Chapter 7
The early dawn pressed away the shadow from the creek bank, back into the folds of the trees, the smell of pine thick in the morning dew. The faintest hint of smoke hung in the air—Reuben guessed the Davis Canyon fire must be growing. Which meant that his team was even closer to trouble. And although he and Gilly still sat in a pocket of shadow, he could see enough to realize the truth.
She wasn’t going anywhere on that knee.
Gilly sat with her back to the boulder, her mouth in a grim line of pain. He’d had to widen the rip in her pants to get a good look at her knee. How she’d walked on it, how she’d half dragged him through the forest, he couldn’t imagine.
She was a toughie.
The morning light revealed their battle from last night. Gilly wore the scrapes and bruises of their flight through the forest, grime on her face, her jumpsuit so grubby she might have rolled in the dirt. She had, actually, as she’d fled the cabin. Her dark auburn hair had come undone from her ponytail, but determination lit her beautiful blue eyes.
Yeah, she would have made a fantastic smokejumper. He wished he’d known her back when she was trying out. He would’ve figured out a way to tap into that fighter inside, get her out the door and into the sky.
Now, at his touch on her knee, she winced, one eye closing.
“You should have told me it was this bad. You were holding me up for hours—”
“I was fine.”
“You were not fine. I should have been carrying you.”
Although in his condition, no, he couldn’t have carried anyone. His head still throbbed, but at least the roaring headache had lessened, and he no longer had the urge to retch, the world no longer a whirl.
He could confess that it’d helped that she’d curled against him all night—maybe for warmth, but he considered it medicinal. A way for him to stay awake, his entire being ultra-aware of holding her in his arms.
He couldn’t believe how far twenty-four hours had taken them. Just throw in a plane crash, being held at gunpoint, and nearly being burned alive to take the awkward out of their, um—relationship?
He wasn’t sure what to call what had happened between them. Survival-induced kissing? Moral support? One heck of a fantastic teammate?
He knew what he wanted to call it, but he’d been halfway to true love before they got on the plane, thanks to the Fountain Lake fire, and especially since that little blue dress.
Even if he hadn’t been trying to stay alert long after she’d fallen asleep in his arms, he would have sat there watching the moon trace her face, glide over the petite nose, the high, graceful cheekbones, the tiny perfect, kissable mouth. And wow that mouth could kiss. At that thought, a tiny ball of rage formed in his gut. Simmered. Turned to live coals.
The story of her attack had kept him awake as the night turned to grays, then rose-golds, and finally enough light for him to stir them to action.
If he ever caught the man who’d…well, he wouldn’t have any trouble figuring out what to do, and he wouldn’t spend one moment letting regret stare at him in the mirror.
In fact, the entire story and everything she’d done to keep him alive made what he was about to say stick in his throat, a burning snag lodged there.
He couldn’t leave her behind. But with her knee the size of a prize-winning cantaloupe, she couldn’t walk, either.
“I need to carry you.”
She looked up at him, then back at his hands cupping her enormous, whitened knee, and shook her head. “No, I can walk.”
He didn’t want to, but frankly, Gilly had girl-who-won’t-quit written all over her, so, although it put a fist in his gut, he leaned back, stood up, and held out his hand. “Get up and prove it.”
Her jaw ground tight, and she reached out, grabbed his hand. Used her other leg to stand up on. Then he let go and backed away.
And felt like a class-A jerk when she tried a step, cried out, and started to fall.
He caught her easily, hoisted her up in his arms. “Babe, I think we both know the truth here.”
“You’re not carrying me.” She pressed her hands to his chest. “You’re still recovering from a concussion, and we’re running out of time. Don’t tell me you’re not a little worried about Patrick and Brownie finding the team.”
“I’m out of my mind with worry.”
“Me too. Which is why you have to put me down.”
He drew in a breath.
“And leave me here.”
He stilled, his body going cold. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Yes, absolutely.” She was wriggling now, pushing against him, and well, she already had issues with being held against her will, so he set her down. Gently. Knelt next to her.
She might be a little right, because the world could still spin on its axis if he moved too fast. But for now, he was upright, could think clearly—or mostly clearly.
Because a part of him was seriously considering her words.
“No—”
“Shh. I’m fine here. We’re what—a couple miles at least from the cabin? And yeah, we probably made a trail like a bulldozer through the woods, but I doubt Patrick is looking for us. He thinks we’re dead, remember?”
He remembered most of it. Nodded.
“So, see, we’re the last things on their minds right now. Whereas the team is in jeopardy every minute we sit here arguing.” She reached into the pack, pulled out a canister of water, a power bar, and her silver fire tent.
“I’ll spread this out—it’ll be a reflector, and when you call in for help, tell them to look for me. The PEAK Rescue chopper can swing by and pick me up.”
“I’m not leaving you here—”
She pressed her hands against his face, her pretty blue eyes staring up at him, and, yes, deep inside he saw a flickering fear. But along with that, a determination and a jaw-tightening courage that reached out to him, wrapped a hand around his heart.
“Yes. You are. I’ll be fine. Go up the mountain, Frodo, find the lookout tower, call for help, and…” Her mouth edged up in a wry smile. “I’ll be waiting for you when you get back.”
He started to reply, but she pulled him toward her and silenced him with a kiss.
Something solid and resolute, and thank goodness he wasn’t dreaming last night. Because although he hadn’t thought he’d fallen asleep, the memory of kissing Gilly, of this woman kissing him back, surrendering herself into his embrace, seemed like some kind of delicious dream.
But here she was again, kissing him like she meant it. Like she didn’t have a crazy amount of baggage.
And like she did fully expect him to come back to her. She pulled away and met his eyes. “I know that disaster lends itself to powerful emotions, but Reuben, you’re exactly the man I thought you were. So, please, go up that mountain and bring our team home.”
And what, really, could he say to that?
He kissed her again, put his crazy rush of emotions into it, then released her and got up. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“I know.”
I know. So much in those two words. He held onto them as he rappelled down the fifty feet into the ravine. Unlike the other ravine into the creek, this edge jutted out, and he free-rappelled down.
She might have made it, but with her climbing skills, more likely she would have ended upside down.
Back in his arms.
Reuben hit the creek bottom, regret like a fist in his throat. The only way we can have peace with our decisions and choices is if we trust God.
He started down the creek, hearing her voice.
Okay, God. You’re on point.
Reuben found a scalable cliff on the opposite side and climbed up. Casting a look at the over the gulf he couldn’t see Gilly—now tucked away in the forest—and it gave him some measure of peace.
Then, in the hope that she could see him, he lifted his hand in a wave before he started through the trees.
He settled his bearings first thing—found the Garver Mountain Lookout Tower and headed southeast, affixing its location to the sun, calibrating it as he headed east.
He moved three times as quickly without Gilly, something he reluctantly admitted as he stopped for a drink. An hour later, he hit a forest road.
The sun arched overhead, still early morning, and a breeze caught the sounds of blackbirds and chickadees calling, the stir of the wind through the busy white pine, their long needles cradling thick pine cones. It always amazed him, the rebirth of a forest after a fire, the release of seeds into the ground from the cones under heat.
As if creation was made to flourish even under suffering. Start anew, despite the ashes.
His words to Gilly hung in his head as he spotted the lookout tower some five hundred yards ahead. Now it’s too late. Dad is dead, Knox is running the ranch. I can’t go back.
But what if he could?
Except, where would that leave him and—well, what he’d discovered with Gilly?
Which was…?
He could still feel her kiss on his mouth, her small compact body nestled against his.
Yes, he would definitely take her up on that dance when they got off this mountain.
The trail had turned nearly vertical, and his breath razored in his chest as he climbed from one boulder to the next, up the trail dissected by lean, towering spruce, mossy boulders, and tufts of red paintbrush.
It led to a log cabin, the original lookout now squatty and dilapidated, the front porch sagging in on itself. A few yards away, the lookout tower, a square building with a 360-degree view of the Cabinet Mountains, sat on stilts at the apex of the mountain. A set of stairs zig-zagged up to the top, and Reuben stopped for a moment, breathing hard, his head pounding, the rush of blood in his brain thumping with his heartbeat.
He looked around, getting his bearings. To the east was the ripple of mountains in Glacier National Park, hazy purple along a cloudless blue sky.
To the north and west, the forested hills dropped off, fell hundreds of feet to the creek, a view filled with thick Fraser fir, white pine, and rolling foothills.
And above it all, a roiling cloud of gray smoke filled the sky. He tried to calculate Gilly’s position.
He’d thought the smoke was from the Davis Canyon fire. But if he read the sky and the terrain correctly, smoke scarred the sky from two wildfires.
One in the distance, due west.
And one closer, larger, straight down Garver Mountain, over the creek, and headed right for Gilly.
The Brownings’ cabin had ignited the entire forest.
And Gilly, sitting in the grove of pine trees, facing east toward the creek, had no idea an inferno bore down on her.
Reuben’s hands slicked with sweat as he opened the door to the lookout.
Get help. Get back down the mountain.
Over the years, the place had turned into a bivouac for campers, an overnight nest for rental. Still, the old fire-lookout equipment remained, including the old Osborne Fire Finder, a type of turning board over a map that helped pinpoint the fires, along with a table, chairs, and a bunk large enough for two. Someone had stocked the shelves with toilet paper, kindling for the wood stove, and water.
Please, God, let there be a radio.
The prayer felt wrenched from deep inside and left him hollow a long moment.
He searched the cupboards, the desk, and the square table under the fire finder. Nothing. He tore apart the bed, searched through the meager supplies, a keen eye on the blackening cloud.
No radio. He sat on the bed, breathing out hard, his head in his hands. How could the lookout tower not have a radio?
He picked up the lantern, threw it across the room where it shattered, and gripped his knees, the world spinning.
He fell and landed on all fours, nearly banging his head on the fire finder table. Sat back against the bed, breathing hard.
So much for trusting God.
Because guess what—Gilly was down there by herself in the middle of a firestorm, and he’d hiked up the mountain for nothing. Reuben should have known that he was on his own here.
He couldn’t breathe as he pushed himself to his feet, one thought carrying him.
Get back to Gilly.
Voices. Laughter. They trickled up to him, carried on the breeze. He stepped out onto the balcony and looked over the balcony. Down below, two bicyclers, their mountain bikes perched on their shoulders, stared at the black smoke.
He wanted to weep with relief. Or at least hope.
“Hello!” It hurt to yell, but he pulled himself to the edge. “Hello!”
A man and a woman, early thirties. They wore biking clothing, helmets and backpacks.
The man looked up at him. Waved.
“Do you have a cell phone?” Reuben yelled.
“It doesn’t work up here. But we have a shortwave, handheld.”
“I’m with the forest service—can I use it to report the fire?”
They climbed up the steps as Reuben used the fire finder and the smoke from the Davis Canyon fire to line up his best guess of the crash site.
Then he pinpointed Gilly’s location.
The man reached the top, breathing easy. His dark hair curled out from his biking helmet, and with his lean, toned body, could probably bike for miles without stopping.
He looked at Reuben—bloody, filthy, sweaty—and stopped in the doorway. “You all right, man?”
“No,” Reuben snapped. “I’m a smokejumper, my plane went down yesterday, I have two team members dying, one already dead, and my girlfriend”—yes, he said it—“is in the path of that fire.” He pointed to the closest blaze.
The man just stared at him, then handed him his radio. “I’m not sure what range you’ll get—”
Then Reuben’s brain, for what seemed like the first time in his life, went blank. The emergency frequency simply slipped from his mind. Like butter, he couldn’t get a grip on it.
But, in the space came the sudden recollection of Brownie’s words—Patrick had a portable radio. And wasn’t it Brownie’s suggestion to use the emergency frequency?
Which meant if Patrick were smart, he’d be listening to the fire service line.
The only thing Reuben latched onto was a memory of the frequency listed on Conner’s box. He turned to that frequency, listened.
“CQ, this is an emergency call to WB6KHP from…” He paused, then decided to break a few rules. “Reuben. Conner, you there?”
He waited, listening. Then again. “This is an emergency call to WB6KHP. Conner, come in.”
He knew any legitimate ham operator out there would be cringing, but he didn’t have time—or inclination—to care. He moved to the window, watching the smoke.
“I have binoculars—”
“Marshall, this is WB6KHP.”
Conner’s response through the line made Reuben brace his hand on the table, his knees turning liquid.
“Where are you?” Conner said. “We lost you on radar after takeoff. Sent in two planes—we can’t find you.”
“We went down just southeast of Davis Canyon, about nine clicks from Pete Creek, between Mushroom and Black Top.” And this was why he’d called Conner. Because if Patrick were listening on the emergency frequency, he’d be heading exactly for his team’s position.
“Roger that.” Conner’s voice betrayed no shock, but he imagined his friend’s jaw tightening. “Sit rep?”
“Two injured, one casualty.” He paused and then added, “Cliff O’Dell. We need aerial extraction. Call in PEAK Rescue.”
“Roger.”
Static on the line, then. “What is your position?”
“Garver Mountain Lookout Tower. We—Gilly and I—hiked out. We need a pickup on Forest Road 338 near the Pete Creek crossing.”
“Roger that, on our way.”
Reuben closed his eyes, refrained from adding hurry.
He handed the radio back to the man.
“Jim Rudini,” the man said. “That’s my girlfriend, Darcy.”
Reuben shook his hand, nodded to Darcy. “Thanks, man. Reuben Marshall.” He stepped back out onto the balcony, cupped his hand over his eyes.
It seemed the blaze near Pete Creek had doubled since he’d first noticed it, but that might just be his darkest fears alighting inside him. Still, the flames shot above the trees as the fire gathered strength, burning bright orange. Black smoke boiled up from the middle.
“That’s quite a fire.”
Jim held binoculars to his eyes.
Reuben barely refrained from ripping them from his hands. “Do you—could I—?”
Jim handed them over, and Reuben scanned the forest for any sign of Gilly’s roost.
He located Pete Creek, then followed the creek through the trees, down toward the road, back into the forest.
No—oh—
As his eyes traveled downstream, the smoke thickened, a storm of flame washing over the cliff’s edge.
Right where he’d left Gilly.
Reuben’s throat tightened, a fist clamped around his heart. Especially when he spotted his rappel rope dangling down the edge.
As he watched, flames crawled out from the forest, chewing at the rope, running a smoky finger down the nylon.
Then the fire burst out of the forest, candling the trees, consuming brush, trees, moss, loam—
Gilly.
He was shaking.
“You said your girlfriend was down there?”
Reuben could barely nod.
“Need a lift to the road?”
If she died on this cliff, Reuben would never forgive himself. That much Gilly knew as she dragged herself to the edge.
The minute she’d woke to the smell of smoke, the fingers of gray drifting through the trees warning her of the advancing flames, she’d pushed herself to her feet.
Listened hard. She could hear it, the crackle and pop of sparks, the sizzle of bushes alighting, and behind it all, the roar of the wall of flames building speed as they consumed the forest.
She’d stepped out then and crumpled right there on the forest floor, her face in the dirt. Her cries echoed against the increasing roar.
She didn’t know fires as well as Reuben or any of the other team members, but it didn’t take an expert to figure out that she needed to move to safety, and fast.
For a long moment, she considered using the fire shelter, kicking it out, rolling into it. But without gloves, without fire protection, without the ability to hold the shelter down with her legs—and that meant her destroyed knee, too—she hadn’t a chance.
She’d discarded the shelter and started to army crawl to the cliff, the smoke thick, tufting the air, turning the world to a war zone.
The roaring had turned to a locomotive thundering behind her. She’d glanced back, saw flames flickering around blackening poplars and birch, turning pine trees to bushy torches a hundred feet in her wake, bright through the smoke.
She’d gotten up on her feet, duck crawled, then pushed to a stand, moaning as the pain rocketed up her leg. She lunged from one tree to the next, tumbling out, finally, to the cliff’s edge.
The rope dangled where Reuben had used it to rappel, and she lay on her stomach, looking down.
Fifty feet, and most of it just air, nothing to grab onto should she lose her grip.
Worse, she didn’t have a clue where the harness might be. Or gloves. Or—
The fire hissed in the trees behind her, an earth-shaking explosion as a tree torched. The heat pressed a hand to her back, and she rolled over to see a great cottonwood crowning above her.
She had a minute. Maybe.
Die on the cliff or fall to her death.
Oh, God, those couldn’t be the only two choices! Her heart turned to a fist, fighting to escape her chest.
The fact that she’d wanted to be a smokejumper seared through her. Laughable. What had possessed her to ever think she could save her team? She was going to turn to ash, right here on the edge of the cliff, a wretched reminder that she was no more cut out to be a smokejumper than she was a baker.
In fact, if she hadn’t demanded to join Reuben on the hike out, everyone would probably be rescued right now.
God is on our side, Reuben.
Her words yesterday seemed caustic and stupid in the face of the inferno some twenty feet away.
I’m sorry, Reuben.
This would take him apart—knowing he couldn’t be here to save her. The regret would gnaw at him, consume him whole.
All because she’d demanded that she had to save everyone instead of realizing—embracing—the truth. She was trying way too hard to prove herself, just like Jared, her bomber copilot had said.
And now she was in her over her head.
Reuben’s words reverberated back to her. 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.
Yeah, well, maybe she wasn’t.
A broken branch fell near her, blackened, sizzling, and she scooted back along the edge with a scream.
She needed to get off this cliff.
She scrabbled for the rope but fire had caught it, and it began to sizzle. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t use it.
Smoke thickened the air, sooted her eyes, and they watered, blinding her. Her nose ran, and she coughed as she kept scooting along the cliff, her hand running over the rocky edge, dragging herself as the fire licked out from the forest.
In seconds the inferno would simply explode out over the ravine.
And burn her alive. Already her skin felt charred, and she turned her face away as she scrabbled backwards along the cliffs edge.
Just stand, do your part, and see the salvation of the Lord on your behalf. Right. Well, God, if you ever want to show up—
Suddenly, Gilly fell back, as if the rock had given way. For a second, she thought she’d scooted right over the edge.
But no—she whacked her spine, and only then did she realize she’d fallen into a rivulet in the cliff.
She pushed herself out, rolled over, felt the rock, and discovered not a rivulet, but a crack, about a foot wide, parting the rock wall.
She could fit into it. And maybe if it went far enough down... She flipped around, backed herself into the space, wedging herself into the opening, searching for footholds. Tongues of flame lapped at her hands, and she clenched her jaw.
She finally ducked down, scrubbing her back against one side, her good knee against the other side, pushing against her hands as she lowered herself into the cleft of the rock. Moss and roots layered the granite walls, the smell earthy, thick with the heavy breath of trapped moisture.
Three feet, then five, then ten. She inched down. The crevasse seemed to be widening, but she kept going, working her way into the darkness. She scrabbled for nooks and holds for her hands, her legs. As she descended, the trapped, cool air cleared her eyes, her throat.
Above her, the fire roared, roasting the forest. Her heart thundered, but she didn’t look up, feeding on the air from the creek bed, feeling the heat as it searched for her.
Twenty feet down, the crevasse opened up, and she wedged herself back onto a ledge, a lip of six inches, her mouth near the mossy, cool granite.
Only then did she look up. The fire had turned the sky a ghastly orange, cinders blowing in a tornado of wind, blaze, and fury. Embers blew down the crevasse, and she tucked herself back, letting them blow out to the river below. The water reflected the storm, glistening red and black, deep burnt orange.
Hell, right here outside her pocket of safety.
She wrapped her arms around herself, fighting the tremor that started in her gut, moved out to her chest, her breath.
Then she curled herself against the cool, solid embrace of the rock and wept.