Flaming Desire - Part 4 (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) Read online

  I had to deal with that. I also knew that I had to leave things be, for a while anyway. Or at least as long as we were on the fire line. These sexual interludes with Matt were wonderful. I couldn’t deny it. But I had to resolve that unless I had some indication of what he was thinking in regard to “us” I didn’t want to be just a booty call. I knew he felt sexually attracted to me, and I doubted that he would have sex with somebody he didn’t like, but what did I know? My past experience with men was nothing staggering.

  At any rate, I realized that I was making myself crazy and I couldn’t afford to do that. I had never felt about a guy the way I did with Matt and it scared me. I wasn’t sure where to go with it, how to tamp those feelings down, put them in a little box and pack them away in the recesses of my mind. Dammit. As I followed Matt out of the woods, back toward the new base camp, milling with movement and hundreds of people, I resolved that I would step carefully on this new path I was on.

  I had to protect my heart. I had to acknowledge the reality of the possibility that Matt wanted our “relationship” to go no further than it already had.

  “Matt, Jesse, there you are!”

  I looked up and saw Lucas, Matt’s team captain, gesturing toward us. He carried a list in his hand and a map underneath it, folded into a neat twelve by twelve square. Matt glanced over his shoulder and saw me walking a short distance behind him. He gestured for me to hurry up. I did.

  As I approached Matt and the team captain, I pulled off my hardhat to wipe my brow. I realized that I felt a pretty strong breeze tugging at the tendrils of hair that had worked loose from my braid. Not a good sign.

  “If the wind picks up anymore, the choppers won’t be able to fly,” Lucas said. “We’ve got to try and get ahead of this thing. It’s running over the top of the ridge to the northwest,” he said, pointing. “There’s a narrow valley down there. There’s a campground below it, with numerous campsites. I’ve been told they’ve been cleared, but I want you two to go around that ridge, give me an update, and radio back. Double-check all the campsites. I don’t want to find any bodies when this is over.”

  He handed Matt a brochure that he had tucked beneath the map. Matt glanced at it and handed it to me. Aspen Valley Campground and Resort, the title of the brochure said. I quickly opened it up and saw a drawing of a narrow valley dotted with at least a dozen campsites and a couple of areas where larger groups and buildings were clustered. The last campground appeared to be tucked into a box canyon, near but not at the bottom of the mountain valley. I glanced up at Lucas.

  “We had a build-down a little while ago,” he said, shaking his head. “We’re losing ground on this one, so let’s all take it up a notch, shall we? The fire is bumping the line, so keep an eye out for flaming branches and embers, especially as you head down slope into the valley. It’s narrow. Watch your backs down there.”

  A build-down was a cluster of thunderclouds that look like they might release some rain, but then suddenly evaporated. Bumping the line was a term that wildfire fighters used to describe a fire that literally bumped up against containment lines. When a fire did that, an ember or a ‘blowing and glowing’ piece of twig or branch could easily either blow or roll over the containment line, quickly spreading the fire.

  “You said that the buildings and the campsites have been cleared?” Matt asked.

  Lucas nodded. “That’s what I’ve been told, but I want to make sure. I’m sending the rest of the team along the northwest ridge. You’ll go with them to the top of the notch, then head down into the valley.”

  Again, he gestured toward his map and pointed out the location. Matt looked at it and I gently nudged him so I could also see the location.

  “At the notch, head south along the trail, which will take you into the narrow valley. Then I want you to make your way down, checking each of these campsites as you go. They’re pretty much along the same line. At the end, maybe four to five miles down, you’ll be close to the base of the mountain. You might have some trouble with transmissions, but give me frequent updates if you can. When you’re finished, you can take the trail marked “Old Rugged” which will bring you up and back to the rear end of our crew at their location on the slope, or close to it.”

  Matt nodded and glanced down at me. I nodded as well. The captain gave Matt the map, and I held onto the brochure. Matt tucked the map into one of his side leg pockets and I did the same with the brochure. I glanced up at Lucas. “Equipment?”

  “Handheld tools are in that small tent over there,” Lucas said, gesturing over his shoulder.

  I looked and saw a cluster of firefighters hovering around a smaller Shelby-sized tent. They walked away with a variety of tools. I wanted a fire ax. Or a hatchet. I didn’t like to go anywhere on the fire line without one. That and a shovel, which was easy enough to latch onto my backpack. Still, if they had a Trailblazer, a relatively new yet handy piece of equipment, I’d take it. The Trailblazer was used for scraping, trenching, and grubbing. Its blade was over six inches long and had tines much like a metal rake on the other side of the shovel/ax part. It could roll logs, cut a trench, scrape, and clear a trail.

  Alas, when we got to the tent that type of equipment was gone, but I snatched up a Troop Tool, a combination tool that had a diagonal angle shovel like a fire shovel, with a ninety-degree angle for line scraping, changing, and mopping up. The blade of this tool could fold up against the handle and be used as a staff or a walking stick when traversing steep ground, which sounded like the area into which Matt and I would be heading. In spite of the multi-tool, I also grabbed a short handheld hatchet and a military style shovel that could be broken down and folded. I shrugged out of my backpack, attached the shovel and hatchet to the sides, and then re-situated the backpack on my shoulders, reaching down to grasp my multi-tool.

  Matt had chosen the Bonnie Hammer, which looked like a combination ax on one side and a long, narrow hammer on the other. He also selected a Dragon Rhinehart, which was also a short-handled piece of equipment with a curved triangular shaped metal head riveted to the top that could be used to dig a trench, chop at underbrush, and like my Troop Tool, it could be folded and broken down into smaller sections.

  The equipment we had chosen wasn’t heavy, on purpose, as I knew that we would have to travel fast and light. I thought of this assignment as a recon of sorts. Each of us grabbed a walkie, and I checked to make sure mine was working, just as Matt did. Then, we looked at each other, nodded, and wordlessly stepped onto the crew truck that would take us closer to our ultimate location.

  Bearing our tools and weapons against the fire, we marched off into battle, or at least that’s how I saw myself. Marching off to battle a faceless enemy, one that left nothing but pain and devastation in its wake. We were both focused on the task ahead. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard of homes, neighborhoods, campgrounds, resorts, you name it, having been cleared by local authorities, only to find, sadly, charred bodies after a fire had swept through.

  From the looks of the map on the brochure, it looked like the valley we would descend into was quite narrow. Almost a gorge of sorts. I don’t know why anyone would want to go camping in there, but that was not for me to say.

  I sat beside Matt on the seat, so close yet feeling so distant from him—emotionally at least. It made me a bit sad to think that our relationship might be coming to an end, but I shook my head and looked out the window, refusing to think about it. Today was going to be an incredibly physical and exhausting day, even more so than what I had endured over the past several days. Added to that would be the sense of urgency in checking and making sure that all the campsites in the sprawling campground were indeed abandoned, just in case the fire managed to sweep down the ridge line. If the fire did manage to head down slope, a full retreat would probably be called and the base camp would once again have to relocate.

  The mountainsides were so close in the narrow valley into which we would be heading that it wouldn’t take much of a wind for th
e fire to jump over the gap and leap onto the next mountain. I glanced at Matt, saw him sitting calmly in this seat, hands clasped together, but not tightly, almost as if he was just relaxing. His body seemed loose, his eyes closed, and I wondered what he was thinking about.

  Without saying anything, I turned once again toward the window, staring out to the north. I saw nothing but smoke, flames, and the charred remains of patches of mountainside where the fire had already consumed its fuel, only to surge ahead in the hunt for more. This was the biggest fire I had ever fought, and it was also turning out to be one of the most challenging I had ever faced.

  The crew truck bounced over a barely cleared path, its wheels bouncing and rolling over rocks, large branches, and other debris without fail. The driver tightly clutched the steering wheel so tightly that I noticed his knuckles were white. Their job wasn’t easy either. They were responsible for getting dozens of Hotshots up and down the lines safely, but in conditions like this, with treacherous paths that were practically nonexistent and difficult to see, I had to admire their tenacity.

  For the first time since I arrived at this fire, I felt choked up. The efforts of all these men and women, the sacrifices they were making, the chance they took even knowing that they could die in a freak accident. I thought about Matt, his near devastating accident and then Sam slipping down over the side of the mountain and landing on that shelf, breaking numerous bones.

  All of us took great risks to do this, but I had never met a Hotshot or any wild firefighter that wasn’t in love with this job. They threw themselves at danger with determination and tenacity. It was a strange camaraderie among us. One that a civilian couldn’t possibly understand. Much like the camaraderie felt between soldiers who had been in combat. Unless you were there, unless you experienced the dangers, the adrenaline, the fear and the uncertainty, there was no way anyone outside of that environment could relate, no matter how hard they wanted to.

  And that was something that Matt and I shared without even having to speak. I didn’t have to explain how I felt with Matt, at least not about the firefighting. The same for him. We also shared that same background in the emergency room. Perhaps that’s what I found so discouraging about the emotional aspect of our relationship. We had a solid foundation. Commonalities. Shared experiences. Tragic histories.

  I didn’t want that tragedy to form the foundation of our relationship, but rather the ability to rise above the tragedies that had shaped much of our adult lives. Life was precious. Tentative. None of us lived with the guarantee that we would be here tomorrow.

  I shoved the maudlin thoughts from my head and focused on what we might find in the narrow valley. I imagined us going through the routine of making our way down, checking every campsite as we went. How long would it take? I had no idea. It wasn’t far, mile-wise, but it also depended on the terrain and what we found.

  Perhaps, right this minute, he was thinking the same thoughts as I. Maybe he was envisioning us making our way down into the valley, down along the stream that wound its way through the bottom. It would be tough going, but I knew I could do it, just as much as I knew he could. And that’s the connection I felt with him—the confidence, the stability, the strength.

  “Stop scowling.”

  I turned to look at Matt and saw him staring at me. “What?”

  “What are you scowling about?”

  I certainly couldn’t tell him that I was thinking about us, so I gave a lame shake of my head.

  “We’ll get down into that valley, scour those camps, and then we’ll head back up to the fire line. No big deal, right?”

  I offered a lame smile, staring at his gorgeous eyes, those lips, which I desperately wished that I could kiss right this moment. With determination, I shut those thoughts from my head and nodded. Then, to my dismay, I saw him frown again. He shook his head.

  “How many times have we been told in area was cleared when it wasn’t.” He paused, as if in thought. “Starting at the north end, we’re going to have to work quickly.,If anybody is in there, God help us. If that fire comes down the slope and there are people in there, there’s a chance we won’t be able to save them.”

  I had thought the same thing, but I didn’t like to dwell on it. There was always a chance of missing someone, of overlooking a person trying to flee or hide from the flames. Even though our rational thoughts often told us it was impossible, our sense of self-preservation, our desire for survival made us run.

  The last fire I had been on, one of the firefighters had been caught in a back draft. He was on foot, and he literally raced ahead of the fire, only twenty feet or so behind him as it seemed to chase him for over a mile. He had just about been ready to collapse from exhaustion, prepared to accept his fate, when he’d fallen over a short cliff and landed in a deep stream. He had survived even though the fire had jumped the stream and raced onward.

  There was no telling what a person is capable of doing until they found themselves in a life or death situation. The adrenaline surging through the firefighter had given his muscles the energy he needed to stay just ahead of the licking flames. But I knew that adrenaline only lasted so long. Adrenaline took a great deal of energy from the muscles, and after that, you had nothing left. In seconds, you could go from running to a dead stop because your muscles, your lungs, or your heart just had nothing else to give.

  I shook my head, not wanting to think about it. Matt and I would do our best and that’s all we could do. I had to accept that.

  To my surprise, Matt reached for my hand, clasped it, and gave it a gentle squeeze. The gesture warmed my heart and I looked up at him with a smile. No matter what happened between us on the personal front, I knew that Matt had my back. And I had his as well.

  *

  The crew truck finally reached its destination, which was the point where it literally couldn’t go any further. It disgorged its passengers. Matt and I brought up the rear, offering a wave to those we left behind. He and I slowly made our way to the trailhead that would lead down into Aspen Valley. It was a beautiful location, I had to admit. Aptly named, the slopes on the eastern side of the valley were dotted with Aspen and several varieties of pine, some box elder, spruce and more. The scent of the Rocky Mountain Juniper I paused beside was barely discernable over the smell of smoke in the air. At the moment, the aspen leaves ranged from a lime green to shimmering gold. The west side of the mountain was mostly pine. Dry pine.

  Looking straight up, I could see the glow of flames striving to make their way up the slope and over the mountaintop. The Hotshot crew scrambling up the slope behind us was going to give it their best to create a fire line. Still, if the fire started bumping the line, especially in this location, there would be little chance of containing it or preventing it from hopping over the narrow valley to the other side. Those gorgeous aspen trees would disappear beneath the ravages of a wildfire that had no intentions of slowing down, or at least that’s how it appeared to me.

  “There it is,” Matt said, pointing. He held the map in his hand, oriented properly. I glanced at it, and then in the direction he was pointing.

  I saw the notch. I glanced down, realizing that the trail would be steep and treacherous. We would have to step carefully. A broken ankle out here would be no picnic. I knew there was no way I could carry Matt out of there so I looked at him and gave him my most stern expression.

  “You better watch your step, Matt,” I told him. “The plain truth of the matter is if you go down, I’m not going to be able to carry you all the way through to the end.”

  He nodded. “I’ll be careful.”

  Then, as we reached the trailhead and I noted the faint deer trail that made its winding way down the slope and rounded a bend at nearly a thirty-degree angle, he looked at me.

  “Good luck, Jesse,” he said somberly.

  “Good luck, Matt,” I replied.

  It might have sounded cheesy to anyone else, but it was something that Hotshots always said to one another before they en
tered a potentially life-threatening situation. I knew this was an important task, and it was rife with danger although we were, at least now, a relatively safe distance from the fire.

  Nevertheless, I knew that with a couple strong gusts of wind, or if the wind steadily picked up during the next couple of hours, this entire ridgeline, the valley, and the mountainside directly across could be completely engulfed in flames. It compelled within me a sense of urgency. With a nod, I watched as Matt began to make his way down.

  He took the slope sideways, much like a crab crawl. If he did happen to lose his footing, he would slide down on his side rather than topple face first or over backward. I did the same, and although I couldn’t place my feet exactly where he had placed his, I followed the path he made. When the slope grew less steep, we walked face forward quickly, but then as we reached another downward incline, we once again crab walked. I don’t know how many times we switched off, sometimes even changing sides and using our opposite legs as the lead leg, to preserve our strength and energy.

  The brush grew thick and lush around us. I wasn’t an expert on plants, but I did recognize quite a few that grew along the steep slopes and down closer to the bottom of the trail. Black elderberry and Buffalo berry seemed plentiful along here. Plenty of Rocky Mountain maple and spiny, thorny Caragana. I spotted clumps of sagebrush, though I couldn’t smell it thanks to the smoke in the air. Rabbitbrush that normally sheltered small animals was scattered along the hillsides as well.

  Overhead, the smoke continued to roil in the air. The stench of smoke had embedded itself into every cell and fiber of my being, so I had to keep looking up to gauge where the fire was, the direction of the wind, and of course, its speed. By the time we reached the bottom of the valley, which look more like a gorgeous one from my perspective now, I pulled out the brochure from my side pocket.

  Standing next to Matt, feeling his warmth, appreciating his… how should I say it? Shelter? His strength? There was something about Matt gave me a sense of security. I knew he was only a man, made of flesh and bone, but when I stood next to him, I felt as if he were invincible. That no forces of nature could overwhelm him. As far as I was concerned, he was indestructible. Standing next to him, I felt indestructible as well, although I knew that was foolish thinking.