Chapter Eleven
It didn’t change anything. That’s what Abbi told herself when she woke up in his arms.
It wasn’t like they hadn’t slept together before. And just because now they’d slept together didn’t mean they were…actually together.
Or that they hadn’t come to walk the ridgeline for completely different reasons.
Or that anything between them changed the fact that he was leaving on August nineteenth, no matter what they pretended to anyone else.
Which meant whatever this was—and it wasn’t anything, not really—she had to stop looking at him that way.
The rain hadn’t lasted very long and the dry ground, so starved for water, had already soaked everything in. Clouds were lifting in great white waves from the peaks. Looking out at the view, thinking about the wildfire threat, Abbi reminded herself to stay focused. There was still so much she had to do.
But it was hard when Tyler looked even better than if he’d come to her freshly showered, smelling of aftershave and shampoo rather than pine needles and earth.
Harder still when he kissed her, brought her coffee, and rubbed his hands over her arms to keep her warm in the chilly morning air.
She wanted to grab the GPS from his hands and smash it against the rocks. She wanted to call off work and spend the whole day lounging at the campsite. Couldn’t they stay up here forever, without the rest of the world having to intrude?
Then she saw Tyler flip through his notes and knew that it didn’t matter what he’d panted in her ear last night. How he’d demanded to know what she wanted and she’d answered with the truth: him.
She couldn’t let that cloud her judgment. Even when he stopped talking mid-sentence, smiled, and leaned over to kiss her. Just because.
Things had gotten out of hand one night because she didn’t know any better and another night because, even though she did know better, she’d been stuck so close to him, and she wasn’t superwoman. How could she have been expected to resist?
But when they packed up and continued their walk along the ridge, Abbi began to wonder if maybe something had changed. Maybe there really was something happening here.
He smiled when she pointed out different nests and asked questions about erosion on the mountainsides—a problem that would worsen if more trees were stripped away. For the first time, it felt like he was listening when she outlined the reasons for opposing the break and the angles the Forest Services had conveniently overlooked.
She didn’t want to get ahead of herself. But there was no reason he couldn’t go back to Walker and Chip and say that after further study, he’d concluded that the firebreak wasn’t going to be effective enough to offset the costs of implementation.
He wouldn’t just be doing it for her. He’d be doing it because it was right.
No one who’d surveyed the land so carefully could possibly determine that a firebreak was a necessity here.
And no one who kissed her that way, up against the hood of his truck when they returned, could turn around Monday morning and tell her she’d been wrong.
…
A hot shower after a night in the backcountry—under normal circumstances, Tyler would have described it as the greatest pleasure in the world. Better than real food. Clean clothes.
Better than sex.
But that was before he’d had sex with Abbi. Was anything better than sex with Abbi? He frowned and turned off the water. Just because he knew the answer didn’t mean he should be thinking it. It was way too much and way too soon.
You mean more like way too good, he thought. Because wasn’t that the problem?
After a hard two days of hiking and a night sleeping on the ground, he wanted nothing more than to twist the cap off a cold beer and sink into the couch. But he didn’t have any beer in the house, just whiskey. Whiskey was what Scott would have wanted after a weekend on the trail, and it made him feel like Scott was there to hear the ice crackle as he poured.
And no matter how much it hurt to think of Scotty, it was better than not thinking of him. Tyler wasn’t going to be the kind of shithead who could let his friend die and just move on.
Which meant he wasn’t going to be the kind of shithead who got caught up in the first woman he met and forgot everything else in his life.
He couldn’t afford to be distracted. Not when he had a job on the line. Not when Scott would never have another beautiful view or beautiful woman to drink to ever again.
But telling himself not to think about Abbi wound up being just another way to think about her. Abbi getting out of the shower with him. Abbi’s skin wet and warm.
He’d lick the water from between her breasts. Lift her against the bathroom mirror. The shower wall. Carry her to the bedroom, dripping water down the hall.
Abbi wouldn’t care about the mess. Abbi would dig her fingers in his wet hair and pull.
Fuck, what was wrong with him? He stopped hunting through the fridge for something to take the edge off the whiskey and reached for the phone. Without Scott, there was only one man who could talk any sense into him.
“Tyler, you’re alive!” Aidan picked up right away.
Despite himself, Tyler smiled. “I told you I’d be fine up here.”
“You’re a million miles from palm trees. How is that fine?”
“Fir trees,” Tyler said. “They’re not half bad.”
“If you say so.” Aidan paused, then got down to it. “So, what’s going on?”
It was a simple question. But Tyler heard the edge in Aidan’s voice, the concern he must have felt as soon as he saw who was calling. Enough shooting the shit, Aidan seemed to be saying. Tell me what’s wrong.
Tyler shouldn’t have called. He didn’t want to give Aidan any more reason to worry. He wanted to laugh and say, “Nothing, man. What’s up with you?”
But Aidan knew him too well to fall for that act.
After Tyler finished training and Aidan took him on his first live run, Tyler hadn’t had anyone to go home to. He’d hung out at the fire station in his sweat-stained, sooty work clothes, unsure what to do with himself, until Aidan popped out of his office and demanded he come over, shower, and have dinner with his family.
And here was Aidan, still. Picking up the phone on a Sunday night and asking Tyler what he needed help with.
“It’s this firebreak,” he said, sinking into the sofa. Whoever owned this place had quite the sense of style—the cushions were a dark plaid that wasn’t doing any favors for the room.
“I thought the permits were all set and you were just going to supervise and move on,” Aidan said.
“It might not be so easy,” he admitted.
“Are you having trouble?”
“No,” Tyler said quickly. He definitely shouldn’t have called. What if the real problem was that Tyler couldn’t handle the pressure anymore? Now Aidan would know for sure how inept he’d become, and Tyler would never be able to get a reference for another job again. “It’s not trouble, exactly. But there’s this naturalist—”
Aidan made a noise. “One of those?”
“Sort of.” Tyler paused. “I guess it’s gotten complicated.” But he didn’t explain how.
“Look, Ty, you’ve dealt with this before. There’s always someone who hears ‘bulldozer’ and thinks you’re chopping down a fuckload of trees for no reason. As long as you’ve got state approval, you’re in the clear. Remind them of the benefits, say the Forest Service wants it, and then, honestly, man? Sometimes you have to let it go.”
Aidan was big on letting things go.
Even things that shouldn’t be let go of. Not ever.
But saying that to his former boss was only going to make the guy even more worried that Tyler shouldn’t be up in the woods on his own. So Tyler said, “I got it,” like he knew he was supposed to.
But Aidan wasn’t falling for it. “You want to take care of everybody, Tyler, and that’s not a bad thing. But you can’t miss the bigger picture here.”
Tyler was afraid that was the problem, though.
“What if this one has a point?” he said. “There are a lot of species living in the old growth forest up here. The proposed firebreak won’t help them—and it won’t protect the town from a big blaze. A smaller blaze might even burn out naturally, given the existing geological features.”
“Might,” Aidan repeated. “Are you willing to stake someone’s life on a maybe?”
Tyler swallowed, feeling too hot in his skin. He didn’t need the reminder of what could happen if a fire burned out of control.
Aidan’s voice softened. “We’re always going to save more lives than we lose, Tyler. Even if we can’t protect every nest, we can still protect people’s homes. Don’t go forgetting that’s what you’re there to do.”
“I know,” Tyler said. And he did.
“You finish what the Forest Service hired you for. You need any talking points, you let me know. But I’m serious, McCall. This lady isn’t your problem, and you don’t have to make her one. Besides, if you really want to move into management, you know as well as I do that you need this to go well.” Tyler heard a wail in the background, and then Aidan said, “Shit, I have to run. Will just woke up. You need anything else, you call me. Don’t hesitate. Got it?”
“Thanks, boss,” Tyler said, trying to sound cheerful, like that chat had really helped.
Like his problem was some “lady” proving herself to be a nuisance. Someone he could easily dismiss instead of someone who’d managed to work her way into his every waking thought.
But Aidan was right. Of course he was. Abbi couldn’t hold sway over him.
This was Tyler’s job, the one reason he’d come to Gold Mountain. If he couldn’t do this, then what use was he?