Playing With Fire: inspirational romantic suspense (Montana Fire Book 2) (22 page)

“All true, but you still want a God you can count on to be fair. And if not that, to at least be on your side. If you knew that God had your back, then it wouldn’t be so hard for you to see beyond today and...make a promise to someone.”

He sighed. “Liza. I don’t make promises not because I don’t trust God, but because
I know they don’t matter.
A promise doesn’t guarantee that everything will work out. We don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Believe me, if I could have kept my promise to my grandfather, I would have.”

“But a promise means you have hope—and that hope comes from the fact you believe God hears you and is on your side.”

“I know God is on my side. That He loves me.”

“But you don’t believe that He is going to work everything out for good.”

He stared at her, and for a second, a rawness entered his eyes. He looked away as the water in the pot began to bubble. “Of course I do.”

“No. You don’t. You think that somehow you failed God by not keeping your promise to your grandfather. And then there’s the fact that your parents died right before your eyes, and you couldn’t save them.”

Yes, she went there. Saw her words land in his flinch, the rawness of his expression.

“The result is that you’re still trying to find a Romans 8:28 ending, something good that will come out of it, and justify your grief. So you say you believe in a good God, one who loves you, one who is on your side. Problem is, you don’t act like it.”

“That’s not fair, Liza. Just because I didn’t tell you that I loved you, that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you, doesn’t mean that I’m a spiritual cripple.”

She recoiled. If he had slapped her, it would have hurt less.

Her voice fell, sharpened. “I didn’t need you to drop to your knees and propose, Conner. And no one is saying you’re a spiritual cripple.”

She took a breath, dug around to find compassion behind the ache, the fresh wound. “It’s not even about the fact you can’t make a promise—frankly, Conner, when you say you’ll show up, you do. You’re great in the moment.”

His jaw tightened. “Then why is it so important?”

“Because a promise, or a vow, means that you hope in something good beyond this moment. That you believe whatever you are promising—and to whom you are promising—is worth that hope.”

He reached over, stirred the water with his cleaned stick, releasing more heat.

“But the fact is, deep down inside, you
don’t
believe that God will work things out for good. You’re so afraid that God won’t keep His
own
promises toward you and He’ll let you down that you’ve stopped hoping. Stopped having faith. Stopped believing in happy endings.”

With someone like me
.

But she left that part off because her eyes smarted.

He added another stone from the fire to the pot, then stared at the boiling steam.

“I don’t make promises, Liza, because I know I can’t keep them.” He got up, stalked to the edge of the river. She traced his outline against the blue-black of the night, the fire illuminating his shoulders, the way he struggled with some unnamed emotion.

Then, suddenly, he turned, a fierceness in his eyes. “But I want to.” He took a step toward her. “You have to know that I wanted to believe in us. Like I said, I liked you—I didn’t want you to leave. But if I’d started talking about tomorrow, then you would have, too.”

She got to her feet, stared at him, stymied. “So?”

“So—what if
you
couldn’t keep them? It goes both ways, Liza. You never acted like I was anything more than a friend.
Ever
. As if you were afraid to hold on. And after today’s story, I get it. You’re afraid of getting too close, afraid of getting hurt.”

His voice fell, wretchedly thin. “Don’t you think I feel the same thing? You walked out of my life without a word. You didn’t take my calls. You cut me off.”

And the broken edge of his voice told her just how much that had hurt him.

“I’m sorry, Conner.”

He said nothing.

“I thought it was the best for both of us.”

His mouth tightened. “It wasn’t. You always made everything around me brighter, and...and it got pretty dark after you left. I had an entire team of friends die, and I...”

“Oh, Conner, I’m so sorry—”

“I don’t want your pity, Liza. And I don’t want your promises, either. Because if you do make me a promise, then you’re right—I’m liable to believe it, to depend on you, to
hope
, and then if—
when
—you walk away, it will kill me.” His voice dropped, his shoulders rising and falling with his breathing. “Again. It’ll kill me
again
.”

He stared at her, his eyes dark, riddled with emotion.

Again
.
A knot formed in her chest, her throat thickening. She hadn’t known, had thought—

A root snapped.

Conner stiffened.

A rustling in the woods.

He reached for his knife, crossed over to her.

Then, in one swift move, he pushed her behind him, holding her there with his hand on her hip.

“Whatever happens, stay behind me. And if you have to, run for the river.”

#

Conner planned to go down swinging. Grizzly or no, his fear of tomorrows notwithstanding, he intended to live through this night. Or at least for
Liza
to live through this night.

Because he wasn’t going to let someone he loved die when he could stand in the way, give her a chance to survive.

The wind sifted through the trees, and Conner stilled, hoping for a scent, something grimy and foul, but the air only lifted the smoky haze from the fire, the earthy loam from the forest.

Maybe he’d imagined—

A high-pitched scream echoed through the darkness.

Liza’s grip tightened on his arm.

“It’s a fox,” he said.

“Really?”

“I think so.”

More snapping, and behind it, the guttural hoots of an owl.

“Something’s out there,” she hissed.

The blood rushed in his ears.

Then, “Conner!” Light flickered across their camp.

Conner tightened his hold on Liza and searched for the source. “Who’s out there?”

“It’s CJ! And Skye.”

Liza’s grip loosened, but Conner didn’t release her until he saw the light flash again and this time made out the shadowed outline of CJ St. John entering the ring of firelight.

He looked intact, if not soggy, his green pants grimy and plastered to his body, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up.

Skye came behind him, similarly doused in her cargo pants and T-shirt. She rushed forward toward Liza. “Oh my gosh—we saw you in the water! Did you go over the falls?”

Liza stepped from behind Conner, and he released her to be caught in Skye’s embrace. “Yeah,” she said. “But Conner saved us.”

Then she gave him a look that reached in, twisted his insides.
You’re great in the moment.

Yeah, well that was his superpower. But don’t depend on anything beyond that, apparently.

“We lost sight of you and were trying to figure out a way to get to you when we saw the fire from across the river—we were hoping it belonged to you guys,” CJ said.

“Did you swim across?” Conner sheathed his knife.

“Sorta. The river flattens out about five hundred yards downstream. We took boulders across, but—”

“I went in,” Skye finished for him. “It wasn’t very deep, but CJ went in, too, to pull me out.” She grinned at CJ, something extra in it.

Conner noted an accompanying,
aw-shucks
grin from his rookie smokejumper. Oh boy.

“The bear found us,” Liza said. “So we jumped off the cliff, into the river.”

“And went over the falls,” Conner added.

“You made quite the digs here,” CJ said, hunkering down by the fire, holding out his hands. “Hotel accommodations, romantic fire...” He leaned over, peered into the bowl. “Stone soup?”

“Drinking water,” Conner said. He fished out the rocks with his stick and knife, then set them back in the fire to sizzle. “Please tell me you have dinner in there.”

“Soggy granola bars and some beef jerky,” CJ said as he peeled off his backpack. “But I have better news that that.” He gestured with his chin to Skye.

“We found this.” She held out a soggy, knit blue cap—no, a backpack with thin straps and a drawstring. “I think it’s Esther’s.”

Liza took it, opened it, and pulled out waterlogged paper, pencils. “Maybe she was going to meet me. Draw the sunrise.”

“Or do some writing,” Conner said. “Or maybe it was simply a decoy for their great escape—it doesn’t matter. It’s hers. Where did you find it?”

“Downstream, near where we forded the river. But it wasn’t caught in the river—we found it onshore, hanging from the branches of a willow.”

Liza pulled out the papers, flipped through the tablet. “Did that mean she made it over the falls?”

Conner stood up, walked over to the pack, took it from Liza, testing the weight. “I don’t think it would have floated. She must have shucked it off when she climbed ashore.”

“Or it might have gotten caught as she climbed out,” CJ said.

“Which means she’s here somewhere,” Skye said, plunking down her backpack. She pulled out the granola bars and passed them out.

Conner took his, opened it. Not soggy at all. And his stomach roared to life. He watched Liza dive into hers, clearly ravenous. Standing there in the dim light of the fire, she looked wrung out, her beautiful long brown hair in tangles, a scrape on her cheek, her clothes filthy, albeit mostly dry. And so much hope lit her eyes from CJ’s backpack discovery, it made him hurt.

If Esther were in the woods, cold, wet, hungry—

Along with a bear hunting for prey...

This was why he shouldn’t make promises. It had nothing to do with not believing in hope but everything to do with
reality
. And maybe he didn’t believe that God worked things out for good—but sometimes, yeah, He didn’t.

And that thought filled Conner’s throat with a slow, aching burn.

He walked over to the fire, knelt by the water bowl. “CJ, do you have your water bottle?”

“Yeah, but I drank it all.” CJ handed him the empty bottle.

Conner filled it with the distilled river water. Took a drink of the hot water then passed it to Liza. “It’ll warm you up.”

She took it without meeting his eyes.

“Tomorrow morning CJ and I will keep looking. Skye, you and Liza will head back to camp.”

“Wait a doggone moment. I’m not going back until we find Esther,” Liza said, her eyes flashing. “I can’t just sit around and wait.”

And he got that, really he did. Because it felt like he’d been sitting around and waiting for his life to restart after his brother died. But with her back at the camp, she wouldn’t be jumping into any rivers, being chased by a rogue bear.

Conner sighed, not wanting to fight with her, but, “Yeah, actually, you are going to. I told you I couldn’t keep you safe. And apparently, I was right. I can’t have you getting hurt when I need all of my attention on finding Esther. It’ll be easier without my worrying about you.”

He ignored her expression, the fury in her eyes, the way her mouth tightened.

Then, suddenly, “Fine. I get it.” She capped the water bottle, handed it back to him. “You’re right. I’m just in the way.”

He frowned. “Liza—”

“No, really, Conner. I don’t want to be a burden.” She turned to Skye. “Did you bring a blanket?”

Skye looked at CJ, then Conner, but nodded to Liza. She pulled her survival blanket from her pack.

“Do you mind if we share it?” Liza asked, and Skye shook her head.

“Liza, it’s not like that,” Conner said, not sure why her words raked through him, burned him. “You’re not a burden, it’s just—”

“Oh, no.” She held up her hand to stop him, her voice oddly light. “It’s true. You don’t need me, and really, with CJ here, it’s probably best.” She sat down under the shelter. “Do you mind if the girls take the hotel room?”

He shook his head, not sure why he felt like a jerk.

Nor why she’d given up the fight.

Liza curled into the back of the shelter. Draped a portion of the blanket over her, closed her eyes. Skye joined her, sat down with her back to her. Looked at the boys with a shrug.

“C’mon, Conner,” CJ said. “You can bunk with me.”

“There’s a bear out there,” Conner said grimly. “I’ll take the first watch.”

He walked to the river’s edge, stared out at the night, the stars falling from the sky like fire. How many times had he returned to Sedona in his memory—sitting out under a starlit night, Liza tucked beside him?