“WHY DON’T WE cook that steak I brought along,” Brian suggested. “I’m hungry. How about you?”
It took a moment for Taylor to realize she was famished. She’d been so busy dropping smoke jumpers all day she’d missed both lunch and dinner. “I could eat a bite or two.”
She wrapped her arms tightly around her chest to steady nerves that were still on edge, as Brian dug a fire pit with his Swiss army knife in a spot that was mostly dirt. He used paper from a small notebook he’d brought along and shavings from limbs that weren’t burned through for kindling, and added a few thicker branches on top from the charred tree that blocked the entrance. He lit the fire with a match from the tin he’d carried in his PG bag.
“You made that look easy,” Taylor said.
He waggled his eyebrows. “I’m as good at starting fires as I am at putting them out.”
Taylor couldn’t believe he was joking at a time like this. Her composure was rattled, and she was barely holding herself together. But if Brian could conquer his fear, so could she. “What can I do to help?”
“Check my bag. See if you can find that potato wrapped in foil. When the fire’s hot enough, we’ll throw it on the coals.”
“Steak and a baked potato? On a fire line? Who knew?”
“You forgot about the pork and beans.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Not my favorite.”
“Sorry the menu is so limited, but food is food. Unfortunately, we don’t have a lot of it. So, no beans tonight. At some point, we’re going to have to take inventory and figure out how much—or little—we can eat every day. While you’re scrounging, see if you can find the skillet I dropped in there when I was cleaning out the pockets of my Kevlar trousers.”
She held it up and shook her head in disbelief. “For heaven’s sake, Brian. You brought along a frying pan?”
He lifted a dark brow. “You expected me to impale my steak on a stick and hold it over the fire like some Neanderthal? We smoke jumpers are civilized human beings.”
She laughed as she handed him the pan and lobbed the foil-wrapped potato at him. “This is ridiculous. All of this.” She turned in a circle, her hands widespread. “I can’t believe this is happening. We’re going to have a steak dinner in a cave where we’re trapped with no way out.”
“I haven’t investigated the rest of our humble abode yet,” Brian said. “I noticed it narrows at the other end, but I was only looking for more wildlife. There may, in fact, be another way out.”
Taylor turned to study the opposite end of the cave. It was murky and musky-smelling. She felt Brian’s hand on her shoulder, before he turned her and gently urged her into his embrace.
“There’s no sense worrying now, Tag,” he murmured. “We can’t go anywhere until the fire outside dies down. Meanwhile, we’re both safe.”
Taylor laid her cheek against his chest. She could hear his heart thumping hard and fast beneath his T-shirt, so he wasn’t as calm as he wanted her to think. She hoped he couldn’t tell how distraught she was. She’d flown a lot of smoke jumpers in life-threatening conditions, and staying cool in an emergency was one of her best qualities.
Besides, it wasn’t the idea of being trapped that was freaking her out. It was the idea of being trapped in the dark. “Am I wearing the only headlamp?”
He ducked down under the light and looked her in the eye. “Afraid so.”
“How long do these batteries last?”
She was surprised when Brian answered with a precise number. “Twenty-two hours on high beam—”
She turned to face him directly, and he squinted as the light hit him in the eyes. “That’s less than a day!”
“And a hundred and sixty hours on low,” he finished.
Taylor backed out of his arms. She tried to do the math in her head but was too anxious to think clearly. “How many days is that?”
“Six for sure. Maybe seven, if the batteries last as long as they’re supposed to last. Those have been in there for a while.”
“These batteries aren’t new?”
“No.”
Taylor realized the numbers had been on the tip of Brian’s tongue because he’d need to know that information when he and his team were left in the wilderness for days at a time fighting a fire. She had a sudden thought and asked, “Do we have more batteries?”
“I’ve got four more in my PG bag.”
Taylor didn’t speak the unspeakable. If they weren’t found before the extra set of batteries wore out, she would be alone with Brian in the dark until they were. Her stomach did a quick somersault but didn’t land on its feet. She felt queasy. Surely they would be able to figure out some way to get out of here. Or they’d be found.
It occurred to her that they would be turning the lamp off when they were asleep, so maybe six days could be stretched to twelve. Or maybe fourteen. And they had time left on these batteries.
She had another thought that put an ironic, idiotic grin on her face, a sure sign of how out of it she was. We’re probably going to starve to death, or die of thirst, long before the batteries wear out.
Taylor hadn’t said she needed reassurance, but Brian’s strong arms folded around her again. She released an anxious breath as she pressed her cheek against his and slid her arms around his waist. He didn’t say anything. Neither did she. They simply stood there and held each other.
She was reminded of why she’d liked Brian so much in high school. He was the one boy who’d always held her after sex. Taylor wondered what had made him do something so wonderful, something that, in her experience, wasn’t typical teenage-boy behavior. Especially since there had never been anything like love involved in their brief relationship. Well, Brian might have said the word “love” once upon a time, but she hadn’t believed him.
It was a wonder they’d stayed together as long as they had. Three months was an eternity to a fifteen-year-old girl, especially since Taylor had never been good at keeping a boyfriend. Her twin had accused her of dropping the boys she dated, like half-eaten apples, before the thought of dropping her could form in their minds.
“I’m just cutting my losses,” she told Vick in her defense. “It wouldn’t have lasted anyway.” As far as Taylor was concerned, it was better to be the one leaving than the one being left.
With his black hair and blue eyes, his broad shoulders and athletic build, she’d thought Brian Flynn was hot. When she’d mentioned that fact in the kitchen one night, her eldest sister, Leah, had told her in no uncertain terms, “Stay away from him. Don’t speak to him. Don’t even look at him. He’s trouble you don’t need.”
Leah had good reason for the warning. Their father, King Grayhawk, and Brian’s father, Angus Flynn, had been mortal enemies for more years than anyone could count. Their battle had been taken up by the four youngest Grayhawk girls, better known around Jackson Hole as King’s Brats, and Angus’s four boys.
What had begun as pranks played on one another—shaving a patch of hair from a competition 4-H cow or putting salt in a competition 4-H cherry pie—had graduated, as they became teenagers, to letting the air out of all four tires or encasing an entire truck in Saran wrap in below-zero temperatures. Until finally, it had morphed into something more hazardous—like sliced saddle cinches during a junior rodeo competition that had resulted in a broken arm for Taylor’s youngest sister, Eve, and a broken leg for Brian’s eldest brother, Aiden.
Needless to say, there was no love lost between Grayhawks and Flynns when Taylor had turned her eyes toward Brian. But Leah telling her to stay away from him was like telling her not to touch a hot stove. She had to test it, to see if it really was going to burn her.
She watched Brian roughhouse with his jock friends on the way to class. Watched him attack his sack lunch in the cafeteria. Sat in the stands during football practice and watched him run wind sprints. He must have noticed all that attention, because he started saying, “Hi,” whenever they passed each other in the hall. She put her nose in the air and pretended she wasn’t interested.
One day, he didn’t let her get away with walking past him. He stepped in front of her, stopping her in her tracks. “Hi.”
Nothing more. Nothing to make it any easier for her. Heart slamming against her rib cage, she glanced up at him from beneath lowered lashes, her most successful flirting technique.
He didn’t let her get away with that, either. He slid a forefinger under her chin and lifted her face so she was forced to meet his gaze. “I said, ‘Hi.’ ”
She felt a blush rising and had no idea how to stop it. “Hi.” It came out sounding like some movie starlet, whispery and breathless.
His lips tilted in a lopsided smile. “Now that I have your attention, how about going out with me on Friday night?”
She jerked free. “Are you crazy?”
“Not that I’ve noticed. How about it?”
“You’re a—”
“Flynn,” he finished for her. “So what? I’ve always thought this whole feud thing was ridiculous. I don’t see why we have to be a part of it.”
Taylor was thrown for a loop. Now that she’d caught the tiger by the tail, she had no idea what to do with him. She had visions of Vick catching them together and tattling to Leah. Vick saw things in black and white. Rules were rules. Besides, Taylor was a lot more concerned about getting caught disobeying Leah than she was about disappointing one of “those awful Flynn boys.” After their mother had run off with one of their father’s cowhands, ten-year-old Leah had taken her place and raised her three much younger half sisters.
Taylor let her eyes flash with disdain. “I wouldn’t date you if you were—”
He laughed, a soft, teasing sound. “You’ve been wagging that tail of yours at me like some lost puppy for the past three weeks.” Then his eyes did something funny. Softened. And lightened. His callused thumb moved across her cheek in a tender caress. “I’ve always had a soft spot for strays.”
She felt horrified at his characterization of her as someone who wandered through life without any particular purpose or destination, mostly because it was so close to the mark. But it was too late to escape. She’d already fallen headlong into those two deep, dangerous blue pools that remained focused intently on her.
So Taylor went out with him.
She convinced herself she wasn’t betraying her family. She endured without comment the censuring looks Leah gave her at the supper table when, inevitably, her older sister found out. She told Vick that she was merely on a mission to get Brian to fall for her so she could dump him. It would simply be one more trick played by one of King’s Brats on one of “those awful Flynn boys.” She almost believed it herself.
Things hadn’t gone at all as she’d planned.
Taylor wondered how Brian had known she needed closeness and comfort all those years ago. And how he’d known she needed it now. She was heartened by the thought that, although she was probably going to die in this cold, creepy place, at least she wasn’t going to die all alone.
“Brian?”
“What?”
She lifted her head from his chest and pointed toward the spot where her light had been aimed. “There’s water streaming down that stone wall.”
Brian took several steps, following the beam of light, and pressed his hand against the wall. “I’ll be damned.”
Taylor followed him to the wall and drifted her fingers through the cool stream of water trickling down the stone. It collected in a six-inch-round pool at the bottom, then ran in a groove along the wall toward the back of the cave. “Do you suppose we can drink it?”
“If the choice is between dying of thirst and drinking it, yeah, I think we can drink it.” A grin flashed, and he gave her a quick, hard hug before letting her go again. “I suddenly feel a lot better about being stuck in here. Maybe, while that potato cooks, we’d better take inventory and see just how bad off we are.”
The good news was that the PG bag contained the two quart plastic bottles of water he’d retrieved from the cargo box. Once they were emptied, Taylor was sure Brian could figure out a way to refill them from the water streaming down the wall. The bad news was that most of the food—a three-day supply of dried and canned food and two more bottles of fresh water that had been in the cargo box—had never made it inside.
At least they had a sleeping bag—big enough for one. That should make things interesting.
Brian’s personal gear bag was a treasure trove of odds and ends. The items that seemed most useful to her included a flashlight with extra batteries, a T-shirt, baby wipes, ibuprofen, a brand-new bar of Irish Spring soap, a toothbrush and paste, and a first-aid kit.
The pickings were slim where food was concerned: two Snickers bars and a McIntosh apple.
When they searched Brian’s Kevlar pants pockets, they found another can of pork and beans and twelve packets of instant coffee.
“Why so much coffee?” she asked.
“When I’m running out of energy I dump a couple of packets in my mouth and swallow them down with water.”
“Dry, unbrewed coffee? That sounds disgusting.”
“Not when it’s three A.M. and the fire is winning and you need the caffeine to stay awake and fight it.”
Taylor marveled, not for the first time, at the tremendous dedication of wildland firefighters. She knew for a fact they often worked forty-eight to seventy-two hour shifts without a break.
“Here’s something we can use,” Brian said, holding up an unmarked plastic bottle filled with brown liquid.
“What is it?”
“My old friend Jack Daniel’s.”
She arched a disbelieving brow. “I thought you smoke jumpers drank coffee on the line, not whiskey.”
“It’s purely medicinal,” he said with a grin and a wink.
She focused her attention back on his pants pocket. “Look what I found! A sweatshirt.”
“I haven’t had a chance to wash that. It might stink.”
She put it to her nose and inhaled. It did smell. Like wood smoke and sweat…and Brian. “I think I can tolerate it.”
She immediately slipped it over her head and stuck her arms in the sleeves, pushing them up so they wouldn’t drape over her fingers.
“Are you still cold?”
“I’m always cold. Too skinny, I guess.”
“Having just held your breasts and your butt in my hands, Tag, I’d say you’re pretty damn perfect.”
Taylor was surprised, and surprisingly pleased, by the compliment. “Thanks, Brian.” As her face began to flush, she turned away for one last check through his trouser pockets, which were now empty. She felt the same way about Brian, except he was more than perfect, but she felt awkward about returning the compliment. That would suggest she’d kept an eye on him all these years. Which was true, of course, but she didn’t want him to know it.
She’d seen the announcement of his wedding in the local paper, and another article when he’d divorced five years later. He’d been single for an entire year, but Taylor had resisted getting in touch with him outside of the work they did together fighting fires—her flying, him jumping. She’d heard high school romances stuck with you for a long time. All she knew was that she’d never felt with another man what she’d felt in those few months she’d spent with Brian Flynn in high school.
Taylor had thought about it a lot and couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was she’d found in Brian’s arms. Peace. Joy. Which were strange words to use for a high school fling. She’d never really sat down to figure it out. She just knew how she’d felt when she was with Brian. Valued. Cherished.
Her feelings for Brian had been as powerful as they were confusing. Respect. Adoration. And something else. Something she’d never named. She’d made a point not to say “I love you,” since she was supposedly only dating him with the intention of breaking up with him.
Fear had kept her from getting in touch with him over the past year. Fear that he would laugh at the very idea. Fear that he would reject her. Fear that she’d imagined all those feelings she’d felt in high school, feelings she’d been unable to re-create with any man since.
Taylor felt Brian’s hand on her shoulder and bit back a surprised gasp.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. You were quiet so long, I wanted to be sure you’re okay.”
She stood up, causing his hand to fall free, aware of his body heat. She noticed how, even though she was tall, her chin came only to his shoulder. Taylor caught a whiff of whatever piney aftershave he’d used that day. She realized she ought to make some explanation for her lengthy silence, but she couldn’t come up with anything.
Instead she said, “I don’t have much to contribute to our store of food and supplies.” She reached into her back jeans pocket. “My phone.” She turned it on and said, “No service,” and threw it onto the pile. She fished into her front jeans pocket. “A granola bar. Squashed, but edible.” She patted her shirt pocket and came out with a package of Kleenex. She held it up so he could see. “That’s it.”
He grimaced. “Pretty slim pickings. At least we have the parachute.”
She watched a smile flash briefly before he added, “We already know it makes a pretty comfortable bed.”
She felt her insides tighten and her nipples bud at the memory of how they’d used the nylon bedding, especially knowing that, with their lovemaking, some threshold had been crossed. The long silence between them had ended. It was up to her what she did with this opportunity. If she’d learned anything from this experience, it was that there were no guarantees in this life. Not even, it seemed, a guarantee of life itself.
Taylor studied the sparse amount of food, then met Brian’s gaze. “How long can we survive on what we have here?”
“Rule of three,” he said with surprising cheerfulness.
“What’s that?”
“Three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks without food. We’ll be hungry, but it’ll take us a while to starve.”
Taylor eyed the two cans of pork and beans, the steak and potato, the apple, the two Snickers, the granola bar, and the packaged coffee. That was it. All the sustenance they had.
Smoke jumpers usually lost weight fighting a fire, since they needed five to six thousand calories of energy each day and didn’t have time to stop and eat enough to sustain themselves. She probably didn’t eat more than twelve hundred.
“What’s the minimum number of calories we can eat and survive long enough to be found?” she asked.
Brian shrugged. For once, he didn’t seem to have the answer. “Whatever it is, we’ll need a lot less if we keep our activities to a minimum.”
Despite Brian’s optimism, their odds of survival seemed slim. Taylor didn’t want to wander through life anymore. She was tired of being the meandering stray Brian had named her so many years ago. She decided to take the risk of asking for something that had seemed impossible as recently as yesterday. “If we’re going to die anyway,” she said, “I don’t see why we can’t enjoy the time we have left.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“That we use that sleeping bag for more than sleeping.”