ripe for a massive fire, especially in these drought conditions. One good spark, either from lightning or a drifting ember, would ignite the entire peak.
Which didn’t help their chances of escape.
He finally spotted a downed branch that looked the right width. He swung the bags off his shoulder, used his foot as leverage to break off the smaller side shoots, then hefted it in his hand. “This should work.”
“For what?”
“A walking stick.” He turned and handed it back. “Maybe you can take some weight off that ankle.”
“Oh.” A slow smile spread over her face, lighting her eyes to a golden brown. “I should have thought of that myself. Thank you.”
Their eyes held, and for a moment, his world careened to a halt. His breath backed up in his chest, and every nerve seemed to stretch.
He forced himself to inhale. It was only a stick, for God’s sake. He hadn’t done anything special. But that smile of hers had the most amazing effect on him, making him feel as if he’d conquered the world.
Still feeling off balance, he picked up the bags and resumed hiking. She’d always had that effect on him. She’d made him feel whole, valued, as if he were really worthwhile.
Just like smokejumping did. It was the only place he’d found validation, where he could do everything right.
And he’d do this right, too. He’d get them safely off this mountain.
Focusing back on that goal, he angled steadily across the steep slope, skirting jagged stobs and bushes. A small animal dove into a stand of huckleberry as he passed, rustling through the dense brush and shaking the leaves. Yards later, the trees thinned out, and he turned again to check her progress.
“This is great,” she told him as she hobbled up. “Just what I-”
The dog abruptly stopped. The leash went taut and she stumbled, staggering to regain her balance. She thrust out the stick to break her fall just as Cade leaped back and grabbed her.
“Thanks.” Wincing, she steadied herself against him.
The contact jolted along his nerves, and he tightened his grip on her waist. She felt soft and warm, and way too good in his arms.
“Are you all right?” he murmured.
“I’m fine. He just caught me by surprise.” Her lips curved into a grimace. “But I’m glad I had the stick. I would have fallen without it.”
“Yeah.” His gaze met hers. The air seemed suddenly thick, and he could barely pull it into his lungs.
She stepped away, her cheeks flushed, and he reluctantly released her. Then she looked at the dog, tugged on the leash, and huffed. “What’s wrong? What are you doing, silly? Come on.”
She pulled again, but the dog sat down and lifted his nose.
She planted her hands on her hips. “He won’t budge. I guess he must be tired.”
“Maybe.” He watched the dog scent the air. And maybe he smelled something they didn’t.
Unease chilled his gut. Even with his better nose, that dog shouldn’t smell the smoke yet. Unless the fire had jumped the river and pushed the front over that mountain. Or the wind had shifted early and the fire was heading their way.
Which meant they had to get out of here fast.
“Come on,” he said to the dog, his tone brusque. “Let’s go.”
With a little whine, Dusty rose and trotted forward.
“Well, that’s interesting,” Jordan said. “He wouldn’t listen to me.”
Cade grunted, more concerned about the fire than the dog’s behavior. He moved quickly back into the lead, staying alert for signs of the blaze. He heard an air tanker rumble in the distance. Dropping more mud, he hoped.
Then the pine branches creaked overhead, and a warm breeze fanned his face. Relieved, he glanced up at the swaying treetops. That wind meant they’d made it out of the valley. They couldn’t be far from the ridge.
But then another gust blew past, trailing the faint smell of smoke, and his pulse slammed to a halt. The dog was right. That fire was closer than he’d expected.
“Cade?” Jordan said, her voice pitched high. “Do you smell that?”
“We’re doing fine,” he called back. “It’s just drifting smoke.”
Which shouldn’t be anywhere near them right now. It was still too damned early. That wind should blow north until tonight.
He balled his good hand into a fist, wishing to God he could see that fire. He hated hiking through this forest blind.
Because if he’d learned anything in his years of smokejumping, it was to trust his instincts. And right now, every nerve in his body urged him to get to that clearing fast.
But Jordan couldn’t move any quicker. Even hiking this slowly, the woman had clearly reached her limit.
Hoping to shorten the route, he slanted directly up the steep slope. But then her pace fell off even further, forcing him to drop back. Her breathing sawed in the mountain air.
“I’m sorry,” she wheezed when she’d caught up. “I know I’m holding you back.”
“You’re doing great.”
“Hardly.” She shot him a skeptical look. “I can’t believe you do this for a living. You’re in incredible shape.”
“You get used to it. And it’s not always so rough.” He decided it wouldn’t hurt to keep talking. It might take her mind off her pain and help her get to the ridge.
And keep him from worrying about that fire.
“The first couple days on a fire can be hard,” he said as they continued walking. “The goal is to contain it fast, before it spreads. So that first night nobody sleeps. We automatically push through until morning.”
“That must be tough.”
“Yeah, but everyone expects it. And strong coffee helps.”
Despite her fatigue, she shot him a smile, a genuine one that played along the edges of her mouth and lit up her eyes. He grinned back. She’d always shuddered at the sludge he’d brewed.
“After that, it depends on the fire and how long we stay out there. The fire lies down at night when the wind dies, so that gives us a few hours to rest.”
“That’s still not much.”
“You get used to it.” And after a while, it became a way of life. Crawling into his hootch near dawn, filthy and exhausted, his arm muscles trembling, his lungs burning from choking back smoke.
Lying under the moaning pine trees, his body spent, too tired even to doze. Listening to the fire crackling around him and the hypnotic wail of the wind.
And with that exhaustion, in those moments of weakness, the loneliness came creeping back, the vulnerability. The thoughts of Jordan.
When he was too damned tired to fight off the truth anymore. When his anger slipped, and he yielded to that soul-wrenching need. That longing for what he could never have.
The wish that she’d loved him enough to wait.
And despite it all, night after night, he found himself aching for her, wanting her, wondering what he could have done to make her stay.
Another gust of smoke drifted by, and he shook himself back to the present. He glanced at her, and saw she was now limping badly. Her face was furrowed in concentration, and lines of pain etched her brow. That ankle had to hurt like hell, but she still persevered.
And suddenly, he knew that the next time he lay alone in the darkness, he’d picture her like this. He’d remember her spirit, her strength, her determination.
But willpower alone wouldn’t get her up this mountain. He had to keep her mind off the pain. “Once we get the fire contained, the work gets easier,” he said.
“How? You still have to pack out your stuff.”
“Yeah, but that’s easier than fighting the fire.”
“Right.” Her tone told him she wasn’t fooled.
“And we don’t always pack it out. Sometimes, if we’ve got a lot of equipment, they do a long-line gear retrieval. That’s when a helicopter comes by and picks it up with a net.
