Firestorm (16 page)

Reyne’s head swam. Boise. Idaho Falls. Oxbow. The correlation
was too much. Logan was heading straight into her worst nightmare, and there was apparently nothing she could do to stop him. She turned and walked away as if on autopilot.

He ran after her. “Reyne!” he yelled.

She did not stop.

“Reyne!” he tried again. In the back of her mind it registered that his voice was nearer this time, that he was coming after her. Still she did not stop. Everything in her told her to run away, to flee, to get away from this man who loved fighting the very monster that could kill him.

Logan reached her and grabbed her arm, swinging her around to face him. “Reyne, what is going on? Why are you so angry?”

“Angry?” she repeated. “
Angry?
I’ll tell you why I’m angry. I’m angry because I’ve finally fallen in love with a man, and he’s in love with someone else! Some
thing
else!”

Logan’s brow furrowed, and he brought his face closer to hers, recognizing that their argument was once again drawing curious stares. “Listen, Reyne, I know this must be tough—”

“Tough? This isn’t about something that I just have to be strong enough to deal with, Logan. This is about smarts. Plain old smarts. I’ve seen the dragon do his stuff. I know you think you have too. But you haven’t been there, Logan.”

She paced in front of him, feeling the tension draw her face into a taut mask. But she couldn’t stop herself. “You haven’t seen flames shooting five hundred feet into the air, ready to come and swallow you for breakfast. You haven’t waited it out in a tiny silver taco that they call protection!”

With that, she strode away again, furious, fearful, not sure whom
she was really angry with. But her choice was made. It made her miserable, but everything had been said already, and she was going to stick to her guns.

In a moment Logan was behind her again, swinging her to a stop once more. He started to speak, stopped himself, ran his hands through his dark hair, and started again. “Look, love. It’s because I’m going to Boise, huh? It brings it all back? We’ve talked about this. I know it’s going to be hard, but—”

“You don’t know anything, Logan McCabe,” she spat out. “Go and fight your dragon. But don’t think I’m going to be the grateful princess waiting back at the castle for you.”

Logan watched as she strode away, stoic in his thoughts as she disappeared among the tents. Her words had stung, but he knew she hadn’t meant them—not in the way they had come out anyway. She was plainly scared to death. And part of him could understand how she felt. Realizing she was in love. And that the man she loved fought fire, her worst fear. He wouldn’t like it if she was on the fire line. He wouldn’t like it at all.

But Reyne had come into this relationship with her eyes open. She knew his life was fire and he was consumed with the desire to fight it. And if she’d just admit it to herself, she still loved it as much as he. They had talked it all through, over and over. Even though she had been emotionally wounded fighting Oxbow, she still felt the passion—he would bet money on it. If she didn’t, she would have removed herself from the fire scene entirely. Study something else.

But she had returned to fight fire—albeit from the relative safety of the command center. But even those in the command center had to face the dragon occasionally, to lead a team on the line or to study
the conditions firsthand. The way the season was shaping up, Logan was sure that Reyne would find herself facing the monster head-on more than once or twice in the coming months.

Logan left the campsite and walked into the woods. Finding a fallen log in the clearing among the trees, he sat down and stared up into the morning sky, studying the cloud formations and the occasional hawk for several long minutes. “God,” he whispered. “Only you could be the instigator of this one. I’ve fallen in love with a hard-headed woman who has one huge fear in her head … and in her heart. Only you can change that. Please be with us, Father.”

He appreciated the cool morning air with its welcome hint of moisture. To Logan, it felt like a tangible promise from the Savior that he was on his way to personally put out the fire. The gentle breeze caressed his cheek, and he was thankful for his faith. It gave him strength when his world felt upside down.
Or when the woman you love is angry at you
.

He looked around at the dark trees, thinking about how easy it would be to get lost in the forest. He continued his conversation with the Father after a moment’s rest, a moment’s thinking. “Show us your way, God, and how to go about getting on that path. Because right now, I’m feeling pretty lost.”

R
eyne had left camp without seeking Logan out or saying good-bye. Now, back home, she was paying the price. He was on her mind every minute of the day, and she closely monitored the progress of the various fires via computer in Boise, hoping for word about Logan and his team without making a direct request for information.

She gathered that the fire near Idaho Falls was almost out after more than ten days of work, but she was still worried. She had said things to Logan that she regretted. She had been unfair and unfeeling in her anger. And she could not wait to apologize. She missed him. She loved him.
Will he forgive me?
she wondered for the thousandth time. He had not called.

Unable to concentrate on her work, she left the studio to grab a late breakfast and then do a little gardening. After a quick piece of toast, Reyne stopped by the cottage entrance to don a straw hat from the rack, glanced at her image in the hall mirror, then went outside. She surveyed the plants from her porch.

The early summer heat wave—and Reyne’s absence—were hurting her garden efforts. The English garden around her cottage was withering, and she needed to act fast to save it.

Still, here and there were the beginnings of beautiful antique annuals, her favorites. Reyne had carefully planned her garden, beginning with a picket fence she had left unpainted so it would
weather quickly. Over it climbed dark green vines with dangling pink blooms called kiss-me-over-the-garden-gate. Interspersed with the vine were glorious purple-black morning glories on perfect, heart-shaped leaves, and a nearly preposterous snake gourd vine sported quaint little white flowers and gourds that would eventually grow as long as seven feet. Reyne planned to sell the gourds to local craftsmen who specialized in making them into eye-catching containers, birdhouses, even musical instruments.

At the fence’s base, below the soft, velvety leaves of the gourd vine, stood the white angel’s trumpets, Reyne’s favorite. Last night their perfume had wafted through her open bedroom window as she tossed and turned, reminding her that she needed to tend the garden. Above them, spilling out and over the edges of an antique wooden wheelbarrow, was a stand of tiny golden feather. Over by the porch and lining its latticed front were delicate purple-pink balcony petunias. All around her were building banks of painted tongue, Chinese foxglove, flowering tobacco, and local varieties such as red Indian paintbrush, purple pasqueflowers, pink bitterroot, and delicate harebells. There were even pastel sweet peas struggling to make their way up a trellis, although those especially seemed to be fighting a losing battle with the heat.

All in all, it was becoming quite a beautiful, tranquil setting.
If I can just keep it alive
, Reyne mused, squinting and glancing up at the sun from under her hat’s brim. After pulling weeds for an hour and watering the thirsty plants, Reyne took off her hat and wiped the sweat from her forehead again. It was only the beginning of July, but the Elk Horn Valley was already sweltering. It had to be over ninety degrees.

Replacing her hat, Reyne gazed out over the valley to watch the
thunderheads build in the distance. Large areas of pastureland looked parched and brown, a sad contrast to the almost unnatural green of the irrigated fields. The forested hills looked tired and dusty, and Reyne found herself remembering the acres of dry underbrush.
One good lightning storm
, she decided,
and we could be in real trouble
.

Pushing the unwanted thought from her mind, she searched for others. Finding a pleasurable one, she hurried into the cottage and picked up the phone.

“Rachel!” she began as soon as her friend picked up on the other end, “Listen, let’s grab Beth and go to the swimming hole! I’d kill for a dip in that water right now!”

“Oh, that sounds great,” Rachel said wistfully. “But I’ve got the baby, Mary’s out grocery shopping, and Dirk is who knows where.”

“Bring Samuel along! There’s shade there under the big oak, and we can take turns watching him.”

She could hear Rachel’s excitement grow. “Well, if you’re sure you wouldn’t mind watching him some …”

“Mind? I would love to. I need to get out of here. Away from my fax and my computer screen.”

“And the phone?” Rachel ventured.

“Yeah. And the phone. I’m sick of worrying about it all. All I want to think about is my friends, your babies, and a nice, cool spot on the river.”

“Sounds good to me,” Rachel said. “Let me pull together some lunch. You pick up Beth and then us. We’ll be ready by then.”

“Great!” Reyne said, feeling enthusiastic about something for the first time since she left Colorado.

Beth sounded tired when Reyne called her, but she was unwilling
to miss out on anything. She said she would leave Hope with the new cook and be ready within a few minutes. “But I don’t know if I’m up for swimming,” she warned.

“No problem,” Reyne said readily. “It’ll still feel good to be down by the water—with your incredible friends, of course.”

“Of course!” Beth said.

Reyne could almost picture the weak smile on her friend’s face.
Please, God, give us as much time as possible with her
, she prayed silently. “I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”

“Good enough,” Beth responded, then hung up.

Reyne rushed around getting ready. She threw on her deep blue swimsuit, a pair of cutoffs, and a T-shirt and, at the last second, tied a sweatshirt cardigan around her waist before climbing in her truck and heading for the Double M to pick up Beth.

When they reached Timberline, they all piled into Rachel’s Jeep, which was already packed with the picnic and the baby. They pulled up to the swimming hole on the Kootenai River fifteen minutes later, giggling like schoolgirls on some errant escapade.

Rachel parked not eight feet from the water, directly under an old shade tree so the baby could stay in his car seat, where he had fallen asleep. The river was wide at this point, perhaps thirty feet across, and more quiet and shallow than in other places. An eddy had formed long ago, creating a deep pool that was a perfect green blue. Tiny pieces of bark and creek grass floated here and there on the surface, swirling upstream in a hypnotic display, as if inviting the women to join them. Rich, green grasses lined the river’s bank, and the rushing sound of the water immediately made them feel cooler.

“That water looks delicious,” Reyne said. “I’ve been so hot for so many days that all I care about eating is that pool.”

“I haven’t been swimming here in ages,” Rachel said. “It’s been two, maybe three, years, hasn’t it, Beth?”

Beth laughed as she carefully pulled herself from the backseat. “Yes. It has to be three years. It was that day we came here after our food fight in the kitchen. Remember? You stripped and jumped in the water, and you had just dried off and redressed when Dirk rounded the corner on his horse.”

“That’s right!” Rachel said, shrieking with laughter at the memory. “Talk about timing!” The three women spread out their huge picnic blanket and took off their shoes to dangle their feet in the water while they ate their sandwiches. Afterward, they leaned back on the blanket, looking up into the barely wavering leaves of the towering birch above them.

“Where are you, Beth?” Rachel asked, finally broaching the question that had been on her and Reyne’s minds since they got there. Their friend had been very quiet. “How are you feeling?”

Beth stayed where she was on her back, simply staring upward. “Physically, each hour is a battle. Emotionally, I’m up and down, really feeling like I’m grieving all over again. It’s like last time I prepared myself for this. But after the mastectomy and the all-clear report from my doctor at three months, six months … even a year later, I relaxed. I told myself that I was going to live a full life. I was going to have lots of time with Matthew and Hope. So now I have to deal with saying good-bye all over again.”

Neither of her friends responded. They could hear in her voice the need to talk.

“Mentally, it’s like God’s been whispering the truth in my ear all along. The news that the cancer had suddenly spread far and wide didn’t come as a surprise. It didn’t. It was like he had been preparing
me so I wouldn’t waste precious time on the why-me’s but rather concentrate on things that are eternal. Like this. You two will always remember our playing here by the pool. At least I hope so.” She paused, thinking, apparently gathering strength to go on.

“Every day is so precious. I wish I could give you the gift of this feeling without the price I’ll have to pay. Do you understand what it might be like to think you’ll die within the next few years … the next few months … the next few days? Time is no longer endless … it is absolutely priceless. There’s no more waste in my life. That’s why I went ahead and redecorated the dining room; I’ve always hated it. That’s why Matt and I have been traveling more, trying to do the kinds of things we’ve always wanted to.

“When you finally realize that each day is a gift, you live your life differently. You spend your time on family and friends, giving them every ounce of love possible. You give yourself permission to take care of yourself, to celebrate all that God has graced you with.” Beth sat up with some effort, pushing her brown wavy hair away from her face as if it were interfering with her momentum. She looked down and over at her friends. “Do you guys get it? Can you grasp what I’m saying?”