Wildfire Hurricane (A Ryder Boys Novel Book 1) (7 page)

Brett ran over as Dash skidded to a halt. “We got here as soon as we could.” His breath rasped through his mask. “The wind whipped this thing out of control.”

“Let’s get to work.” Dash grabbed his axe and shouted orders to his men. “AJ! Jordy! Establish our safety zone and escape routes. Mason! Brett! Widen the fire line all the way to the road. Ray, set up communication with the command center. What started it?”

Ray shrugged. “No time to investigate.”

The wind swirled around them, seeming to come from all directions. Flames twisted up the tree trunks and leaped across the ground, setting the grass ablaze in spurts. The fire resisted containment, moving in whichever direction the wind pushed it. The crew spread out, their resources stretched to the limit by the growing blaze.

Dash radioed Ray. “Are we getting air support?”

Ray’s voice crackled over the speaker. “Can’t. Winds are too high.”

Shit.
“Tell command this thing is impossible to predict. Put the city on high alert.”

The fire grew throughout the day, consuming acres of forest and grassland, and chasing wildlife into the suburbs. Hours later, a fire engine and several trucks pulled up, and two crews of twenty men each jumped out.

“Good to see you!” Dash shouted orders, directing the firefighters to the areas that most needed help.

“You’re relieved, Superintendent.” A man with a state badge on his helmet asserted control. “You and your crew. Go home and get some rest. We got this.”

“No. My crew can go, but I’m staying.” He turned and started back to the front line. They needed him. He knew this area better than anyone. He didn’t need rest. He needed to be where he could do the most good.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder. “The incident commander said you’d do this, and she gave specific orders to send your ass home by any means necessary.”

“Oh,
she
did?”

“Get some rest and come back in the morning.”

Dash cursed and ran to the transport vehicle with the rest of his crew. Anyone else would’ve been glad to escape the out of control inferno, but he’d lived and worked in hell for years. Why leave now when he was thriving in his element?
Am I punishing myself?
Or do I need to punish her?

Chapter 6

Simone had shut the lights off in the command center after she sent everyone else home, but the multiple monitors, TV screens, and radar images provided plenty of illumination. She sat next to the radio, listening to the firefighters talk to each other. She could pick out Dash’s voice even in the static, but she hadn’t heard him since reinforcements arrived.
I hope that means he went home.
The alternative sent a cold ripple down her spine.

A door banged open behind her. “Damn it, Simone!”

Of course, he’d come here.
Why get some sleep if he’d miss out on a good fight? She spun around in her chair and snarled at the soot-covered firefighter stomping down the stairs. “I see you followed my orders.”

“Your orders!” He ripped his helmet off and chucked it on a desk. “I’m the one in charge out there. I know what resources we need and how many men to fight that blaze.
You
have no right to pull me away—”

“
I
have the responsibility of managing this county’s emergency systems and personnel.” She stood and marched in his face. “
You
are my greatest asset, and I will not put you at risk any more than necessary.”

“I’m at risk every fucking day, especially since you got here!”

What?
Had she put him in danger somehow? She’d sent him back to the fire, but she’d gotten him out of there as quick as possible. “What the hell does that mean?” He was a man in charge now, no longer vulnerable to the whims of others. Why the need to protect him?

“I have no idea!”

She almost laughed as he dropped into a chair and threw his hands up.

“I couldn’t contain it.” Dash leaned over and braced his elbows on his knees, jerking his fingers through his hair as his voice turned heavy. “The wind drove it anywhere it wanted to. This fire isn’t behaving like anything I’ve ever seen. All I could do was try to keep it from spreading, and I failed.”

She walked over and perched on the desk next to him. “You know what I heard in that little speech of yours?”

He barely spared her a glance.

An old, familiar refrain. “I couldn’t. I tried. I failed.”

He sat back and scowled. “Thank you so much for pointing that out.”

“You weren’t alone out there!” She stood and flung her arms out, encompassing the room full of high-tech equipment and the empty chairs of the staff who supported them. “You’re all about the team when you’re winning, but when things don’t go your way, it’s all your fault.”

He jumped up, jabbing his chest with his forefinger. “I’m the superintendent. I got that job by being the best, but I keep it by running the best crew.”

She batted his pointing hand away. “Your crew is the best because of you, your skill, your experience. You’d succeed with any team.”

“Just like FEMA can pick any manager, drop her in the middle of a team and expect her to make a smooth transition.” His eyes narrowed at her.

“That’s not fair.” She’d endured hours of interviews and scrutiny for this job, arguing her superiors into believing she could do it. “Transitions take time. Trust takes time. You taught me that.” She jammed her shaking hands on her hips. “And yes, things haven’t gone smoothly, and that’s not
entirely
my fault.”

Dash snorted.

“Oh, I think you and your so-called ex had something to do with the tension this morning.”

He tugged at his collar as if the thing had turned into a noose. “You gotta learn to deal with workplace conflicts.”

“Don’t lecture
me
about conflict. I know all about handling people who wished I never existed, and I succeeded in spite of them.” All her life she’d been surrounded by people who didn’t give a damn about her. Dash had been the only one who cared.
Until he left me.

He caught her trembling hand in his. “You’re the strongest woman I know. You fight like hell for what you want. I always admired that. Still do.”

Her quivering ceased as his words sank in. “Fighting is what I do best. I don’t need easy.”

“You were never easy.” A spark lit his eyes as he caressed her cheek with his curled finger. “In any way.”

“Good.” His touch had never failed to elicit a response from her body, and a fountain of tingles rippled down her spine.

“But I liked that. Sometimes, I think I needed it.”

“I was good for you.”
Has he never figured out why?

“Can’t argue with that.”

But she wanted him to, damn it. “You were a pansy-ass fanboy, worshipping your so-called heroes.” He’d protest that point. She sat back on a desk, anticipating the fireworks.

He cracked a grin and nodded. “When we first met, yeah, but you whipped me into shape. I should thank you for it.”

Well shit, he’s not supposed to be grateful.
“Uh…you’re welcome?” She couldn’t take credit for turning him into the soot-smudged hottie before her, but damn if his dirty smirk didn’t curl her toes.

He rubbed the back of his neck, flinging ash onto the floor. “My skin is crawling. I need to take a shower.”

“Take two of them, because damn, you look and smell like a walking hot dog roast. Go home and scrub hard.” She nearly volunteered to do it for him.

“No, I’ll use the facilities here.”

“We have facilities?” She’d missed those on her orientation tour.

“Showers and bunks for situations just like this.”

“Huh. I’ll have to check that out.”

Dash wandered off down the hall, scratching as he stripped off his blackened gear. Simone took another look at the satellite image then followed the direction he’d taken. She passed the showers, and couldn’t resist peeking in when she spotted his pants on the floor. Steam rose over the stalls, clearing just enough for her to get a look at his gleaming, muscled shoulders while he lathered his body. A low whistle escaped her lips.
That boy grew up fine.

He turned and she ducked into the nearest doorway, a wide room with five sets of twin-sized bunk beds lined along the far wall and a few wooden chairs scattered about. She plunked the pillows and pressed her hand into the mattresses, strolling from one bed to the other. “These would do in a pinch.” Though she doubted she’d ever sleep on a top bunk again. She’d had enough of that with her cousins.

The shower turned off while she explored. A single nightstand stood between each bunk, topped by a small lamp. She pulled the drawers open, searching for nothing in particular. A shadow darkened the doorway while she sang her favorite earworm out loud.

“I was raised by two blessed Vienna sausages.”

“Fucking hell!” Dash sputtered. “Where do you come up with that shit?”

“That’s what I heard Mick sing.” Simone grinned and her heart nearly stopped when she spotted him, leaning against the door frame wearing only a loose pair of gray sweatpants and a tight t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. “Where’d you get the pajamas?”

He glanced down at his body. “Standard issue. Came with the job. I sleep naked.”

Oh hell, I did
not
need to know that
. Her heart raced, running away with her professional intentions. She’d never seen him completely naked before. Their previous sex encounters had been fumbling, quick, and mostly clothed.

“What about you?” He strode into the room, filling the space with his commanding presence. Even in PJs. “Do you sleep naked? Or maybe in something tiny and silky?”

Her silk blouse stuck to her damp skin. “I, uh…”

Dash smiled, apparently pleased that he’d managed to fluster her. “In high school, you always wore something flashy: bright colors, big jewelry. I like this professional top, practical bottom look you’ve got going on now.”

“Thanks.” Her face flamed.

“You were pretty in high school, but now you’re beautiful, Simone.”

“So are you.”
Oh my God, I’m such an idiot!
She turned her back to him and rummaged through a drawer, pretending to be really interested in its random contents when she’d much rather be tearing that t-shirt down the middle and licking his chest from neck to navel.

Her finger caught on a small, hardcover book. She fished it out of the mess and read the title out loud. “
The Corpse of my Heart-poetry
by
R.H. Daschle
.” Her Daschle? Ryder, Herbert. The pseudonym fit.

“Oh shit, where’d you find that?” He reached around her shoulders and tried to snatch the book.

She evaded his grasp and pointed at the still open drawer. “You wrote these?” She’d encouraged him to get published a few times, and he’d finally done it. Without her.

“A long time ago.” A red flush crept across his cheeks, and he mashed his fist against his mouth.

“Why the fake name?” She remembered the beautiful verses he’d quoted for her in high school. Ordinary words his mind crafted into art. A gift he shouldn’t have been ashamed of.

He rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the floor. “A pen name. It’s still mine, just rearranged. You recognized it.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“My brothers haven’t, but neither of them would touch a book like this.”

“You didn’t want them to know.” He’d hidden his soft heart from them, but she’d witnessed it on more than one occasion.

“They always mocked me, called me pansy poet, wuss writer. When I told Mom I heard flowery voices in my head, she sent me to a psychiatrist.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

She flipped a page and a gut-wrenching line leaped out and grabbed her by the throat. “There’s no wussy writing in here.” Just a damaged heart seeking solace.

              “I never thought you’d read it.”

“With my heart locked in hers, she gave her body to another man, too cruel to set me free first.” Simone read out loud. “Obviously. This stuff is pretty harsh.”

“I needed to let it out. It was eating away at me.” He sat on the edge of a lower bunk. “So I figured I’d either write it all down or end up in a little rubber room.”

She closed the book and chose a seat across from him. Brutal lines of poetic pain and judgment echoed through her brain. “I never slept with Mal.”

He rubbed his clean hands over his face and into his wet hair. “I want to believe that, darlin’, but I can’t.”

“Why the hell not?” She slapped the rough wool blanket beside her. “Don’t you dare tell me it’s because of the necklace.”

“Fuck the necklace.” He jumped up and grabbed the book, turning away from her while he flipped through it, as if searching its pages for an answer. “I’m afraid if I believe you, then my entire life since high school has been a waste.” He slapped the book shut, tossed it back in the drawer and kicked it closed.

“How?”

“Everything I’ve worked for, all the training I went through, all my accomplishments and recognition. The citation from the governor for saving my crew during the Nightfall Canyon fire—none of it would mean a goddamn thing because I can’t…I didn’t have anyone…” His fingers curled as if trying to grab hold of something and missing. “I blew my chance at love, and my life has been worthless ever since.”

His too?
She’d filled her life with her career, succeeding in everything she tried. But she went home alone every night.
“We’ve been overachieving all this time. I graduated from college with a four point oh GPA, made more than fifty thousand a year at my first job. I was the first African-American woman to run an EMS in this state. But none of it means a thing without…”
You?

“Without love.” He paced from one set of beds to the next, as if wandering through a maze he couldn’t escape. “That’s why I can’t call Mal a liar. My sanity depends on it.”

Ah, of course.
Forget being with me.
She’d ruined his ability to love anyone else. “Why is it easier for you to believe that I’d sleep with him than to believe I didn’t?”

Dash circled back toward her. “You know Mal. Women love him. He stole Wyatt’s girlfriends all the time. I’ve never met a woman who could say no to him.”

Simone stood in the center of the room, her jaw tightening as he approached. “You think I’m that weak?” She spit the words through her teeth.

“No, I don’t.” He stopped a step away, but he wouldn’t face her. “I’m that insecure.”

“No, you’re not.”
Who is this man?
An angry poet who couldn’t forgive? Or a broken-hearted boy mourning his first love? “You’re the most confident person I know.”
My God, what if I’ve lost the man I loved?

He looked at her and his eyes filled with something she’d never seen before—regret. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.” He lifted her hand and laid it on top of his open palm, stroking her skin with calloused fingers. “And I couldn’t keep you.”