Firestorm

Chapter Thirteen

Jac lay awake, listening to a light rain dance on the hangar’s metal roof. The loft felt dark and close, growing colder every night that Mallory was gone. Almost a week that seemed like a month—endless hours stretching interminably from sundown until dawn. The shadows weighed more heavily on her chest, the empty cot across from her echoing the emptiness that hollowed out her bones. Tonight she’d never fallen asleep at all, lying on her back staring into the gloom, remembering all the nights she’d lain awake listening to the scratch of sand shifting against the sides of a canvas tent, surrounded by humanity and aching with loneliness. She ached tonight, but not in some vague existential way. Tonight she just missed Mallory.

Sighing, she punched her pillow and rolled onto her side. Mallory’s neatly rolled sleeping bag mocked her. She’d straightened Mallory’s bed the first night Mallory was gone. When she’d rested her hand for a few seconds on the spot where she had sat with Mallory’s feet tucked against her leg, she’d registered that the bag was cool, but she’d imagined the heat of Mallory’s body tucked inside it. She’d imagined herself spooned against Mallory’s back, her arm around Mallory’s waist and her chin tucked in the curve of Mallory’s shoulder, her mouth close to Mallory’s ear. Murmuring to her. Kissing her softly. The fantasy was exquisitely bittersweet, and when she crawled into her own cold sleeping bag, the pulse of desire hammering between her thighs haunted rather than tempted her. She feared an orgasm would taste only of ashes, reminding her of all the hopes that had vanished long before the desert winds had ground them to dust.

Each night, sleep became more elusive while her body strummed with anxious tension, but she didn’t want the quick release and hazy aftermath of a solitary orgasm. While it made no sense, she didn’t want to come fantasizing about Mallory when Mallory was fighting a fire on a mountainside somewhere. She had no doubt Mallory was sleepless, and it seemed the least she could do was to tolerate her own restless nights. At least she was warm and dry, and Mallory’s team most certainly wasn’t. Weather had blown in within hours of Benny’s return from dropping the team at the fire front—an icy rain mixed with snow, nature’s reminder that spring had not yet driven out the last breath of winter.

Jac had checked the satellite images of the burn area every few hours throughout each day, following the storm’s path as it lingered over the mountains. She’d traced the topography of Bitterroot with her fingertip, climbing mountain peaks and descending into valleys, trying to place Mallory in that vast wilderness. Wishing they had radio contact. Wishing she was digging line and chopping trees by Mallory’s side.

Sarah had opted to use the time Mallory was away to cover the mandatory didactic sessions, and most of the last few days had been spent sitting at a table with the other rookies in a cinderblock-walled room. While listening to Sarah talk about fire protocols and Sully discuss principles of fire management, her mind kept drifting to the realities of the job. She hadn’t worked a full season, but she’d spent enough time on the line to know how easily the job could turn treacherous. Even when the fire wasn’t bearing down, there were dozens of other potential hazards. Snakes, bugs, and terrified animals incited to violence were as dangerous as burning branches, falling trees, and blowups. And so many other ways to encounter injury—heat exhaustion, sun exposure, and always, always the fire.

Every firefighter recognized the dangers, guarded against them, trained to avoid them, and still, still, every year firefighters were lost. Everyone accepted the risks, no one dwelled on them. Jac tried not to. She’d spent enough time at the front—first when deployed, then on the fire line—to learn not to torture herself with what-ifs. She knew Mallory would be back, she just wished she knew when.

She’d skipped dinner earlier and opted for an extra-long workout, hoping to wear off her nagging disquiet. After too many nights with too little sleep, she’d turned in early, physically fatigued and mentally exhausted. If she’d been able to sleep propped up against sandbags in the middle of a godless desert, she ought to be able to sleep here. So she’d thought.

Now it was well into the deep hours of the night, and she was still wide-awake. With a sigh, she shoved aside the top flap of the sleeping bag and got up. Dressing hastily, she pulled on sweats and a navy blue sweatshirt, stepped into her unlaced work boots, and headed for the canteen. She expected the place to be empty, and she was nearly right. Sarah sat alone at a table with a steaming mug of coffee and a piece of pie in front of her.

“Tell me where you got that, and I’ll be your slave forever,” Jac said.

Sarah pushed a half-finished crossword puzzle aside and smiled up at her. “Really? And I could have your services for anything I desired?”

Jac felt a blush rise in her face, which was damn surprising. Ordinarily she’d pursue a harmless flirtation, just because bantering with a woman was pleasant. Instead, a vague sense of unease tripped her up, and she immediately thought of Mallory. Sarah was attractive, but she didn’t want to flirt with her. Innocent or not. Quickly, she amended, “Almost anything.”

“Well, I’m not so sure, then.”

“Please,” Jac groaned. “I’m in need.”

Sarah laughed and pointed toward the double-wide swinging doors to the kitchen. “Charlie is still here. Ask him nicely, and I think you’ll score a piece.”

“Thank you,” Jac said reverently and went in search of pie. Charlie was scraping down the grill when she found him. “If there’s something you need done back here, I’d be happy to help out.”

“Nice of you,” Charlie said conversationally, his attention on the grill.

Jac laughed. “Not really. Sarah said there might be pie.”

Charlie spared her a glance, his coal-black eyes studying her intently. Then he went back to methodically scraping the last of the oil from the gleaming surface of his grill with a flat spatula. “Not much left to do here. Go keep Sarah company, and I’ll deliver that pie in a few minutes.”

“You don’t have to do that. I could get—”

“Go on now, out of my kitchen.” His voice held no heat.

“Okay, thanks.” Jac got halfway to the door and then turned around. “By the way, you make the best chow of any line cook I’ve ever run into.”

He stopped scraping and straightened, his expression curious. “You know many?”

“I’ve done a few tours with the Guard. I’ve eaten lots of meals in lots of mess halls. Yours beats them all.”

He smiled. “I did some Army cooking myself, back in Southeast Asia in the seventies.”

“Then they were lucky soldiers.”

“The apple or cherry?”

Jac grinned. “Any chance I can get a sampler?”

Chuckling, he went back to his grill.

“So? Did you talk Charlie into the pie?” Sarah said when Jac sat down across from her with her own cup of coffee.

“I think so. I sure hope so.”

Sarah eased back in her chair. She’d changed out of the cargo pants and khaki shirt she’d worn earlier into black sweats and a soft, long-sleeved white T-shirt that was just tight enough to show off a very nice body. “It’s pretty late. Can’t sleep?”

A muscle jumped in Jac’s jaw, and she consciously unclenched her teeth. “Not that tired. Sitting in a classroom most of the day just wound me up.”

“Didn’t work it off in the gym?”

“Not much gets past anybody around here, does it,” Jac muttered.

“I saw you going over when I was on my way out for a run. When I clocked in for my own workout two hours later, you were still there. You didn’t see me.”

“Just felt lazy after an easy day,” Jac said.

“Was that what it was?”

Jac ignored the gentle probing. She didn’t want to talk about what was really bothering her. “Worked out good for Ray—all this class time.”

“He’s symptom free. He ought to make up the physical fitness part easily enough.”

“Excellent.” Jac asked as casually as she could, “Did you hear from Mallory?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean anything.” Sarah paused, looking thoughtful. “She’s probably in constant communication with the local station up there, but we won’t hear anything, even when they’ve pulled out. If they’re packing out, that could take a few days right there.”

Jac massaged the back of her neck and winced. Her muscles were knotted and tender, and she rubbed her thumb over a sore spot at the junction of her right shoulder. “Waiting—I don’t do it very well.”

“That’s a lot of this job.” Sarah gestured to her crossword puzzle. “Long stretches of boredom interspersed with frantic activity. Then, when a crew goes out and you don’t hear anything for days, sometimes a couple of weeks, it wears on you.”

“Yeah.” Jac rubbed her face with both hands and sighed. “A lot like the military.”

“You served?”

Jac nodded.

“Then you know how it goes.”

Charlie walked up and slid a plate with two pieces of pie on it in front of Jac. “Keep that to yourself, trooper.”

Jac looked up at him. “I will. Thanks.”

Charlie grunted and headed back to the kitchen.

Jac pushed the plate toward Sarah. “Want some more?”

“Yeah, I didn’t get any of the cherry.” Sarah picked up her fork and cut off a healthy piece from Jac’s plate and slid it onto her own. “Thanks.”

“So I wanted to ask you,” Jac said, teasing a slice of apple free from the flaky crust.

“Yes?” Sarah asked absently.

“You and Mallory—” Jac looked up into Sarah’s eyes.

Sarah regarded her curiously. “Me and Mallory, what?”

“Well, you know, the coffee the other morning—we were playing cards and we made this bet and I didn’t want you to think—”

“Mallory is a really good friend, one of my best friends. It’s probably dumb of me, but I don’t sleep with my friends. Maybe if I did, I’d have better luck.”

Jac grimaced. “Not too subtle, am I?”

“Subtlety is overrated. We’re not lovers. I suspect she would’ve told you that if you’d asked her.”

“I think so too.” Jac stared at the table. “But I didn’t want to ask.”

“Why not?”

Jac traced the edge of her plate with her fork. “She’d run for the hills.”

“Probably.” Sarah sipped her coffee. “You know, Jac, Mallory…” She sighed. “I’m claiming best friend’s right here, so I have something to say.”

“Go ahead.” Jac straightened. She knew the tone—she wasn’t going to like what was coming.

“Okay.” Sarah nodded, as if making a decision. “Maybe Mallory isn’t such a good idea.”

Jac pushed back a surge of anger and kept her voice even. Here came the “you’re not the right person for her” lecture. “Oh? Why is that?”

“She’s just…vulnerable right now.”

“And you think I’ll be bad for her? Hurt her somehow?” Jac carefully cut a wedge of pie with her fork but didn’t lift it to her mouth. “Based on what? My reputation?”

Sarah colored. “I’m not going to pretend I don’t know what you’re talking about, but that’s not what I meant.”

“What, then?”

“I don’t know you, and I’m not about to ask your intentions. But I know Mallory and I love her.” Sarah bit her lip and let out a breath. “Since the incident last summer, she hasn’t been herself. She still isn’t.”

“Maybe,” Jac said softly, “she never will be. Not the Mallory you knew then. Wounds change us, but they don’t have to destroy us. You should trust her.”

“Yes.” Sarah winced. “What I really should do is mind my own damn business. I’m sorry. I was out of line.”

“No, you weren’t. Mallory’s lucky to have a friend like you.” Jac couldn’t resent Sarah championing Mallory—she envied their friendship. No one had ever stood up for her, and she’d learned not to hope for it. She finished off the apple and started on the remaining cherry. “Nothing has happened and probably won’t. I just… If you and she were together, I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

“So noted.” Sarah waited a beat. “So, she’s got under your skin?”

Jac put down her fork and rubbed her belly. She was so tight she could’ve bounced quarters off her abdominal wall. Massaging didn’t help. “Yeah. Quite a lot.”

“Well, maybe I’m completely wrong. Maybe a little shaking up is just what she needs.”

“And you think I’m the one to do it?”

Sarah pointed a finger at her. “I think you very well could be. Hell, you managed to get pie out of Charlie. That took me three years.”

“She’s all right out there, isn’t she?”

“Jac, you know the job.” Sarah’s face softened. “Things happen, but Mallory is really, really good. One of the best. She’ll be fine. And she won’t like it if you worry about her every time she goes out.”

“I’ll hide it.”

Sarah rolled her eyes.

“You’re right. I can see how good she is.”

“You’ll need to trust her, Jac. You’ll both need that, in both directions, if you’re working together.”

“Trust.” Jac had learned young not to trust, not to expect people to do what they promised or mean what they said. She’d learned not to count on anyone, and she’d learned not to be disappointed. “I guess that’s the part of the training you can’t teach.”

“Nope.” Sarah’s expression brightened. “That you get from working your asses off together. You’ll see what I mean when we head into the mountains to set up camp and field train.”

If that meant living side by side with Mallory, Jac was all for it. She just wanted Mallory and her team to come home.

“You better get some sleep,” Sarah said. “We’re back on the tower tomorrow. You all have had enough class time for a bit.” As if reading Jac’s mind, Sarah squeezed her arm. “Mallory will be back soon, and you better look sharp.”

“Right.” Jac rose and grabbed their plates. “I’m gone.”

Sarah laughed. “Keep your head on straight, rookie.”

Jac wasn’t worried about her head. She just wasn’t quite so sure about her heart.