Chasing Fire Read online

  “I can say Ella dazzled me, overwhelmed me, excited me. But it’s different. I know what I didn’t feel for your mother because I feel it now, for Ella.”

  “What is it you’re supposed to feel?” she demanded. “I can never figure it out.”

  He cleared his throat. “Maybe you should ask another woman about this kind of thing.”

  “I’m asking you.”

  “Ah, hell.” Now he shuffled his feet, the big man, the Iron Man. “I’m not going to talk about sex. I did that with you once already, and that was scarier than any fire I ever jumped.”

  “And embarrassing for both of us. I’m not asking about sex, Dad. I know about sex. You tell me you love her, and I can see it all over you. I can see it, but I don’t know how it feels—how it’s supposed to feel.”

  “There’s a lot that goes around it. Trust and respect and—” He cleared his throat again. “Attraction. But the center’s a reflection of all of those things, all your strengths and weaknesses, hopes and dreams. They catch fire there, in the center. Maybe it blazes, maybe it simmers, smolders, but there’s the heat and the light, all those colors, and what’s around it feeds it.

  “Fire doesn’t only destroy, Rowan. Sometimes it creates. The best of it creates, and when love’s a fire, whether it’s bright or a steady glow, hot or warm, it creates. It makes you better than you were without it.”

  He stopped, colored a little. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

  “It’s the first time anyone ever explained it so I could understand it. Dad.” She took his hands, looked into his eyes. “I’m really happy for you. I mean it, all the way through. Really happy for you.”

  “That means more than I can tell you.” He drew her in, held her tight as Ella drove up. “You were my first love,” he whispered in Rowan’s ear. “You always will be.”

  She knew it, but now let go enough to accept he could love someone else, too. She nodded as Ella stepped out of the car.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.” Ella smiled at Lucas. “Am I late?”

  “Right on time.” Keeping his hand in Rowan’s, he leaned down, kissed Ella. “How’d it go with Irene?”

  “Packing up, organizing, deciding over the contents of a house a woman’s lived in for twenty-five years is a monumental project—and you know I love projects. It’s helping her, I think, the work, the planning. Helping her get through the now.”

  “Did Jim’s parents . . .” Rowan trailed off.

  “They’re leaving this afternoon. I met them, and they’re lovely people. Kate’s asked Irene to come stay with them if and when she goes to Nebraska. To stay until she finds a place of her own. I don’t think she will, but the offer touched her.”

  “Don’t be sad,” Lucas said, sliding an arm around Ella’s shoulders as her eyes filled.

  “I can’t figure out what I am.” She blinked the tears back. “But I called my son, asked him to bring the kids over later. I know how I feel after a few hours with my grandchildren. Happy and exhausted.”

  Grandchildren, Rowan thought. She’d forgotten. Did that make her father kind of an unofficial grandfather? What did he think about that? How did he—

  “Oh, hell, I forgot I need to run something by L.B. Two minutes,” he promised Ella, and loped off.

  “So,” Ella began, “are we okay?”

  “We’re okay. It’s . . . strange, but we’re okay. I guess you’ve told your son and daughter.”

  “Yes. My daughter’s thrilled, which may be partially due to hormones as she’s pregnant and that was just great news.”

  Another one? she thought. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. My son’s . . . a little embarrassed right now, I think, at the distinct possibility Lucas and I do more than jigsaw puzzles and watch TV together.”

  “He shouldn’t be embarrassed that you guys play gin rummy now and then.”

  Ella let out an appreciative laugh. “He’ll get over it. I’d like to have you over for dinner, all the kids, when you can manage it. Nothing formal, just a family meal.”

  “Sounds good.” Or manageable, she decided, which had the potential for good. “You should know, straight off, I don’t need a mother.”

  “Oh, of course you do. Everyone does. A woman who’ll listen, take your side, tell the truth—or not, as you need it. A woman you can count on, no matter what, and who’ll love you no matter how much you screw up. But since you’ve already got that in Marg, I’m happy to settle for being your friend.”

  “We can see how that goes.”

  The siren shrilled.

  “Hell. I’m up.”

  “Oh, God! You have to go. You have to—Can I watch? Lucas told me how this part works, but I’d like to see it.”

  “Fine with me. But you have to run.” Without waiting, Rowan tore toward the ready room.

  She breezed by Cards, so he kicked it to keep pace.

  “What’s the word?” she asked.

  “Laborious. Got one up in Flathead, tearing down the canyon. That’s all I know.”

  “Are you spotting?”

  “Jumping.”

  They rushed into the controlled chaos of the ready room, grabbing gear out of lockers. Rowan pulled on her jumpsuit, checked pockets, zippers, snaps, secured her gloves, her let-down rope. She shoved her feet into her boots and caught sight of Matt doing the same.

  “How’d you get back on the list?”

  “Just my luck. I checked back in twenty minutes ago.” He shook his head, then snagged his chute and reserve off the speed rack. “I guess the fire god decided I’d had enough time off.”

  Rowan secured her chutes, her PG bag. “See you on the ship,” she told him, and tucked her helmet under her arm.

  She shuffled toward the door, surprised to see Gull, already suited up, standing with her father and Ella.

  “That was quick.”

  “I was in the loadmaster’s room when the siren went off. Handy. Are you set?”

  “Always.” Rowan tapped her fingers to her forehead, flashed her father a grin. “See you later.”

  “See you later.” He echoed the good-bye they’d given each other all her life.

  “I asked if it was allowed, and since it is, I’m going to say stay safe.”

  Rowan nodded at Ella. “I plan on it. Let’s roll, rook.”

  “I know you told me it all moves fast,” Ella said as Rowan walked with Gull toward the waiting plane, “but I didn’t realize just how fast. There’s no time to think. The siren goes off, and they go from drinking coffee or packing boxes to flying to a fire, in minutes.”

  “It’s a routine, like getting dressed in the morning. Only on fast forward. And they’re always thinking. Kick some ass,” he told Yangtree.

  “Kicking ass, taking names. And counting the days. Catch you on the flip side, buddy.”

  He spoke to others as they waddled toward the plane, some he’d worked with, others who seemed as young as saplings to him. He slipped his hand in Ella’s as the plane’s door closed.

  One of them might be a killer.

  “They’ll be fine.” She squeezed his fingers. “And back soon.”

  “Yeah.” Still, he felt the comfort of having her hand in his as he watched the plane taxi, rev, then rise.

  AFTER THE BRIEFING IN FLIGHT, Rowan huddled with Yangtree and Trigger over maps and strategy.

  Gull plugged his MP3 in, slid on his sunglasses. The music cut the engine noise, left his mind free to think. Behind the shaded glasses, he scanned the faces, the body language of the other jumpers.

  Maybe it felt wrong, this suspicion, but he’d rather suffer a few pangs of guilt than suffer the consequences of more sabotage.

  Cards and Dobie passed some time with liar’s poker while Gibbons read a tattered paperback copy of Cat’s Cradle. Libby huddled with Matt, patting his knee in one of her there-there gestures. The spotter got up from his seat behind the cockpit to pick his way through to confer with Yangtree.

  When the ca
ll came out for buddy checks, Gull walked back himself to perform the ritual with Rowan.

  “Yangtree’s dumping us,” Rowan told him.

  Yangtree shook his head with a smile. “I’m going to work for Iron Man the first of the year. I’m going to take the fall off, buy myself a house, get my other knee fixed, do some fishing. I’ll have a lot more fishing time without having to ride herd over the bunch of you every summer.”

  “You’re giving up this life of travel, glamour and romance?” Gull asked him.

  “I’ve had all the glamour I want, and might just find some romance when I’m not eating smoke.”

  “Maybe you should take up knitting while you’re at it,” Trigger suggested.

  “I might just. I can knit you a real pretty sling since you like keeping your ass in one.” He climbed over men and gear for another consult with the spotter and pilot.

  “He’s barely fifty.” Trigger folded gum into his mouth. “Hell, I’m going to be fifty one of these days. What’s he want to quit for?”

  “I think he’s just tired, and his knee’s killing him.” Rowan glanced forward. “He’ll probably change his mind after he gets it fixed.”

  Once again, the spotter moved to the door. “Guard your reserves!”

  Hot summer air, scorched with smoke, blasted in through the opening. Rowan repositioned to get a look out the window, at the blaze crowning through the tops of thick pines and firs. Red balls of ignited gases boomed up like antiaircraft fire.

  “She’s fast,” Rowan said, “and getting a nice lift from the wind through the canyon. We’re going to hit some serious crosswinds on the way down.”

  The first set of streamers confirmed her estimate.

  “Do you see the jump spot?” she asked Gull. “There, that gap, at eight o’clock. You’ll want to come in from the south, avoid doing a face-plant in the rock face. You’re second man, third stick, so—”

  “No. First man, second stick.” He shrugged when she frowned at him, knowing Lucas had asked L.B. to switch him to her jump partner. “I guess L.B. shuffled things when he put Matt back on.”

  “Okay, I’ll catch the drift behind you.” She nodded out the window at the next set of streamers. “Looks like we’ve got three hundred yards.”

  He studied the streamers himself, and the towers of smoke, glinting silver at the fire’s crown, mottled black at its base.

  On final, Trigger snapped the chin strap of his helmet, pulled down his mesh face mask before reaching for the overhead cable to waddle his way toward the door. Matt, second man, followed.

  Rowan studied the fire, the ground, then the flight. Canopies billowed in the black and the blue as the plane came around for its second pass.

  “We’re ready,” Gull answered at the spotter’s call. With Rowan behind him, he got in the door, braced to the roar of wind and fire. The slap on his shoulder sent him out, diving through it, buffeted by it. He found the horizon, steadied himself as the drogue stabilized him, as the main put the brakes on to a glide.

  He found Rowan, watched her canopy billow, watched the sun arrow through the smoke for an instant to illuminate her face.

  Then he had a fight on his hands as the crosswinds tried to push him into a spin. A gust whipped up, blew him uncomfortably close to the cliff face. He compensated, then overcompensated as the wind yanked, tugged.

  He drifted wide of the jump spot, adjusted, then let the wind take him, so he landed neat and soft on the edge of the gap.

  He rolled, watched Rowan land three yards to his left.

  “That was some fancy maneuvering up there,” she called out to him.

  “It worked.”

  Gathering their chutes, they joined Matt and Trigger at the edge of the jump spot. “Third stick’s coming down,” Trigger commented. “And shit, Cards is going into the trees. He can’t buy luck this season.”

  Rowan clearly heard Cards curse as the wind flipped him into the pines.

  “Come on, Matt, let’s go make sure he ain’t broke nothing important.”

  Since she could still hear Cards cursing, meaning he hadn’t been knocked unconscious, she kept her eyes on the sky.

  “Yangtree and Libby,” she said as the plane positioned for the next pass. “Janis and Gibbons.” She rattled off the remaining jumpers. “When they’re all on the ground, I want you to take charge of the paracargo.”

  She put her hands on her hips, watching the next person hurtle out of the plane. Yangtree, she thought. He’d instruct, and he’d keep jumping out of planes. But doing free falls with sports groups and tourists was a far cry from . . .

  “His drogue. His drogue hasn’t opened.” She ran forward, shouting for the others on the ground. “Drogue in tow! Jesus, Jesus, cut away! Cut away. Pull the reserve. Come on, Yangtree, for Christ’s sake.”

  Gull’s belly roiled, his heart hammered as he watched his friend, his family, tumble through the sky and smoke. Others shouted now, Trigger all but screaming into his radio.

  The reserve opened with a jerky shudder, caught air—but too late, Gull realized. Yangtree’s fall barely slowed as he crashed into the trees.

  29

  She ran, bursting through brush, leaping fallen logs, rocks, whatever lay in her path. Gull winged past her; her own fear raced with her. With her emotions in pandemonium, she ordered herself to think, to act.

  His reserve had deployed at the last minute. There was a chance, always a chance. She slowed as she reached Cards, face bloody, shimmying down a lodgepole pine with his let-down rope.

  “Are you hurt bad?”

  “No. No. Go! Jesus, go.”

  Matt stumbled through the forest behind her, his cheeks gray, eyes dull. “Stay with Cards. Make sure he’s okay.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer, just kept running.

  When she heard Gull’s shout, she angled left, dry pine needles crunching under her feet like thin bones.

  She caught sight of the reserve, a tattered mangle of white draped in the branches high overhead. And the blood, dripping like a leaky faucet, splatting on the forest floor.

  Caught in the gnarled branches seventy feet above, Yangtree’s limp body dangled. A two-foot spur jutted through his side, the point of it piercing through like a pin through a moth.

  Gull, spurs snapped on, climbed. Rowan dumped her gear, snapped on her own and started up after him.

  Broken, she could see he’d been broken—his leg, his arm and likely more. But broken didn’t mean dead.

  “Can you get to him? Is he alive?”

  “I’ll get to him.” Gull climbed over, then used his rope to ease himself onto the branch, testing the weight as he went. He reached out to unsnap the helmet, laid his fingers on Yangtree’s throat.

  “He’s got a pulse—weak, thready. Multiple fractures. Deep gash on his right thigh, but it missed the femur. The puncture wound—” He cursed as he moved closer. “This goddamn spur’s holding him onto the branch like a railroad spike. I can’t maneuver to stabilize him from here.”

  “We secure him with the ropes.” Rowan leaned out as far as she could, trying to assess the situation for herself. “Cut the branch, bring him down with it.”

  “It’s not going to take my weight and a saw.” He crawled back. “It cracked some at the base. I don’t know if it’ll hold for you.”

  “Let’s find out.”