Firestorm (9 page)

“No,” she said aloud. “No, Father. I can only do this if you protect
him.” Her voice changed from anger to pleading. “Please take care of him, Father. I can’t handle it. If I do this—if I risk my heart, I can’t handle losing it. I swear I can’t.”

Reyne sighed when no answer, no reassurance came to her. She stared outside for what seemed hours, just thinking and playing out different scenarios in her head. “Life is a risk, Oldre,” she told herself. “Nothing risked, nothing gained.”

Then she sat down at her computer and typed out a message to Logan:

But as she faxed it through, all that ran through her head was that she was playing with fire—and there seemed to be no way to stop herself.

R
eyne paced inside her cottage, anxiously waiting for the clock to tick past 5:55. She actually crossed over to the digital display at one point and tapped it, wondering if it was stuck, then checked her kitchen clock, which assured her that it was right on time. At 5:59 she spotted him on the highway from Elk Horn and watched as he turned onto the dirt road that led to her home.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she swallowed hard. “Get ahold of yourself, Reyne,” she muttered, wondering how Logan McCabe had managed to get under her skin so quickly. She positioned herself by a window where she could watch his approach without being seen.

He pulled into her driveway and hopped out. To Reyne, he seemed even more handsome than before. Long, sturdy legs were encased in narrow jeans. He wore an off-white Henley under a dark green V-neck sweater and a big brown Stetson that added inches to his already impressive height. He took it off as he approached her door, and she could have sworn that he was talking to himself as he climbed her porch steps.

After he knocked, Reyne counted to five before she moved toward the front door. Then she forced herself to walk in an easy manner and opened the door with a smile.

His face lit up when he saw her. He actually took a half-step as if he wanted to take her in his arms and hug her, but then he regained
control. “Reyne,” he said with a nod, turning his hat over and over in his hands. “It’s great, really great to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too, Logan,” she said, amazed her voice could sound so cool when her insides felt like churning butter. “Did you want to come in? Or should we go straight to dinner?”

“Oh, you thought
you
were the colleague I was asking out for dinner?” Logan deadpanned. “No, I was talking about Ken.”

Reyne gave him a sidelong look. “Well, call him and tell him you’ll have to give him a rain check ’cause I’m all ready and am very intrigued with where you’re taking me. There’s only one restaurant in Elk Horn, and that’s a pretty sad café. Is that the ‘great little place’ you were talking about?”

Logan flashed her a mischievous smile. “There’s no pulling the wool over your eyes, woman,” he said. “Let’s go, and I’ll show you.” She followed him outside, and he opened the car door for her.

“I’m on to you, McCabe,” she said saucily. She averted her eyes, trying to maintain her cool facade.

Logan climbed in beside Reyne and started the engine. He put his arm behind her on the seat and looked over his shoulder to reverse. “You know,” he said idly as they backed up, “it feels great to have a woman figure me out.” He stopped, shifted gears, and waited for her eyes to meet his. “To be honest, it feels terrific.”

They turned out on the highway, and Reyne was so entertained by his stories of spring training in Missoula that she barely kept track of where they were going. Logan was in the midst of a hilarious story about a rookie stuck on the jump tower, refusing to come down, when they turned off the highway and headed up a side road.

Reyne had been laughing so hard that she cried. How great it felt to laugh like this again! How long had it been? She wiped her eyes,
still giggling, and asked, “Okay, McCabe, just where are you taking me? We’re way past the café, and I know for a fact that there are no tourist lodges or restaurants this way.”

“Oh, you know that for a fact, do you?” he said. “I’m almost certain that I saw something up here the other day.”

Reyne was puzzled, but she was in such a merry mood that she was not about to dispel it with an argument. He’d find out soon enough that there was nothing around here for miles, and then they would turn around. She dared to glance up at him.

He was staring ahead, carefully maneuvering past huge potholes as they climbed higher and higher on the mountain road. His burly arm and hand held the wheel effortlessly, and Reyne found herself wondering what it would feel like to have that arm around her—and not just reaching for a saddle horn. She quickly forced her eyes back to the road.

They pulled to a stop at last, and Reyne looked around at the forest that surrounded them, smiling suspiciously. “See, I—”

“We’re here!” he said, hopping out of the car and coming around to let her out too.

“We’re where, McCabe? There’s no place to eat around here for miles!” She stood with her hands on her hips and stared at him in puzzlement.

“Oh ye of little faith,” he said, stepping past her and opening up the trunk. Pulling out a giant picnic basket, he smiled at her smugly. “Follow me, madam.”

Logan relished every moment of Reyne’s surprise. He loved to see delight visibly spread across her face as they entered the clearing and
she discovered the elaborate setup he had constructed. What woman would not be charmed?

In front of them lay a huge, old scrapped parachute, which covered the ground and provided a thin, silky carpet for them. In the middle of it stood a tiny antique oak table and two mismatched chairs that Logan had borrowed from the airstrip building. He had covered the table with a white cloth, again made of old parachute material. Its edges billowed gently in the cool mountain breeze, and Reyne shivered, rubbing her arms.

“Cold?” Logan asked. “Hold on one second. I’ll be right back.” He left her standing there, gazing out to the incredible view of the valley below them. Trotting back to the trunk, he unwound a length of electric cord and connected it to another cord that was hidden by the brush. Then he started up a small, portable generator that sat in his trunk and returned to Reyne.

She laughed as he uncovered a giant outdoor heater that glowed red within seconds. “Pretty snazzy, Logan, but don’t you think it’s a bit of a fire danger?”

“No chance,” he said. “I came up here and laid a gravel foundation for it. Besides, the brush is still pretty green, and I’ve got this.” He opened the picnic basket and pulled out a tiny extinguisher.

He raised one eyebrow in what he hoped was a suave expression. “I know what you’re thinking. ‘He appears to have thought of everything,’ ” he mimicked in a high, thoughtful voice. “But wait! There’s more! Please, have a seat,” he said, pulling out a chair for her.

Before he left her side again, he brought out napkins, silverware, dinner plates, wineglasses, two candles, and a tape recorder. He pressed Play, starting the instrumental music, showed off a bit by
lighting the candles with a match struck on his jeans, filled her goblet, and again retreated.

Chuckling to himself, Logan went for another cord and prepared to make yet another connection. This time, however, he wanted to see her face. She was sipping from her glass, looking out at the sunset, when he stuck the metal prongs into the plastic holes. All around her, hundreds of tiny white lights lit up. In the trees, in the brush, around the base of the clearing, looped from the branches. It had taken him hours to string them all.

Logan pushed away the unwanted thought of how long it would take to unstring them tomorrow. All he wanted to think about was Reyne. He wanted to know everything about the fascinating woman before him, and maybe, just maybe, he’d learn more tonight.

Her eyes sparkled in the soft glow of the tiny lights as she smiled at him. She was worth all this and more.
How has this one remained alone?
he asked of God silently, smiling back at her. “Like it?” he asked, waving about.

“Like it? I love it!” she said. “Now please, waiter, sit down and have dinner with me. What are we having? Pizza?”

“Oh no, no, no,” he said, seating himself. He had placed her where she could get the best view of the valley. But he had carefully selected his own seat earlier that afternoon, knowing that he only wanted to study her as they talked. “We have much more than that.” He reached down into the basket and pulled out two salad plates covered with plastic wrap, then a covered container of dressing.

They ate their salads while Logan heated their foil-wrapped entrées on a shelf beside the heater. After a while he brought out a basket of sliced French bread and unwrapped their stuffed chicken breasts.

“Those look wonderful,” she exclaimed as he served her plate. “Did you make them yourself?”

“Yep,” he said with a grin, gesturing from his head to his toe. “All this beauty, and a good little cook as well. What a bargain. And I can fight fires, too.”

She just smiled and picked up her fork.

The evening grew darker and darker as they ate, and their secret little wilderness room grew more and more dramatic. Logan noticed that the deepening shadows heightened the angles of Reyne’s cheekbones, the gentle slope of her eyebrows, the tiny cleft in her chin. Her eyes sparkled in the light as she leaned forward, telling him a story. They reminded him of his grandmother’s eyeglasses at Christmas time.

He watched her intently as she talked, enjoying the feeling of a full stomach, a romantic setting, and a beautiful, interesting, animated woman across from him. Logan found himself wanting to know everything about her, not just the surface things. Not just the fact that her hair looked like spun silk and smelled like spring breezes. Not just the fact that she was smart and passionate about her work. He wanted to know what made her tick. What made her happy. What made her sad.

That thought reminded him of the Oxbow stories he had heard. She seemed relaxed and happy now. Would it destroy everything to remind her of that terrible day? But he knew that it had changed the course of her career. Perhaps it had changed her in other ways he needed to know about.

When she finished her story and took a sip of water, she leaned back, smiling. Logan took a sip of water too, choosing his words carefully. “Reyne,” he began, giving her what he hoped was a searching but warm look, “tell me about that day. Tell me about Oxbow.”

Reyne’s face fell, and Logan’s heart jumped to double time.
There you go, Logan, rushing things! You big jerk! You’ve ruined everything!
He had just begun to back-pedal, saying, “I’m sorry … I, um, wanted … that is if you’re ready …,” when she held up her hand.

“No, it’s okay. I can tell you about it. It was probably the most important day of my life. One of those days when everything changes, you know? Up to that point, I was a carefree kid with a dramatic summer job. After that day, I was dedicated to one thing: fighting the dragon and beating it. And beating it means saving firefighters’ lives in the process.”

Logan nodded, encouraging her. “Which also gives you passion for fire science and things like your weather-kit project.”

“Exactly,” she said quietly. She looked like she was a million miles away. He bit his tongue, mentally willing himself to stay quiet and wait, for once.

Reyne had Logan’s rapt attention. She spun the story like a professional narrator, although Logan knew for a fact that she rarely spoke about that fateful day.
Must have rehashed it in her head a million times
, he thought.
Guess that’s what I would do too
.

Reyne told him all about her crew, the seasoned veterans and the green rookies, about each one’s strengths and weaknesses. She told about beating back the baby fire, moving to meet the New Mexicans in the gully, then sensing that something had changed …

It took her half an hour to reach the point in the story where they had hit the meadow. Fifteen minutes later it was as if Logan were with them—he was so caught up in her story—hitting the forest road running, madly deploying shelters as the firestorm reared behind them in a magnificent wall of orange, red, and blue.

She told him about Janice frantically trying to shake out her tent
in the midst of the high-velocity winds and about Larry thinking he was doomed because of the rip in his. “And then I was finally shaking my own tent out,” she went on, “and it was crazy, but all I could think of was that it was like shaking out a beach blanket in the midst of a hurricane.”

Reyne paused, taking a breath as if to preserve strength for what was ahead. “I couldn’t have been under the tent for more than two seconds when Oxbow swept over me. I was still tucking flaps, desperately trying to get my knees down to seal him out. All around us, the grasses were catching fire, starting miniature fires inside and under our shelters while the two-thousand-degree heat roared over us. It was like a giant wave rolling past, pushing the shelters down on our backs.

“All around me was flickering light, and I could hear Zeke Johnson still working beside me, trying to deal with his own grass fires inside and keep the seal secure. On my other side was Leanne, who was one of the first down but was green, really green. I could hear her crying.” Reyne looked off in the distance, her eyes reflecting the lights more brightly as tears gathered. But her voice remained strong, steady.

“The first wave came off the trees, igniting gases ahead of it. It was so vicious, it lifted most of the tents’ edges and filled them with smoke. We were beating out fires with our arms and legs, rolling over them if necessary, while fighting to breathe. The walls of our tents grew too hot to touch, and you know something? There are actually tiny pinholes that glow, just like in the training films.

“The temperature inside climbed. It was unbearable. Still, I was feeling immortal and had a distanced … fascination about the whole thing. It was like I was living out a movie. I thought about dying. But the screaming outside took my mind off it.