Rain of Fire (26 page)

Kyle’s original recipe was one he’d sampled before, during a party at her mountain townhouse. Although the memory was repressed so deeply Freud would have been proud, it broke through the way a river rafted winter ice.

That night, as Kyle’s gathering wound down, Wyatt stayed behind to help her police the area. He was on the deck picking up beer cans when she came out through the sliding glass doors. No doubt because of the hot August day she wore a loose-fitting white cotton dress, a startling departure from her usual khakis and tailored shirts.

Though the evening air had cooled, she raised her hands and lifted her hair off her slender corded neck. “Leave that, Wyatt.”

He finished the task, twisted up the trash bag and carried it out to the curb.

Kyle followed.

Lightning split the sky, and wind ruffled her hair and dress. They stood beside his truck, talking of nothing, the way people bargain with an evening’s end. A choker of silver lay just below where the pulse beat in her throat.

Wyatt ran out of small talk and reached for his keys.

Kyle put her hand on his forearm. “Are you sure you’re okay to drive? The last thing you need is to have an accident when the rain comes.”

He stood not a foot away from the woman he’d always thought of as one of the boys.

Was it because of the soft way she was dressed, or perhaps the shine of her eyes with their fascinating blend of blue and green? All he knew was he was shaking with the need to make a move forward, a simple adjustment that would not be simple at all.

“I’ll be fine,” he lied, getting into the truck and slamming the door.

He really had been okay. After a few days of telling himself that professors and students slept together all the time, he concluded that even bringing up the subject would ruin their relationship. Her friendship and their easy way of working together were too valuable to risk for a few minutes pleasure.

Yet, watching her with Nick Darden gave him second thoughts. If he had been forthright about his feelings for her after he’d finished his degree, perhaps he wouldn’t be in this foul mood tonight.

Last evening, alone with her beside the raging bonfire, he’d been hard pressed to keep his secret. With the firelight casting her features in relief, she’d looked more beautiful than he could ever recall seeing her.

It might be foolhardy to press on, but Kyle had asked him to.

He also had a superstitious desire not to be alone for the witching hour of Brock Hobart’s prediction.

K
yle reached a languorous hand and poured more brandy for her and Nick. They’d moved from the dinner table to the tired sofa, and she was startled to note that by her watch it was past midnight. The cabin was getting chilly as they let the fire burn down to diminish the hazard of sparks when they turned in.

The thought of bed made her raise her glass and take another ample swallow. It delayed the moment when she and Nick would go into the bunkroom. In the half-light of the dying fire and her candle lantern that he’d accepted as compromise when he turned off the Coleman, he looked as young as when they’d first known each other. All the details were there, down to the scruffy beard from not shaving in the field.

Kyle tipped her cup and found it empty. “Oops.”

Nick smiled. “I think you must be drunk.”

She giggled.

He placed both hands on hers and leaned in. “I’ll bet you’re so wasted you can’t beat me at Hearts.”

With deliberate enunciation, she challenged, “I could never get so drunk that I couldn’t whip your ass at Hearts.” Her hands felt hot where he touched them.

She got up and stirred the embers. Trying for nonchalance, she grabbed her candle lantern to take to the bedroom. Nick followed, plucked her sleeping bag off the top bunk, and dumped it below with his.

Kyle felt a flush of awareness the way she had earlier when he sniffed at her hair. No, this tide flowed warmer, as they stood together before the narrow mattress. Flashes of a field camp Sunday afternoon when they were alone in the 4-H barracks naked atop a sleeping bag.

Nick set the brandy bottle and their cups on the floor beside the bed and rummaged in his bag for cards and a pack of Marlboros.

She climbed into the far end of the bunk against the wall and spread her sleeping bag over her legs. “I haven’t seen you smoke.”

“When I drink.” Taking a position at the opposite end of the bed, Nick covered his own legs, struck a match, and applied it to a cigarette. The end of the white paper curled into ash and the smell of tobacco smoke surrounded them. He tossed her the cards. “Deal.”

She shuffled. He cut. She dealt them each thirteen and placed the rest on the bedding between them. Nick took a deep drag and held it in.

Kyle gathered her cards and began to sort them. The candle shed barely enough light to tell the spades from the clubs.

Across from her, Nick exhaled a smoke cloud. “At least you still play Hearts.”

She gave him an even look. “Some things you don’t forget.”

A grin crinkled the corners of his eyes. At field camp, the nightly game had begun about the time most students went to bed. Once the barracks got dark and quiet, a small cadre of serious partiers played until drowsiness overtook at least one of the players. Kyle had been a latecomer to the game, joining only after the night she and Nick went to his tent.

In the dim light beneath the upper bunk at the Nez Perce cabin, Nick arranged his cards. His foot brushed hers as he led with the two of clubs. Kyle followed suit with a six, gathered up the hand and played the eight. His foot was back while their eyes stayed on the cards.

Another few tricks and most of the clubs were cleaned up. Pondering his next lead, Nick raised his eyes to Kyle’s. Holding out the cigarette, he kneaded her calf with his toes.

As if from a distance, she watched her hand float up. Relaxed from the brandy, she opened her mind and her mouth and drew in the smoke. The first drag choked, the second smoothed the rough edges.

“More.” He leaned to hold the Marlboro to her lips.

More was what she wanted. Like Alice through the looking glass, she passed from her existence as Dr. Kyle Stone to the girl who’d won Nick Darden’s heart.

If only for summer’s end.

His foot inched higher. As though she was outside herself, she saw them facing each other. It would only take the smallest move by either of them.

Nick made it, slicking his undershirt over his head.

If she said no, she felt certain he would put away the party and let her climb into the narrow top bunk. He’d dutifully crawl into his sleeping bag, and she could listen to him breathe the way she had each night they’d been on the mountain, the cadence punctuated by the soft snoring she’d once imagined would become her nightly music.

Kyle leaned against the wall and watched Nick’s progress toward her.

She didn’t want to say no. She wanted it the way it used to be, the quick breath and pounding of the blood. To forget the miles and the years that had separated them. To desire him the way she did when she awoke sometimes before dawn, heart racing. In dreams, he was always youthful and brilliant, captured in sunshine.

Now, in the candlelit bunk, Nick’s sparkling eyes promised it could all be true again. His hands were sure when he captured the hem of her fleece top and drew it up to cup her breast.

Kyle raised her lips to meet his.

Wyatt had the cabin in close sight, a dark shape against starlight. The windows no longer glowed and he did not believe he could smell the stew anymore. Of course, by this hour, Kyle would have given up keeping a hot meal for him. She and Nick would have gone to bed.

With a nudge to Thunder, he indicated he wished to go faster.

To his surprise, the horse shied as though he’d seen a snake on the trail.

“Easy, boy.” Wyatt smoothed the stallion’s neck with his hand.

Thunder reared with a snort and flare of nostrils.

Wyatt kept his seat with the ease of long practice as his mount threw up his head repeatedly. When a soothing tone failed, he said sharply, “Settle down.”

Thunder whinnied, a high shrill cry.

Wyatt released the reins and slid to the ground. There was no point in putting a tight lead on a frightened animal, especially when shades of charcoal prevented him seeing what was wrong. Bears were seldom nocturnal with a new moon, but he gave a sharp look at each of the hulking boulders. Human activity in their range might have pressured them into night hunting. From his belt, Wyatt removed his can of pepper spray repellent.

“What is it, Thunder?” he asked. “What’s out there?”

As the big horse continued to paw and stomp, the ground gave a sudden leap.

Wyatt sat down hard.

In the instant that Nick’s lips met Kyle’s, her lantern gave a jerk. The flame fluttered and the bed frame jumped and crashed. Her dreamy sense shattered as her and Nick’s teeth clashed together, and she tasted blood from her lip.

“Get down.” He was off the mattress, grabbing her arm and dragging her to the floor.

The beds walked across the bouncing boards. Bark rained from the log walls and bits of dried mud from the chinking landed in Kyle’s hair. She lifted a hand to knock them away, feeling stupid with drink.

“Out of here,” Nick shouted. He crawled toward the door.

Kyle stared at her light and was reminded of a swinging lantern casting weird and dizzying shadows over a ruined picnic table. She froze, crouched on hands and knees.

The candle went out, plunging the bunkroom into blackness. A scream built in the back of her throat, but she couldn’t make a sound.

She remembered that, too. After shrieking for hours into the darkness, there had come a time when she opened her mouth and nothing came out. All the while, she heard the screaming inside her head.

Nick was back, tugging her shoulders to draw her across the shuddering floor. In the other room, half-burned logs spilled from the fireplace. The rag rug smoldered, sending out acrid dusty smoke.

“Make it stop!” She clapped her hands over her ears to shut out the din.

The floor bucked again, and a hail of chimney stones crashed through the roof.

Kyle tried to crawl, but she couldn’t. A sour rush of brandy filled her mouth.

In the hideous light of the now burning rug, she saw Nick sprawled bare-chested.

Wyatt vaulted into the cabin. He grabbed the rug by an edge and pulled the thick pile through the doorway.

Blackness, barely relieved by pulsating ruby embers, smothered her like thick cloth. In that instant, the earthquake stopped.

Nick’s laughter broke the sudden silence like someone switched on a radio. Not a bray of mild hysteria like her own on Dot Island, but the joyous peal of a person truly enjoying himself. Someone who tried the newest and wildest roller coasters, down-hilled double black diamonds, and chased volcanoes for the pure adrenaline shock.

“Outside,” Wyatt ordered, his silhouette darker than the sky in the doorway.

Kyle realized with dismay that her top was rolled around her chest, exposing her bare waist where Nick had shoved it up. She dragged it down.

Though she heard Nick shuffling toward the front door, Kyle swiveled her head toward the bunkroom. Her duffel held at least three flashlights and a supply of batteries, so she crawled toward the ebony maw. Christ, why had she drunk so much?

After the brilliance of the burning rug, the bunkroom seemed darker than before. She felt around blindly for her bag, her hand striking several metal bars arranged at crazy angles.

A beam flashed into the room’s depths, revealing that the bunk beds had come apart. The upper frame and mattress hung canted like the collapsed sections of the Bay Bridge in San Francisco’s 1989 earthquake.

A hand gripped her shoulder from behind.

“Nick.” It came out a sob.

“Sorry to keep disappointing you,” Wyatt gritted.

An aftershock jolted, and the bed frame came down in a clatter. Kyle grabbed Wyatt’s knees with both arms. “Why doesn’t it stop?”

In a few seconds, the ground movement ceased.