Playing With Fire: inspirational romantic suspense (Montana Fire Book 2) (5 page)

He could hear it.

Either the rush of a river or the fire closing in.

Pete Brooks raced past him; Reuben right behind, thundering through the forest, his saw in his grip.

The other hotshots had abandoned their Pulaskis. Graham ran just a few feet behind Whip, probably making sure that she didn’t stumble. They passed Jed without slowing, heading for the forest on the other side.

“We got about forty-five seconds before this thing blows up,” Jed yelled as he raced past Conner. “C’mon!”

Conner turned to follow when he saw Tom Browning, ten yards behind, in the woods.

He was limping, badly.

And, to Conner’s horror, when the kid hit the meadow, he tripped on a rock, and went flying.

Conner stifled a word and ran to him.

Tom’s helmet lay on the ground a few feet away. Grime and soot streaked his face, his expression a grimace of pain as he grabbed his ankle and howled.

“Get up—”

Tom rolled to his feet. Swore. Conner grabbed him by the shirt, flung his arm around his shoulder. “Let’s move.”

“Sorry—”

“Just run!”

The kid fought, his teeth clenched, as the forest exploded around them.

Training images of fire entrapments burned into Conner’s brain. How firefighters cooked under the flimsy tinfoil shelters that were meant to shield them from a flashover.

Hardly.

But even if they didn’t burn, the superheated air could sear their lungs. Already his eyes watered, sparks swirled around him, landing in the forest, igniting brush and trees.

However, deploying their fire shelters in this fuel-rich forest would be lethal.

They ran through a gauntlet of fire. Conner held his arm up to his face, fighting the burn, the flames.

Then he saw it—a clearing of the trees—and against it, the yellow fire shirts of his team. Heard Jed yelling at him.

The world narrowed, focused on the pinprick hope of survival.

They broke out of the forest and Jed caught Conner’s arm before they both flew over the edge into a gorge twenty feet below, a frothing, cool river.

“C’mon!” Jed said, and pointed to a wash where boulders and rocks formed a natural slope.

His team was already scrambling down the cliff.

Conner helped Tom over to it, the fire crackling behind him, then scooted down, his heart in his mouth as he nearly jumped into the wet sanctuary of the gorge.

Jed tumbled down right behind him.

They stood there, congregated near the river’s edge, gulping in air as the smoke gathered above them, the fire flickering out over the cliff.

Reuben let out a hot breath. “That was close.” He pulled off his bandanna and pressed it to the wound on his neck.

Jed hauled out his radio, called in to check on the other hotshots.

Conner closed his eyes with near tangible relief when Sarge, the crew boss, called in.

Only then did Conner hear the roar of the drop plane, soaring in to bathe the forest in retardant.

Tom sagged down in the river, grimacing.

No one spoke then, just watched the fire throw cinder and ash into the river, the forest sizzling, popping, choking around them.

The silence stayed with them as they hiked upstream, as they found a place to climb out, as they called in their position and hiked another two miles to a forest service road.

Miles DaFoe, who’d flown in to help as Incident Commander, picked them up in the buggy. They crammed into it, gulping water, staring out the windows.

And this was exactly why he needed friendships with no strings, no promises.

But he needed them all the same.

#

Liza wasn’t usually rousted out of bed before dawn, but something nudged her spirit, a darkness that tunneled through her, twisted her through her bedsheets.

She couldn’t get Conner off her mind.

She didn’t want to attribute her thoughts to the way he’d turned an hour of touring the Deep Haven festival into six delicious hours of conversation, cumulating with them sitting on the beach, listening to the waves comb the shore while he told her about his life in Montana. And a few near misses during his military service that he’d probably completely played down.

He was a quiet man, with a self-deprecating sense of humor, and when he talked, he picked up things, like a rock, rubbing it with his thumb, or folding his napkin, or even sorting through the pebbles, looking for an agate. Like he always had to be moving, thinking, even as he let his thoughts slow down. Unravel.

With their conversation, any sort of weirdness between them, the kind that might accompany a stir of desire, of hope, also settled into a comfortable warmth.

Friends.

Liza couldn’t exactly ignore the way when he looked at her with those amazing blue eyes, her heart gave a rebellious leap, but she’d managed to tame it into a soft smile. She’d had good-looking, just-friends before. Most of her life, actually. And sure, nothing like the way Conner made her feel, but it didn’t matter.

He was in town for only a few weeks. And during that time, she’d do her best to be his friend.

Especially when God nudged her out of bed at o-dark-hundred to pray.

Although she didn’t know the specifics, Liza stood at her window, staring out at the darkened harbor, the tiniest hint of sunrise along the far edge of the horizon, pressed her hand to the window, and asked God to save him.

Save all of them.

Because of Your great love, do not let them be consumed. Do not let Your compassions fail, Lord.

She got dressed and headed out to the harbor, the sunrise beckoning as it filled the eastern horizon with layers of rose, magenta, and gold, gilding the pebbles on the beach, turning the water in the harbor a burnt orange.

She sat on the beach, not too far from where she’d sat with Conner, her tray of graphite pencils sharpened, a fresh board on her lap. Began to sketch.

Not her usual medium, but to Liza, an old habit, one that filled her soul.

She started with the hard line of the water, then the circle of light just lipping the horizon, kept her movements whisper soft. She didn’t look at the paper, but drew by gestures, the flow of what she saw as the morning exploded around her.

When she looked down, she’d drawn the outline of the ribbons of color. She switched to her darker B pencils, began to add the layers of color.

The sunrise took life, and she didn’t hear footsteps until pebbles shifted beside her, a few trickling down to the water’s edge.

She looked up and her heart stopped for a full second when Conner—looking like a medieval hero, complete with sooty face, bloodshot eyes, blond hair in sweaty tangles, and smelling like he’d fought a dragon—smiled down at her. “Hey, Donut Girl.”
She managed to
not
dissolve into a puddle and smiled casually up at him. “Hey, Smokejumper. How are you?”

Oh, stupid question, Liza. He looked like he’d been dragged by a horse through live coals. Especially when he looked up at the sunrise, stared at it a long moment, something vacant in his face. Then he inhaled, long, and gave a small nod.

“What are you—I mean—really, you look like—”

“I just came off the fire line?” He hunkered down next to her, as if he belonged there, and only then did she notice he held his bandanna, pock-marked with burns and ash.

It scared her a little to see him so wrung out. She put down her sketch. “What happened?”

He blew out another breath, a little shaky, and she had the crazy urge to reach out, touch his hand. His muscled arm. Maybe draw him into a hug.

A just-friends-but-I-prayed-for-you hug.

“We nearly got overrun tonight—or this morning, rather. I just dropped off one of my crew at the hospital—he’s got a pretty banged-up ankle.”

She wanted to ask how he’d ended up with her on the beach but said nothing as he seemed to be working out his words.

“I saw the sunrise from the hospital parking lot and...I just couldn’t go back to the resort. Not quite yet. So, here I am.” He looked at her. “With you.”

And then he smiled again, something sweet and gentle in it. As if he might be glad, even relieved, to see her.

Huh.

“You do this every morning?” he asked, gesturing to the sketch.

“No. I was...well, this is going to sound crazy, but God sort of woke me up to pray for you. So, I was. I did.”

His smile vanished, and he looked almost pained, his eyes closing then. He looked away, back at the lake.

“Conner, are you okay?” Now she did touch him, just a hand, gentle on his shoulder. His shirt was sweaty, grimy, and nearly black with ash.

He blew out another breath. “Now I am.”

Liza sat in silence, the waves raking the shore, not so sure.

Then, “We came pretty close to disaster today.”

She didn’t want to hear that but kept her face unmoving, her emotions locked inside.

“And I just keep remembering…”

His jaw tightened, and Liza just about took his hand. Folded hers instead over her updrawn knees.

“Yeah, well, okay...I told you my parents died in a car crash. But what I didn’t mention was that the car flipped, and they were trapped. I got out, and got my brother out, but...” He swallowed, his mouth a tight line. Then, “They burned to death.”

Oh. No. “Conner, I’m so sorry.” ’ ’

“Yeah. And it’s usually just there, lodged in the back of my brain, but days like this...” He gave a silent chuckle, nothing of humor in it. “Shoot. I didn’t mean to come down here and unload on you—I was just trying to clear my head.”

“Clear it with me. Maybe that’s why God brought me out here.”

He looked at her then, a quick frown, then another noise that sounded terribly like amazement. “Maybe.”

“For sure, Conner. God’s compassion for you never fails. It’s new every morning, faithful. Like sunrises.” Liza slid her hand down to his. Squeezed. “The Lord is good to those whose hope is in Him.”

He was looking at her hand on his. Then, suddenly, he turned his hand, caught her fingers in his, wove them together. “Our last trip as a family was to Mt. Rushmore. My dad loved flying remote control airplanes—probably where I got my drone fever—and we woke up early that last day and flew the plane over the park as the sun rose. It turned the faces of the presidents bronze.”

“Like the face of Moses when he looked at God.”

“I never thought about that before.”

“But it makes sense—we should be changed when we look at the light. God. Sunrises—they bring us out of our darkness.”

He was looking at her then, his blue eyes on her, something in them that suddenly made her heart stir in her chest, painfully aware of his hand in hers, strong fingers laced together, work worn but gentle. “You bring me out of my darkness, Liza,” he said softly.

She stilled, especially as his gaze roamed her face, dropped to her mouth.

Which went dry.

If she didn’t know better, she thought he might kiss her. She’d seen desire a few times in her life, and the way he swallowed, the slight lick of his lips, and something hollow and vulnerable flashed across his face.

She didn’t know what to do, not sure—

Not sure? She’d lost her mind, right? A handsome, strong, brave Christian man wanted to kiss her and she was debating—

Yes. Because Liza didn’t do casual. Didn’t do right-now-and-never-again. Didn’t give her heart away without promises.

But oh, she could nearly taste his lips against hers, gentle. Or maybe a little hungry.

Suddenly, however, he turned away. Let go of her hand.

Phew. Right?

Yes. Good.

“Sorry—I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just tired, and—”

“Conner. Shh. Everyone needs a friend now and then.” She kept her voice light. “And you had a rough night.”

He looked away, and she watched his profile against the shore, his whiskers slightly singed, his face blackened.

“You need breakfast and a shower and sleep. C’mon. I live across the street. I can at least help with the breakfast part.”

She grabbed her sketchbook, a little surprised when he held out his hand to help her up.

She loved her little bungalow just off Main Street, with the long sidewalk, the front porch, the stone-stacked fireplace. She had two bedrooms downstairs, one for guests, the other an office. And upstairs was her master, a cute room with dormer window seats and an angled ceiling.

Out the back, her tenant, Ivy, lived over the garage.

Liza let him inside and, on a whim— “I have a man’s T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants here from when Mona’s husband, Joe, was working on a project a couple weeks ago. If you want to shower—”

“That would be—yeah,” Conner said, and she turned to see him standing in her doorway, a little rattled, looking so tired she wanted to cry for him.

“Bathroom is off the guest room. I’ll get the clothes.”