Firestorm (17 page)

“I think so,” Rachel said. “How do we know? I mean, really? You’re facing something that we can only begin to imagine.”

“Yeah,” Reyne put in. “You sound like you’ve turned this living nightmare into something wonderful. I don’t know if I’d have the strength to do that. I’d be back in the why-me’s you talked about.”

“Like you are with Logan?” Beth asked quietly.

Reyne frowned and turned to look at her. “What do you mean?”

“I think you know, Reyne. ‘Why does it have to be a firefighter I’ve fallen for? Why does he have to jump out of planes for a living? Why does he have to fight the thing I am most scared of?’ ”

Reyne sat up, pulling her knees to her chest and holding them like a physical barrier. “Enough with the lecture already. Let’s go swimming!”

“Uh-uh,” Rachel said. “You’re not getting off that easily, Reyne. You’ve been fretting about Logan since you got home.”

“You’ve got to let go of your fear, Reyne,” Beth urged. “It will get in the way of one of these priceless, rare things that God sends our way. Do you know how many women would give their eyeteeth to find a love like you and Logan have discovered?”

“Well, I’m going to take a dip,” Reyne said, ignoring Beth and standing up. “Come on, you guys. Come with me.” She pulled off her T-shirt and was pulling off her shorts when Beth rose with some effort and came very, very close to her.

“Reyne Oldre, do you hear me?” Beth looked angry, an emotion that her friends had seldom seen on her. Reyne looked to Rachel in confusion, taking a faltering half-step backward. “Do you hear a word I’m saying? You’ve got to stop wasting time on this fear of yours. Explore it. Make yourself deal with the agony of that day in Idaho.
And get beyond it
. This is your chance. Don’t you see?” Beth’s voice took on a note of pleading. “Do you think it’s a coincidence that God has placed a firefighter in your heart?” She shook her head. “No way. He wants you to deal with Oxbow. Once and for all.”

Beth turned, taking a couple of steps away from Reyne and looking out at the river. With wisps of hair flying in the slight afternoon breeze, she turned to look back at her friends, and all Reyne could think of was that she looked like an angel. Her voice was softer, more powerful somehow, when she began again. “Reyne, you
have
to go back. Go back to that day. Remember. Mourn. Be angry.
But get past it
. Each moment is a precious gift, and your fear is keeping you from one of the most glorious gifts there is: love. Logan loves you.”

Beth stepped closer and took her friend’s hand. “Let him love you, Reyne. Let him. Please.”

Reyne dared to look into her eyes, which shone with an unfamiliar brightness. There was a hint of eternal knowledge in their depths; Reyne felt as if Beth could see into the very center of her being, as if God was speaking through her. And all Reyne could see in those fathomless eyes was love. For all of Reyne’s stubbornness and fear, Beth … God loved her. As Logan apparently loved her.

Reyne broke their intense gaze, looking out across the river and nodding slightly. She was silent for a full minute. Pride kept her from acquiescing entirely though. “Can we swim now?” she asked with a quiet smile and a raised brow.

Beth’s lips turned up in response, and she finally let her off the hook. “You two go in,” she said. “I’ll stay up here and keep an eye on Samuel.”

Rachel and Reyne spent a good hour laughing and playing after their intense conversation. Beth looked on, chuckling with them from the bank and even shrieking a bit when they splashed her. She was holding the baby while Rachel and Reyne took turns swinging out above the water on a long rope and then dropping into the pool. Beth was scoring their descents, giving them points for artistic finesse and especially for avoiding belly flops.

Reyne had just dived in, barely making a splash as she arced into the pool. She even pointed her toes. She emerged at the surface, smiling and smugly expecting a big score from Beth. But what she saw she didn’t expect. Beth and Rachel were still sitting on the bank with
little Samuel. But behind them stood Dirk Tanner … and beside him, Logan McCabe.

Logan and Dirk had heard the women from a quarter mile away, their laughter carrying along the water. “I told you we’d find them here,” Dirk had said smugly. When Logan had finally reached Elk Horn and couldn’t find Reyne, he had been nearly frantic that they had missed one another. He was due to fly out on assignment again tomorrow. He had to see her before then. He had to know where they stood.

When they reached the pool, the sight of her took his breath away. Suddenly all his well-planned words escaped him. He couldn’t even remember one of his standby jokes to break the ice. All he could think about was how lovely she was, her pale hair waving about her on the water as she surfaced, her shapely form barely hidden in the depths. He was glad Dirk was a happily married man. Logan wanted this woman for himself.

Reyne exited the pool gracefully, taking hold of bunches of reeds on the bank and using makeshift steps in the muddy wall to rise from the water. Logan tried not to stare, focusing on her eyes. Reyne smiled at him shyly, an uncommon expression for her, which made it all the more fetching. But he supposed he would deem any look she gave him at this moment as heartstopping.

As if they were in a tunnel, their friends just seemed to fade away. Beth gathered up Samuel and carried him to the car, presumably to change him. Dirk welcomed his wife from behind the protection of a proffered beach towel, and they walked a ways down the river. Logan did not care why. He only cared that he was alone with the woman he loved.

Silently she gathered a multicolored towel around her body, fastening it under her arms sari-style. Tentatively, she moved closer and closer to him. Her face was wet, her long lashes clinging together under the weight of the droplets. Without a word, she tilted her face upward, and he bent to kiss her deeply.

Reyne leaned against him, and he could feel her damp towel seep moisture onto his shirt and pants. But he did not care. All he cared about was that she was here, in his arms. There was no place he would rather be.

When they finally broke off their kiss, she encircled him with her arms and gave him a fierce hug. “Oh, Logan,” she began, “I am so sorry.”

L
ogan and Reyne separated the next day on better terms, but then they did not see one another again for weeks. It seemed that every time Reyne got home from the field to check her messages, wash clothes, and water her garden, Logan was away on assignment. And whenever Logan returned to check and repair equipment, sift through paperwork, and continue training his crew, Reyne was called out.

They communicated through lengthy letters sent to various smokejumper bases, trying to convince themselves and one another that the separation was good for them in many ways. They had the chance to get to know each other mentally and emotionally through writing without having to deal with the physical challenges of intense attraction. They had the opportunity to pursue their work wholeheartedly instead of trying to divide their time. But all their excuses sounded feeble on paper and to their own ears. Still, they repeated them over and over.

In letters, Reyne learned all about Logan’s family. His grandfather had been a full-timer in fire for fifty years, even serving with the great Pulaski himself. Logan’s father had followed in his footsteps. His mother had borne the brunt of raising the kids over summers when he was gone most of the time. And two of his three brothers claimed to be “messed up” because of their father’s periodic absence. For Logan, on the other hand, his father had provided a goal, an
ideal, a hero figure. Still, he maintained that if he and his “future wife—whoever she may be” ascertained that it was better for his children to have their father stay home more, he would find a way to do so.

“Yeah,” Reyne mused, looking over his letter for the second time. “If you live to make that decision.” She looked forward to his daily letter, rushing to greet George, the old, stooped-over mailman. Each day that she was home, George handed her a new missive with an insider’s grin. Sometimes after being away, there would be numerous letters for Reyne to open, and she would carefully separate them by postmark to know which one to open first. Everything was deemed junk mail compared to the sweet letters that were always written on white, college-ruled legal pads, and carefully marked with Logan’s terrible, illegible script that she enjoyed deciphering.

Still, the letters dredged up all kinds of emotions. She liked getting the firsthand news of the fire Logan was currently fighting, the paragraphs of love prose, the tidbits of information that let her know Logan better. But caring about him, getting to know him more deeply, made Reyne’s fear of losing him all the greater. And his absence did not help. There were no tender hugs to shore her up. No gentle kisses to push away her fears.

So it was with some surprise that the two actually found themselves in town at the same time in late July, just in time for Elk Horn’s annual Sweet Pea Festival. Logan showed up one afternoon, knocking on her studio door and calling “FedEx” to throw her off track. When Reyne opened the door, she gasped and then threw her arms around him. It had been about three weeks since they had seen each other, and having him in her arms again made her want to never let go.

“Oh, Logan,” she said happily, nestling her head under his chin and listening to the steady thump of his heart, “it is so, so great to see you.”

“And you,” he said. Logan bent his head, searching for her lips, and tentatively she raised hers to meet his. Their kiss began shyly, then grew more searching, passionate, as the seconds ticked by. Finally she ducked away, feeling the niggling need to break their intense embrace before things got out of hand.

Logan grinned at her, looking like a model in his collarless denim shirt and cream Henley underneath. “Oh, I almost forgot,” he said suddenly, bending over to reach down beside the door. “This is for you.” In his hand was a single, delicate pink sweet pea flower, already withering in the heat. Reyne briefly wondered where he had found it; the ones in her own garden had succumbed to the brutal summer weather weeks ago.

“Will you be my date tomorrow for the dance?” he asked.

“If we’re both in town,” she said, angling her head sideways and shooting him a you-never-know-with-our-schedules look.

He raised one eyebrow, throwing her a mischievous grin. “We will. I made sure of it.”

“You did, did you?” She moved into his arms once more and gazed up at him.

“Yep,” he said proudly, “I did. Took us off the active lists for twenty-four whole hours. We deserve it. And there’s no fire that’s more important than a little time with my lady.”

Reyne laughed lightly and grinned up at him, unable to stop staring. How had this big, adorable man made his way into her heart? “Well, since you’ve gone to such great lengths, I guess I’ll go with you to that dance.”

“I’m mighty glad to hear it, ma’am,” Logan said with his best John Wayne imitation. “Mighty glad.”

The next evening cooled to a glorious seventy-five degrees, finally breaking their streak of hundred-degree days and eighty-degree nights. Reyne moved from room to room in her cottage, unable to keep from smiling as she readied herself for the dance. “For goodness’ sake, Reyne Oldre,” she said to her mirrored reflection, forcing a frown to her face. “You’re acting like a girl getting ready for her first prom.”

But even her own condescension failed to dim her bright mood, and she continued to pace happily, reveling in the feelings of love. She was barefoot, and the cool wood floors felt good to her toes. Forcing herself to concentrate, she moved in her robe to the kitchen, where she haphazardly ironed a cream linen sheath, then pulled it on.

Looking in her full-length antique mirror, she reached for artsy gold hoop earrings, then a gold pendant on a long black necklace. Reyne looked herself over again.
Still missing something
. Raising one eyebrow, she walked to her bedroom closet and threw things over her shoulder, searching for her woven sandals, and then the right bracelet.

Then she sat down in front of her vanity mirror, touched up her makeup, and braided her hair.
Too young
, she decided, pulling it apart and glancing at the clock in alarm. Carefully, she wove her blond tresses, rolling them at the neckline and winding them around her head. When the last pin was in place, she had to admit that her hair looked great. Fresh. Sophisticated. And just in time. Logan’s knock sounded at the door a second later.

When Reyne opened the door, she took Logan’s breath away. Unwilling to let a comic moment pass him by, he staggered backward, clutching his heart and audibly gasping for breath.

Reyne gave him a patient smile, waiting for his theatrics to end. Her eyebrows went up in concern as he neared the porch steps and teetered for a moment, almost falling. When he had regained his balance, he sheepishly looked back at her.

“Great, just great,” she quipped. “This is the man who jumps out of airplanes for a living. Is that supposed to make me feel better?”