Firestorm (14 page)

After three bites, she was unable to eat any more. She threw the half-eaten fruit into a nearby trash can and walked to the command center for their scheduled meeting. She would need concentration and poise to counteract what they had all undoubtedly witnessed at the cafeteria.
Help me, Lord
, she prayed silently, then entered the brightly lit tent.

In one corner, away from the chaotic flurry of activity, a long table had been set up along the side, and on the walls were more maps and a marker board. Everyone was in place, and Reyne was
quickly introduced to the leadership team, made up of the day- and night-shift operations chiefs, a logistics specialist, a meteorologist, an air operations commander, two mappers, a public information officer, four medical unit managers, a helibase manager, two dispatchers, and a food unit leader. Thomas had called in a full-scale team. He intended to put a stop to Devil’s Head, and fast.

Within an hour, they all had a good idea of what the commander’s plan was. After the meteorologist and Reyne conferred, studying weather patterns and current fire behavior on all flanks, they agreed with his plan. “As you all know,” Thomas concluded, “you don’t fight fire. You herd it. I want to herd it into this valley here,” he said, gesturing toward a remote valley that surrounded a high mountain lake. “And when the weather gives us a break, we’re going to give the Devil some of his own.”

After wrapping up the meeting, the command team exited the control center, and Reyne wearily made her way to her tent, glad that her elevated position had rated a private tent. Hopefully Jamie had found the foldaway cot she always carried with her to fire camps. Even Thomas slept on the ground, but Reyne did not fare well doing so. As soon as she could justify it—and had her own tent—she had invested in the small camping cot. Her days of waking up with a knot in her back were over, thank God. And tonight she really needed a good night’s sleep. She hoped that she and Logan could work things out after they both had caught some shuteye.

Reyne paused ten feet from her home-away-from-home, stifling a laugh as she made out Logan’s form draped across the entrance. He had obviously been waiting for her but in his weary state had fallen asleep where he sat.

As funny and sweet a picture as he made, Reyne was still angry at him for his unfair assessment and jealous words. Gingerly, she stepped over him and quietly zipped up the tent, wincing as every tooth met the other and made a sound.

But Logan was out cold. He had to be exhausted. Still, memory of his words stung her heart as she silently undressed, pulled on a nightshirt, unfurled her sleeping bag on the cot, and climbed in. She was soon asleep, oddly comforted by Logan’s proximity and yet still relishing the idea of the camp awaking to find the fabled and respected Logan McCabe camped out in her doorway.

L
ogan awoke to the snickers and stifled laughs of passersby. He opened his eyes, wincing at the crick in his neck and the bright light above. People were giggling or glancing away in embarrassment for him as they walked by.

Oh no
, he thought.
I slept here all night!
He rubbed his face and sighed heavily, thinking about what a jerk he was, then sat up.

He could hear Reyne’s soft, even breathing through the thin mesh weave of her tent sides.
How can I apologize, Lord? I really did it this time
. He drew a deep breath and unzipped the door, peeking in to make sure she was still asleep. She was.

Logan made his way over to her, then sat down beside the cot, simply staring with nothing but love in his heart.
What a fool I was
, he thought.
How could I have greeted her like that?
He stared at her face, admiring her long, dark lashes, the gentle contours of rounded cheeks that gave way to dimples when she smiled, a cute nose that sloped to a slight peak at the end, full lips that begged for a kiss …

Slowly he bent down to take the kiss and awaken her, but then he stopped himself. He did not deserve it. He owed her an apology first, and a public one at that. Feeling a near-physical twinge at having to tear himself away, Logan quietly stepped out of the tent and zipped up the door behind him.

Reyne listened as Logan turned away from her, zipped the door back up, and walked away. Then, feeling grumpy, she sat up and swung her feet to the floor of her tent.

She had not slept well, as usual, and she had been groggily awake when she saw him stand up outside her door, but she had closed her eyes and pretended. He, after all, needed to come to her, regardless of the spectacle he made of himself. When he entered her tent, Reyne’s heart had pounded as she waited for him to kiss her. She had felt his breath on her face, tickling her skin in his nearness. But then he apparently had changed his mind and exited.

Miffed that he had not awakened her, she got up, brushed her hair, and dressed. She hoped that a cup of coffee would clear her fuzzy head. She had had an intense night of wild, bizarre dreams—when she did actually manage to sleep—and nights like that always left her feeling more weary than refreshed.

Reyne stooped over, walked to her window, and unzipped the flaps. Devil’s Head had painted the sky a sickening yellow-brown, with thick smoke choking out any hint of blue. She dropped the flap, grabbed her briefcase, and then moved out of her tent to go to mess.

Breakfast was still going strong, and waves of firefighters kept arriving at their scheduled times to keep things rolling. As part of the leadership team, Reyne was allowed access at any time. When she entered, she immediately saw Logan standing with a sheepish expression on his face. Buddy stood beside him.

“Hear ye, hear ye!” Buddy yelled. “Quiet in the court! Quiet in the court! This gent has a public proclamation to make!”

Logan stepped up on the table and looked around the room, then
directly at Reyne. “Last night,” he yelled, “some of you witnessed me being a complete fool. I’m fortunate to be able to spend time with that incredible woman over there, and I made a serious blunder by being a jealous idiot. I am sorry, Reyne. Will you forgive me?”

The entire mess tent was silent, witnessing yet again a very private moment. But that was common in fire camps, as in any sort of camp. Private moments became community property.

“Well, Oldre?” Buddy yelled. “What say you? Off with his head?”

She smiled and nodded once in what she hoped was a regal manner. “He may keep his head.”

The crowd laughed and cheered and immediately went back to their food. Logan made his way to Reyne, said a quiet good morning, and then went to save her a seat at a nearby table.

Afterward, Logan and Reyne made their way out of the cafeteria and hiked about a quarter mile into the forest behind the base camp. Finding themselves a sufficiently private location, Logan again took Reyne into his arms and kissed her deeply. After several long minutes he drew back with his eyes closed, as if still appreciating the feel of her lips on his.

He opened his eyes and gazed down lovingly at her. “I
am
sorry, Reyne.”

“I know,” she said, wanting only to put it behind them. “You more than made your apology.”

“I was still out of line. I don’t know what got into me. I was tired. The shock of seeing you here … seeing Buddy holding you …”

She smiled smugly. “You were jealous.”

He shifted, obviously uncomfortable about her assessment. “A little,” he admitted. “I don’t want anyone but me to touch my girl.”

“I hardly had a choice.”

“I know. I should’ve known better. Buddy is a wild man. But I couldn’t help myself.”

“Yeah, well, don’t let it happen again. Our time together is too precious to waste on stupid things like this.”

“Agreed.” He pulled her closer, resting his chin on her head. “It feels so good to hold you.”

“It feels great to be held. I’ve missed you, Logan.”

“And I you,” he said, tenderly reaching to tilt her chin up again to receive his kiss. Afterward he asked, “Do you know how much I love you, Reyne Oldre?”

“A lot?” she asked, tilting one eyebrow up.

“An incredible amount. Like I’ve never loved before. It’s never been like this for me.” His Montana-blue-sky eyes stared into hers for a long time, never wavering, as if he was willing her to believe him.

“It hasn’t been like this before for me either,” she said softly. Her heart pounded as he pulled her to him again, feeling his strong hands on her back and his hard-muscled arms tighten at her sides. He kissed her yet again, then slowly, reluctantly, released her. “It’s probably a good thing you have a meeting in three minutes,” he said, checking his watch.

“And that you take off on an assignment in an hour,” she said, smiling.

He leaned in for a final kiss. “I think you’re amazing, Reyne. Thank you for loving me, even when I’m a jerk.”

“Anytime.”

With a soft groan he let her go again, then took her hand in his and led her back down the path toward the camp. He left her at
the command center tent. They released each other’s hands, slowly dragging them apart from palms to fingertips as if each second of touch was precious.

“Be careful out there, Logan,” Reyne said softly. She hoped her gaze was intense enough to telegraph her concern.

“I will, Reyne. I love you. I’ll see you in a couple of days,” he whispered, then walked off.

“Oldre, you’re late!” Thomas’s voice rang out from the tent, interrupting their love-swept reverie.

“Coming!” she yelled over her shoulder. “Good-bye, love,” she said softly to Logan’s back as he walked away. “Dear Father, please protect him. Set your angels all around him. Before him, behind him, beside him. I commit his safety to your care,” she whispered.

Merely uttering the words gave her comfort. With a sigh she turned and walked in to face the commander’s glower.

T
homas had begun the meeting without her. Feeling like a chastened schoolgirl, Reyne quickly took her seat, opened her notebook, and picked up a pen.

“We’re sending in six sets of jumpers,” Thomas said. “Teams of four jumpers each. They’ll land here,” he said, gesturing toward numerous spots on a mapped mountain ridge. “We cannot allow these little fires to hook up with each other and become another flame front. We’re having enough trouble managing what we have. As you can see, Winter’s Ridge is isolated and difficult for road crews to reach … the few access roads available have been cut off.”

He looked at the meteorologist beside Reyne, then gestured back to the map, pointing as he spoke. “Larry and Reyne have assured me that the Devil won’t be climbing Winter’s Ridge today. Let’s hope for the jumpers’ sake they’re right. If they are, which we’re banking on, the teams should be able to contain all these tiny arms of fires you see banking here and heading down the watersheds toward Woodland Park and these other communities.”

“No pressure,” Reyne quipped.

“None intended,” Thomas tossed back, obviously forgiving her tardiness.

He probably figures I’m suffering enough sending Logan in there
, she mused.

“We have about four thousand people in these communities,” he
said, gesturing again toward the map, “and about ten thousand more below. Let’s stop Devil’s Head, people, before he reaches that first subdivision.” He looked sternly around the room, studying each team member’s face. “Any questions?”

The Greater Northwest Forestry Company’s old military Sherpa circled the giant convection plume of smoke, bouncing and swaying in the quixotic winds. Logan looked out the open doorway, searching for the proposed drop site for the next team of four. The spotter found it and pointed it out first to Logan, then to the next team leader. “It’s about as big as a postage stamp, Anderson,” he shouted, pointing toward the minuscule landing spot above the fire.

“Thanks for the encouraging words,” the woman beside Logan yelled back. Jill Anderson was a kindergarten teacher in the off-seasons; this was her fifth year as a Forest Service squad leader. She looked out, watched as the spotter’s weighted streamer descended, and then nodded in grim agreement when the spotter gave her the signal to go at the next pass.

Jill motioned to the three on her team to be ready, preparing the first two to jump, then the third to go with her. She walked past them, doing last-second checks and watching as they hooked up their static lines to the plane’s bar above. The other end of the line was attached to their deployment bag, what Forest Service jumpers referred to as the
d-bag
. Finally they were ready, poised to go in the classic two-by-two formation jumpers called
sticks
. This formation often allowed jumpers to talk on the way down and land within a few feet of one another.

Just before the first stick rolled out, the plane lurched and dropped in the crazy mountain winds. Leaving the bumpy plane and
entering the air would actually come as a relief to most of the squad. Logan watched as the first two jumpers, then Jill and her partner fell away from the plane, pulling the small rings on their backs that deployed small chutes called
drogues
. The drogues pulled the smokejumpers to a vertical position and the main chutes out of the packs so they could open—leaving the line and d-bag dangling beneath the plane.

The spotter brought the mike to his mouth. “Smokejumpers away,” he reported.

“Roger,” came Mike Moser’s voice from the cockpit, which Logan could hear over his own radio. “You boys are next, McCabe. We’ll be over your drop site in about three minutes. Ready your team.”

“Roger.” Logan nodded to his team, two rookies from California and an old smokejumping partner, Alfred Jensen. Logan was glad that Alf was along to partner with one of the rookies. It was the expertise of men like him that was shaping Logan’s forestry company crew into a group of professionals.

A huge updraft swept past the plane at that moment, sending the little gear that was not stowed flying. Logan pitched and caught a handlebar, narrowly missing an impromptu departure from the plane. His heart pounded as he looked up and saw the white faces of his rookies and the huge grin on Alf’s long face.