“We’ll come back, after the season’s over.”
She couldn’t see that far. Next month, she thought, next year? As distant as the stars. As murky as smoke. Always better, to her way of thinking, to concentrate on the right now.
Toward dawn, Gull slipped through a dream of swimming under a waterfall. He dove deep into the blue crystal of the pool where sunbeams washed the gilded bottom in shimmering streaks. Overhead water struck water in a steady, muted drumbeat while Rowan, skin as gold and sparkling as the sand, eyes as clear and cool as the pool, swam toward him.
Their arms entwined, their mouths met, and his pulse beat like the drumming water.
As he lay against her, his hand lazily stroking along her hip, he thought himself dreaming still. He drifted toward the surface, in the dream and out of the dream, and the water drummed on.
It echoed in the confines of the tent when he opened his eyes. Smiling in the dark, he gave Rowan a little shake.
“Hey, do you hear that?”
“What?” Her tone, sleepy and annoyed, matched the nudge back she gave him. “What?” she repeated, more lucidly. “Is it the bear? Is it back?”
“No. Listen.”
“I don’t want... It’s rain.” She shoved him with more force as she pushed to sit up. “It’s raining!”
She crawled to the front of the tent, opened the flap. “Oh, yeah, baby! Rain, rain, don’t go away. Do you
“Yeah, but I’m a little distracted by the view right this minute.”
He caught the glint of her eyes as she glanced over her shoulder, grinned. Then she was out of the tent and letting out a long, wild cheer.
What the hell, he thought, and climbed out after her.
She threw her arms up, lifted her face. “This isn’t a storm, or a quick summer shower. This is what my grandfather likes to call a soaker. And about damn time.”
She pumped her fists, her hips, high stepped. “Give it up, Gulliver! Dance! Dance to honor the god of rain!”
So he danced with her, naked, in the rainy gloom of dawn, then dragged her back in the tent to honor the rain gods his way.
The steady, soaking rain watered the thirsty earth, and made for a wet pack-out. Rowan held on to the cheer with every step of every mile.
“Maybe it’s a sign,” she said as rain slid off their ponchos, dripped off the bills of their caps. “Maybe it’s one of those turning points, and means the worst of the crap’s behind us.”
Gull figured it was a lot to expect from one good rain in a dry summer—but he never argued against hope.
24
Rowan refused to let the news that Leo Brakeman remained at large discourage her, and instead opted for Gull’s glass half full of no further arson fires or connected murders in almost a month.
Maybe the cops would never find him, never solve those crimes. It didn’t, and wouldn’t, change her life.
While she and Gull packed out, a twelve-man team jumped a fire in Shoshone, putting the two of them back on the jump list as soon as they’d checked in.
That was her life, she thought as she unpacked and reorganized her gear. Training, preparing, doing, then cleaning up to go again.
Besides, when she studied the big picture, she couldn’t complain. As the season edged toward August, she’d had no injuries, had managed to maintain a good, fighting weight by losing only about ten pounds, and had justified L.B.’s faith in her by proving herself a solid fire boss on the line. Most important, she’d had a part in saving countless acres of wildland.
The fact she’d managed to accomplish that
She decided to do just that with something sweet and indulgent from the cookhouse.
She found Marg out harvesting herbs in the cool, damp air.
“We brought the rain down with us,” Rowan told her. “It followed us all the way in. Didn’t stop until we flew over Missoula.”
“It’s the first time I haven’t had to water the garden in weeks. Ground soaked it right up, though. We’re going to need more. Brought out the damn gnats, too.” Marg swatted at them as she lifted her basket. She spritzed a little of her homemade bug repellant on her hands, patted her face with it and sweetened the air with eucalyptus and pennyroyal. “I guess you’re looking for some food.”
“Anything with a lot of sugar.”
“I can fix you up.” Marg cocked her head. “You look pretty damn good for a woman who hiked a few hours in the rain.”
“I feel pretty damn good, and I think that’s why.”
“It wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain good-looking, green-eyed jumper?”
“Well, he was hiking with me. It didn’t hurt.”
“It’s a little bright spot for me.” Inside, Marg set her herb basket on the counter. “Watching the romances. Yours, your father’s.”
“I don’t know if it’s... My father’s?”
“I ran into Lucas and his lady friend at the fireworks, and again a couple days ago at the nursery. She was helping him pick out some plants.”
“Plants? You’re talking about my father? Lucas black-thumb Tripp?”
“One and the same.” As she spoke, Marg cut a huge slice of Black Forest cake. “Ella’s helping him put in a flower bed. A little one to start. He was looking at arbors.”
“Arbors? You mean the...” Rowan drew an arch with her forefingers. “Come on. Dad’s gardening skills start and stop with mowing the lawn.”
“Things change.” She set the cake and a tall glass of milk in front of Rowan. “As they should or we all just stand in the same place. It’s good to see him lit up about something that doesn’t involve a parachute or an engine. You ought to be happy about that, Rowan, especially since there’s a lot of lights dimming around here right now.”
“I just don’t know, that’s all. What’s wrong with standing in the same place if it’s a good place?”
“Even a good place gets to be a rut, especially if you’re standing in it alone. Honey, alone and lonely share the same root. Eat your cake.”
“I don’t see how Dad could be lonely. He’s always got so much going on. He has so many friends.”
“And nobody there when he turns off the lights—until recently. If you can’t see how much happier he is since Ella, then you’re not paying attention.”
Rowan searched around for a response, then noticed Marg’s face when the cook turned away to wash her herbs in the sink. Obviously she hadn’t been paying attention here, Rowan realized, or she’d have seen the sadness.
“What’s wrong, Marg?”
“Oh, just tough times. Tougher for some. I know you’d probably be fine if Leo Brakeman wasn’t seen or heard from again. And I don’t blame you a bit for it. But it’s beating down on Irene.”
“If he comes back, or they find him, he’ll probably go to prison. I don’t know if that’s better for her.”
“Knowing’s always better. In the meanwhile, she had to take on another job as her pay from the school isn’t enough to cover the bills. Especially since she leveraged the house for his bail. And taking on the work, she can’t see to the baby.”
