan.”

“I guess it never goes away, all the way away. Bottom line is they’ve made good progress. They’re going to have a hell of a day ahead of them, but they’ll have her crying uncle by tonight.”

“You know what you should do—the next best thing to flying yourself to Alaska and jumping out over Rowan’s campsite? You should go on over to the base.”

“They don’t need me over there.”

“You may have retired, but you’re still Iron Man Tripp. I bet they could use your expertise and experience. And you’d feel closer to Rowan and to the action.”

“We had plans for the day,” he reminded her.

“Lucas, don’t you know me better by now?”

He looked at her, then took her hand to his lips. “I guess I do. I guess you know me, too.”

“I like to think so.”

“I wonder how you’d feel... I’d like to ask if I could move in here with you. If I could live with you.”

It took a minute for her brain to catch up. “You—you want to live together? Here?”

“I know you’ve got everything you want here, and we’ve only been seeing each other a few months. Maybe you need to—”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“I mean, I’ll have everything I want here when you are. So, yes, absolutely yes.” Delighted by his blank stare, she laughed. “How soon can you pack?”

He let out a breath, then picked up the mimosa, drank deep. “I thought you’d say no, or that we should wait awhile more.”

“Then you shouldn’t have asked. Now you’re stuck.”

“Stuck with a beautiful woman who knows me and wants me around anyway. For the life of me, I can’t figure out what I did right.” He set the glass back down. “I did this backward because first I should’ve said—I should’ve said, I love you, Ella. I love you.”

“Lucas.” She got up, went around the table to sit in his lap. Took his face in her hands. “I love you.” She kissed him, sinking in. “I’m so happy my son wanted me to jump out of a plane.” She sighed as she laid her cheek against his. “I’m so happy.”

When he left, she adjusted her plans for the day. She had to make room for a man. For her man. Closet space, drawer space. Space for manly things. The house she’d made completely her own would become a blend, picking up pieces of him, shades of him.

It amazed her how much she wanted that, how very much she wanted to see what those shades would be once blended.

She needed to make a list, she realized, of what should be done. He’d want some office space, she decided as she took out a notebook and pen to write it down. Then she tapped the pen on the table, calculating which area might work best.

“Oh, who can think!” Laughing, she tossed down the pen to dance around the kitchen.

She had to call her kids and tell them. But she’d wait until she’d settled down a little so they didn’t think she’d gone giddy as a teenager on prom night.

But she felt like one.

When the phone rang, she boogied to it, then sobered when she saw Irene’s readout.

She took two quiet breaths. “Hello.”

“Ella, Ella, can you come? Leo. Leo called.”

“Slow down,” she urged when Irene rushed over the words. “Leo called you?”

“He turned himself in. He’s at the police station, and he wants to talk to me. They let him call me, and he said he’s not saying anything about anything until he talks to me. I don’t know what to do.”

“Don’t do anything. I’ll be right over.”

She grabbed her cell phone out of the charger, snagged her purse on the run. On the way out the door, she called Lucas.

“I’m on my way over to Irene’s. Leo’s turned himself in.”

“Where?” Lucas demanded. “Where is he?”

“He called her from the police station.” She slammed her car door, shifted the phone to yank on her seat belt. “He says he won’t talk to anyone until he talks to her. I’m going with her.”

“Don’t you go near him, Ella.”

“I won’t, but I don’t want her to go alone. I’ll call you as soon as I’m back.”

She closed the phone, tossed it in her purse as she reversed down the drive.

Waking to the view of the Alaska Range and Denali lifted the spirits. As she stood in camp, Rowan felt the mountain was on their side.

The crews had worked their hearts out, had the burns and bruises, the aches and pains to prove it. They hadn’t slayed the dragon, not yet, but they’d sure as hell wounded it. And today, she had a good, strong feeling, today they’d plunge the sword right through its heart.

She knew the crew was banged up, strung out, but they’d gotten a solid four hours’ sleep and even now filled their bellies. With more equipment, more men, an additional fire engine and two bulldozers, she believed they could be flying home by that evening, and leave the final beat-down and mopping up to Alaska.

Sleep, she decided, the mother of optimism.

She pulled out her radio when it signaled. “Ro at base camp, go ahead.”

“L.B., Ops. I’ve got somebody here who wants to talk to you.”

“How’s my girl?”

“Hey, Dad. A-OK. Just standing here thinking and looking at a big-ass mountain. Wish you were here. Over.”

“Copy that. It’s good to hear your voice. Heard you had some trouble yesterday. Over.”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle with some bubble gum and duct tape. We softened her up yesterday.” She watched the cloud buildup over the park, and puffs of smoke twining up from islands of green. We’re coming for you, she thought. “Today, we’ll kick her ass. Over.”

“That’s a roger. Ro, I’ve got something you should know,” he began, and told her about Leo.

When she’d finished the radio call, Rowan walked over, sat down by Gull.

“Hell of a view,” he commented. “Libby’s in love. She’s talking about moving up here. Ditching us for the Alaska unit.”

“People fall for the mountain. Gull, Leo turned himself in this morning. He’s in custody.”

He studied her, then drank more coffee. “Then it’s a damn good day.”

“I guess it is.” She heaved out a breath. “Yeah, I guess it is. Let’s make it better and kill this dragon dead.”

“I hear that,” he said, and leaned over to kiss her.

It shook Irene to the core to walk into the room and see Leo shackled to the single table. He’d lost weight, and his hair, thinner, straggly, hung over the collar of the bright orange prison suit. He hadn’t shaved for God knew how long, she thought, and the beard had grown in shockingly gray around his gaunt face.

He looked wild. He looked like a criminal.

He looked like a stranger.

Had it only been a month since she’d seen him?

“Irene.” His voice broke on her name, and the shackles rattled obscenely in her ears when he reached out.

She had to look away for a moment, compose herself.

The room seemed airless, and much too bright. She saw the reflection in the wide mirror—two-way glass, she thought. She watched Law & Order, and she knew how it worked.

But the reflection stunned her. Who was that woman, that old, bony woman with dingy hair scraped back from her haggard face?

It’s me, she thought. I’m a stranger, too.

We’re not who we were. We’re not who we’re supposed to be.

Were they watching behind that glass? Of course they were. Watching, judging, condemning.

The idea struck what little pride she had left, kindled it. She straightened her shoulders, firmed her chin and looked into her husband’s eyes. She walked to the table, sat, but refused to take the hands he held out to her.

“You left me.”

“I’m sorry. I thought it’d be better for you. They were looking to arrest me, Irene, for murder. I thought if I was gone, you’d be better off, and they’d find the real killer so I could come back.”

“Where did you go?”

“I went up in the mountains. I kept moving. I had the radio, so I kept listening for word they’d arrested somebody. But they didn’t. Somebody did this to me, Reenie. I just—”

“To you? To you, Leo? I signed my name with yours, putting up our home for your bail. You left, and now I’m going to lose my home because even taking another job isn’t enough to meet the payments.”

Pain, and she judged it sincere, cut across his face. “I didn’t think about that until I’d already gone. I wasn’t thinking straight. I just thought you and the baby would do better if I left. I didn’t think—”

“You didn’t think I’d be alone with no idea where my husband was, if he was dead or alive? You didn’t think I’d have a baby to tend to, bills to pay, questions to answer, and all this right after I put my daughter’s bones in the ground?”

“Our daughter, Reenie.” Under the beard his cheeks reddened as he pounded his fist on the table. “And they think I killed my own girl. That I broke her neck, then burned her like trash in a barrel. Is that what you think? Is it?”

“I stopped thinking, Leo.” She heard her own voice, thought it as dull as her hair, her face. “I had to, just to get from one day to the next, one chore to the next, one bill to the next. I lost my child, my husband, my faith. I’m going to lose my home, and my grandchild.”

“I’ve been living like an animal,” he began. Then stopped, squinted at her. “What are you talking about? They can’t take Shiloh away.”

“I don’t know if they can or not. But I know I can’t raise her right on my own without a good home to give her, or enough time. The Brayners will be here tomorrow, and they’re taking her home to Nebraska.”

“No.” That stranger’s face lit with fury. “Irene, no. Goddamn it, you listen to me now.”

“Don’t you swear at me.” The slap in her voice had his head snapping back. “I’m going to do what’s right by that baby, Leo, and this is what’s best. You’ve got no say in it. You left us.”

“You’re doing this to punish me.”

She sat back. Funny, she realized, she didn’t feel so tired now, so worn, so full of grief. No, she felt stronger, surer, clearer of mind than she had since they’d come to tell her Dolly was dead.

“Punish you? Look at yourself, Leo. Even if I had a mind to punish you, and I just don’t, you’ve already done plenty of it on your own. You say you lived like an animal—well, that was your choice.”

“I did it for you!”

“Maybe you believe that. Maybe you need to. I don’t care. There’s an innocent baby in all this, and she comes first. And for the first time in my life I’m putting myself next. Ahead of you, Leo. Ahead of everydamn-body else.”

Something stirred in her. Not rage, she thought. She was sick of rage, and sick of despair. Maybe, just maybe, what stirred in her was faith—in herself.

“I’m going to do what I have to do for me. I have some thinking to do about that, but I’ll be leaving, most likely to move closer to Shiloh. I’ll take my half of whatever’s left once this is said and done, and leave you yours.”

He jerked back as if she’d slapped him. “You’re going to leave me like this, when I’m locked up, when I need my wife to stand with me?”

“You need,” she repeated, and shook her head. “You’re going to have to get used to your needs being down the line. After Shiloh’s and after mine. I’d’ve stood with you, Leo. I’d’ve done my duty as your wife and stuck by you, whatever it took and for however long. But you changed that when you proved you wouldn’t do the same for me.”

“Now you listen to me, Irene. You listen to me. Somebody took that rifle, took that gun, right out of my house. They did that to ruin me.”

“I hope for the sake of your soul that’s true. But you and Dolly made our house a battlefield, and neither one of you cared enough about me to stop the war. She left me without a second thought, and when we took her back, because that’s what a parent does for a child, she lied and schemed just like always. And you fought and clawed at each other, just like always. With me in the middle, just like always.”

God help her, Irene thought. She’d mourn her child for the rest of her life, but she wouldn’t mourn the war.

“Now she’s gone, and my faith’s so broken I don’t even have the comfort of believing it was God’s will. I don’t have that. You left me alone in the dark when I most needed a strong hand to hold on to.

“I don’t know what you’ve done or haven’t done, but I know that much. I know I can’t depend on you to give me that strong hand, so I have to start depending on me. It’s past time I did.”

She got to her feet. “You should call your lawyer. He’s what you need now.”

“I know you’re upset. I know you’re mad at me, and I guess you’ve got a right to be. But please, don’t leave me here alone, Irene. I’m begging you.”

She tried, one last time, to reach down inside herself for love, or at least for pity. But found nothing.

“I’ll come back when I can, and I’ll bring you what they say I’m allowed to bring. Now I’ve got to go to work. I can’t afford to take any more time off today. If I can find it in me to pray again, I’ll pray for you.”

L.B. hailed Matt as Matt came back from his run.

“Have you got your PT in for the day?”

“Yeah. I was going to grab a shower and some breakfast. Have you got something you want me to do?”

“We could use some help restocking gear and equipment as it gets inspected. The crew got in from Wyoming while you were out.”

“I saw the plane overhead. Man, L.B., did they have trouble, too?”

“Another bad pumper.”

“Well, shit.”

“We’ve got mechanics going over every inch of the rest of them, the saws and so on. We’re unpacking all the chutes, and I’ve got master riggers going over them. Iron Man’s here, so he’s helping with that.”

“Jesus Christ, L.B., you don’t think somebody messed with the chutes?”

“Are you willing to risk it?”

Matt pulled off his cap, scrubbed a hand over his hair. “I guess not. Who the hell would do something like this?”

“We’re damn sure going to find out. Iron Man had news. Leo Brakeman turned himself in this morning.”

“He’s back? In Missoula? The cops have him?”

“That’s exactly right. It makes me wonder how long he’s been around these parts.”

“And he could’ve done this. Screwed with us like this.” Matt looked away, stared off, shaking his head. “Threatening Ro, shooting at her, for God’s sake. Now messing with equipment. We never did anything to him or his. Never did a damn thing, and he can’t say the same.”

“Right now, we take care of our own, so grab that shower and some chow, then report to the ready room.”

“Okay. Listen, if you need me back on the jump list—”

“We’ll leave you off for now.”

“I appreciate it, a lot. My parents should be in late this afternoon. I’m going to let them know I might have to cut it short. I don’t want you having to shuffle somebody into my spot with the other crap on your plate, too. You call me in if you need me.”

“Copy that.” He gave Matt a slap on the shoulder.

He headed back into Operations. He had twenty-one men in Alaska, and didn’t expect to see them back until the next day, soonest. Another load barely touched down, and a fire in California where they might need some Zulies before it was said and done. Dry conditions predicted for the next two weeks.

He’d be damned if he’d send the first load up without being sure, absolutely sure, every strap, every buckle, every fucking zipper and switch passed the most rigorous inspection.

He thought of Jim, felt the familiar heartsickness. Accidents couldn’t be controlled, but he could and would control this human-generated bullshit.

At the end of a very long day, Lieutenant Quinniock drove out to the base. He wanted to go home, see his wife and kids, have dinner with them the way men did who weren’t cops.

Most of all he wanted to be done with Leo Brakeman.

The man was a stone wall, wouldn’t give an inch.

Every pass he or DiCicco had taken at him—together or separately—met with the same result.

Zero.

Brakeman just sat there, arms folded, eyes hard, jaw tight under that scruffy man-of-the-mountain beard. He’d lost ten pounds, gained ten years, and still wouldn’t budge from his I’m-being-framed routine.

Now he demanded—through his lawyer, as he’d stopped talking al-together—a polygraph. So they’d have to go through that dance and shuffle.

Quinniock suspected if the polygraph results indicated Brakeman was a lying sack of shit who couldn’t tell the truth over the size of his own dick, he’d claim the polygraph framed him.

They had circumstantial evidence aplenty. They had motive, means, opportunity and the fact that he’d run. What they didn’t have was a confession.

The DA didn’t want to charge Leo Brakeman, former All-State tackle, a Missoula native, with no priors and deep ties to the community, with the murder of his own daughter without a confession.

And since every goddamn bit of that evidence tied Dolly’s murder with Latterly’s, they couldn’t charge him with that, either.

Need a break, Quinniock thought. Need a little off-the-clock before going back the next day to beat his head against the DA’s. But first he had to see what the hell Michael Little Bear wanted.

Once on base, he aimed directly for Little Bear’s office.

“You looking for L.B.?”

Quinniock stopped, nodded at the man who hailed him. “That’s right.”

“He just walked over to the loft. Do you know where that is?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

He changed direction. It struck him how quiet the base seemed. None of the crew training outside or hustling from building to building, though he had seen a couple of them hauling ass down one of the service roads in a jeep. Either a test or a joyride, he decided.

When he made his way to the loft, passed what he knew they called the ready room, he saw why.

Here the hive of activity buzzed. Men and a handful of women worked on tools, taking them apart or putting them back together. Others pulled equipment off shelves or replaced it.

Routine inspection? he wondered, considered the organized chaos as he entered the loft.

There he saw chutes spread on counters, being unpacked or meticulously repacked. More hung in the tower waiting to be inspected or already tagged for repair or repacking.

He spotted Little Bear standing beside Lucas Tripp at one of the counters.

“Iron Man.” Quinniock offered a hand with genuine pleasure. “Have they talked you back on the team?”

“Just helping out for the day. How’s it going, Lieutenant?”

“I’ve had better days, and I’ve had worse. You wanted to talk to me?” he said to L.B.

“Yeah. Where’s the tree cop?”

“Seeing to some tree cop business. Did you want her here?”

“Not especially. I have crews in Alaska, and another just back this morning from Wyoming.”

“I heard about the fires in Alaska, threatening Denali Park. What’s the status?”

“They hope to have it contained within a few hours. It’s been a long, hard haul and my people jumped that fire with defective equipment.”

“Is that what this is about?” Quinniock took another look around the loft. “You’re running an equipment inspection?”

“What this is about is the fact that the equipment was tampered with. Stripped valves in pumpers, and one of them went into Wyoming. Chain saws with burned-out spark plugs and a frayed starter cord.”

“I don’t want to tell you your business, but all of that sounds like it could easily be simple wear and tear, something that got overlooked during the height of a busy season.”

L.B.’s face went hard as stone. “We don’t overlook a damn thing. Equipment comes in from a fire, it’s gone over, checked out and checked off before it goes back in rotation. The same valve stripped on three pumpers, and two in the load that went to Denali?”

“Okay, that’s a stretch.”

“You’re damn right. We’re inspecting everything, and we’ve already found two more defective saws, and four piss bags with the nozzles clogged with putty. We’re not careless; we can’t afford to be. We don’t overlook.”

“All right.”

“We have to inspect every chute, drogue, reserve. And thank God so far none of the ones we’ve gone over show any signs of tampering. Do you know how long it takes to repack a single chute?”

“About forty-five minutes. I’ve taken the tour. All right,” Quinniock repeated, and took out his notebook. “You have a list of who checked off the equipment?”

“Sure I do, and I’ve gone over it. I’ll give you the names, and the names of the mechanics who did any of the repairs or cleaning. It doesn’t fall on one person.”

“Are any of your crew dealing with more than the usual stress?”

“My people in Alaska who had to jerry-rig pumpers with duct tape, goddamn it, or lose their ground.”

As he also sent men out into the field, bore the weight of those decisions, Quinniock understood the simmering rage. He kept his own tone brisk. “Have you had to discipline anyone, remove anyone from active?”

“No, and no. Do you think one of the crew did this? These people don’t know when they’ll have to jump or where or into what conditions until they do. Why in the hell would somebody do this when they might be the one with a starter cord snapping off in their hands, or scrambling with a useless pump with a fire bearing down on him?”

“Your support staff, your mechanics, your pilots and so on don’t jump.”

“And Leo Brakeman walked into your house this morning. He’s already shot up mine, and isn’t shy about starting fires. Tampering with the equipment here takes a little mechanical know-how.”

“And he has more than a little.” Quinniock blew out a breath. “I’ll look into it. If it was him, I can promise you he’s going to be sitting just where he’s sitting for some time to come.”

“His wife’s leaving him,” Lucas put in. He’d finished packing the chute, tagged it, then turned to address Quinniock. “She’s giving the baby to the Brayners, the father’s parents. They’re coming in from Nebraska. She’s making arrangements to turn the house over, to sell whatever she can sell, cash out whatever she can cash out. She’s thinking about moving out near the Brayners so she can be near the baby, help out, watch her grow up.”

“You’re well informed.”

“My...” Did a sixty-year-old man have a girlfriend? he wondered. “The woman I’m involved with is a close friend of Irene’s.”

“Ella Frazier. I’m well informed, too,” Quinniock added. “I met her at the funeral.”

“She’s helping Irene as much as she can. Irene told Leo all this when she went to see him this morning.”

Quinniock passed a weary hand over his face. “That explains why he shut down.”

“It seems to me he’s got nothing left to lose now.”

“He wants to take a polygraph, but that could be the lawyer’s idea. He’s sticking with the same story, and the more we twist it up, the harder he bears down. Maybe tossing this tampering at him will shake him. I want the timelines, when each piece was last used, last inspected, by whom in both cases if you can get that for me. I have to make a call first.”

He flipped out his phone, called the sergeant on duty and ordered a suicide watch on Leo Brakeman.

27

The plane touched down in Missoula shortly after ten A.M. They’d hit very rocky air over Canada, with hail flying like bullets while the plane rode the roller coaster of the storm.

Half the crew landed queasy or downright sick.

Since she’d slept the entire flight, Rowan calculated she felt nearly three-quarters human. Human enough to take a yearlong shower, and eat like a starving horse.

As she and Gull walked to the barracks, she spotted L.B. with Cards, supervising the off-loading. She suspected L.B. had been waging his own war while they had waged theirs.

She didn’t want to think about either battle for a little while.

She dropped down to sit on the bed in her quarters, remove her boots. “I want lots and lots of sex.”

“You really are the woman of my dreams.”

“First round, wet shower sex, after we scrape off a few layers of the Alaskan tundra, then a short and satisfying lunch break.” She unbuckled her belt, dropped her pants. “Then a second round of make-themattress-sing sex.”

“I feel a tear of gratitude and awe forming in the corner of my eye. Don’t think less of me.”

God, the man just tickled every inch of her. And, she decided, even with the scruff on his face, his hair matted, twanged her lust chords.

“Then a quickie just to top things off before I start my reports. I’ll have to brief with L.B. at some point, and squeeze in daily PT, after which there must be more food.”

“There must.”

“Then I believe it’s going to be a time for relax-into-a-nap sex.”

“I can write up an agenda on this, just so we don’t miss anything.”

“It’s all here.” She tapped her temple. “So...” She strolled naked into the bathroom. “Let’s get this party started.”

Rowan considered the first round a knockout. Now that she felt a hundred percent human, and with Gull shaving off the scruff in her bathroom, she went out to dress.

She picked up the note someone must have shoved under her door in the last forty minutes.

FULL BRIEFING ALL CREW

OPS

THIRTEEN HUNDRED

“Oh, well. Round two’s going to have to be postponed.” She held the note up for Gull to read.

“Maybe he has some answers.”

“Or maybe he’s just got a whole lot of questions. Either way, we’d better scramble if we’re going to get any food before thirteen hundred.”

“Marg might know something.”

“I’m thinking the same.”

Since Marg liked him well enough, Gull went with Rowan to the kitchen.

Probably not the best timing, he realized as they walked into the heat and the rush. Marg, Lynn and the new cook—Shelley, he remembered—turned, hauled, chopped and scooped with a creative symmetry that made him think of a culinary Cirque du Soleil.

“Hey.” Lynn filled a tub with some sort of pasta medley. “Shelley, we need more rolls, and the chicken salad’s getting low.”

“I’m all over it!”

“Bring the barbecue pan back when you come,” Marg told Lynn while she swiped a cloth over her heat-flushed face. “They’ll be ready for it by then. I know how they suck this stuff down.

“Briefing at one o’clock,” she muttered, and wagged a spoon at Rowan. “Right in the middle of things, so they all storm this place before noon like Henry the Fifth stormed, wherever the hell that was.”

“I could chop something,” Rowan volunteered.

“Just stay clear. Once we get this second round of barbecue out to them, they’ll hold awhile.”

“You were right.” Lynn bustled back in with a near-empty pan. Together, she and Marg filled it.

“This tops everything off but the dessert buffet. Shelley and I can get that.”

“Good girl.” Marg flipped out two plates, tossed the open rolls on them, dumped barbecue on the bottom, scooped the pasta medley beside it, added a serving of summer squash. Then pointed at Gull. “Get three beers and bring ’em out to my table. Take this.” She shoved one of the plates at Rowan before grabbing up flatware setups.

She sailed outside and, after setting the plate and setups down, pressed her hands to her lower back. “God.”

“Sit down, Marg.”

“I need to stretch this out some first. Go on and eat.”

“Aren’t you going to?”

Marg just waved a hand in the negative. “That’s what I’m after,” she said, taking the beer Gull held out to her. “I’ve got the AC set to arctic blast, but by the time we’re into the middle of the lunch shift, it’s like Nairobi. Eat. And don’t bolt it down.”

Gull lifted the sloppy sandwich, got in the first bite. Warm, tangy, with the pork melting into sauce and the combination melding into something like spiced bliss.

“Marg, what’ll it take for you to come and live with me?”

“A lot of sex.”

“I’m good for that,” he said over another bite, pointing to Rowan for verification. “I’m good for that.”

“Everybody’s got to be good for something,” Rowan commented. “What’s the word, Marg?”

“L.B.’s on a tear, that’s for certain. You don’t see that man get up a head of steam often. It’s why he’s good at the job. But he’s been puffing it out the last couple days. He had every chute, every pack, every jumpsuit gone over. He’d have used microscopes on them if he could have. Every piece of equipment, every tool, every damn thing. He’s having the jeeps gone over, the Rolligons, the planes.”

She took a long, slow sip of beer, set it aside, then surprised Gull by lowering smoothly into a yoga down dog. “God, that feels better. He called Quinniock out here.”

“He wants a police investigation?” Rowan asked.

“He’s made up his mind Leo managed to do this. He may be right.” She walked her feet up to a forward fold, hung there a moment, then straightened. “Irene’s leaving him. She’s already packing up. The Brayners are taking the baby tomorrow, and I don’t think she plans to be far behind. She’s going to move into your daddy’s place for a couple weeks, until she clears up her business.”

“She’s moving in with Dad?”

“No, into the house. He offered it to her. He’ll be in Ella’s.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t give me that WTF look. Talk to your father about it. Meanwhile, I hear they have Leo on suicide watch and he’s clammed up tight. He wants to take a lie detector test. I think they’re going to do that today or tomorrow.

“That’s about it. I’ve got to get back.”

Gull waited a moment, then scooped up some pasta. “All that, and I bet the only thing you’re thinking is your father’s going to be living with the hot redhead.”

“Shut up. Besides, he’s just doing a favor for Mrs. Brakeman.”

“Yeah, I bet it’s a real sacrifice. You know what I’m thinking?”

Deliberately she stared up at the sky. “I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do. I’m thinking, the way this is working out, I’ll move in with you. You’re going to have the room, then I can be closer to Marg and get this barbecue on a regular basis.”

“I don’t think this is something to joke about.”

“Babe, I never joke about barbecue.” He licked some off his thumb. “I wonder how a Fun World would go over in Missoula.”

Rowan tried to squeeze out some stress by pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m losing my appetite.”

“Too bad. Can I have the rest of your sandwich?”

The snort of laughter snuck up on her. “Damn it. Every time I should be annoyed with you, you manage to slide around it. And no.” With a smirk, she stuffed the rest of her sandwich into her mouth.

“Just for that I’m going to get some pie. And I’m not bringing you any.”

“You don’t have time.” She tapped her watch. “Briefing.”

“I’ll take it to go.”

He didn’t get her any pie, but he did bring her a slab of chocolate cake. They ate dessert out of their palms on the way to Ops.

Jumpers poured out of the woodwork, heading in from the training field and track, striding out of the barracks, filing in from the loft. A grim-faced Cards, shoulders hunched, hands deep in his pockets, turned out of the ready room.

Rowan nudged Gull’s arm with her elbow and shifted direction to intersect.

“You look like somebody stole your last deck,” she commented.

“Do you think I didn’t do my job? Didn’t pay attention to what I load?”

“I know you did. You do.”

“That equipment was inspected and checked. I’ve got the goddamn paperwork. I checked the goddamn manifest.”

“Are you taking heat on this?” Rowan demanded.

“It’s got to go up the chain, something like this, and when shit goes up the chain, the hook drops on somebody. What’re we supposed to do, check every valve, nozzle, cord and strap before we load it, when every damn thing’s been checked before it goes into rotation? Are we supposed to start everything up before we put it on the damn plane?

“Fuck it. Just fuck it. I don’t know why I do this damn job anyway.”

He stalked off, leaving Rowan looking after him with a handful of cake crumbs and smeared icing. “He shouldn’t take a knock for this. This is nobody’s fault except whoever messed up the equipment.”

“He’s right about the way things drop back down the chain. Even if they pin it on Brakeman, on anybody, Cards could take a hit.”

“It’s not right. L.B. will go to bat for him. It’s bad enough, what we’ve been dealing with, without one of us getting dinged for it.” She stared down at her chocolate-smeared hand. “Hell.”

“Here.” Gull dug a couple of wet naps out of his pocket. “Some problems have easy solutions.”

“He’s a damn fine jumper.” She swiped at the chocolate. “As good a spotter as they come. He can be annoying with the card games and tricks, but he puts a lot into this job. More than most of us.”

Gull could have pointed out that putting more than most into it meant Cards had regular and easy access to all the equipment, and that as spotter he hadn’t jumped the Alaska fire.

No point in it, he decided. Her attachment there ran deep.

“He’ll be all right.”

They went into the building where people milled and muttered.

He saw Yangtree sitting, rubbing his knee, and Dobie leaning against a wall, eyes closed in a standing-up power nap. Libby played around with her iPhone while Gibbons sat with a hip hitched on a counter, his nose in a book.

Some drank coffee, some huddled in conversations, talking fire, sports, women—the three top categories—or speculating about the briefing to come. Some zoned out, sitting on the floor, backs braced against the wall or a desk.

Every one of them had dropped weight since the start of the season, and plenty of them, like Yangtree, nursed aching knees. The smoke jumper’s Achilles’ heel. Strained shoulders, pulled hamstrings, burns, bruises. Some of the men had given up shaving, sporting beards in a variety of styles.

Every one of them understood true exhaustion, real hunger, intense fear. And every one of them would suit up if the siren called. Some would fight hurt, but they’d fight all the same.

He’d never known people so stubbornly resilient or so willing to put body, mind and life on the line, day after day.

And more, to love it.

“L.B. hasn’t started.” Matt maneuvered in beside him. “I thought I’d be late.”

“Not yet. I didn’t expect to see you for a couple more days.”

“I’m just in for this. L.B. wanted all of us, unless we caught a fire. What’s the word?”

“As far as I know they’re still inspecting. They found a few more pieces of equipment tampered with.”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Did your parents get in all right?” Rowan asked him.

“Yeah. They’re over visiting with Shiloh. We’re going to take her out for a couple hours later, so she gets used to being with us. She’s already taken to my ma.”

“How’s Mrs. Brakeman doing?”

He lifted his shoulders, stared toward the Ops desk. “She’s being real decent about it. It shows how much she loves the baby.” He let out a little sigh. “She and my ma had a good cry together. L.B.’s getting ready to start.”

“All right, settle down,” L.B. called out. “I’ve got some things to say, so pay attention. Everybody knows about the equipment failures on the jumps in Alaska and Wyoming. I want to tell you all that we’re continuing a full inspection, any equipment or gear not yet inspected and passed doesn’t go out. I called in a couple extra master riggers to help reinspect, clear, repack every chute on this base. I don’t want anybody worrying about the safety of their gear.”

He paused a moment.

“We’ve got a good system of checks on this base, and nobody cuts corners. Everyone here knows it’s not just important, it’s fucking essential that every jumper have confidence the gear and equipment needed to jump and attack will be safe, meet the highest standards and be in good working order. That didn’t happen on these jumps, and I take responsibility.”

He hard-eyed the protests until they died off.

“I’ve been in touch with the Management Council so they’re aware of what we’re dealing with. The local police and the USFS are also aware and conducting their own investigations.”

“They know damn well Leo Brakeman did this,” somebody shouted out and started everybody else up again.

“He shouldn’t have been able to.” L.B. roared it over the rise of chatter, smashing it like a boot heel on an anthill. “He shouldn’t have been able to get to us the way he did. The fact he’s locked up is all fine and good, but we’re going to be a lot more security-conscious around here. We’re going to do spot checks, regular patrols. If I could suspend the tours, I would, but since that’s not an option, two staff members will go with each group.

“Until the investigations and reviews are complete, and we know who and how, we’re not taking any chances.”

He stopped again, took a breath. “And I’m recommending everybody toss a roll of duct tape into their PG bags.”

That got a laugh, succeeding in lowering the tension.

“I want you to know I’ve got your backs, on base, in the air and on a fire. I’ve posted a new jump list and a rotation of assignments. If you don’t like it, come see me in my office so I can kick your ass. Anybody’s got any questions, suggestions, public bitching, now’s the time.”

“Can we get the feds to pay for the duct tape?” Dobie asked, and earned hoots and applause.

Gull sent his friend an appreciative look. The right attitude, he thought. Keep it cocky, keep it steady, maintain unity.

Whether the sabotage had been an inside or outside job, unity equaled strength.

He had questions, but not the sort he wanted to ask here.

“I’ve got something I need to work on,” he told Rowan over the cross talk. “Catch up with you later.”

He noted her disapproving frown, but slipped out and walked straight to his quarters. There, he booted up his laptop and got to work.

He shut down, passcoding his work when the siren sounded. He wasn’t on the first or second loads, but he ran to the ready room to assist those who were. He loaded gear on speed racks, hefted already packed and strapped paracargo onto the electric cart.

He listened, and he observed.

With Rowan and Dobie, he watched the plane rise into the wide blue cup of the sky.

“It’s good L.B. got that briefing in before the call.” Rowan shaded her eyes from the sun with the flat of her hand. “The sky looks a little dicey to the east.”

“Might be jumping ourselves before long.”

Hearing the eagerness in his voice, Rowan angled her body toward Dobie. “You’ve got jump fever. The best thing for you is to go sleep it off.”

“I got me an assignment. I’m on PC,” he said, using the shorthand for paracargo. “Packing and strapping in the loadmaster’s room. You, too, pal,” he told Gull. “Swede pulled the loft.”

“Yeah, I saw that, and that anybody on the Alaska jump could take a two-hour break first. But what the hell.” He leaned over, kissed Rowan. “We’ll get back to our agenda later.”

“Count on it.”

“I don’t see how it’s right and fair you got a woman right on base,” Dobie said as they walked toward the loadmaster’s room together. “The rest of us have to hunt one up, if we’re lucky and get a turn at a bar.”

“Life’s just full of not right and not fair. Otherwise I’d be stretched out on a white sand beach with that woman, drinking postcoital mai tais.”

“Postcoital.” Dobie snickered like a twelve-year-old. “You beat all, Gull. Beat all and back again.”

Since he didn’t find her in her quarters, Gull assumed he’d finished up his duties before her, and went back to his room to continue on his project.

He sat on the bed, left the door open in a casual, nothing-to-see-here mode.

People walked by now and then, but for the most part his section stayed quiet.

Since he’d left his window open as well, he caught snippets of conversation as people wandered outside. A small group not on the jump list made plans to go into town. Somebody muttered to himself about women as the shimmering afternoon light dimmed.

He took a moment to shift to look out, and saw Rowan had been right about the eastern sky. Clouds gathered now, sailing in like warships.

A storm waiting to happen, he thought, toying with getting his run in before it did, then decided to wait for Rowan.

She and the first grumble of thunder arrived at the same time.

“Lightning strikes all over hell and back,” she told him, and flopped on the bed. “I ran up to check the radar. Tornadoes whipping things up in South Dakota.”

She circled her neck, rubbing hard at the back of her left shoulder as she spoke.

“We’ll probably have to run on the damn treadmill. I hate that.”

He pressed his fingers where she rubbed. “Jesus, Rowan, you got concrete in here.”

“Don’t I know it. I haven’t had a chance to work it out today. I need that run, some yoga... or that.” She sighed when he shifted and dug his fingers and thumbs into the knotted muscles.

“We’ll do our run after the storm’s over,” he said. “Use the track.”

Lightning struck, a flash and burn, and the wind rattled the blinds at his window. But no rain followed.

“When things slow down, we’ll hit L.B. up for a night off and get a fancy hotel suite. One with a jet tub in the bathroom. We’ll soak in it half the night.”

“Mmm.” She sighed her way into the image he painted. “Room service with fat, juicy steaks, and a great big bed to play on. Sleeping with somebody who has money and doesn’t mind spending it has advantages.”

“If you’ve got money and mind spending it, you can’t be having much fun.”

“I like that attitude. Are you e-mailing back home?”

“No, something else. You’re not going to like it.”

“If you’re e-mailing your pregnant wife to ask about your two adorable children and frisky puppy, I’m not going to like it.” She angled around. “That’s the kind of tone you used. Like you were going to tell me something that meant I had to punch you in the face.”

“My wife’s not pregnant, and we have a cat.” He gave her shoulders a last squeeze, then got up to close the door.

“You didn’t do that because we’re going to continue our planned agenda from this morning.”

“No. It’s the tampering, Rowan. Brakeman thinking of it, then pulling it off—all while eluding the cops. That’s just not working for me.”

“He knows this area better than most. He’s a mechanic, and he has a grudge against us. It works for me.”

On the surface, he thought, but you only had to scratch off a layer.

“Why tamper with some of the equipment?” Gull began working off his mental list. “He doesn’t know how we roll here, or in a fire. Not all the ins and outs.”

“His daughter worked here three seasons,” Rowan pointed out. “She had a working knowledge of how we roll, and he’s spent time on base.”

“If he wanted to hurt us, there are more direct ways. He had weapons; he could’ve used them. Sure, he could’ve known or found out where the equipment is,” Gull conceded, “and he could’ve gotten to it. This stretch of the season, most of us would sleep through a bomb blast. We’d hear the siren, the same way a mother hears her baby crying in the night even when she’s exhausted. We’re tuned, but otherwise, we’re out for the count.

“This was subtle, and sneaky, and it was the kind of thing, it seems to me, you’d know to do if you knew just how broken equipment could impact a crew on a fire. Because you’ve been there.”

He was right, Rowan thought. She didn’t like it. “You’re actually saying one of us did this?”

“I’m saying one of us could have done it, because we know how to access the equipment, how to screw it up and how it could impact an attack.”

“How stupid would that be since you could be the one impacted?”

“There’s that. Let’s take that first. Who didn’t jump either fire?”

He toggled his screen back to the document he’d worked on.

“You’re right; I don’t like it one damn bit. And first, Yangtree jumped with us.”

“He spent nearly the entire jump coordinating, doing flyovers.”

“That’s crap. And L.B.? Seriously?”

“He didn’t jump. Cards worked as spotter, so he didn’t jump. Neither did any of these. That’s over twenty, with six of them off the list altogether for personal reasons or injuries.”

“Yangtree’s been jumping thirty years. What, suddenly he decides to find out what’ll happen if he screws up equipment? Cards has ten years in, and L.B. more than a dozen. And—”

“Look, I know how you feel about them. They’re friends—they’re family. I feel the same.”

“In my world people don’t make up a suspect list of friends and family.”

“How often in your world has your equipment been sabotaged?” He laid a hand on her knee to soften the words. “Look, it’s more with you because you’ve been with them a long time. But I trained with a lot of the names on this list, and you know going through that makes a tight bond.”

“I don’t even know why you’re doing this.”

“Because, damn it, Rowan, if it wasn’t Brakeman, then we can do our patrols, our rechecks and spot checks, but... If you wanted to get in the ready room, the loadmaster’s room, any damn place on base tonight and mess something up, could you?”

She didn’t speak for a moment. “Yeah. I could. Why would I? Why would any of us?”

“That’s another deal entirely. Before that, there’s the possibility, if it’s one of us, it is somebody who jumped, who knew they were high on the list. Who wanted to be there, be part of it. We’re in a stressful line of work. People snap, or go too far. The firefighter who starts fires, then risks himself and his crew to put it out. It happens.”

“I know it happens.”

He hit another key, took her to another page.

“I divided the crews, the way we were that day.”

“You’re missing some names.”

“I think we can eliminate ourselves.”

“Dobie’s not here.”

“He had the duct tape.”

“Yeah, that was real handy.”

“He always carries... Okay, you’re right.” It burned his belly and his conscience, but he added Dobie’s name. “I should add us because you wished for the damn tape, and I remembered he’d have it.”

“What’s our motive?”

“Maybe I want to scare you off the job so you’ll stay home and cook me a hot dinner every night.”

“As if. But I mean the question. What’s any motive?”

“Okay, let’s roll with that. Yangtree.” He toggled back again. “He’s talking about giving it up. His knees are shot. Thirty years, like you said. He’s given this more than half his life, and now he knows he can’t keep it up. The younger and stronger are moving in. That’s a pisser.”

“He’s not like that.” She snapped it out—knee-jerk—then subsided when Gull only looked at her. “All right. This is bogus, but all right.”

“Cards? He’s had a bad-luck season. Injuries, illness. It wears. The woman he wanted to marry dumped him. Last summer, when he was spotter, Jim Brayner died.”

“That wasn’t—”

“His fault. I agree. It wasn’t yours, either, Rowan, but you have nightmares.”

“Okay. Okay. I get it. We could walk down your lists and find a plausible motive for everyone. That doesn’t make it true. And if it’s such a good theory, the cops would’ve thought of it.”

“What makes you think they haven’t?”

That stopped her. “That’s a really ugly thought. The idea they’re looking at us, investigating us, scraping away to hunt for weaknesses, secrets. That they’re doing what we’re doing here, only more.”

“It is ugly, but I’d rather take a hard look than ignore what might be right here with us.”

“I want it to be Brakeman.”

“Me too.”

“But if it’s not,” she said before he could, “we have to think of the safety of the unit. It’s not L.B.”

He started to argue, then backed off. “What’s your reasoning?”

“He worked hard for his position, and he takes a lot of pride in it. He loves the unit and he also loves its rep. Anything that damages or threatens that reflects on him. He could’ve closed ranks and kept this internal, but he opened it up. He’s the one shining the light on it when he knows he may pay consequences.”

Good points, Gull decided. Every one a good point. “I’ll agree with that.”

“And it’s not Dobie. He’s too damn good-natured under it all. And he loves what he’s doing. He loves it all. Mostly he loves you. He’d never do anything that put you at risk.”

“Thanks.”

“I didn’t say that for you.”

“I know.” But it soothed both his belly and his conscience. “Thanks anyway.”

She looked out the window where lightning flashed, and thunder echoed over the gloom-shrouded peaks. “The wind’s pushing the rain south. We just can’t catch a break.”

“We don’t have to do this now. We can let it alone, hit the gym.”

“I’m not a weak sister. Let’s work it through. I’ll tell you why it’s not Janis.”

“All right.” He took her hand, disconcerting her by bringing it briefly to his lips. “I’m listening.”

28

Gull figured he had an hour, tops. With Rowan hip-deep on her reports for the Alaska fire, she’d be occupied for at least that long. He came down from his duties in the loft, checking the time as he struck out on the service road at a light jog.

Nobody would question a man doing his PT, and there’d be no reason to suspect he’d arranged a meeting away from any casual observers.

Especially Rowan.

In any case, he liked being out, taking a short extra run, getting inside his own head.

The storm the night before hadn’t squeezed out more than a piss pot of rain, but it had managed to drop the temperature. They’d rolled a load that morning to jump a fire east, so he didn’t want to go far in case the siren went off.

He didn’t have to.

Half a mile out, Lucas stood in running sweats and a T-shirt talking on his cell.

“Sure, that’d be great.” He gave Gull a slight nod. “Perfect. I’ll see you then.” After closing the phone, he tucked it in the pocket of his sweats. “Gull.”

“Thanks for meeting me.”

“No problem. I still run here some days, so I got a mile or so in. I have to figure this has to do with Rowan since you didn’t want to talk to me on base.”

“With her, with everybody. Nobody knows the players better than you, Lucas. The staff and crew, the Brakemans, the cops. Maybe not the rookies as much as the long-timers, but I’m betting you’ve got some insight there, as they jump with your daughter.”

Lucas cocked an eyebrow at that, but Gull just shrugged.

“You’d size them up, ask some questions, get some answers.”

“I know you’re fast on your feet, had a good rep with the hotshots, and L.B. considers you a solid asset to the crew. You don’t mind a fight, like fast cars, have a head for business and good taste in women.”

“We’ve got the last in common. Let me ask you straight out, does Leo Brakeman have the brains, the canniness, let’s say, the aptitude to do all that’s being laid down here? Forget motive and opportunity and all that cop shit.” Gull shrugged it off. “Is he the man for this?”

Lucas said nothing for a moment, only nodding his head as if affirming his own thoughts. “He’s not stupid, and he’s a damn good mechanic. Starting from the back, yeah, he could’ve figured how to disable equipment without it showing until it was too late. Killing Latterly...”

Lucas stuck his hands in his pockets, looked away at the mountains. “I’d see him going after the son of a bitch once he found out Latterly was messing with his daughter. I’d see him beating the man bloody for it, especially considering Irene’s connection to the church. It’s harder to see Leo putting a bullet in him, but not impossible to see.”

He sighed once. “No, not impossible. He’d be capable of shooting up the base. Aiming for anybody, I don’t think so. But if he had, he wouldn’t have missed. And that’s one I’ve thought long and hard on since he’d have had Rowan in the crosshairs.

“Dolly? They kept at each other like rottweilers over the same bone. He’s got a temper, that’s no secret, and it’s no secret she caused him a lot of shame and disappointment.”

“But?”

“Yeah, but. The only way I can see him killing her is an accident. I don’t know if I’m putting myself into it, or if that’s a fact, but it’s how I see it. I guess what I’m saying is I can see him doing any of those things, in the heat. He’s got a short fuse, burns hot. But it burns out.”

“You’ve been giving all of this some long, hard thought.”

“Rowan’s in the middle of it.”

“Exactly. Hot temper. Hot and physical.” And, Gull thought, straight down the line of his own take on it. “Latterly and the tampering. Those were cold and calculated.”

“You’re thinking some of this, maybe all of it, comes from somebody who works on base. Maybe even one of your own.”

He thought of the men and women he’d trained with, the ones he fought with. “I haven’t wanted to think it.”

“Neither have I, but I started asking myself these same questions after L.B. told me about the tampering. After I settled down some. We’ve skirted around it, but I’m pretty sure L.B.’s asking himself the same.”

“Are you leaning in any particular direction?”

“I worked with some of these people. You know as well as I that’s not like sharing an office or a watercooler. I can’t see anyone I know the way I know those men and women in this kind of light. And I don’t know if that’s because of what we were—still are—to each other or because it’s just God’s truth.”

He waited a beat, watching Gull’s face carefully. “You haven’t told Rowan your line of thinking?”

“I did.”

Approval and a little humor curved Lucas’s lips. “We can add you’ve got balls to what I know about you.”

“I’m not going behind her back.” He thought of where he stood right now, and with whom. And grinned. “Much. Anyway, I made a spreadsheet. I like spreadsheets,” he said when Lucas let out a surprised laugh. “They’re efficient and orderly. She doesn’t want to think it could be true, but she listened.”

“If she listened, and didn’t kick the balls I know you have up past your eyes for suggesting it, it must be serious between the two of you.”

“I’m in love with her. She’s in love with me, too. She just hasn’t figured it out yet.”

“Well.” Lucas studied Gull’s face for a long moment. “Well,” he repeated, and sighed a second time. “She’s got a hard view of relationships and their staying power. That’s my fault.”

“I don’t think so. I think it’s circumstances. And she may have a hard head and a guarded heart, but she’s not closed up. She’s too smart, too self-aware, not to mention a bred-in-the-bone risk-taker to deny herself what she wants once she’s decided she wants it. She’ll figure out she wants me.”

“Cocky bastard, aren’t you? I like you.”

“That’s a good thing, because if you didn’t, she’d give me the boot. Then she’d be sad and sorry the rest of her life.”

At Lucas’s quick, helpless laugh, Gull glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to start heading back.”

“I’ll walk back with you. I run here off and on,” he reminded Gull. “And I have something I need to tell Rowan, face-to-face.”

“If it’s that you’re moving in with Ella, she heard.”

“Hell.” Lucas scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck as they walked. “I should’ve known it’d bounce through the base once I so much as thought about doing it. You’d think with everything going on, my personal life wouldn’t make the cut.

“Well?” Lucas jabbed an elbow in Gull’s ribs. “How’d she take it?”

“It knocked her back some. She’ll get used to it because she loves you, she respects Ella, and she’s not an idiot. Anyway, before we get back—and I’d as soon, unless she asks directly, Rowan assume we ran into each other on the road.”

“Probably for the best.”

“Generally I don’t mind pissing her off, but she’s got a lot on her plate. So, before we get back, I wanted to ask if I can e-mail you the spreadsheet.”

“Jesus Christ. A spreadsheet.”

“I’ve listed names in multiple categories, along with general data, then my take on each. Rowan’s take. Adding yours might help narrow the field.”

“Send me the damn spreadsheet.” Lucas rattled off his e-mail address. “Want me to write it down?”

“No, I’ve got it.”

“Even if Brakeman didn’t do all this—or any of it, for that matter—as long as he’s behind bars it should end. You can’t frame him if you do any of this crap when the cops know exactly where he is twenty-four/ seven. I guess the question we should ask is, who’s got this kind of grudge against Leo?”

Lucas lifted his eyebrows when Gull said nothing. “You’re thinking something else?”

“I think it could be that, just exactly that. But I also think Brakeman, with his temper, his history with Dolly, makes a pretty good patsy. And I know whoever’s responsible for this is one sick son of a bitch. I don’t think sick sons of bitches stop just because it’s smart.”

“I wish you hadn’t said that and made me think the same. Fear the same. If I could I’d make Rowan take the rest of the season off, get the hell away from this.”

“I won’t let anything happen to her.” Gull looked Lucas dead in the eye. “I know that’s a stupid and too usual a thing to say, but I won’t. She can handle just about anything that comes at her. What she can’t, I will.”

“I’m going to hold you to that. Now, you might want to make yourself scarce while I go talk to her. Not too scarce,” Lucas added. “It’s likely she’ll need to take out how she feels about my new living arrangements on somebody after I’m gone. It might as well be you.”

Rowan finished her reports, rechecked the attached list of paracargo she’d requested and received the second day of the attack. All in order, she decided.

Once she’d turned it over to L.B., she could get the hell outside for a while, and then...

“It’s open,” she called out at the two-tap knock on her door. “Hey.” Her face brightened as she rose to greet her father. “Great timing. I just finished my reports. Got your run in?”

“I thought I’d take it this way, get a twofer and see my girl.”

“I tell you what, I’ll dig out a cold drink from the cooler, trade you for glancing over my work here.”

“If you’ve got any 7UP, you’ve got a deal.”

“I always keep my best guy’s favorite in stock,” she reminded him as he braced his hands on her desk, scanning the work on her laptop.

“Thorough and to the point,” he said after a moment. “Are you bucking for L.B.’s job?”

“Oh, that’s a big hell no. I don’t mind spending the time on reports, but if I had to deal with all the paperwork, personalities, politics and bullshit L.B. does, I’d just shoot myself and get it over with. You could’ve done it,” she added. “Gotten in a couple more years.”

“If I’m going to do administrative crap, it’s going to be my administrative crap.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s where I got it. Do you want to walk over to the lounge? Or maybe the cookhouse? I imagine Marg has some pie we could talk her out of.”

“I don’t really have enough time. Ella’s picking me up in a little bit.”

“Oh.”

“I wanted to see you, talk to you about some things.”

“I heard Irene Brakeman’s letting her house go, and she’s probably moving to Nebraska. That you’re letting her use your house until she’s got it all dealt with. That was good of you, Dad. It has to be hard for her, being alone in the house, with all the memories. Added on to knowing it’s not really hers anymore.”

“She’s moving in tomorrow. I need to pack up a few more things I’ll need with me now. Ella’s been helping her do the same—pack up what she’ll need—and pack up what she wants to take with her when she goes.”

“It’s a big step she’s taking. A lot of big steps. Leaving Missoula, leaving her husband, her friends, her job.”

“I think she needs it. She looks better than she has since this all started. Once she decided what she needed to do for herself, for the baby, I think it took some of the weight off.”

He took a long, slow drink. “Speaking of decisions, big ones. I won’t be moving back into the house. I’m going to live with Ella.”

“Jesus, are you going to marry her?”

He didn’t choke, but he swallowed hard. “One step at a time, but I think that one’s right down the road.”

“I’m just getting used to you dating her, now you’re moving in together.”

“I love her, Rowan. We love each other.”

“Okay, I guess I’m going to sit down for a minute.” She chose the side of the bed. “Her place?”

“She’s got a great place. A lot of room, her gardens. She’s done it up just the way she wants it. Her house means a lot to her. Ours?” He let his shoulders lift and fall. “Half the year or more it’s just where I sleep most nights.”

“Well.” She didn’t know what she felt because there was too much to feel. “I guess if I’d known that would be our last dinner in the house together, I’d’ve... I don’t know, done something more important than skillet chicken.”

“I’m not selling the house, Ro.” He sat beside her, laid a hand on her knee. “Unless you don’t want it. I figured you’d take it over. We can get somebody to cut the grass and all that during the season.”

“Maybe I can think about that awhile.”

“As long as you want.”

“Big changes,” she managed. “You know how it takes me a while to navigate changes.”

“Whenever you got sick as a kid, we had to dig out the same pajamas.”

“The blue puppies.”

“Yeah, the blue ones with puppies. When you outgrew them there was hell to pay.”

“You cut them up and made me a little pillow out of the fabric. And it was okay again. Crap, Dad, you look so happy.” Her eyes stung as she reached for his face. “And I didn’t even notice you weren’t.”

“I wasn’t unhappy, baby.”

“You’re happier now. She’s not the only one who loves you,” she told him, and kissed his cheeks. “So consider I’ve got my blue puppy pillow, and it’s okay.”

“Okay enough that you’ll take some time when you have it to get to know her?”

“Yeah. Gull thinks she’s hot.”

Lucas’s eyebrows winged up. “So do I, but he’d better not get any ideas.”

“I’m running interference there.”

“You’ve had some changes yourself since he came along.”

“Apparently. This is the damnedest season. Gull’s got it into his head that somebody on base might be responsible for what’s been going on, instead of Brakeman.”

“Does he?”

“Yeah, and in his Gull way he’s got all the data and suppositions organized in a file. I think it’s whacked, but then I start wondering, once he’s done laying it out. Then I go about my business and decide it’s whacked again. Until he points out this and that. I end up not sure what to think. I hate not knowing what to think.”

Gently, he skimmed a hand over her crown of hair. “Maybe the best thing to do is keep your eyes, your ears and your mind open.”

“The first two are easy. It’s the last that’s hard. Everybody’s edgy and trying to pretend they aren’t. We’ve jumped nearly twice as many fires as we did by this time last season, and the success rate’s good, injuries not too bad. But outside of that? This season’s FUBAR, and we’re all feeling it.”

“Do me a favor. Stick close to the hotshot, as much as you can. Do it for me,” he added before she could speak. “Not because I think you can’t take care of yourself, but because I’ll worry less if I know somebody’s got your back.”

“Well, he’s hard to shake off anyway.”

“Good.” He patted her leg. “Walk me out.”

She got up with him, chewing over everything they’d talked about while they walked outside. “Is it different with her, with Ella, than it was with my mother? Not the circumstances, or rate of maturity, or any of that. I mean...” She tapped a fist on her heart. “I’m okay with however you answer. I’d just like to know.”

He took a moment, and she knew he sought out the words.

“I was dazzled by your mother. Maybe a little overwhelmed, a lot excited. When she told me she was pregnant, I loved her. And I think it was because I loved what was inside her, what we’d started without meaning to. Sometimes I wonder if she knew that, even before I did. That would’ve been hurtful. I cared about her, Rowan, and I did my best by her. But you were why.

“I can say Ella dazzled me, overwhelmed me, excited me. But it’s different. I know what I didn’t feel for your mother because I feel it now, for Ella.”

“What is it you’re supposed to feel?” she demanded. “I can never figure it out.”

He cleared his throat. “Maybe you should ask another woman about this kind of thing.”

“I’m asking you.”

“Ah, hell.” Now he shuffled his feet, the big man, the Iron Man. “I’m not going to talk about sex. I did that with you once already, and that was scarier than any fire I ever jumped.”

“And embarrassing for both of us. I’m not asking about sex, Dad. I know about sex. You tell me you love her, and I can see it all over you. I can see it, but I don’t know how it feels—how it’s supposed to feel.”

“There’s a lot that goes around it. Trust and respect and—” He cleared his throat again. “Attraction. But the center’s a reflection of all of those things, all your strengths and weaknesses, hopes and dreams. They catch fire there, in the center. Maybe it blazes, maybe it simmers, smolders, but there’s the heat and the light, all those colors, and what’s around it feeds it.

“Fire doesn’t only destroy, Rowan. Sometimes it creates. The best of it creates, and when love’s a fire, whether it’s bright or a steady glow, hot or warm, it creates. It makes you better than you were without it.”

He stopped, colored a little. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“It’s the first time anyone ever explained it so I could understand it. Dad.” She took his hands, looked into his eyes. “I’m really happy for you. I mean it, all the way through. Really happy for you.”

“That means more than I can tell you.” He drew her in, held her tight as Ella drove up. “You were my first love,” he whispered in Rowan’s ear. “You always will be.”

She knew it, but now let go enough to accept he could love someone else, too. She nodded as Ella stepped out of the car.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Ella smiled at Lucas. “Am I late?”

“Right on time.” Keeping his hand in Rowan’s, he leaned down, kissed Ella. “How’d it go with Irene?”

“Packing up, organizing, deciding over the contents of a house a woman’s lived in for twenty-five years is a monumental project—and you know I love projects. It’s helping her, I think, the work, the planning. Helping her get through the now.”

“Did Jim’s parents...” Rowan trailed off.

“They’re leaving this afternoon. I met them, and they’re lovely people. Kate’s asked Irene to come stay with them if and when she goes to Nebraska. To stay until she finds a place of her own. I don’t think she will, but the offer touched her.”

“Don’t be sad,” Lucas said, sliding an arm around Ella’s shoulders as her eyes filled.

“I can’t figure out what I am.” She blinked the tears back. “But I called my son, asked him to bring the kids over later. I know how I feel after a few hours with my grandchildren. Happy and exhausted.”

Grandchildren, Rowan thought. She’d forgotten. Did that make her father kind of an unofficial grandfather? What did he think about that? How did he—

“Oh, hell, I forgot I need to run something by L.B. Two minutes,” he promised Ella, and loped off.

“So,” Ella began, “are we okay?”

“We’re okay. It’s... strange, but we’re okay. I guess you’ve told your son and daughter.”

“Yes. My daughter’s thrilled, which may be partially due to hormones as she’s pregnant and that was just great news.”

Another one? she thought. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks. My son’s... a little embarrassed right now, I think, at the distinct possibility Lucas and I do more than jigsaw puzzles and watch TV together.”

“He shouldn’t be embarrassed that you guys play gin rummy now and then.”

Ella let out an appreciative laugh. “He’ll get over it. I’d like to have you over for dinner, all the kids, when you can manage it. Nothing formal, just a family meal.”

“Sounds good.” Or manageable, she decided, which had the potential for good. “You should know, straight off, I don’t need a mother.”

“Oh, of course you do. Everyone does. A woman who’ll listen, take your side, tell the truth—or not, as you need it. A woman you can count on, no matter what, and who’ll love you no matter how much you screw up. But since you’ve already got that in Marg, I’m happy to settle for being your friend.”

“We can see how that goes.”

The siren shrilled.

“Hell. I’m up.”

“Oh, God! You have to go. You have to—Can I watch? Lucas told me how this part works, but I’d like to see it.”

“Fine with me. But you have to run.” Without waiting, Rowan tore toward the ready room.

She breezed by Cards, so he kicked it to keep pace.

“What’s the word?” she asked.

“Laborious. Got one up in Flathead, tearing down the canyon. That’s all I know.”

“Are you spotting?”

“Jumping.”

They rushed into the controlled chaos of the ready room, grabbing gear out of lockers. Rowan pulled on her jumpsuit, checked pockets, zippers, snaps, secured her gloves, her let-down rope. She shoved her feet into her boots and caught sight of Matt doing the same.

“How’d you get back on the list?”

“Just my luck. I checked back in twenty minutes ago.” He shook his head, then snagged his chute and reserve off the speed rack. “I guess the fire god decided I’d had enough time off.”

Rowan secured her chutes, her PG bag. “See you on the ship,” she told him, and tucked her helmet under her arm.

She shuffled toward the door, surprised to see Gull, already suited up, standing with her father and Ella.

“That was quick.”

“I was in the loadmaster’s room when the siren went off. Handy. Are you set?”

“Always.” Rowan tapped her fingers to her forehead, flashed her father a grin. “See you later.”

“See you later.” He echoed the good-bye they’d given each other all her life.

“I asked if it was allowed, and since it is, I’m going to say stay safe.”

Rowan nodded at Ella. “I plan on it. Let’s roll, rook.”

“I know you told me it all moves fast,” Ella said as Rowan walked with Gull toward the waiting plane, “but I didn’t realize just how fast. There’s no time to think. The siren goes off, and they go from drinking coffee or packing boxes to flying to a fire, in minutes.”

“It’s a routine, like getting dressed in the morning. Only on fast forward. And they’re always thinking. Kick some ass,” he told Yangtree.

“Kicking ass, taking names. And counting the days. Catch you on the flip side, buddy.”

He spoke to others as they waddled toward the plane, some he’d worked with, others who seemed as young as saplings to him. He slipped his hand in Ella’s as the plane’s door closed.

One of them might be a killer.

“They’ll be fine.” She squeezed his fingers. “And back soon.”

“Yeah.” Still, he felt the comfort of having her hand in his as he watched the plane taxi, rev, then rise.

After the briefing in flight, Rowan huddled with Yangtree and Trigger over maps and strategy.

Gull plugged his MP3 in, slid on his sunglasses. The music cut the engine noise, left his mind free to think. Behind the shaded glasses, he scanned the faces, the body language of the other jumpers.

Maybe it felt wrong, this suspicion, but he’d rather suffer a few pangs of guilt than suffer the consequences of more sabotage.

Cards and Dobie passed some time with liar’s poker while Gibbons read a tattered paperback copy of Cat’s Cradle. Libby huddled with Matt, patting his knee in one of her there-there gestures. The spotter got up from his seat behind the cockpit to pick his way through to confer with Yangtree.

When the call came out for buddy checks, Gull walked back himself to perform the ritual with Rowan.

“Yangtree’s dumping us,” Rowan told him.

Yangtree shook his head with a smile. “I’m going to work for Iron Man the first of the year. I’m going to take the fall off, buy myself a house, get my other knee fixed, do some fishing. I’ll have a lot more fishing time without having to ride herd over the bunch of you every summer.”

“You’re giving up this life of travel, glamour and romance?” Gull asked him.

“I’ve had all the glamour I want, and might just find some romance when I’m not eating smoke.”

“Maybe you should take up knitting while you’re at it,” Trigger suggested.

“I might just. I can knit you a real pretty sling since you like keeping your ass in one.” He climbed over men and gear for another consult with the spotter and pilot.

“He’s barely fifty.” Trigger folded gum into his mouth. “Hell, I’m going to be fifty one of these days. What’s he want to quit for?”

“I think he’s just tired, and his knee’s killing him.” Rowan glanced forward. “He’ll probably change his mind after he gets it fixed.”

Once again, the spotter moved to the door. “Guard your reserves!”

Hot summer air, scorched with smoke, blasted in through the opening. Rowan repositioned to get a look out the window, at the blaze crowning through the tops of thick pines and firs. Red balls of ignited gases boomed up like antiaircraft fire.

“She’s fast,” Rowan said, “and getting a nice lift from the wind through the canyon. We’re going to hit some serious crosswinds on the way down.”

The first set of streamers confirmed her estimate.

“Do you see the jump spot?” she asked Gull. “There, that gap, at eight o’clock. You’ll want to come in from the south, avoid doing a face-plant in the rock face. You’re second man, third stick, so—”

“No. First man, second stick.” He shrugged when she frowned at him, knowing Lucas had asked L.B. to switch him to her jump partner. “I guess L.B. shuffled things when he put Matt back on.”

“Okay, I’ll catch the drift behind you.” She nodded out the window at the next set of streamers. “Looks like we’ve got three hundred yards.”

He studied the streamers himself, and the towers of smoke, glinting silver at the fire’s crown, mottled black at its base.

On final, Trigger snapped the chin strap of his helmet, pulled down his mesh face mask before reaching for the overhead cable to waddle his way toward the door. Matt, second man, followed.

Rowan studied the fire, the ground, then the flight. Canopies billowed in the black and the blue as the plane came around for its second pass.

“We’re ready,” Gull answered at the spotter’s call. With Rowan behind him, he got in the door, braced to the roar of wind and fire. The slap on his shoulder sent him out, diving through it, buffeted by it. He found the horizon, steadied himself as the drogue stabilized him, as the main put the brakes on to a glide.

He found Rowan, watched her canopy billow, watched the sun arrow through the smoke for an instant to illuminate her face.

Then he had a fight on his hands as the crosswinds tried to push him into a spin. A gust whipped up, blew him uncomfortably close to the cliff face. He compensated, then overcompensated as the wind yanked, tugged.

He drifted wide of the jump spot, adjusted, then let the wind take him, so he landed neat and soft on the edge of the gap.

He rolled, watched Rowan land three yards to his left.

“That was some fancy maneuvering up there,” she called out to him.

“It worked.”

Gathering their chutes, they joined Matt and Trigger at the edge of the jump spot. “Third stick’s coming down,” Trigger commented. “And shit, Cards is going into the trees. He can’t buy luck this season.”

Rowan clearly heard Cards curse as the wind flipped him into the pines.

“Come on, Matt, let’s go make sure he ain’t broke nothing important.”

Since she could still hear Cards cursing, meaning he hadn’t been knocked unconscious, she kept her eyes on the sky.

“Yangtree and Libby,” she said as the plane positioned for the next pass. “Janis and Gibbons.” She rattled off the remaining jumpers. “When they’re all on the ground, I want you to take charge of the paracargo.”

She put her hands on her hips, watching the next person hurtle out of the plane. Yangtree, she thought. He’d instruct, and he’d keep jumping out of planes. But doing free falls with sports groups and tourists was a far cry from...

“His drogue. His drogue hasn’t opened.” She ran forward, shouting for the others on the ground. “Drogue in tow! Jesus, Jesus, cut away! Cut away. Pull the reserve. Come on, Yangtree, for Christ’s sake.”

Gull’s belly roiled, his heart hammered as he watched his friend, his family, tumble through the sky and smoke. Others shouted now, Trigger all but screaming into his radio.

The reserve opened with a jerky shudder, caught air—but too late, Gull realized. Yangtree’s fall barely slowed as he crashed into the trees.

29

She ran, bursting through brush, leaping fallen logs, rocks, whatever lay in her path. Gull winged past her; her own fear raced with her. With her emotions in pandemonium, she ordered herself to think, to act.

His reserve had deployed at the last minute. There was a chance, always a chance. She slowed as she reached Cards, face bloody, shimmying down a lodgepole pine with his let-down rope.

“Are you hurt bad?”

“No. No. Go! Jesus, go.”

Matt stumbled through the forest behind her, his cheeks gray, eyes dull. “Stay with Cards. Make sure he’s okay.”

She didn’t wait for an answer, just kept running.

When she heard Gull’s shout, she angled left, dry pine needles crunching under her feet like thin bones.

She caught sight of the reserve, a tattered mangle of white draped in the branches high overhead. And the blood, dripping like a leaky faucet, splatting on the forest floor.

Caught in the gnarled branches seventy feet above, Yangtree’s limp body dangled. A two-foot spur jutted through his side, the point of it piercing through like a pin through a moth.

Gull, spurs snapped on, climbed. Rowan dumped her gear, snapped on her own and started up after him.

Broken, she could see he’d been broken—his leg, his arm and likely more. But broken didn’t mean dead.

“Can you get to him? Is he alive?”

“I’ll get to him.” Gull climbed over, then used his rope to ease himself onto the branch, testing the weight as he went. He reached out to unsnap the helmet, laid his fingers on Yangtree’s throat.

“He’s got a pulse—weak, thready. Multiple fractures. Deep gash on his right thigh, but it missed the femur. The puncture wound—” He cursed as he moved closer. “This goddamn spur’s holding him onto the branch like a railroad spike. I can’t maneuver to stabilize him from here.”

“We secure him with the ropes.” Rowan leaned out as far as she could, trying to assess the situation for herself. “Cut the branch, bring him down with it.”

“It’s not going to take my weight and a saw.” He crawled back. “It cracked some at the base. I don’t know if it’ll hold for you.”

“Let’s find out.”

“Dobie or Libby. It would hold one of them.”

“I’m up here, they’re not. He’s losing a lot of blood. Let me see what I can do. Get me more rope, a saw, a first-aid kit.”

“How bad?” Trigger called up. “How bad is it?”

“He’s breathing.”

“Thank Christ. I’ve got a medevac team coming. Is he conscious?”

“No. Fill him in, okay?” She and Gull switched positions. “We need rope, first-aid kit, a chain saw. Gull’s heading down.”

Rowan leaned back in her harness, stripped off her shirt, cut strips and pads with her pocketknife. Tying herself off, she scooted out onto the branch. It would hold, she vowed, because she damn well needed it to.

“Yangtree, can you hear me?” She began to field-dress the jagged gash in his thigh. “You hold on, goddamn it. We’ll get you out of this.”

She used what rope she had, wrapped it around his waist, then shimmied back to secure it. Gull was there, handing her more.

“I’m going to secure it to the branch just above, get it under his arms.” She watched Trigger and Matt scaling the neighboring tree, nodded as she saw the plan.

“Get another over to them, and we lower him down in a vee after I cut away the harness, saw off the branch.”

Fear sweat dripped into her eyes as she worked, and, forced to shift the shattered leg, she prayed Yangtree stayed unconscious until they’d finished. She padded the wound around the spur as best she could, used her belt to strap him even more securely to the branch.

Then she hesitated. If it didn’t work, she might kill him. But his pulse was growing weaker, and left no choice.

“I’m going to release his harness. Get ready.”

Once she’d freed him from the ruined chute, she reached back for the saw. “It’s going to work,” she said to Gull.

“Medevac’s no more than ten minutes out.”

She planted her feet, yanked the starter cord. The buzz sent a tremor through her. She saw Trigger and Matt brace to take the weight, knew Gull and Dobie did the same behind her.

Trusting the rope, for him, for herself, she inched out onto the branch to set the blade into bark and wood as close to Yangtree’s body as she dared.

“Hold him steady!” she shouted. “Don’t let him drop.”

She cut clean, felt the branch shimmy from the shock. Then Yangtree hung suspended, the spur and the lever of branch fixed in his side like a corkscrew. His body swayed as they lowered him slowly, hand over hand, to where Libby and Stovic waited to take his weight.

“We’ve got him! We’ve got him! Oh, Jesus.” Stovic’s voice trembled. “Jesus, he’s a mess.”

But breathing, Rowan thought, as she heard the clatter of the chopper. He just had to keep breathing.

It cut her in two, standing on safe ground, watching as the copter lifted off with her friend. Shattered, she thought, as the wind from the blades whipped over her. His arms, his legs, and God knew what else—and there was nothing more she could do.

She shouted into her radio, updating base, realigning strategy while Cards, battered face in his hands, sat on the ground. Trigger watched the copter, then slowly turned to her. Everything she felt—the shock, the grief, the stupefying rage—was reflected on his face.

“Paracargo,” she began, and Gull squeezed her arm.

“I’ve got that. I’ve got it,” he repeated when she just stared at him. “Dobie, Matt, give me a hand?”

Pull it together, Rowan ordered herself. “Trig.” She took a breath, then walked over to draw in the dirt. “She’s moving northeast, gaining steam. I need you,” she said quietly when he just stood, shaking his head.

“Give me a sec, okay? Just a goddamn fucking second.”

Crouched, she laid a hand on his boot. “We’ve got to slay this dragon, then get back to Yangtree. The delay.” Rowan had to stop, steady her voice. “The fire’s taken advantage. She’s burning hot, Trig. They’ve dumped some mud on her head, but she caught some wind, jumped this ridge line, and she’s climbing fast.”

“Okay.” He swiped the back of his hand under his nose, crouched with her. “I can take the left flank, cut line with five, hold her in.”

“Take seven. L.B.’s sending us another crew, and I’ll pull from that. You got a water source here.” She drew an X in the dirt. “So take pumper and hose. I’ll get a crew heading up the right, and do some scouting.”

When he reached for her hand, she linked fingers. “We’re going to kill her,” he said. “Then we’re going to find out what the hell happened.”

“Damn right we are.”

They talked Cat lines, safe spots, two possible fire camps.

When he’d culled out his seven, gathered the gear, Rowan turned to the rest. “Cards, I need you to stay here and—”

“Fuck that, Swede.” His snarl had blood leaking from his split lip. “I’m not hanging back.”

“I’m not asking you to hang back. I need you to wait for the next load, take half and start up the left flank after Trigger. Send the rest to me. I need Gibbons on my crew, and Janis. And make it clear they’re going to bust their asses. I need you to take charge of this,” she said before he could speak. “And Trigger’s going to need you on the line.”

She turned away when he nodded. “Gull, Dobie, Libby, Stovic. Tool up.”

No time to waste. No time to think beyond the fire. Everything else had to stay locked outside.

They dug and cut, with every strike of Pulaski or buzz of blade echoing to Rowan like vengeance. And the fire reared and snapped.

“I need you to take charge here until Gibbons makes it in,” she told Gull. “He just checked in. Everybody hit the jump spot safely. I’m going to work my way toward the head, get a better sense of her. If you tie in with the Cat line before I get back, let me know.”

“Okay.”

“You’ve got a water source about fifty yards up, this same course. You’re going to end up with a crooked line, and Gibbons is going to be coming double time, but if you get there before he meets up, get Stovic and Libby on the hose. Any change in the wind or—”

“I’ve got it, Rowan. Go do what you need to do; we’ll work it from here. Just stay in touch.”

“Don’t let them think about it. Keep them focused. I’ll be back.”

She set off fast, moving through the trees, up the rough incline, and vanished in smoke.

All she heard was the fire, the muttering glee of it. It crackled over the dry timber, lapped at molten pine resin, chewed through leaves, twigs littering the ground. She dodged a firebrand as she climbed, beat out the spot.

She thought of bodies charred to the bone.

When she crested the ridge she stopped to check her bearings. She could see the red-orange fury, gobbling up fuel. They’d given her a head start, she thought; they’d had no choice. The dragon ran strong and free.

She called in to request retardant drops, and received a brief, unsatisfying report on Yangtree.

They were working on him.

She felt the change in the wind, just a flutter, and saw the fire grab its tail to ride. A cut to the west now, still north of Trigger’s crew, she noted, but moving toward them.

She circled around, contacting him by radio.

“She’s shifting, curling back toward you.”

“We’ve got a Cat line here, a good, wide one. I don’t think she can jump it. Escape route due south.”

“They’re bringing mud. I just called to tell them to dump a load west, down your flank. Stay clear.”

“Roger that. Cards just got here with reinforcements. We’re going to hold this line, Swede.”

“After the mud drops, I’m going to get an air report. I want to take four from your team, same from mine, get them up to the head. Squeeze it. But if she jumps the road, get gone.”

“Bet your ass. And watch yours.”

As she worked her way through the fire, she coordinated with Gibbons, with base, kept her ears and eyes peeled for the tankers. She cut east, eyes smarting with smoke, then jumped back, skidding onto her back as a burning limb thick as a man’s thigh crashed to the ground in front of her.

It caught fresh fuel on the forest floor, ignited with a whoosh to claw at the soles of her boots before she scrambled clear.

“Widowmaker,” she shouted to Gibbons. “I’m good, but I’m going to be busy for a minute.”

She beat at the fresh flames, chopping at the ground to smother what she could with dirt. She heard the thunder of a tanker, muttered curses as she fought her small, personal war.

“I’m clear.” Shoveling, stomping, she signaled Gibbons, then the tanker pilot. “I’m clear.”

And ran.

The thick pink rain fell, smothering flame, billowing smoke, thudding onto the ground, the trees, with heavy splats. She sprinted for shelter as globs of it struck her helmet, her jacket. A volley of firebrands sent her on a zigzagging dash for higher, clearer ground.

She heard the telltale roar at her back, felt the ground shimmy under her feet. Following instinct, she leaped through the undulating curtain of fire, all but heard it slam shut behind her before the blowup burst. Rocks skidded under her feet as she pushed herself up an incline above the hungry, murderous blaze.

“I’m clear.” She shouted it as her radio popped with voices. “Had a little detour.”

She wheezed in a breath, wheezed one out. “Give me a minute to orient.”

A wall of fire, solid as steel, cut off her route back to her team.

She pulled out her compass to confirm direction, accepted that her hand shook lightly.

Cut across to Trigger’s line, she calculated, regroup, then circle down and around to her own.

She relayed her plan, then took a moment to hydrate and settle her nerves.

Back on the line, Gull looked straight into Gibbons’s eyes.

“Is she hurt?”

“She says no. She’s playing it down, but I think she had a close one.” He swiped at sweat. “She’s cutting over to Trig, then she’ll circle around back to us. The mud knocked it back some on their flank, and they’re working the pumps up toward the head. They’re in good position.”

He shook his head. “We can’t say the same. The wind’s whipping her up this way. Elf, take Gull, Stovic and Dobie and get these pumps up there. Follow the Cat line. Start drowning her. I’ll send you up four more as soon as we get the men.”

“Spot!” Libby shouted, and two of the team leaped to action.

“We’re getting hammered over here,” Gibbons told Trigger over the radio. “Can you spare anybody?”

“Give you two. That’ll be three when Swede gets around.”

“Tell them to hump it!”

Gull manned the hose and swore the force of water only made the fire dance. The wind chose sides, blew flames into massive walls.

“L.B.’s sending in another load, and pulling in jumpers from Idaho,” Janis told him.

“Did Rowan make it to Trigger?”

“Rowan changed tactics. She’s doubling back to Gibbons. We’ve got to catch this thing here, catch her here, or fall back.” She yanked out her radio. “Gibbons, we need help up here.”

“I’m waiting on Matt and Cards from Trigger’s line. And the Swede. Fresh jumpers coming. ETA’s thirty.”

“Thirty’s no good. I need more hands or we’re pulling back.”

“Your call, Elf. I’ll get locations and come back. If you’ve got to move, move.”

“Goddamn it, goddamn it. Stovic, get those snags. If she crowns, we’re screwed.” As water arced and sizzled, she looked over at Gull. “We can’t hold her for thirty without more hands.”

Something stirred in his gut. “Rowan, Cards and Matt should’ve gotten through by now. Radio her, get her location.”

“Gibbons is—”

“Radio her, Janis,” he interrupted. “This has been going south since the jump.”

And maybe it wasn’t just nature they fought.

He listened to her try to raise Rowan once, twice, a third time. And with each nonresponse his blood ran colder.

She tried Matt, then Cards, then answered swiftly when Gibbons hailed her.

“I can’t reach any of them on the radio,” Gibbons told her. “I’m going to send somebody in to their last known location.”

But Janis had her eye on Gull. “Negative. Gull’s going. He’s the fastest we’ve got. Send me somebody. We’re going to try to hold it.”

“Libby’s heading up now. I’ll get more mud, call in another Cat. If you have to retreat, head southwest.”

“Copy that. Find her,” she said to Gull.

“Count on it.” He turned to Dobie. “Hold it as long as you can.”

“As long as you need,” Dobie vowed, and took the hose.

He ran, using his compass and the map in his head to gauge direction. She’d been forced west, then south before she’d angled toward the left flank. He tried to judge her speed, her most probable route before she’d reversed to head east again to assist the right flank.

She’d have met up with Matt and Cards if possible, he calculated, but she wouldn’t have wasted time waiting for them or changing from the best route back, not when her team needed help.

A spot burst to his left, flames snaking from ground to tree. He ignored the instinct to deal with it, kept running.

But she wouldn’t have, he thought. She’d have fought the fire as she went, and doing so shifted her direction at any time.

And if another enemy had crossed her path, she wouldn’t have recognized him. She would see a fellow soldier, a friend. Someone trusted, even loved.

He jumped a narrow stream, pushing himself through the heat and smoke and growing fear.

She was smart, and strong, and canny. She’d fight, he reminded himself—maybe more fiercely when the enemy had disguised himself as friend.

He forced himself to stop, check his compass, reorient. And to listen, listen, for another under the growling voice of the fire.

North, he decided. Northeast from here, and prayed he was right. A tree crashed, spewing out a whirlwind of sparks that stung his exposed skin like bees.

The next sound he heard came sharper, more deadly. He raced toward the echo of the gunshot, even as his heart leaped as if struck by the bullet.

30

When she could, Rowan moved at a steady jog. She’d bruised her hip avoiding the widowmaker, but the pain barely registered—just a dull, distant ache.

They were losing the war, she thought, had been losing it since Yangtree’s chute failed to open.

Everything felt off, felt wrong, felt out of balance.

The wind continued to rise, to shift and stir, adding to the fire’s speed and potency. Here and there, small, sly dust devils danced on it. The air remained dry enough to crack like a twig.

She’d never made it to Trigger’s crew to judge the progress or lack of it for herself, to check that flank, sense just what the fire was thinking, plotting. No, she thought now, not when she’d heard the urgency in Gibbons’s voice. No choice but to reverse.

She’d cut north, through the fire, to carve off a little distance, and calculating her path might cross with Matt and Cards.

Spots sprang up so fast and often, she began to feel like she was playing a deadly game of Whac-A-Mole.

She gulped down water on the run, splashed more on her sweaty face. And resisted the constant urge to call into base, again, for a report on Yangtree.

Better to believe he was alive and fighting. To believe it and make it true.

Under that remained the nagging fear that it hadn’t been an accident but sabotage.

How many others harbored that same fear? she wondered. How did they bear down and focus with that clawing at the mind? How could she when she kept going over every minute and move in the ready room, on the flight, on the jump sequence?

Had something been off even then? Should she have seen it?

Later, she ordered herself, relive it later. Right now, just live.

With her stamina flagging, she pulled an energy bar out of her bag, started to tear the wrapper.

She dropped it, ran, when she heard the scream.

Smoke blinded her, disoriented her. She forced herself to stop, close her eyes. Think.

Due north. Yes, north, she decided, and sprinted forward.

She spotted the radio smoldering and sparking on the ground, and the blood smeared on the ground at the base of a snag that burned like a candle. Nearby a full engulfed branch snaked fire over the ground.

Alarmed for her friends, she cupped her hands to her mouth, started to shout. Then dropped them again with sickness countering fear. She saw the blood trail, heading east, and followed it as she slowly drew her radio out of her belt.

Because she knew now, and somewhere inside her she wondered if she’d always known—or at least wondered. But loyalty hadn’t allowed it, she admitted. It simply hadn’t allowed her to cross the line—except in dreams.

Now with her heart heavy with grief, she prepared to cross the line.

Before she could flick on her radio, he was there, just there, a lit fusee in his hand, and his eyes full of misery. He heaved it when he saw her, setting off his tiny bomb. A black spruce went off like a Roman candle.

“I don’t want to hurt you. Not you.”

“Why would you hurt me?” She met those sad eyes. “We’re friends.”

“I don’t want to.” Matt pulled the gun out of his belt. “But I will. Throw away the radio.”

“Matt—” She jolted a little when Gibbons spoke her name through the radio.

“If you answer it, I’ll shoot you. I’ll be sorry for it, but I’ll do what has to be done. I’m doing what has to be done.”

“Where’s Cards?”

“Throw the radio away, Rowan. Throw it!” he snapped. “Or I’ll use this. I’ll put a bullet in your leg, then let the fire decide.”

“Okay. All right.” She opened her hand, let it drop, but he shook his head.

“Kick it away. Don’t test me.”

“I’m not. I won’t.” She heard Janis’s voice now as she kicked it aside. “We’ve got to get out of here, Matt. The place is coming apart. It’s not safe.”

She struggled to keep her eyes level with his, but she’d seen the Pulaski hooked in his belt, and the blood gleaming on the pick.

Cards.

“I never wanted it to be you. It wasn’t your fault. And you came to the funeral. You sat with my mother.”

“What happened to Jim wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

“Dolly got him worked up, got him all twisted around. Got us both all twisted around so the last things we said to each other were ugly things. And Cards was his spotter. He should’ve seen Jim wasn’t right to jump. You know that’s so.”

“Where’s Cards?”

“He got away from me. Maybe the fire’s got him. It’s about fate anyway. I should’ve shot him to be sure of it, but it’s about fate and destiny. Luck, maybe. I don’t decide. Dolly fell. I didn’t kill her; she fell.”

“I believe you, Matt. We need to head north, then we can talk when—”

“I gave her money, you know, for the baby. But she wanted more. I was just going to talk to her, have it out with her when I went by her house. And she was just driving off, without the baby. She was a bad mother.”

“I know.” Calm, agreeable, understanding. “Matt, who’d know better than me about that? About Shiloh being better off now? I’m on your side.”

“She went to that motel. She was a tramp. I saw him, the preacher, come to the door to let her in. My brother’s dead, and she’s balling that preacher in a motel room. I wanted to go in, but I was afraid of what I might do. I waited, and she came out and drove away.”

She heard another tree torch off. “Matt—”

“She got that flat tire. That was fate, wasn’t it? She was surprised to see me—guilt all over her—when I pulled in behind her. I told her to pull off onto the service road. I was going to have it out with her. But the things she said... If she hadn’t been screwing around, hadn’t been a liar, a cheat, a selfish bitch, I wouldn’t have pushed her that way. She was just going to up and leave that baby. Did you know? What kind of mother does that?”

“We have to move,” she told him, keeping her tone calm but firm. “I want you to tell me everything, Matt. I want to listen, but we’re going to be cut off if we don’t move.”

“Shiloh’s... may be my baby.”

He wiped his free hand over his mouth as Rowan stared at him. “It was just one time, when I was so lonely and missing Annie so much, and drinking a little. It was just one time.”

“I understand.” It made her sick inside, for all of them. “I get lonely, too.”

“You don’t! She told me it was mine, and she told Jim it was his. Then she said it was mine, maybe, because she knew he didn’t want a baby, didn’t want her. She knew I’d do what I had to do, and I’d have to tell Annie. And we fought about it right before the siren went off, me and Jim. He was on the list. I wasn’t. He’s dead. I’m not.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“What do you know about it! I told him to go to hell, and he did. This is hell. I was just going to fix Cards so he couldn’t jump because that’s what he loves most. Like I loved my brother. Put something in his food, trip him up. And I was just going to get the baby from Dolly, have her for my ma. That was the right thing. But she fell, and I had to do something, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“I sent her to hell. That’s when I knew I had to do what needed doing. I had to get the baby for my ma, so I had to get Leo out of the way. Make him pay, too. He was always giving Jim grief, never had a good thing to say.”

“So you got his rifle out of his gun safe, and you shot at me. You shot at me and Gull.”

“Not at you. I wasn’t going to hurt you. Dolly told Jim the combination, and he told me. It was like he was showing me what to do. Leo had to pay, and he did. I got the baby for my ma. Jim would’ve wanted that.”

“Okay.” Firebrands flew like missiles. “You were getting justice for Jim, and doing what you could for your family. And I’ll listen to you, do whatever you want, just tell me. But not here. The wind’s changed. Matt, for God’s sake, we’re going to be trapped in this if we don’t move.”

Those sad eyes never wavered. “It’s up to fate, like I said. Up to fate who got the bad pumps and saws, who got the bad chute.”

“You played Russian roulette with our chutes?” She regretted it immediately, but the fury just bubbled out. “Yangtree never did anything to you. He might die.”

“I could’ve gotten the doctored one just as easy as him. It was a fair deal. In the end, Ro, it was all of us killed Jim. All of us doing what we do, getting him to do it, too. And everybody had the same chance. I didn’t want it to be you, even though I saw how you looked at me when I said how we’d get a lawyer over the baby, how my ma was going to raise her. I saw how everybody looked at me because I was alive, and Jim wasn’t.”

She couldn’t outrun a bullet, Rowan thought as her heart kicked in her chest. Before much longer, she wouldn’t be able to outrun the fire.

She could hear the whoosh and the roar as it built, as it rolled toward them.

“We need to go, so you can be there for the baby, Matt. She needs a father.”

“She has my parents. They’ll be good to her.” Fire glowed red and gold on his sweat-sheened face. His eyes had gone from sad to mad. “I broke it off with Annie last night. I’ve got nothing for her. And I knew when I got in the door today, it had to be the last time. One way or the other. I thought it would be me, going like Jim did. The fire’s all I got left.”

“You have the baby.”

“Jim’s dead. I see him dead when I look at her. I see him burning. It’s just the fire now. I liked it. Not the killing, but the fire, making it, watching it, seeing what it did. I liked making it more than I ever did fighting it. Maybe I’ll like hell.”

“I’m not ready to go there.” She rolled to the balls of her feet.

A tree fell with a shrieking crash, shaking the ground when it landed less than a yard away. Rowan sprang to her right, dug in to run blind. She heard the crack of the gunshot, her spine snapping tight as she braced for a bullet in the back.

She heard a whine, like an angry hornet wing by her ear, then jagged left again as a firebrand burst at her feet.

If Matt didn’t kill her, the fire would.

She preferred the fire, and like a moth, flew toward the flames.

For a moment, they wrapped around her, a fiery embrace that stole her breath. The scream shrieked inside her head, escaping in a wild call of fear and triumph as she burst free. Momentum pitched her forward, had her skidding onto the heels of her hands and her knees. Her pack weighed like lead as she struggled up again, hacking out smoke. Around her, the forest burned in a merry cavalcade with a deep, guttural roar as mad as the man who pursued her.

At the snap of another gunshot, she fled deeper into the belly of the beast.

She heard him coming, even over the bellow of the fire. The thud of his footsteps sounded closer than she wanted to believe. She scanned smoke and flame.

Fight or flight.

She was done with flight, finished letting him drive her like cattle to the slaughter. With the burn towering around her, she planted her feet, yanked out her Pulaski. Gripping it in both hands, she set for fight.

He might kill her. Hell, he probably would. But she’d damn well do some damage first.

For herself, for Yangtree. Even, she thought, for poor, pathetic Dolly.

“You’ll bleed,” she told herself. “You’ll bleed before I’m done.”

She saw the yellow shirt through the haze of smoke, then the silhouette coming fast.

Deliberately she panted air in and out, pumping adrenaline. She had an instant, maybe two, to decide whether to hurl her weapon, hope for a solid strike, or to charge swinging.

Charge. Better to keep the ax in her hands than risk a miss.

She sucked in more filthy air, cocked the Pulaski over her shoulder, gritting her teeth as she judged the timing.

Coming fast, she thought again—then her arms trembled.

Coming really fast. Oh, God.

“Gull.” She choked out his name as he tore through the smoke.

She ran toward him, felt his hands close tight around her shoulders. Nothing, she realized, no caress, no embrace, had ever felt so glorious.

“Matt.”

“I got that.”

“He’s got a gun.”

“Yeah, I got that, too. Are you hurt?” He scanned her face when she shook her head, as if verifying for himself. “Can you run?”

“What do you take me for?”

“Then we run because Matt’s not our only problem.”

She started to agree, then stiffened. “Wait. Do you hear that?”

“You’re the one with ears like a... Yeah. Now I do.”

“He’s coming. That way,” she added, pointing. “It sounds like he’s crying.”

“I feel real bad for him. Best shot’s south, I think.”

“If we can reach the black. But if we can, so can he.”

“I sure as hell hope so. That’s where we’ll take him down. Run now; talk later.”

“Don’t hold up for me,” she began.

“Oh, bullshit.” He grabbed her hand, yanked her into a run.

She bore down. She’d be damned if he held back because she couldn’t keep pace. It didn’t matter if her lungs burned, if her legs ached, if the sweat ran into her eyes like acid.

She ran through a world gone mad with violence, stunning in its kaleidoscope lights of red and orange and molten blue. She flung herself through fetid smoke, leaping or dodging burning branches, hurdling burning spots that snapped over the ground like bear traps.

If they could get into the black, they’d fight. They’d find a way.

She risked a glance at Gull. Sweat poured down his soot-smeared face. Somewhere along the run he’d lost his helmet, and his hair was gray with ash.

But his eyes, she thought as she pushed, pushed, pushed herself on. Clear, focused, determined. Eyes that didn’t lie, she thought. Eyes she could trust.

Did trust.

They’d make it.

Something exploded behind them.

Breath snagging, she looked back to see an orange column of smoke climb toward the sky. Even as she watched, it brightened.

“Gull.”

He only nodded. He’d seen it as well.

No time to talk, to plan, even to think. The ground shook; the wind whipped. With its roaring breath, the fire blew brands, coals, burning pinecones that burst like grenades.

Blue-orange flames clawed up on their left, hissing like snakes. A snag burst in its coils, showered them with embers. The smoke thickened like cotton with the firefly swirl of sparks flooding through it.

A fountain of yellow flame spewed up in front of them, forcing them to angle away from the ferocious heat. Gull grunted when a burning branch hit his back, but didn’t break stride as they flung themselves up an incline.

Rocks avalanched under their boots, and still the hellhound fire pursued. Came the roar, that long, throaty war cry, as the blowup thundered toward them.

A fire devil swirled out of the smoke to dance.

Nowhere to run.

“Shake and bake.” Gull yanked the bandanna around Rowan’s throat over her mouth, did the same with his own.

It screamed, Rowan thought as she tore the protective case off her fire shelter, shook it out. Or Matt screamed, but a madman with a gun had become the least of their problems.

She stepped on the bottom corners of the foil, grabbed the tops to stretch it over her back. Mirroring her moves, Gull sent her a last look and shot her a grin that seared straight into her heart.

“See you later,” he said.

“See you later.”

They flopped forward, cocooned.

Working quickly, Rowan dug a hole for her face, down to the cooler air. Eyes shut, she took short, shallow breaths into the bandanna. Even one breath of the super-heated gases that blew outside her shelter would scorch her lungs, poison her.

The fire hit, a freight train of sound, a tidal wave of heat. Wind tore at the shelter, tried to lift and launch it like a sail. Sparks shimmered around her, but she kept her eyes closed.

And saw her father, frying fish over a campfire, the flames dancing in his eyes as he laughed with her. Saw herself spreading her arms under his on her first tandem jump. Saw him open his as she ran to him after he’d come back from a fire.

Saw him, his face lit now by an inner flame as he told her about Ella.

See you later, she thought as the impossible heat built.

She saw Gull, cocky grin and swagger, pouring a helmet of water over her head. Saw him tip back a beer, cool as you please, then fight off a pack of bullies as ferocious as a fire devil.

Felt him yank her into his arms. Turn to her in the dark. Fight with her in the light. Run with her. Run to her.

He’d come through fire for her.

The fear speared into her belly. She’d been afraid before, but she realized most of it was because she damn well wasn’t ready to die. Now she feared for him.

So close, she thought while the fire screamed, crashed, burst. And yet completely separate. Nothing to do for each other now but wait. Wait.

See you later.

She held on. Thought of Yangtree, of Jim. Of Matt.

Cards—God, Cards. Had Matt killed him, too?

She wanted to see him again, see all of them again. She wanted to tell her father she loved him, just one more time. To tell Ella she was glad her father had found someone to make him happy.

She wanted to joke with Trigger, rag on Cards, sit in the kitchen with Marg. To be with all of them, her family.

But more, she realized, even more, she wanted to look into Gull’s eyes again, and watch that grin flash over his face.

She wanted to tell him... everything.

Why the hell hadn’t she? Why had she been so stubborn or stupid or—face it—afraid?

If he didn’t make it through this so she could, she’d kick his ass.

Dizzy, she realized, sick. Too much heat. Can’t pass out. Won’t pass out. As she regulated her breathing again, she realized something else.

Quiet.

She heard the fire, but the distant snarl and song. The ground held steady under her body, and the jet-plane thunder had passed.

She was alive. Still alive.

She reached out, laid a hand on her shelter. Still hot to the touch, she thought. But she could wait. She could be patient.

And if she lived, he’d damn well better live, too.

“Rowan.”

Tears smarted her already stinging eyes at his voice, rough and ragged. “Still here.”

“How’s it going there?”

“Five-by-five. You?”

“The same. It’s cooling down a little.”

“Don’t get out yet, rook.”

“I know the drill. I’m calling base. Anything you want me to pass on?”

“Have L.B. tell my dad I’m A-OK. I don’t know about Cards. There was blood. They need to look for him. And for Matt.”

She closed her eyes again, let herself drift, passing the next hour thinking of swimming in a moonlit lagoon, drinking straight from a garden hose, making snow angels—naked snow angels, with Gull.

“Cards made it back,” he called out. “They had to medevac him. He lost a lot of blood.”

“He’s alive.”

Alone in her shelter, she allowed herself tears.

When her shelter cooled to the touch, she called to Gull. “Coming out.”

She eased her head out into the smoky air, looked over at Gull. She imagined they both looked like a couple of sweaty, parboiled turtles climbing out of their shells.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

She laughed. It hurt her throat, but she laughed. “Hey, handsome.”

They crawled to each other over the blackened, ash-covered ground. She found his lips with hers, her belly quivering with a wrecked combination of laughter and tears.

“I was going to be so pissed off at you if you died.”

“Glad we avoided that.” He touched her face. “Heck of a ride.”

“Oh, yeah.” She lowered her forehead to his. “He might still be alive.”

“I know. We’d better figure out where we are, then we’ll worry about where he is.”

She took out her compass, checking their bearings as she drank what water she had left in her bottle. “If we head east, we’ll backtrack over some of the area, plus it’s the best course for the camp. We need water.”

“I’ll call it in.”

Though her legs still weren’t steady, Rowan got to her feet to examine the shelters.

“Inner skin’s melted,” she told Gull. “We hit over sixteen hundred degrees. I’d say we topped a good one-eighty inside.”

“My candy bar’s melted, and that’s a crying shame.” He reached for her hand. “Want to take a walk in the woods?”

“Love to.”

They walked through the black with ash still swirling. Training outweighed exhaustion, and had them smothering smoldering spots.

“You came for me.”

Gull glanced up. “Sure I did. You’d have done the same.”

“I would have. But I thought I was dead—not going down easy, but dead all the same. And you came for me. It counts. A lot.”

“Is there a scoreboard? Am I winning?”

“Gull.” She didn’t laugh this time, not when everything she felt rose up in her raw throat. “I need to tell you—” She broke off, grabbed his arm. “I heard something.” She closed her eyes, concentrated. Pointed.

She looked in his eyes again. Toward or away? He nodded, and they moved toward the sound.

They found him, curled behind a huddle of rocks. They’d protected him a little. But not nearly enough.

His eyes, filled with blood, stared up from his ruined face. She thought of her dream of Jim, of his brother. The fire had turned them into mirror images.

He moaned again, tried to speak. His body shook violently as his breath came in rapid pants. Raw, blistered burns scored the left side of his body, the most exposed, where the fire had scorched the protective clothing away.

He’d nearly made it out, Rowan noted. Another fifty yards, and he might’ve been clear. Had he thought he could make it, left his life to fate rather than shake out his shelter?

Gull handed her the radio. “Call it in,” he told her, then crouched. He took one of Matt’s ruined hands carefully in his.

He had that in him, Rowan thought. He had that compassion for a man suffering toward death, even though the man was a murderer.

“Base, this is Swede. We found Matt.”

His eyes tracked to hers when she said his name. Could he still think? she wondered. Could he still reason?

For an instant she saw sorrow in them. Then they fixed as the panting breaths cut off.

“He didn’t make it,” she said, steady as she handed the radio back to Gull.

Steady until she sat on the ground beside a man who’d been a friend, and wept for him.

She wanted to stay and fight, termed it a matter of pride and honor to be in on the kill. She rehydrated, refueled, replaced lost and damaged equipment. Then complained all the way when ordered to copter out.

“We’re not injured,” she pointed out.

“You sound like a frog,” Gull observed as he took his seat in the chopper. “A sexy one, but a frog.”

“So we ate some smoke. So what?”

“You lost most of your eyebrows.”

Stunned, she pressed her fingers above her eyes. “Shit! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s a look. They’ve got it on the run,” he added, scanning down as they lifted off.

“That’s the point. That bitch tried to kill us. We should be in on the takedown.”

“Don’t worry, babe.” He reached over to pat her knee. “There’ll be other fires that try to kill us.”

“Don’t try to smooth it over. L.B.’s letting the cops push us around. What the hell difference does it make when we give them a statement? Matt’s dead.” She turned her face, stared out at the sky. “I guess most of him, the best of him, died last year when Jim did. You held his hand so he didn’t die alone.”

Though Gull said nothing, she clearly felt his discomfort so turned to him again. “That counts a lot, too. You’re really racking them up today.”

“People have a choice when life takes a slice out of them. He made the wrong one. A lot of wrong ones.”

“You didn’t. We didn’t,” Rowan corrected. “Good for us.”

“Don’t cry anymore. It kills me.”

“My eyes are watering, that’s all. From all the smoke.”

He figured it couldn’t hurt for both of them to pretend that was it. But he took her hand. “I want a beer. I want a giant, ice-cold bottle of beer. And shower sex.”

The idea made her smile. “I want eyebrows.”

“Well, you’re not getting mine.” He tipped his head back, closed his eyes.

She watched out the window, the roll of land, the rise of mountain. Home—she was going home. But the meaning had changed, deepened. Time to man up and tell him.

“I need to say some things to you,” she began. “I don’t know how you’re going to feel about it, but it is what it is. So...”

She shifted back, narrowed her eyes.

No point baring her soul to a man who was sound asleep.

It could wait, she decided, and watched the sun lower toward the western peaks.

She saw her father running toward the pad, and L.B., and the flying tangle of Ella’s hair as she rushed after them.

Marg sprinting out of the cookhouse. Lynn stopping to bury her face in her apron. Mechanics, jumpers not cleared for the list pouring out of hangars, the tower, the barracks.

The cop and the fed standing together in their snappy suits just outside Ops.

She gave Gull an elbow poke. “We’ve got a welcoming committee.”

She climbed out the second the chopper touched ground, then ran hunched over under the blades to jump into her father’s arms.

“There’s my baby. There’s my girl.”

“A-OK.” She breathed him in, squeezed hard. And, seeing Ella over his shoulder, seeing the roll of tears, held out a hand. “It’s nice to see you.”

Ella gripped her hand, pressed it to her cheek, then wrapped her arms as best she could around both Lucas and Rowan.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Lucas murmured, then, setting Rowan down, walked over to Gull. “You took care of our girl.”

“That’s the job. But mostly she took care of herself.”

Lucas pulled him into a bear hug. “Keep it up.”

They both looked over when Rowan let out a shout, broke from Marg and ran toward the man slowly walking toward the pad.

“I told that son of a bitch he could only check out of the hospital if he stayed in bed.” L.B. shook his head at Cards.

“Yangtree?” Gull asked.

“Fifty-fifty. They didn’t expect him to make it this far, so I’m putting my money on him. Got a cold one for you.”

“Let’s not keep it waiting.”

“Do you want me to tell the cops to back off until you and Rowan settle in?”

“We might as well get it done and over. She needs it finished. I guess I do, too.”

“He just started talking crazy,” Cards told Rowan. “About me letting Jim die, about Dolly. And he said... he said Dolly called Vicki, and told her we’d been screwing around. Hinted to her the baby was mine, for God’s sake. That it was his idea.”

“You can fix it with her.”

“I’m going to try. But... Ro, he came at me. Jesus.” He touched his shoulder where the pick had dug in. “Matt came at me. I knocked him back, or down. I told the cops it’s like this crazy reel inside my head. I ran. He was coming after me. I think he was, then he wasn’t. I just kept running. Got all screwed around until I found the saw line. I followed it.”

“Good thinking.”

“I don’t know how he could’ve done what he did, Ro. I worked right beside him. All of us did. Yangtree...” His eyes watered up. “Then to come after you, to die like he did. I can’t get my head around it.”

“You’re worn out. Go on and lie down. I’ll come in and see you later.”

“I loved the fucker.”

“We all did,” Rowan said, as Cards walked back into the barracks.

Gull stepped up. “Unless you want to do it otherwise, we can talk with the cops now. Marg’s throwing on some steaks.”

“There is a God.”

“We can get it done while we eat.”

They took seats at one of the picnic tables.

“First, I want to say it’s good to see both of you back here, safe.” Quinniock folded his hands on the table. “It doesn’t do much good, but you should know after some digging, a little pressure, Agent DiCicco learned earlier today that Matthew Brayner ended his engagement a short time ago, cut off communication with his fiancée. Also, that he quit his job.”

“I also learned a few days ago that he has a number of trophies and awards. Marksmanship. There are several people in your unit who have sharpshooter experience.”

Rowan nodded at DiCicco. “You’ve been investigating all of us.”

“That’s my job. We arrived here to question him about the same time he assaulted your associate,” DiCicco continued. “We were able to convince Mr. Little Bear to let us search Brayner’s quarters. He kept a journal. It’s all there. What he did, how, why.”

“He was grieving,” Rowan said.

“Yes.”

She looked at Quinniock. “He blamed himself, at the bottom of it, for what happened to Jim. For being weak, sleeping with Dolly, for fighting with his brother before that jump. He couldn’t live with that, so he had to blame Cards, Dolly, all of us.”

“Very likely.”

“But it was more.” She looked at Gull now. “He fell in love with the fire. Found a kind of purpose in it, and that justified the rest. He said he left it up to fate, but he lied to himself. He gave it all to the fire, turning what he loved and had trained to do into a punishment. Maybe he thought he could burn away the guilt and the grief, but he never did. He died, grieving for everything he’d lost.”

“It would help,” DiCicco told her, “if you could tell us exactly what happened, what was said and done.”

“Yeah, I can do that. Then I’m never talking about it again, because he paid for all of it. There’s nothing more to wring out of him, and no changing anything that happened.”

She went through it like a fire report. Precisely, briefly, pausing only to lean into Marg’s side when the cook set down still sizzling steaks.

She ate while Gull did the same from his perspective.

“You knew it was Matt when you caught up with me,” Rowan interrupted.

“Cards has had nothing but shit for luck all season. Cards was Jim’s spotter. You have to respect the streak, good or bad, but when you break it down it seemed like maybe it wasn’t a matter of bad luck. Then Matt couldn’t bring himself to look at Yangtree once we got him down.

“You were too busy to notice,” he added, “but Matt was the only one who couldn’t. When Janis said none of the three of you answered the radio, it was point A to B.”

He looked back over at DiCicco. “That’s it. There’s nothing more to tell you.”

“I’ll do whatever I can to close this without bothering you again,” DiCicco said to Rowan. “And I’m pulling for your friend, for Yangtree.”

“Thanks. What happens with Leo Brakeman?”

“He’s cleared of the murders, and as Brayner detailed the shooting at the base in his journal, how he had the combination for the safe—from Jim through Dolly—he’s clear of those charges. Regardless, he jumped bail, but given the circumstances, we’re recommending leniency there.”

“Matt didn’t kill him,” Rowan murmured, “but he shattered his life. He did it so he could get the baby for his mother.”

Quinniock rose. “A smart man would head to Nebraska and work to put his life back together. That’ll be up to Brakeman. Despite the circumstances, it was a pleasure meeting both of you. Thank you for your service.”

“I’ll say the same.”

Rowan chewed over a bite of steak as they walked away. “That was kind of weird at the end.”

“Just at the end?”

She laughed. “You know what I mean. I need to spend some time with my father. You could get in on that.”

“Sure. Is that before or after shower sex?”

“After, for a variety of reasons. Right now, I need a walk. Moon’s rising.”

“So it is.” He got up, reached for her hand.

It would probably be more appropriate, she thought, if they got cleaned up first, if she waited until the base slept and they were alone.

Then again, covered with soot, smelling of smoke and sweat? Wasn’t that who they were?

“I did a lot of thinking in the shake and bake,” she began as they strolled toward the training field.

“Not much else to do in there.”

“I thought about my father. The two of us at little moments. About him and Ella. I’m only going to admit this once, but you were right about my first reaction to them, and the reasons for it. I’m done with that.”

“You don’t have to say it again, but maybe you could write it down, for my files.”

“Shut up.” She hip-bumped him. “I thought about Jim and Matt, about all the guys. Yangtree.”

“He’s going to make it. I’d put money on it.”

“I believe that because he’s a tough bastard, and because there’s been enough loss this season. I thought about you.”

“I hoped I was in there somewhere.”

“Little moments. And when you narrow it, look at them really close, they can turn out to be key.” She stopped, faced him. “So. I want to get married.”

“To me?”

“No, to Timothy Olyphant, but I’m settling for you.”

“Okay.”

“That’s it?”

“I’m still dealing with Timothy Olyphant, so give me a minute. I think I’m better-looking.”

“You would.”

“No, seriously. I’ve got better hair. But anyway.” He swooped her in, right up to her toes. The kiss wasn’t casual or lighthearted, but raw and deep and real. “I was going to take you on another picnic and ask you. This is better.”

“I like picnics. We could—”

He laid his hands on either side of her face. “I love you. I love everything about you. Your voice, your laugh. Your eyebrows when they grow back. Your face, your body, your hard head and your cautious heart. I want to spend the rest of my life looking at you, listening to you, working with you, just being with you. Rowan of the purple lupines.”

“Wow.” He’d literally taken her breath away. “You’re really good at this.”

“I’ve been saving up.”

“I didn’t want to fall for anybody. It’s so messy. I’m so happy it was you. I’m so happy to love you, Gulliver. So happy to know I’ll have a life with you, a home, a family with you.” She pressed her lips to his. “But I want a bigger bed.”

“Big as you want.”

“Where are we going to put it? After the season, I mean.”

“I’ve been thinking about that.”

Naturally, she thought. “Have you?”

“First, I think I should get my pilot’s license. We’ll be doing a lot of zipping between Montana and California.”

He took her hand and, as she’d once seen her father do with Ella, gave their linked arms a playful swing.

“Maybe we’ll find a place between, but I’m fine setting down here most of the year.”

She cocked her head. “Because Missoula needs a family fun center?”

He grinned, kissing her knuckles as they walked again. “I’ve been doing some research on that.”

“I really do love you,” she told him. “It’s kind of astonishing.”

“I’m a hell of a catch. Really better than Olyphant. Where we dig in, that’s just details. We’ll work them out.”

She stopped and, trusting them both, linked her arms around his neck. “We’ll work them out,” she repeated.

“Hey!” L.B. shouted across the field. “Thought you’d want to know, they’ve got her contained. They caught her, and they’re taking her down.”

“Go Zulies,” Gull called back.

She grinned at him. More good news, she thought. They’d go in soon, give their own good news to her father, to their family.

But for now, she’d caught her own fire and wanted to walk awhile sharing the warmth of it, just with him, under the rising moon.