White Heat (8 page)

On the way back, they found some of Sergio’s men on the east side, furiously digging a firebreak, trying to block the flames from racing down the short canyon…and onto another ranch. They were doing a good job, and with Lyndie translating, Griffin showed them how to widen their lines, and how to use the fuses to burn the vegetation between the lines they were digging and the fire, to rob it of fuel.

By Griffin’s estimate, they had one side of the fire blocked in by the river, another side partially blocked in by the rock. But it still left a lot of retaining to do, and a lot of the fire left to its own devices. He glanced at the tired, wet, dirty, incredible woman at his side. “You hanging in?”

Her eyes said it all.

“Right,” he said on a rough laugh. “Don’t ask you how you’re doing. Got it.”

“Hey, you’re no easier than me to be with, Ace.”

Didn’t he know it.

They made their way back to the water trucks, where the men were taking a late food break. Tom had arrived with the tractor, and had taken it, along with a group of men, as far south as the fire raged, clearing fire lines to try to keep the flames from jumping down to town.

With Lyndie translating, Griffin arranged some of the men around his small handheld screen, showing them how they’d use the river as one firebreak, the rock cliff as another, but that to protect the town, they were going to have to watch the south, unprotected side like a hawk, clearing effective firebreaks that couldn’t be jumped. He sent some of them down to assist Tom, and the rest up to help the eastern efforts to save the ranch in danger.

Which left only the north tip free, a huge problem, but one they couldn’t yet face without more manpower.

At dark, with the fire at their backs, and thirty men going at it with all their might, using the tractor, their shovels, the fuses to burn the vegetation between the rock and the river, desperate to keep San Puebla safe, they were forced to call it a day.

M
ost of the men dispersed into the darkness. A few would stay behind, near the perimeters of the flames with radios, but little more could be done until daylight.

Lyndie could see that Griffin didn’t like it as he stood there watching most of the men go. He’d been appalled at their second-rate equipment, saddened and anxious over the men out here without the proper training and tools, and stressed about leading this fight.

“How can it be this bad?” he murmured, taking a moment to lean on the shovel he’d been wielding. “It’s just not right. We’re killing ourselves to save the village and the ranches, and because we’re shorthanded, the north end of the fire is making its way into those mountains.”

Lyndie had watched him work the land all day, the long, lean lines of his body moving with easy strength as he cleared fuel from the path of the fire, never giving up. Over and over again he’d stressed safety to everyone around him, making sure no one got hurt.

What had he done and seen in his experiences as a firefighter that had made him the man he was? Undoubtedly, he’d been molded by each experience, as she had by her flying, and she wanted to know more. The wanting made her incredibly wary. She’d always prided herself on her independence, on her no-strings-attached way of life. She lived as she wanted, when and where she wanted, and had no one to account to. When she needed a man, she got herself one.

And then went on her merry way.

More than once she’d been told,
accused,
of being far too much like a man. She’d never taken that as an insult. She didn’t understand why she should. Sure, maybe a part of her would have liked to have Griffin on a sexual level. He was here for two days tops. A hot bout of mutually satisfying sex would have been perfect to ease the fear and danger and tension.

Except for two things.

One, they wouldn’t have time to do anything but breathe and fight the fire. And two…he was just different enough, just complex enough, to complicate things.

She hated complications in her sex life.

And yet she couldn’t deny certain things lingered on her mind, things she’d never spent time lingering over before. His hands, for one. They were big and work-roughened and warm. She knew this because as they’d hiked, he kept putting them on her, helping her, guiding her…which made this all his fault, really. If he’d just have kept them to himself, she wouldn’t be wondering anything right now.

And then there’d been the kissing. She really couldn’t stop thinking about that.

Also his fault.

But the way he’d risked himself for her, going back to get her inhaler…“Food and sleep,” she decided out loud. That’s all she needed.

“I have a tent and some rations,” he said. “I’ll just—”

“You can’t work two days and nights straight. Come on,” she coaxed. “I’ll even let you drive back.”

That got him. He liked being in charge. The Jeep had been moved twice during the day to keep it safe. They got into it as full darkness hit, the headlights vanishing into the thick smoke as they started back.

The ride felt even more spine-chilling at night. Without a moon or stars, the landscape was utterly invisible, the only sight being the terrifying glow of the earth burning and the reflection in the smoke hanging overhead. It was like a bad dream, an out of focus one, and Lyndie found herself blinking over and over again to try to clear her vision. “I don’t want them to lose it all,” she whispered.

“They won’t.”

She glanced over at his profile, lit only by the Jeep’s instruments. “That’s quite a promise.”

“Just determination.”

Their headlights wavered, muffled by the rising dust from the Jeep’s tires and smoke. He drove with the same fierceness she did, working the steering wheel and gearshift with tense arms. “You were…incredible out there today.”

He glanced at her. “I was just doing my job. But you…”

“What?”

“
You
were incredible.”

They hit a rut hard. She gripped the dash and tried not to let his praise get to her. “You’re right. It’s much nicer to drive.”

“Yeah.” He reached out and squeezed her leg. “You really doing okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Don’t go all bristly on me, I just—” He took them around a hairpin turn, the two headlights bobbing up and down. “I just meant your asthma.”

“I’m okay.” If she took only shallow breaths.

He shook his head. “Why am I asking? You sure as hell won’t tell me anything.”

“Turn right.”

“I remember the way back. Have you always been domineering and bossy?”

Since the day her grandfather had come and gotten her after her parents’ accident, barking orders to mask his grief, in turn showing her how to do the same. “Yep.”

“Is all your family this way?”

“Turn right again.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He turned. The lights of San Puebla appeared ahead in the night. Above them, from where they’d just come, glowed the fire.

Not nearly far enough away to suit her.

“Where to?” he asked.

“Your weekend accommodations.” The cobblestone streets rattled their brains, the sweet, quaint, small buildings reminding her of why they’d nearly killed themselves today. “And I should tell you now,” she warned of the place that had unexpectedly captured her heart five years earlier. “The Rio Vista Inn is not quite a five-star.”

“And here I was, looking forward to a facial and pedicure, along with caviar and a good Sex on the Beach.”

She blinked.

He glanced at her innocently. “The drink.”

“Oh. Right.” Sex on the Beach was a drink, some complicated mixed drink. But he really shouldn’t say the word “sex” in that voice of his—it made her insides do funny things. “I knew that.”

He didn’t laugh, but did smile, and damn if now her hormones didn’t stand up and tap dance.

“How much farther?”

She pointed. “Until the end of the road.”

“There’s hardly a road now. How did you find this place the first time?”

“Long story.”

“We happen to have lots of time.”

She lifted a shoulder. “I had plane trouble a few years ago.”

“Plane trouble? I’m almost afraid to ask, but what in your world specifies ‘plane trouble’?”

“I had to make an interesting landing out here, which I thought was the middle of nowhere. Turns out I was right. Turns out I also like it out here in the middle of nowhere. Watch out for that pig in the middle of the road.”

“You, Lyndie Anderson, are a fascinating woman.” He did indeed slow down, moving carefully around the pig, who held its ground in the dark and stared at them, its eyes glowing in their headlights as they passed. “An ‘interesting’ landing? What does that mean exactly? You had to crash land? Save your passengers single-handedly? Walk through the woods barefoot for days? Rebuild your plane with parts you built yourself?”

“Who do you think I am, MacGyver?” But she was smiling, damn it. God, she so didn’t want to do this, share stories, share herself. It would make things worse in two days when she dumped him back in San Diego and they went their own merry way. “I don’t like to talk about myself.”

“Well, I’m with you there. I was just wondering what ruffled you. I know it’s not hairy Jeep rides, or falling off a cliff, or running from a wall of fire.”

What ruffled her? Tall, rugged, rangy men with expressively haunted eyes and a heartbreaking smile, and a tendency toward unusual courage and a save-the-world soul, all while facing some mysterious nightmare. That’s what ruffled her. “Nothing gets me,” she finally said, and he let out another of those tummy-quivering low laughs.

They were silent for a moment, the comfortable kind of silence, which in turn made her
un
comfortable. She stared at the glowing hill, beyond which were the flames. She could still hear them, smell them. “So you really just usually camp out when you’re fighting fires?”

“Yes.”

“Have you done this…recently?”

“Fishing, Lyndie? For personal information? Because that goes both ways.”

Yes. Yes, it did. “I’m just asking you about your work. Nothing personal.”

“My work?” His face in shadow, he gave nothing away. “It’s been about a year, but apparently nothing changes. As you learned today, it’s dirty. It’s hard work, and a good amount of the time, boring as hell. You’re either struggling against time and the elements, taking orders from a headquarters that can be miles away and clueless, or waiting for the trucks to refill. Or if you’re lucky, sleeping in pure exhaustion.”

“If you don’t like it, why do you do it?”

He jerked his head toward her, and in his eyes was pure surprise. “I do like it. I love it.”

“You know what?” she said on a laugh. “You’re crazier than I am.”

“Laugh if you want. Fighting fire is what I do, it’s who I am.”

“Then why doesn’t it make you happy?”

“It used to.” He downshifted for a sharp turn. “It used to be my entire life. I’d go from fire to fire—Colorado, Utah, Idaho, California, Wyoming…you name the state, and if they had a wilderness, I’d been there.”

“Been. Past tense.”

His long fingers tightened on the wheel. “I told you, I haven’t fought a fire in almost a year now.”

“Why?”

“Now that question definitely leaves the realm of work-related topics and dips into personal.”

Right. And she of all people valued privacy, not wanting to be probed at by a sharp stick. But that was when
she
was the one wanting to avoid something.

He came to a stop at the base of a hill. Above it came the nerve-racking glow from the fire.

“Right is a loop back to downtown. Left is suburbia, Mexican style. You’ll find Tom’s place that way, five places down. We need to get him his Jeep back.”

The first two casas were little more than one-room cabins, though the yards were tended to, and pride of ownership was clearly an issue. “That one turns into a wild place at dusk,” she said pointing to the third place, a slightly bigger bungalow. “The owner’s a woman who was born here. She has seventeen brothers and sisters, most of whom are within a few square miles. She raised them, and charges them every night for drinks, then kicks them out when they start to fight. And that house—” she pointed to the fourth, “that’s Tom’s. His daughter Nina lives there, too, and she runs a cantina out of the back courtyard. It’s a popular place for locals. And here’s the fifth.” They pulled into the lot. “This is where you’re staying tonight.”

Griffin took in the classic Spanish style dwelling that to Lyndie’s critical eye could use some work. Still, the comfortably cozy inn with its low flower-lined windows, the cream walls built of all natural materials including lots of Mexican stone, had stolen her heart. She knew there were spots that needed patching, that the yard needed help as well as the courtyard the inn had been built around, but the Old World charm drew her, soothed her like few other places had, and inside she’d found her own personal haven.

Griffin parked near two other trucks and two unidentifiable cars. Dust rose up, choking them. He looked at the hanging sign that read
RIO VISTA INN
. “Not quite the Hilton,” he noted with a smile.

Inexplicably, she felt her defenses rise. “Look, it’s real life, all right? Maybe the rooms are small, and maybe half of them don’t even lock. You might even see the occasional large and unwelcome roach. But the food is spectacular and the ambience genuine. The owner is saving up her cash to remodel. You just go on inside and let them take care of you.”

He blinked, clearly surprised at her passion. “I was just kidding, Lyndie.”

She sighed. “Yeah.”

“Who’s the owner?”

Oh, no. He didn’t want to share himself with her, and neither did she. “Ownership is a rather odd issue,” she finally said. “But it’s open to any weary traveler, which you certainly are.”

They both looked at the inn, at the stucco that needed patching again, at the brick in the arches that were the color of dirt, thanks to the latest dust storm. Due to the drought, the plants out front, the ones that got direct sunlight all day long, had long ago begun to wilt.

But there were lights on inside, and she could already smell dinner—real food, not fast food—that would fill their empty bellies. Far better than any fancy hotel.

Griffin got out of the Jeep and grabbed his gear. “Hey, as long as there’s running water…” he said with a teasing grin she ignored because he had a way of wearing her down, of turning her defenses into something else entirely. “Running
hot
water,” he added. “I’d do just about anything for a shower.”

“A bath is closer to what you’ll be getting.” She eyed him beneath the lights coming from the inn. He’d do “anything” for a shower? He really shouldn’t have told her that. “What do you hear?”

He cocked his head and listened. “Water.”

“You’re quick, Ace.”

She moved toward the sound, which led them to the side of the inn. There was a small creek running there, around back, disappearing into the vast, dark wilderness beyond. Above them the moon struggled to light their way through the smoke, as around them, oblivious to the wildfire raging not too far from this very spot, insects hummed and a coyote howled off in the distance.

The banks of the creek were mossy and thick, the trees hanging over the water creating a private little haven. “Don’t tell me,” Griffin said, looking dejected. “
This
is my bath?”

“Okay I won’t tell you.” Oh yes, she definitely had replaced her defensiveness with something else.
Mischievousness.
“I also won’t tell you that the soap is hanging from the vee of those two branches to your right.”

He eyed the hanging soap, then looked down at his filthy body. “I suppose I need to clean up before going in.”

She lifted a negligent shoulder. “I suppose.”

Dropping his bag, he looked her over. “Do you bathe in here, too?”

“When it suits me.” She didn’t mention that she’d only done so once, in the thick heat of summer, and she’d been giving Rosa’s dog a bath with Nina. They’d gotten a nice tan that day, too.

But for a good, hot shower, nope, she’d go inside and use the communal bathroom.