Rain of Fire (17 page)

A dreadful suspicion seized her. “I’m Dr. Stone of the Utah Institute.” She ignored Nick’s outstretched hand.

“Pleased to meet you,” he said without a trace of recognition.

Through the years, Kyle had played a hundred scenarios. Perhaps they would meet at a convention icebreaker and trade banalities while half a dozen colleagues looked on. It might be more public, as she announced the speakers’ awards at a banquet and found his name on the list.

She had never considered he might not remember her.

“This is Dr. Wyatt Ellison,” she introduced. Feeling cold all over, she watched the two men shake hands, Wyatt taller and leaner.

Nick gave an easy smile. “Colin Gruy sent me from Volcano Hazards at USGS. I’ve brought some seismographs, extra GPS receivers, you name it.”

Kyle remained standing while Nick took a seat and pulled his foot in a scuffed hiking boot up onto his thigh. Somehow, it underscored his casual air, especially with Wyatt sitting across from him in dress uniform.

How was it possible for Nick to have changed so little? Sure, there were crinkles around his eyes, his hair wasn’t as shiny, but the attitude was still that of field camp court jester. His eyes darted around the office, skipped over Wyatt’s rock collection on the windowsill, and lit briefly on a rodeo trophy with a gold bronco rider spurring his kicking mount. The plaque proclaimed Wyatt Ellison
All-Around Cowboy at the Bozeman Summer Roundup, 1979
.

Nick turned back to Wyatt. “Colin sent me alone rather than calling a full deployment team alert. He and I are sure there’s nothing unusual going on.”

Wyatt glanced out the window toward the Yellowstone Chapel, where the friends of David Mowry were beginning to disperse, and then back to Nick. “We all know about opinions. Now, are you here to help or tell us our business?”

Nick settled back and crossed his arms. “A bit of both, I imagine.”

He was even cockier than he’d been as a student, but considering his position in Volcano Hazards, Kyle wasn’t too surprised. Although career advancement within the USGS and academic halls was traditionally based on the principle of ‘publish or perish,’ the mavericks accepted their upward mobility as stagnant. They asked only to be called to the next hotspot around the world.

Kyle decided it was time she used her vocal cords, lest Nick conclude Wyatt had the only brain in the operation. “We need to get up into the backcountry as soon as possible.”

“By helicopter?” Nick asked, his eyes once more passing over her without expression.

Wyatt snorted. “You kidding? On our budget, I was planning to pack in with horses.”

“Horses?” Nick’s voice rose.

“Unless you’ve got the money for a chopper?” Kyle suggested hopefully.

“No,” Nick said. A little silence fell.

“I fucking hate horses,” he went on after a moment.

Wyatt raised a dark brow.

Nick nodded toward the rodeo trophy. “I take it you’re a pretty good rider?”

“In Bozeman, I used to compete every Friday night.”

“Barrel racing?”

Wyatt crossed his arms, matching Nick’s pose. “Bronco riding, bulldogging, a bit of everything.”

“Real cowboy, eh?”

The two men stared at each other.

Wyatt broke the standoff. “What do you know about Yellowstone, Darden?”

“I did geology field camp down the road at Alpine.”

“So did Dr. Stone.”

From the corner of her eye Kyle saw Nick swivel his head toward her.

“What year were you there?” His pleasant tone exempted her from his clash with Wyatt.

“A long time ago.” She looked directly at him for the first time, her expression even.

The impact of his eyes sent a shaft of longing through her. Despite, no, because he was no longer youthful and untried, he seemed even more aware of his power to interest a female. He might not remember her, but she decided he was damn well going to. “The 4-H camp’s bunkhouse was pretty spare, but I actually spent the last three weeks sleeping in a tent.”

Nick’s green gaze froze. A beat of silence passed while he digested her words. Then his expression sharpened.

“My God!” He shook his head. “Kyle.”

The familiar warmth of his voice, one she’d never wanted to hear again, made something twist inside her. Her mouth went dry.

“I feel like a damned fool.” His eyes, formerly pale chips of glass, upon meeting a stranger lighted. He studied her with an intensity that embarrassed her.

“Don’t.” She lifted a hand to tuck in a stray strand of her hair. “I’ve changed a lot.” Nick hadn’t, though. He still reminded her of Southern California sunshine.

She turned to Wyatt. “We went to camp together.”

“Small world,” he said flatly.

Nick’s voice shifted to his old familiar banter. “So how the hell are you? Married? Kids?”

“Fine, and no.” She twisted her hands. “You?”

“I took a swing at being married. Twice. Now I’m afraid of striking out.”

“Why don’t we take a look at the equipment you’ve brought?” she suggested coolly.

“Sounds good.” Wyatt pushed back his chair. Before they headed out, he took off his dress jacket and hung it on the back of his door, replacing it with a fleece one with Park Service insignia.

Behind the Resource Center sat a white panel truck labeled
United States Geological Survey
. Nick opened the back and displayed a wealth of equipment. “What’s your pleasure, Ma’am? GPS receivers, portable seismographs, electronic tiltmeters? Doctor Nicolas has brought ‘em all.”

Kyle laughed. Sliding open the door of the Institute van, she revealed her own cache of seven seismographs.

“I thought you were out of equipment.” Nick sounded surprised. “Colin said it was all dedicated to the Wasatch Fault.”

“There was a custody battle.”

Her euphoria evaporated as she caught sight of the last traffic leaving the memorial service. Out on the main road there were still some press vans.

“What’s with all the action?” Nick asked jovially. “I remember this place as pretty quiet.”

“A colleague, David Mowry,” Wyatt said, “whom you may know from his books, dove into a hot spring that wasn’t supposed to be hot. I got there just in time to watch him die.”

Nick’s smile disappeared like a conjurer’s handkerchief. “That’s tough. I heard about him on the news when I was driving over.”

“His memorial service was in the chapel today,” Kyle explained.

Nick shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Is it true the spring was cold the day before?”

“It is.” Wyatt folded his arms over his chest. “You want to think again about there being nothing going on here?”

Nick slammed the back of the truck, dusted off his hands, and looked at Kyle. “I’m starving. How ‘bout some chow?”

To her surprise, it was after five. She tried to think of when she’d last eaten and realized it had been dinner last night. After her predawn panic, she’d driven to Yellowstone on a single Coke.

“You two go ahead.” Wyatt turned away. “I’m heading home.”

“No,” Kyle said quickly. “Come with us.” Too late, she realized he might be meeting Alicia.

Wyatt demurred, his hands shoved deep in jacket pockets. “It sounds as though you and Nick have a lot to catch up on.” He walked toward his Park Service Bronco.

“We’ll come by your office in the morning,” Kyle called after him. She waved, but he wasn’t looking back.

Nick’s grin flashed familiar. “I don’t think the cowboy likes me.”

As the Bronco drove past, they walked together across the parking lot, then between the stone headquarters building and the Chief Ranger’s historic quarters next door. With the sun dipping toward the mountains, the chill began to settle in earnest. Fallen leaves made small tearing sounds beneath their feet.

When they reached the street, three television crews were filming a man with a halo of curly hair. Behind him was the backdrop of Mammoth Hot Spring’s terraces.

“Here’s trouble.” Nick’s familiar tone suggested he knew Brock Hobart well.

The freelance earthquake predictor, dressed casually in jeans and a light jacket, sat on a picnic table surrounded by press. When he’d gotten lucky with Sakhalin, his cult following had swelled.

Carol Leeds of
Billings Live Eye
, who’d interviewed Radford, Wyatt, and Kyle earlier, was at the forefront. “I understand you predicted the earthquake in Sakhalin last week, right before it happened.”

Brock smiled. “Yes. If Monty Muckleroy hadn’t invited me on his show, I would have been a lone voice making predictions on the Internet.”

“What a PR hound Brock’s turned into.” Nick leaned his shoulder against a tree and watched.

“Fishing for a return engagement on
Mornings with Monty,”
Kyle agreed.

“I understand your prediction at Sakhalin had to do with some alignment of the planets,” Carol prompted.

“Actually, it’s the sun, moon, and earth that were in alignment. This happens twice a month with the new and full moon. At this time, the ocean and solid earth tides are at maximum,” Brock lectured. “Quakes that have occurred during alignment include Bishop, California in 1912; Anchorage, Alaska in 1964; and Kobe, Japan in 1995.”

Everyone listened, including the pony-tailed cameraman.

“And last, but certainly not least,” Brock spread his hands. “Your own Hebgen Lake in 1959.”

Nick moved closer and bent to Kyle’s ear. “That was a nasty one, killed thirty people in the landslide and flood.”

Thankfully, she’d never told him. That was one more vulnerability she didn’t need. It was bad enough to see him again and wish they’d never crossed the line into intimacy.

The reporter continued to question Brock. “What brings you to Yellowstone now?”

He put on a grave look. “During last week’s alignment, I noticed the park experiencing an unusual swarm of quakes.”

Kyle’s heart began to thud and she moved closer to Nick. “Wyatt has measured six inches of vertical movement on the caldera in the past week.”

“Six inches isn’t much,” Nick murmured.

“Not for a Cascade Range volcano. Here it’s pretty significant.”

“So what are you predicting?” Carol asked.

“I’d say …” Brock looked around at the mountains that ringed the high valley, as though searching for a sign. Finally, he placed his fingertips together. “Certainly with the new moon we could easily see an event in the 6.0 magnitude range.”

Nick whistled.

Kyle’s stomach clenched. As the reporters wrapped, and Brock slung his legs down and got off the picnic table, she started toward him with a determined stride.

Nick snagged her arm. “Hey.”

It was too late. In front of Carol Leeds and the other members of the press, she faced off Brock. “It’s been a while since USGS.”

“Kyle.” A smile broke over his features, a man recognizing a former colleague.

Though she’d once liked Brock, today she wasn’t having any. “I can’t believe how irresponsible you’ve become.”

Brock made a gesture of bewilderment.

“Every one of us in the field would love to predict when and where disaster will strike.” She pointed a finger at his chest. “But you’re going too far.”

Video and still cameras captured the moment.

Brock apparently noticed they were back on stage and shrugged. “Okay, then. When it turns out I’m right about the park becoming a powder keg, you and Darden here”— his look included Nick—”can buy the beer.”

“We’ll be in the backcountry, as soon as we can get there,” Kyle told Brock.

He sobered. “Maybe you ought not…”

Before he could echo the thoughts she’d been having about the wisdom of going to Nez Perce Peak, Kyle started away with Nick at her heels. He caught up and took her arm.

Carol Leeds followed them to the edge of the lawn. “Dr. Stone, was it…? Would you care to comment…?”

Nick chuckled as he walked with Kyle under the portico outside the Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel. “Even if you didn’t comment, they’ll make hay of your telling Brock off.”

She swung to face him, hands on hips, color flushing her prominent high cheekbones. “I shouldn’t have done that, but damn it, it felt good.”

As he held the door for Kyle, the lobby welcomed Nick. He didn’t mind roughing it in the field, but he liked comfort as well. The polished wood floor shone and a huckleberry scent mixed with chocolate wafted from the gift shop to sharpen his hunger.

“You got a place to stay?” he asked.

“I need to register,” Kyle replied.

Nick followed her toward the desk on the lobby’s back wall, taking the opportunity to look her over. The years had been kind, reflected in her athletic build and quick movements he had to hustle to keep up with. He realized he’d never forgotten her scent, a mix of forest freshness and a jasmine-like musk. He did not think it was perfume.

There were changes, though. This woman bore only a fleeting resemblance to the youthful Kyle Stone. That girl had been quiet and content to sit on the sideline while others played a rowdy game of Hearts on somebody’s, usually his, bunk. It had taken more than a few tries to convince her to sing along when he played guitar. Now, when she looked at him, her eyes bore the determination of a powerful woman.