“Things are hardly ever all one way or the other.”

“More a blend,” she agreed. “A little from each column. Don’t you wonder what aimed her at Latterly? There are plenty of unmarried men she could’ve hooked up with. And he was, what, about fifteen years older and not what you’d call studly.”

“Maybe he was a maniac in bed.”

“Yeah, still waters and so on, but you’ve got to get into bed to find that out. A married guy with three kids. A God guy. If she’d really planned on reeling him in toward the ‘I do’s,’ didn’t she consider what her life would be like? A preacher’s wife, and stepmother of three? She’d have hated it.”

“It might just have been a matter of proving something. Married God guy, father of three. And she thinks, I could get him if I wanted.”

“I don’t get that kind of thinking,” she stated. “For a one-night stand, I can see it. You’ve got an itch, you scope out the talent in the bar, rope one out of the herd to scratch it. I don’t see wrecking a family for another notch on the bedpost.”

“Because you’re thinking like you.” Gull opened the last two beers. “The older-man thing. He’d probably be inclined to indulge her, and be really grateful that a woman her age, with her looks, wanted to sleep with him. It’s a pretty good recipe for infatuation on both sides.”

She angled her head. “You know, you’re right. A guy a little bored in his marriage, a needy young single mother. There’s a recipe. Of course, for all we know Latterly might’ve been a hound dog boning half the women in his congregation, and Dolly was just the latest.”

“If so, the cops’ll find out, if they haven’t already. Sex is never off the radar.”

“Maybe they’ll have this thing wrapped up when we get back.” She broke off a piece of pound cake. “Nobody talks about it much, but it’s on everybody’s mind. L.B.’s especially because he’s got to think about everybody, evaluate everybody, worry about everybody.”

“Yeah, he’s handling a lot. He has a smooth way of juggling.”

“My rookie season, we had Bootstrap. He was okay, ran things pretty smooth, but you could tell, even a rook could tell, his head was already halfway into retirement. He had this cabin up in Washington State, and that’s where he wanted to be. Everybody knew it was his last season. He kept a distance, if you know what I mean, with the rookies especially.”

Gull nodded, sampled pound cake. Ambrosia. “He didn’t want to get close. Didn’t want to make any more personal bonds.”

“I think that was a good part of it. Then L.B. took over. You know how he is. He’s the boss, but he’s one of us. Everybody knows if you need to bitch or whine or let off steam, you can go to him.”

“Here’s to L.B.”

“Bet your ass.” She tipped her head as they clinked beer cans. “I like having sex with you.”

Those cat eyes gleamed in the firelight. “That’s a nonsequitur I can get behind.”

“Seriously. It occurs to me that the season’s half over, and I’ve never had another one like it. Murder, arson, mayhem, and I’m having sex regularly.”

“Let’s hope the last element is the only one that spills over into the second half.”

“Absolutely. The thing is, Gulliver, while I really like sex with you, I also realize that if we stopped having sex—”

“Bite your tongue.”

“If we did,” she said with a laugh, “I’d still like sitting around the fire with you, and talking about whatever.”

“Same here. Only I want the sex.”

“Handy for both of us. What makes it better, over and above the regular, is you don’t secretly wish I’d be something else. Less tied up with the job, more inclined to fancy underwear.”

He pulled out a cigar, lit it. Blew out a long stream. “I like fancy underwear. Just for the record.”

“It doesn’t bother you that I had a hand in training you, and I might be the one giving you orders on a fire.”

She took the cigar when he offered it, enjoyed the tang. “Because you know who you are, and that matters. I can’t push you around, and that matters, too. And there’s this thing I didn’t think mattered because it never did. But it does when it’s mixed in with the rest. When it’s blended, like we said before. You bring me flowers in a bottle.”

“I think of you,” he said simply.

She pulled on the cigar again, giving her emotions time to settle, then passed it back to him. “I know, and that’s another new element for the season. And here’s one more. I guess the thing is, Gull, I’m in care with you, too.”

He reached out for her hand. “I know. But it’s nice to hear you say it.”

“Know-it-all.” Still holding his hand, she tipped her head back, looked at the star-swept sky. “It’d be nice to just stay here a couple of days. No worries, no wondering.”

“We’ll come back, after the season’s over.”

She couldn’t see that far. Next month, she thought, next year? As distant as the stars. As murky as smoke. Always better, to her way of thinking, to concentrate on the right now.


Toward dawn, Gull slipped through a dream of swimming under a waterfall. He dove deep into the blue crystal of the pool where sunbeams washed the gilded bottom in shimmering streaks. Overhead water struck water in a steady, muted drumbeat while Rowan, skin as gold and sparkling as the sand, eyes as clear and cool as the pool, swam toward him.

Their arms entwined, their mouths met, and his pulse beat like the drumming water.

As he lay against her, his hand lazily stroking along her hip, he thought himself dreaming still. He drifted toward the surface, in the dream and out of the dream, and the water drummed on.

It echoed in the confines of the tent when he opened his eyes. Smiling in the dark, he gave Rowan a little shake.

“Hey, do you hear that?”

“What?” Her tone, sleepy and annoyed, matched the nudge back she gave him. “What?” she repeated, more lucidly. “Is it the bear? Is it back?”

“No. Listen.”

“I don’t want... It’s rain.” She shoved him with more force as she pushed to sit up. “It’s raining!”

She crawled to the front of the tent, opened the flap. “Oh, yeah, baby! Rain, rain, don’t go away. Do you hear that?”

“Yeah, but I’m a little distracted by the view right this minute.”

He caught the glint of her eyes as she glanced over her shoulder, grinned. Then she was out of the tent and letting out a long, wild cheer.

What the hell, he thought, and climbed out after her.

She threw her arms up, lifted her face. “This isn’t a storm, or a quick summer shower. This is what my grandfather likes to call a soaker. And about damn time.”

She pumped her fists, her hips, high stepped. “Give it up, Gulliver! Dance! Dance to honor the god of rain!”

So he danced with her, naked, in the rainy gloom of dawn, then dragged her back in the tent to honor the rain gods his way.

The steady, soaking rain watered the thirsty earth, and made for a wet pack-out. Rowan held on to the cheer with every step of every mile.

“Maybe it’s a sign,” she said as rain slid off their ponchos, dripped off the bills of their caps. “Maybe it’s one of those turning points, and means the worst of the crap’s behind us.”

Gull figured it was a lot to expect from one good rain in a dry summer—but he never argued against hope.

24

Rowan refused to let the news that Leo Brakeman remained at large discourage her, and instead opted for Gull’s glass half full of no further arson fires or connected murders in almost a month.

Maybe the cops would never find him, never solve those crimes. It didn’t, and wouldn’t, change her life.

While she and Gull packed out, a twelve-man team jumped a fire in Shoshone, putting the two of them back on the jump list as soon as they’d checked in.

That was her life, she thought as she unpacked and reorganized her gear. Training, preparing, doing, then cleaning up to go again.

Besides, when she studied the big picture, she couldn’t complain. As the season edged toward August, she’d had no injuries, had managed to maintain a good, fighting weight by losing only about ten pounds, and had justified L.B.’s faith in her by proving herself a solid fire boss on the line. Most important, she’d had a part in saving countless acres of wildland.

The fact she’d managed to accomplish that and build what she had to admit had become an actual relationship was cause to celebrate, not a reason to niggle with the downsides.

She decided to do just that with something sweet and indulgent from the cookhouse.

She found Marg out harvesting herbs in the cool, damp air.

“We brought the rain down with us,” Rowan told her. “It followed us all the way in. Didn’t stop until we flew over Missoula.”

“It’s the first time I haven’t had to water the garden in weeks. Ground soaked it right up, though. We’re going to need more. Brought out the damn gnats, too.” Marg swatted at them as she lifted her basket. She spritzed a little of her homemade bug repellant on her hands, patted her face with it and sweetened the air with eucalyptus and pennyroyal. “I guess you’re looking for some food.”

“Anything with a lot of sugar.”

“I can fix you up.” Marg cocked her head. “You look pretty damn good for a woman who hiked a few hours in the rain.”

“I feel pretty damn good, and I think that’s why.”

“It wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain good-looking, green-eyed jumper?”

“Well, he was hiking with me. It didn’t hurt.”