Chapter 6
To Reuben’s eyes, Patrick looked a little like old Custer the bull, blood in his eyes. He’d come in while Gilly was tucked in his arms, holding on, and it took Reuben a full second to realize that Patrick wasn’t fooling around.
Patrick wore his hair high and tight in a military shave, a goatee, a dirty green flannel shirt, and jeans. And a dark-edged anger in his expression.
If he had the power, Reuben would, in these moments, rewind time and choose differently.
Like not letting Jock run into a fire that could kill him. Or not giving into Gilly’s demand to hike out with him. And especially the moment when he should have listened to her silent pleading not to get in the station wagon.
Because even if Patrick was just protecting his land—which Reuben completely doubted—Reuben had somehow put Gilly in danger.
Again.
Reuben had dredged up all her nightmares of being attacked.
I vowed that I’d never let anything like that happen again.
“Don’t move, Gilly,” Reuben said quietly.
“Reuben, don’t be silly—it’s Patrick.”
Gilly tried to come out from behind him, but he had hold of her arm, held her securely in place.
Patrick had kicked the door shut behind him, his hands full with a lever-action .22 rifle.
The kind of rifle used for shooting the wolves which came after their cattle.
At this range, the bullet might go through both of them.
Reuben raised one hand. “I’m not sure what you think is happening here, Patrick, but your father picked us up on the road, and we’re just here to use the radio. The jump plane crashed and—”
“I know.” His tone said more than that, however, and the words settled into Reuben.
He knew. Because—?
“Oh good—I wasn’t sure anyone caught our transmission before we crashed.” Gilly slipped out of Reuben’s grip, grabbing the pack from the counter. “We need to get back to the team.”
She took a step toward the door.
“Stop, Gilly. Now,” Patrick snapped.
That’s exactly what Reuben was going to say. Because even he could see that Patrick’s words weren’t meant to convey that help might be on the way.
On the contrary, Reuben suddenly had a dark, gut feeling that Patrick had something to do with the fact that half his team was scared and dying in the woods.
“We just want to use the radio, and we’ll be out of here,” Reuben said. He kept his voice calm, centering himself, just like he would before settling upon a bull. He needed to think. Still his breathing. And an eye on Patrick’s gun told him to approach softly, with no recrimination in his tone.
“It doesn’t work. Hasn’t worked for years. And you’re not going anywhere.”
Gilly frowned at him.
“And no, Gilly, HQ has no idea where you are.” Patrick didn’t even glance at Gilly when he spoke, his gaze only on Reuben. Reuben itched for a distraction, the chance to put Patrick on the floor.
As it was, Gilly froze. And Reuben ached for her when she said slowly, “I don’t understand.”
A beat, and Reuben met Patrick’s eyes. Please, don’t hurt her.
Patrick’s voice fell, dark and steely. “I think you do.”
Gilly looked at Reuben, but Patrick took a step toward Reuben. “Sit down, Reuben. Over there.”
He motioned to the sofa, and Reuben held up his hands, glanced at Gilly.
“Let Gilly go. She has nothing to do with this.”
“Nothing to do with what?” Gilly said.
“I’m not angry at Gilly,” Patrick said, ignoring her. “She’s just a casualty of firefighting.” His eyes hardened. “Like my son, Tom.”
Yes. Reuben had put the puzzle together, and connected this moment to last fall’s tragedy.
And what did Brownie say about this being a hard day?
A hard summer. His mind went back to Conner’s lost drone, the one that found its way from the Browning property to the Whiskey Creek fire.
“You blame us for Tom’s death,” Reuben said quietly. “And I understand. I do, too.”
“What?” Gilly said. “Wait—you’re blaming Reuben for the fire? Patrick—!”
“Stay put, Gilly!”
“I know you miss Tom—we all do,” Reuben said, his hands still raised. He was using his very best mental telepathy to tell Gilly to sneak out, that he’d keep Patrick’s attention on himself. Or die trying. “But we can’t change it—”
“Shut up! This is all your fault—all of you. Conner, Pete, and you. Tommy trusted his team. I trusted the team. And you all left him to burn to death on the mountain.”
Reuben had no words. Because Patrick was right.
His jaw tight, Reuben glanced at Gilly, who was staring at Patrick with a white-faced horror.
“Wait—Patrick, you haven’t been—trying to kill the team, have you? Are you the one behind the arson?” Her voice pitched to a low-toned of disbelief. “Did you have something to do with the plane going down? The low fuel tanks?”
“You don’t understand, Gilly.” Patrick had the shotgun leveled at Reuben and looked a millisecond from coming unglued.
Where was Brownie? The question niggled at the back of Reuben’s brain.
“They left Tom there to die. A terrible, horrific death!”
“I know, Patrick,” Gilly pleaded. “I know, but this isn’t—”
“And they deserve to die in the same way!”
Reuben didn’t like the way Patrick’s hands shook. He just needed a second—a moment when Patrick might not be looking at him.
“Please, Patrick, don’t hurt him!” Gilly held up her hands, Reuben’s pack swinging nearly off her shoulder. “He isn’t to blame—”
“He is completely to blame! All of them!”
“Not Hannah. Not CJ. Not Kate or Jed or—”
“Listen, Patrick,” Reuben said quietly. “We both know that Gilly isn’t a part of this. If you need justice, do what you have to, to me, but let Gilly go—”
“I don’t think so, Reuben.”
Patrick started backing toward the door, and Reuben inched forward.
“Get back!” Patrick swung the gun at Gilly. “Both of you. Or I shoot her.”
Reuben went completely still, everything shutting down to a cold halt. He looked at Gilly, the way she paled, the shaking of her hands.
Why hadn’t he listened to Gilly’s warning on the road?
Reuben fought for a breath through his constricting chest, only finding it when Patrick turned the gun back on him.
Gilly, however, was shaking her head in a sort of crazy disbelief. “No!” She took another step toward Patrick. “Please, Pat—”
And that’s when Patrick took his eyes off Reuben.
It was all Reuben needed. He lunged at Patrick, intending to slap the gun away.
The carpet caught him, and he tripped. Patrick turned back, brought the barrel up—
The shot exploded nearly in Reuben’s ear.
Something shattered behind him, heat and searing pain burning in his skull.
Gilly screamed as he fell. Fire lacerated his head, and he slapped his hand to the heat, seeing shades of gray. He landed hard on the floor, dizzy. When he pulled away his hand, it came back slick and hot.
Bloody.
“You shot him! Oh my gosh—you shot him!”
But even as the world tilted, he saw—what? Gilly leaping at Patrick, the bear spray out, full throttle. Patrick threw his hand up to protect his face against the blast, screaming.
Then before Reuben could get up and tackle him—before he could even find his feet—Patrick twisted the gun around and clipped Gilly against the head.
She dropped like a cannonball, the spray canister flying out of her grip.
Patrick stumbled back, coughing, spitting, words issuing from his mouth about Gilly, the lot of them. He made it to the door. “It’s better this way, anyway. Burn both of you—all of you—like they did.”
Then he slammed the door behind him. Locked it from the outside.
“Gilly!” Reuben wanted to get up, but his legs wouldn’t move right—and the entire room was spinning.
He held the floor as it swayed, and tried to make his way to Gilly.
But she’d come to life, pushing herself up, crawling to him.
Patrick had cut her, bloodied her cheek. But she seemed to ignore it, catching Reuben as he tumbled forward.
He closed his eyes, felt like half his skin had peeled from his head, heard ringing in his ears behind her voice and the sound of a zipper.
Then something soft pressed the wound.
He yelped.
“Sorry.”
He butterflied his eyes open and found her peering down at him.
“First aid kit. Good thinking,” he said, his eyes longing to close again. Except her face crumpled, and she looked away, shaking her head.
“Sorry. I won’t cry. I just… won’t.” She closed her eyes, made a noise, as if holding back a wail, then took a deep breath.
“Okay. You’re going to be okay.” She leaned over him, and he was vaguely aware now that his head had landed in her lap, cradled there. She pulled the cotton away and examined his wound.
“It’s deep and long—the bullet grazed your head. Your ear is cut, and I can see your scalp.”
“In other words, it’s just a flesh wound. I’ve had worse.”
She frowned at him, and he agreed it might be the wrong time to pull out his Monty Python quotes.
Instead, he groaned again as she replaced the cotton pad.
And the room started to darken around the edges.
That’s when he smelled it—something rancid, like a skunk had broken loose in the cabin, sprayed the air.
“What’s that smell?”
Gilly seemed bewildered, but looked around, catching on fast. “The bullet hit the wall, destroyed a lamp—”
“It’s propane. It’s flooding the room with gas—and with the lamps lit, the room could ignite. We have to stop the leak.”
“I’ll do it.” But as she got up, he saw her stiffen, her breath catching.
And only then did he see the flicker of flame in the window.
“It’s too late. The front porch is on fire,” she said in a voice he didn’t quite recognize.
That’s where Brownie went. Setting them up, locking them in, and burning them alive. Like his grandson.
“Brownie is our arsonist.”
“And Patrick rigged the plane,” Gilly said, crouching beside him. “He might have even been the one who crashed and stole the drones—he would have certainly known how to refit them for his use. But it doesn’t matter because right now, we have to get out of here.”
He agreed. Only problem was, his legs didn’t want to move. His entire body turned to slush as the room tilted, spun, and made him want to hug the floor.
She tried the door. “It’s locked.”
“Try the back bedroom, see if there’s an escape.”
He lay there like a drunk as she left him. She returned in moments, dropping to her knees, shaking her head.
“No good. The front door is the only one.” She got up then and started for the window, working the latch to open it. “If we can open the window, the gas might evaporate—”
Glass shattered as a shot decimated the window. Gilly screamed, jerked back, grabbed her hand. Blood dripped from it.
“He shot me!”
Reuben pushed himself up, felt like he might vomit on the spot, but grabbed her, pulled her down.
Another shot chipped at the wall in the kitchen.
“They’re not going to let us leave!” Gilly said.
He said nothing, just took her hand, found the glass embedded there. “You’re not shot—just cut.” He eased out the glass then reached for the roll of cotton gauze in the pack. But his hands shook, so she took it and wrapped it around her hand.
The rancid smell had dissipated with the night air, but smoke from the fire began to filter in, hover around the ceiling. And, with the gas lines alive and thick with gas, the place could torch any moment.
“Reuben—I’m...”
He thought she might say scared, but the word that came out was “sorry.”
“You’re sorry? For what?”
“For not having better aim. I thought I got his eyes, but I should have ducked or grabbed the gun or—”
“Gilly. Stop.” He touched her arm. “No. You were awesome. But we have to get out of here—”
“How about the bathroom?”
“Yes!”
He levered himself to all fours, fighting his way across the floor.
The flames crackled into the window, licking the frame, igniting the grimy curtains.
Gilly had a hold on his collar and pulled, directing him through a door toward the blackness of a bedroom. He hit his head on the jamb to the bathroom.
“There’s no window!” he said.
“No. And no toilet. But there’s washbasin and a tin tub—we could get in it.”
“We’ll never fit, not both of us. But this place has a porch which means—”
“There’s a crawl space under the house!” Gilly said.
He sat on the floor, holding onto the tub as it swayed.
“What now?” she said.
“We gotta…move…this…” He couldn’t think clearly.
“I’ll help you. We’ll do it together.” She got up, wedged her body against the wall, her feet against the tub.
He managed to get to his knees. “I can only do this once, I think.”
And then, with a roar, he ripped the tub from the floor.
Black filled his eyes, the room pitched, and he felt himself falling.
“No! Reuben, stay with me!”
But the floor came too fast, too hard. He crashed onto it, woozy.
When he pushed himself up, he knew he was going to faint.
“Reuben, don’t leave me—”
Gilly climbed over him, kicking at a drainage pipe in the floor. He opened his eyes enough to see it rip free, and with it, a chunk of board. She had her feet braced on either side of him, sawing the pipe back and forth to open a gap.
Then suddenly, he heard a splintering, and she threw the pipe out of the room.
A gap opened up, about the size of his thigh.
But, of course, just about big enough for Gilly.
“Go,” he said, his voice echoing in his head. He added oomph to it when he smelled smoke. “Get out of here!”
“No!” She kicked at the boards.
They didn’t move.
“Please, Gilly, go.”
“I’m not leaving without you!” She was frantic now, jumping on the boards. “Please, please—”
He couldn’t take it. He pushed himself up, grabbed her hand. Pulled her down to meet his face. “I can’t fit through there. The house is going to explode. Go. Now. Save our team.”
Something in his words must have clicked, because she stopped fighting and just stared at him.
Oh, she had gorgeous eyes—many of them—but all of them were a shade of blue, with flecks of green and gold.
He traced her face, memorizing it, and then, because he couldn’t stop himself, he closed the gap and kissed her. Quick and over before she could respond, but mostly because he’d lost his mind on the crawl to the bathroom, and he didn’t know what else to do to say good-bye.
Then he shoved her through the hole, a hand on her shoulder, all the way down, until she crouched in the blackness under the house. He tossed the gear pack down after her. Then he stuck his head down through the hole.
And sure enough, light dented the far edge, a crawl space under the length of the building.
“Go, Gilly!”
And thank God, she did, scrambling toward the light.
He closed his eyes, and breathed in the cool air, letting the oblivion take him.
Our team. Reuben’s words hung in her mind, burning as Gilly scrabbled out from under the back of the house, crouching in the shadows to search for Patrick. Or Brownie.
Her brain still couldn’t wrap around the fact that they’d been—were—trying to kill her.
Them.
Her team.
She wasn’t going to let any more of them die. Starting with Reuben.
No. The sound of Patrick screaming stirred inside of her. She couldn’t believe she’d bear-sprayed him. Or that her crazy idea worked. She’d watched him talk to Reuben, all the while rooting in the pack for the bear spray. Waited for the moment when he turned to her.
Except it hadn’t quite turned out like she’d hoped—Reuben shot, bleeding, passed out with his head stuck in a drainage hole while the cabin burned around him.
The death Patrick hoped he’d have.
The death the Brownings had planned for all of them—first by arson and then by the crashing of her plane. She thought of the ripped chutes from earlier in the season, the ones Kate had found and fixed. She would bet that Patrick had had a hand in damaging them during the off-season.
Gilly gritted her jaw against a rise of fury and scuttled out into the yard, dragging the pack behind her, not sure what to do, but sure of one thing.
Reuben was not going to die.
Halfway to the forest’s edge, she spotted the woodpile. A beaver dam of split firewood, a chopping block, and embedded in it, an ax.
She ran toward it, keeping low, aware of the glow illuminating the night, the flames curling up around the roof.
Dropping the pack, she put her hands on the ax and pulled.
It refused to move, like Excalibur in the rock. She glanced again at the house, then stood up straight and wiggled the ax, fighting for leverage. The ax barely budged.
She could use some of Reuben’s epic strength.
Please, God!
The cry came from inside, but she let it ring out, fill her chest as she heaved upward.
The ax tore free of the wood and landed with a clunk on the wood-chip-covered ground.
She picked it up, ducked, and huddled in the darkness.
Patrick came striding around the house, patrolling for escapees, his gun held loosely in his grip. She suppressed the crazy urge to run out, ax raised, but…
She wasn’t the kind of person who could embed an ax in a person’s body, even if they had just tried to burn her alive.
She hunkered down, barely breathing as he walked past. Waited until he rounded the side of the house—
Then she dashed across the grass, shimmied under the crawl space, dragging the ax with her.
Reuben lay where she’d left him, his head positioned in the hole, breathing in the sweet, albeit dirty, air.
“Rube—wake up.” She patted his cheek. He didn’t twitch.
“Rube!” She patted him again—nothing, and she got desperate.
If he could do it, so could she. After all, his quick peck had shocked her enough for her to freeze, for him to wrestle her through the floorboards and shove her out of danger.
Hers could do the same.
She leaned forward, but instead of a quick kiss, she pressed her lips to his, added passion.
And, just for a second, she lost herself in the fact that for the first time well, ever, she actually wanted to kiss someone. No, not just someone, but Reuben. Strong, capable…sweet Reuben.
It lasted only a second or two, but long enough to stir inside her something she hadn’t realized she possessed…
Sparks. A desire to get free and maybe give him another chance to ask her to dance.
She broke away, her hand on his cheek, and he roused, opened his eyes.
Blinked at her. “Um…”
“Yeah, I know. Now, let’s get you out of here.” She pushed on his shoulders and he groaned, but pulled his head out of the hole.
She shoved her way up and found him sitting on the floor.
Smoke filled the room, and the fact the cabin had yet to blow seemed a miracle from God.
“Look out,” she said, climbing up through the hole. The room was so tiny she had to stand outside the door, but after he moved his feet she managed to bring the ax down on the wood.
It bounced off, barely leaving a dent.
“Oh, boy,” Reuben said. “That’s really pitiful.”
“Hey!”
But he was climbing to his knees, bracing himself on the wall with one hand. With the other he reached out for the ax.
She surrendered it. And in one quick, chilling move, he brought the ax down on the floor, cracking it. Another one-handed swing and he’d doubled the hole.
“C’mon!” She jumped through the hole to the dirt floor and backed up to accommodate Reuben’s girth.
He slid down beside her, so big he had to back his way through the hole. Once in the dirt, his head hit the floorboards as he groped for purchase, pulling himself along on his stomach.
She scrambled to the edge and put a hand on his shoulder. “Shh.”
They stilled, waiting as Patrick looped once again around the outside. Gilly watched him pass then slid out, checking. “We’re clear.”
Reuben wasn’t a quick man. Strong, yes, solid—but not quick. He lumbered out of the crawl space so slowly she thought he might still be half in by the time Patrick returned.
She grabbed his arm to help, and it slipped out of her grip. So she settled on the scruff of his shirt, pulling him along.
He seemed woozy, his head a bloody mess now, and when he got to his feet, he nearly fell over.
She looped his arm around her shoulder. “Run with me.”
She couldn’t look behind her, just started off in a staggered sprint towards the woods, but she refused to crumble under his weight, gritting her teeth.
They reached the forest line, and she half pushed him into a thicket of brush, falling down beside him. He lay on his back, groaning and she clamped a hand over his mouth, as Patrick circled the house again.
Patrick stopped just feet away from their hiding place, watching the flames lick out through the windows, curl the roof shingles, a dark outline of bitterness against the glow of the fire.
He’d torched his own family cabin with the hope of killing them. She couldn’t imagine a pain, an anger that burrowed that deep.
The house exploded—a massive burst of yellow, white, and orange, ripping through the night, blowing off the roof, turning the house to an inferno. Splinters of wood, glass, and debris rained down into the yard, spilling into the forest.
Gilly ducked her head, and then suddenly, Reuben rolled over, covering her body with his, his arm over her shoulders, his leg across hers, his face next to her own.
He smelled of dirt and blood, sweat and strength, his body a blanket, long and powerful, protecting her.
She searched for the fear, the revulsion that should be radiating out from her core, that should push him away, but felt nothing.
No—she felt something. A lot of something—the crazy urge to roll over, tuck herself in his arms with the hope that she’d stop shaking. Maybe even curl her hands into his shirt, lift her face, let him kiss her again.
This time, a kiss they both might participate in.
Heat emanated off the blaze, even from thirty feet away.
“What happened?” Reuben asked in her ear. “I think I might have blanked out for a bit there.”
Which meant his protection of her—him rolling over to throw his body between her and danger—emanated from pure instinct.
She didn’t know why a shard of disappointment sliced through her. “The house blew up,” she said quietly.
“And we’re not in it,” he said. He finally lifted his head, rolled onto his back. He found her eyes in the dim light. “You saved my life, again.”
She lifted a shoulder. “It’s what I do.”
But she didn’t know what to say when he reached up, touched her cheek. A soft, kind gesture that had her turning away.
“He cut your cheek,” Reuben said.
“And he shot you,” she countered.
Reuben’s voice hardened. “And now that he knows the team is out there…”
Patrick’s outline had disappeared. “I wonder if Patrick was killed in the explosion.” Despite all he’d done, she couldn’t deny a twinge of sadness.
“But what about Brownie?”
She shook her head, glanced out at the flames, now two stories high, curling around the cabin roof. Sparks ignited the night sky and cinders fell into the nearby forest.
“We need to get out of here,” Reuben said. He pushed himself up, then groaned, leaned forward, holding his head. “The world is still spinning. I think I have a concussion.”
“You probably do.” She’d dropped his jump pack near the woodpile. “I need to get the pack—stay here.”
“Be careful.”
Crouching, she skirted the edge of the forest, keeping an eye out for Brownie against the illumination of the blaze. When she reached the edge of the woodpile, she darted out.
The pack lay on the ground, protected from the flames by the stump. She grabbed it, shouldered it—
And that’s when she saw the figure moving around the house, watching the flames. No—not one, but two, the firelight revealing their faces, grim, angry. She crouched behind the stump, her heart in her throat.
The pair got into the station wagon, leaving the house to burn. Cinders cascaded around her, lit scrub around the house aflame.
It occurred to her that this blaze could turn into a raging forest fire.
The car drove away, down the trail, and her heart fell. She had no doubt of their destination.
She waited until the vehicle disappeared in the woods, then she stumbled back to Reuben. “We gotta go,” she said as she rustled through the pack for a headlamp.
Reuben was on his hands and knees, his head to the ground.
“Can you walk?”
He lifted his head, tried a nod, winced.
“Okay, I’ll help you.” She fitted on the headlamp then stood and helped him up. He immediately leaned over, breathing hard.
“Just give me a minute here—”
She put her hand on his shoulder, aching for him. But this forest was tinder dry, and—
A bush nearby had trapped flying embers and now flamed to life.
Reuben looked up, the fire glowing against his eyes. “This entire forest could go up!”
What she was thinking, exactly.
She wrapped an arm around his waist. “Let’s go.”
Funny, she’d forgotten about her knee in the adrenaline of the fire. Now it burned as she put weight on it. And Reuben swayed against her, balancing against trees as they limped away.
“I might have to crawl to the Garver lookout tower,” he said.
“No. We’ll get someplace safe—”
“Pete Creek should be not far from here, to the east.” He stopped, looked up at the stars, the moon now risen in the east. He pointed at it. “Follow the moonlight.”
Romantic words in a different time and place. Now, simply practical. She kept an eye on the moon, centered herself on it, and picked her way through the forest, leaving behind the crackle and heat of the fire.
The forest closed in against their wan light from the headlamp. Reuben grunted, moaned as he leaned on her, bracing himself on trees, stumbling now and again.
And every time he did, her knee threatened to buckle. Tears welled in her eyes as she dragged herself over downed logs and boulders.
“I’m sorry,” Reuben said after a while.
“For what?”
“For not listening to you when you didn’t want to get into the car with Brownie. I should have—”
“What are you talking about? We needed help—and why wouldn’t we trust Brownie? We didn’t know he’d turn on us, that they were behind the arson. I can’t believe it—the crash. I’m still in shock.”
“But—if I’d listened—”
“And what if they hadn’t tried to kill us?” Even now, as she said it, the words sounded insane. Patrick Browning, arsonist? Murderer? She’d known him—well, her entire life, really. She’d grown up with Tom. “We’d have called in for help by now. You just don’t know.”
Reuben said nothing, his big hand holding onto her shoulder as if glued there.
She wondered if he might be holding on because he didn’t want to let her go.
“I do know I wish I’d kept you safe. I never want you to feel scared or helpless again.”
Her throat thickened with his soft words. Funny, with him around, she felt the opposite of helpless. Triumphant. Bold. Brave.
She held his hand, her other arm around his waist as they came to a clearing. Bushy black pine and spruce edged the tiny space as if reaching out to urge them on. A breeze lifted, shuddering the poplar, the birch, and stirring into the air the redolence of smoke.
And water.
“I smell it—Pete Creek,” she said.
He pointed to a black dip in the horizon where the trees thinned out. “There.”
She followed his direction, worked them through the forest, and they bushwhacked their way to the edge of the creek.
Reuben collapsed at the edge, leaning against a tree, his head back. She studied the cliff, where the edge dropped into darkness.
A fist formed in her gut.
Reuben crawled away, and she heard retching in the woods.
When she found him, he sat holding his head, pain lining his face, his eyes closed. “Just give me a second here.”
“Let’s find a place to rest.” Her headlamp fell on a giant boulder, a pocket of protection beckoning from an indentation at its base. She grabbed his arm, urging him over to it.
He groaned but relented. She propped him up on the boulder, dug out water, and handed it to him.
“Toothpaste,” he said, and she found his brush, his paste, and he cleaned his mouth, spat on the ground away from them.
“Let me take a look at that wound.”
She’d tucked gauze pads under his bandanna, now soaked with blood, so she untied it and peeled back the cotton. Still bleeding, but barely.
“I keep a small collection of bandanna’s in my pack,” he said, offering a smile. “One cannot have too many bandannas.”
She rummaged through the backpack and unearthed his last fresh bandanna.
She affixed a fresh pad to his head, made to wrap the fresh bandanna around it but he took it, wet it and cleaned her cheek.
The gesture curled warmth around her, stilled the trembling inside. “I still can’t believe Patrick was trying to kill our team.”
“We need to get to the lookout,” Reuben said. “I gotta shake this off.” Only then did he affix the new bandanna over his head.
“I can’t see the bottom of the gorge.” And she didn’t want to mention how her knee had decided to stop working, swelling against her pant leg.
She rubbed it, however.
“You need ice for that,” he said.
“It’ll be okay. What we need to do is get back to the team.” She closed her eyes. “I hope CJ is holding on. And Jed—he looked pretty bad. I can’t believe we crashed. I can’t help but feel like I could have landed us better.”
“You weren’t to blame for that crash—clearly. And you just saved my life—again.”
She looked away, her eyes pricking at his words.
She didn’t know what to do when he reached out, put his arm around her, pulled her against himself, as if it might be completely normal.
He leaned his head back on the rock. She let herself sink against him, staring up at the sky.
“In different circumstances, this is my favorite part about being a smokejumper,” Reuben said softly. “Sleeping under the stars in a strike camp, the fire out, or mostly out, my body aching, knowing I put everything I had into the day. Doing what I could to fight the fire with everything inside me knowing that I left nothing on the fire line except my sweat.”
She smiled at that. “I felt that way when I dropped that load of water on you guys. Peace—knowing I did everything I could to save you.”
His arm tightened around her. “I think I learned it from my father. We’d work hard all day, roping, branding—everything that has to do with roundup—and then at night we’d camp out under the stars, bone tired but satisfied. I loved those days with my dad. I longed to be like him when I graduated. He wanted me to go on and play college ball, but I just wanted to be a rancher. When I walked away from it, I never thought I’d love something as much as I loved ranching until I became a smokejumper.”
“If you loved it so much, why did you leave?”
He stilled. Sighed. “I told you how I broke my legs, right? And how Knox stepped in to fill the gap? Well, he also sort of stepped in with my girlfriend.”
“What—?”
“I don’t know what happened—it was probably nothing—but it was right after the prom I didn’t go to, and I found Knox and Chelsea making out in the barn and…I’m not proud of what happened next. Pride. Anger. It wasn’t pretty. Knox got the brains, but I got the brawn, and I don’t go down easy.”
“I know.”
She didn’t know why she said that, but it eked out a smile from him. It vanished fast, however, as he continued his story. “My other brothers jumped in when they found me beating the stuffing out of Knox, and then my dad intervened. He was furious, and that’s when I woke up and realized that my dad had chosen sides. He’d picked Knox and kicked me off the ranch.”
“Oh, Reuben. You don’t think he really picked Knox, do you?”
“It felt like it, but I was pretty angry and wasn’t thinking right. Truth is, it wasn’t as much about Knox as feeling like there wasn’t a place for me anymore.”
She was quiet, her heart breaking for him, the teenager driving away from the world he wanted to belong in.
“The worst part is the next time I went back was for Dad’s funeral. He had a heart attack one Saturday while riding fence. Alone. Which, if I had been there, he might not have been.”
“You don’t know that, Rube.”
“Maybe not. But it feels that way. My pride cost me my dad. And now it’s too late. Dad is dead, Knox is running the ranch. I can’t go back.”
She winced at the hurt in his voice, thankful for the padding of night that hid the tears in her eyes.
“Since then, no matter what I do, I feel like I’m going to screw it up. Or make the wrong decision. Like…” His voice dropped. “Like I did with Jock and the boys.”
He looked away, closed his eyes as if the memory elicited pain. It probably did.
“That day on the mountain, I didn’t like how spread out we were. But sometimes it works out that way, and who was I to say anything? Jock was in charge. I just followed orders. But when we got word of the fire out of control, Jock told Conner, me, and Pete where to go—and then ran back for the rest of team. I stood there, Gilly, watching him leave, and for a split second felt like I was supposed to run after him. I even dropped my saw, ready to get him when Pete stopped me. Or maybe just stopped me long enough to second guess myself.” He shook his head. “I still wonder if I should have gone after him.”
“And what—put him over your shoulder and drag him away? You know Jock—he was like you. He wouldn’t give up.”
“Bullheaded is the term, I think.”
“Or just the guy you can depend on.”
He drew in a long breath, glanced down at her. “But not the guy who makes the right decisions.”
“And how can you? You can’t see the full picture. You just have to go with your instinct. But...God has an aerial view. He knows where to guide us. We just have to trust Him.”
“Even when it doesn’t turn out the way we hope—even when people die?”
She wished she could reach inside Reuben’s heart, put a hand around his grief, work it free. “I know I sound like a preacher’s kid right now, but my dad says that the only way we can have peace with our decisions and choices is if we trust God.”
“And if we don’t think God is on our side? What then? Because, really, Gilly, why would God help a guy like me?”
Oh, Rube. She knew what it was like to feel like you weren’t enough, that somehow you were destined to fail despite your best efforts.
She went quiet then, blinked. “Or a girl like me.”
“Huh?”
She took a breath, not sure how to explain the burning to tell him… “I didn’t tell you why I was walking home so late that night I was attacked.”
His gaze was on her now, so much compassion in his eyes that she had to look away.
“I was making out with a hotshot from the Jude County base.”
He said nothing, just steady breathing as he listened. His barrel chest rising and falling as he probably imagined the scenario.
“It was a stupid summer fling, and I knew I wasn’t behaving like a preacher’s kid should. But he made me feel pretty and told me that he was in love with me…”
Reuben stiffened, sitting up. Gave her an expression that looked very much like the one she’d seen at Brownie’s when he’d asked her if Brownie was the one who’d attacked her.
As if he would like, very much, to tunnel back through time and revisit the moment.
Her voice quickened. “I didn’t let it go all the way, but far enough, and I was feeling pretty guilty. I didn’t let him drive me home like he offered, and then…that’s when it happened.” She looked up at him. “So, you see, I sort of deserved—”
“Are you kidding me?” The power of Reuben’s voice thundered under her skin, jarred something loose. “You actually think that you deserved to get attacked?”
Even as he said it, she knew it sounded stupid. “I know. My brain says it doesn’t make sense, but in my heart, I feel it.”
His countenance softened then. “Oh, Gilly.”
She lifted a shoulder, but tears filmed her eyes.
“That’s why you’re always trying to act like you don’t need help, right? Because you’re afraid if you do, God won’t show up, because deep down inside you fear you’re not worthy of help.”
And see, she knew he could look at her, see through her. She bit her lip, nodded.
He searched her face. “We’re a pair, aren’t we? It’s a miracle we survived a plane crash and a burning building with God not on our side.”
She frowned then, his words settling into her bones.
“God is on our side, Reuben. At least I want to believe that, even if my heart tells me I’m not worth it.”
He nodded, as if her words might be making sense.
“My dad always preaches that we have to believe God when He says He loves us and has a good plan for our lives. That’s how we get peace for today and bright hope for tomorrow, like the hymn says. But only if we trust in Him.”
“Because if we try and fight our own battles, then how do we know God is saving us—or it’s in our own strength?” Reuben said softly.
She looked at him. “Right.”
“My dad used to tell us Bible stories, and I remember this one he loved about a battle Jehoshaphat fought. This huge Moabite army is invading Israel, and Jehoshaphat pleads with God for deliverance, and God says to him, basically, don’t be afraid, because the battle is not yours but God’s. Dad used to say that to me. ‘Reuben, just stand, do your part, and see the salvation of the Lord on your behalf.’ I remember once being frustrated that I’d missed a tackle and let the runner score. I was trying to anticipate the runner, and he juked me out.”
“Which means?”
“He fooled me. Left me on my face in the middle of the field. My dad told me afterward to just get up, don’t panic, and keep playing my position, just like Jehoshaphat.”
“So did God save Jehoshaphat?”
“Yep. The Moabites actually ended up killing each other. Israel did nothing to win, and in fact, just went down the battlefield and picked up all the spoils of war. And they hadn’t fought at all.”
“Now you sound like a preacher’s kid,” Gilly said.
Reuben leaned back, settled his arm around her.
Silence fell around them, the smell of smoke drifting in the air or perhaps off their clothes, the sounds of the forest around them, a chirrup, the far-off howl of a wolf.
She turned to him. “God is on your side, Reuben, and I’ll prove it.”
He glanced at her. “How?”
She swallowed, thrumming up the courage to believe the words she’d just spoken. “When we get back, you should ask me to dance with you again at the Hotline.”
He blinked at her, a half frown, half smile on his face. “Oh, you don’t want to do that.”
“Try me.”
It was the texture of her words, the softness of them that startled her.
Because not only had she just invited Reuben into her life but maybe, at the moment, into her arms.
And, by the way he was looking at her, he had read her meaning clearly.
She swallowed, and he searched her face a long moment.
“I really have to kiss you,” he said softly.
She nodded, and he brought his hand up, cupped it around her neck, drew her close.
And then he was kissing her. Sweetly, with enough passion to suggest he might be thirsty for her, but gentle enough not to spook her. He smelled of fire, yes, and sweat, and tasted salty, but she couldn’t help but reach up and finally, finally run her fingers through that tempting thatch of whiskers. He made a sound of approval, and she felt something inside her release.
Reuben. Here, right here, yes, she could believe that she didn’t have to be tough, didn’t have to be brave. Could let go, let him hold her.
Protect her.
She curled her hand around his neck and sank into him, kissing him back with a hunger she didn’t expect. Didn’t understand.
But for the first time—ever—she felt totally safe.
In fact, as he settled his arms around her, she realized… Gone was the shudder of revulsion, the rise of panic, the tumult of horror.
Just Reuben and his arms around her, kissing her with such tenderness it made her ache. She opened her mouth, deepened her kiss, and it wasn’t long before he pulled away, his eyes wide, trembling a little.
“You know how to keep a man awake,” he said.
“I feel it’s my duty as your teammate to do everything I can to help you stay alive.”
“You’re the best smokejumper I’ve ever met,” he said with a smile.