Flaming Desire - Part 3 (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) (2 page)

We would be taken to our section of the fire line and dropped off based on assignment. I had no idea where that would be. Because of the smoke, I was a bit disoriented and unsure of my direction. I suppose it didn’t matter. We would go where we were told, be assigned our jobs, and then deal with it all on an hour-by-hour basis.

Less than two hours after the Chinook crashed, Matt and I were approaching the portion of the fire line to which we had been assigned. My eyes widened as I caught my first decent sight of the fire, just about breaching the mountain in front of us.

“Oh my God,” I gasped. Matt nodded in agreement. This was rough terrain, heavily wooded, the underbrush thick and lush. There were dozen after dozen of fire crews, hacking, sawing, and slowly making their way along the midline of the mountainside. They were trying to clear a trench to create a backfire. Shovels, axis, machetes, and even flamethrowers of sorts used to start backfires would be utilized to their fullest potential.

The fire crew truck slowed as we bounced over the barely visible track. The closer we got to the fire line, the more fully I witnessed the complete exhaustion of the firefighters. They were covered in dirt, soot, and sweat. Sometimes their faces were so dirty I couldn’t tell whether they were men or women. One thing I did realize was, although they looked exhausted, they put one-hundred percent into what they were doing. I was glad we were here to help.

Finally, at the far side of the line, the truck stopped and Matt stood. I followed. We disembarked from the crew truck, followed by the others. As we approached a group of wildfire fighters wearing yellow jackets and yellow hard hats, many of them wearing goggles, I saw a woman glance over her shoulder, her blond braids swinging as she opened her mouth in astonishment.

“Oh my God. Is that you, Matt?”

Matt smiled and lifted his hand in greeting. “Sam!”

I watched as the two quickly hugged and then Matt turned from the woman and offered an introduction. “Jesse, meet Samantha Rawlings. Sam, this is Jesse.”

“I see he has a penchant for shortening everyone’s names,” I commented, grinning as I extended my hand. Sam took it and laughed.

“I don’t know how many times I told him my name is Samantha, but now it’s just Sam.”

“Same here,” I said, glancing up at Matt with a playful scowl. “My name’s Jessica, but he insists on Jesse.”

Just as quickly as the greetings were offered, Sam grew serious. “This fire has a definite mind of its own. We’ve tried several back burns but the topography, the vegetation, the wind, and the lack of moisture in the air isn’t helping any.” She shook her head in disgust. “We’ve had several blowups.”

I gazed up at the top of the mountain. Blow-ups were defined as a sudden increase in intensity in either the speed or violence of the fire, which also created convection and often influenced other characteristics of a fire.

“There’s some brain buckets over there,” she said, pointing to a small pile of yellow hard hats. “Take the west side of the line. We’re trying to contain the blaze on this mountain from heading any further south. If the wind changes direction…”

She didn’t have to say any more. Even from here, I felt the heat of the fire as it wafted toward us on the breeze, carrying with it large bits of ash. One stuck to my lip and I quickly wiped it away, surprised by the heat it still carried. The flames that were just now topping the ridge on the other side of the mountain were reddish-orange, the smoke billowing up a dark gray. The fire was churning through the underbrush. Occasionally, darker plumes of smoke rose and swirled as the fire ate its way up pine trees and the sap caught.

I followed Matt to the pile of hard hats and we each slipped one on. Nearby were piles of hand tools. We each grabbed a shovel and a fire axe. Following Matt, we quickly got to work.

While we worked to clear a wide swath of underbrush about six to ten feet wide, I began to wonder about the woman, Sam. Was that jealousy I felt? How well did he know her? I supposed it didn’t matter, but I couldn’t help but wonder if Matt was close to her—or had been close to her. Come to think of it, did he have a penchant for female Hotshots?

I pushed the thought out of my mind, trying to focus only on digging, pulling and tugging with my shovel and axe to work loose the scrub brush that offered prime fuel for the wildfire. As we cleared away brush, the brush disposal crew came along behind us to cart it away.

The process for constructing a fire line was called a bump up, or bumping the line. It was quite an interesting technique. While Matt and I worked together along with other men and women along this line, each of us had some space between us. As one firefighter took over another, the firefighters up ahead moved approximately one space forward, starting a new part of the line. The workers behind didn’t move ahead until their space was cleared. The overall forward progression of the crew was coordinated by the crew boss.

It was hard, backbreaking, exhausting work. In less than an hour, I was breathing heavy and sweating rivers of water down my entire body. I was also doing my share of coughing and worked to keep my breathing even. We worked hard, as fast as we could. I heard Matt breathing heavy beside me. I did my best to keep up with him and refused to take a break before he did.

Just about when my shoulders began to ache with pain and my breath came in short gasps, not only because of the exertion, but also because of the smoke and dust, Matt stood and brushed his hand over his forehead. He removed his hard hat and swiped his hand through his sweat-soaked hair. I did the same.

It was hot. Miserably so, but I took it easy on my water, allowing myself no more than one or two gulps at a time. Every once in a while, I glanced at Matt. Covered from top to toe now with dirt, dust, and sweat, I nevertheless felt a shiver of desire race through me. He looked so masculine, and seemed to have endless strength, endless energy, and endless endurance. I admired his tenacity, and did my best to keep up with him, stroke for stroke.

I lost all track of time, concentrated only on digging, chopping, pulling, and tugging—and swearing—at the brush. Foot by foot, we cleared a swath near the base of the mountain. Standing upright to stretch my aching back, I looked up the line, which seemed to weave its way like a snake up along the mountainside. Dozens of us, hundreds even, trying to clear the brush and create a backstop.

I don’t know how long we were up there before we were relieved, but I think it was about midafternoon before another small crew came up to replace us. Trembling from weariness, I was grateful to shakily make my way back to the fire crew truck for a couple hours of rest at the base camp.

Once again, I followed Matt off the truck, nearly stumbling into him as I did so. My thighs felt like spaghetti. I needed something to eat, even if it was just a protein bar. He turned to glance down at me.

“You okay?”

I nodded, embarrassed. The last thing I needed was for Matt to think I couldn’t keep up. The first couple of days were always the hardest for me. Then, I would get my second wind and despite the soreness of my muscles for a couple of days after that, I was better equipped to get into the mode, so to speak. Transitioning from the hospital environment to the wilderness was a drastic change, no matter how well you prepared in between.

Matt and I headed to the mobile kitchen and then he directed me toward the covered tent with the picnic benches while he continued toward the kitchen trailer.

“Go find us a spot and I’ll bring us something to eat,” Matt directed.

I was glad that I didn’t have to go into the trailer, at least this time, because even the thought of navigating the three steps up into it caused me to grit my teeth. No matter how hard I trained, no matter how many hours I spent on elliptical trainers, treadmills, or even climbing up and down stairs, there was nothing like being out in the wilderness, trying to balance on a steep slope, while at the same time digging and hacking at the underbrush.

I did so, finding an empty table toward the front of the tent. The smell of smoke was embedded in everything—my nose, my hair, my clothes. I doubted I would smell anything else over the next few days. Several other firefighters silently ate, too tired to offer more than a wordless nod of greeting. I imagined we all looked the same–dirty, tired, sweaty.

The aroma of beef stew or some kind of soup and bread mixed with the acrid stench of smoke, sweat, and, let’s face it, body odor. I’m sure I didn’t smell so great at the moment either.

In a matter of moments, Matt returned to the table, carrying a tray with two bowls of hearty vegetable beef stew and plate piled with about six pieces of bread. Two cups of steaming coffee was on either end of the tray, well balanced in his hands. We would eat quickly and return to the lines.

I ate with gusto, and even though I couldn’t smell the soup because my sinuses had been barraged with the scent of fire, the food tasted delicious. Simple though it was, I knew that when the line got further from base camp, we wouldn’t be able to enjoy a hot meal. Sometimes, a meal truck would be able to make it along the line, but more often than not, we would be stowing whatever food we could into our pockets. Power bars, granola bars, beef jerky, perhaps an apple or two, whatever we could.

It felt good to sit down, but I knew that if I sat too long I would quickly grow stiff. I ate without saying much, Matt eyeing me occasionally. Finally, I looked up at him with a pointed stare. “What is it, Matt? Spit it out!” He merely smiled at me, his teeth flashing white, contrasting sharply with his dirty, soot-covered face.

“I was just thinking that it’s nice working with you out here. You’re as badass here as in the ER?”

My heart skipped a beat. That was probably the closest to a compliment that I would get at the moment, and I appreciated it. I nodded. “Ready to get back?”

He stuffed a half piece of bread in his mouth and nodded. Without another word, I picked up my paper bowl and the now empty bread plate and tossed it into the waste bin as I exited the tent. He did the same and then placed the tray on the stack near the trashcan.

We eventually made our way back to the line, replacing two others who would take a break and get something to eat, and then return. By the time nightfall approached, I was exhausted. Every muscle in my body ached. Even Matt was slowing down. Even though dusk fell quickly, accompanied by the heavy smoke cover, the bright orange glow of the fire just over the ridge cast eerie shadows over the mountain forests and the firefighters still working hard to construct the firebreak.

As another crew came to replace about a dozen of us, I wearily climbed into the transport truck and then sank down into my seat, my muscles shaking with exhaustion. I noticed that Sam also climbed aboard, taking a seat across the narrow aisle from Matt, who now sat between us. They exchanged a few low words, but I didn’t catch what they said to one another as I rested my head against my arm, cushioning it from jarring against the window.

Unbidden, and as exhausted as I felt, a flash of envy surged through me. Even covered with dirt and sweat, I could tell Sam was a pretty young woman, with fine bone structure. I couldn’t help wondering… was Matt friends with her, or were they something else?

Only the sound of the truck’s engine was heard on the way back to the base camp. A huge number of tents had been set up to provide sleeping quarters for the firefighters. Because so many of us were on this side of the line, there weren’t enough cots to go around. Sam gestured with a hand wave as she headed to one tent, which I saw was filled with cots, thanks to one of the walls of the tent being pulled up to allow some air—smoky though it was—inside. At the moment, most of those cots were filled.

We had been assigned to tent number five. No cots, just sleeping bags in which over a dozen people lay asleep inside. The sound of snoring in the tent that Matt and I entered produced a cacophony of sounds, but I didn’t think I would have any trouble sleeping through that noise. I was exhausted.

We walked toward the rear of one of the tents where a number of sleeping bags were piled in a corner. I knew they would be dirty, probably stinky from other people’s sweat, but I didn’t give a shit. The plain truth of the matter was that dirty and stinky was the way it was out here. I couldn’t expect clean sheets or even a clean, brand-new, unused sleeping bag.

Matt and I grabbed a bag and placed them side-by-side at the back of the tent. Both of us wearily climbed into the sleeping bags, fully clothed. No sense in getting undressed, not that I would have anyway, surrounded by so many men. Cradling my head on my arm, I turned to my side and tried to relax.

Hard to believe that just hours ago, I had been in a crashing helicopter. My heart thumped with anxiety as I recalled my terror, and then in the next instant, I felt a wave of exhaustion drive away any thoughts except blessed sleep.

Unfortunately, I dreamed, reliving the Chinook crash, every moment of it, in my dream. Just at the moment before the chopper hit the mountainside, I woke up with a gasp. I sat upright, sweating, trembling, and gasping for breath. I glanced around. When I realized where I was, I feel a great sense of relief. I was glad I hadn’t screamed and woken up the other firefighters.

But I had woken one. In a matter of seconds, I felt Matt’s warm hand on my own. Sitting up, he wrapped me in his embrace and turned my face to his.

“Shhh,” he whispered in my ear. “It was just a bad dream. You’re okay.”