Wild Heat (Hot Shots: Men of Fire #1)(60)
Author: Bella Andre

The blonde girl was sitting at the motel’s front desk watching TV when Maya walked in to get a key. “What happened to you? You look like shit.”

Three days blurred together in a strange and murky cloud in her brain. “I lost my key” was all Maya could manage. She was too tired to say anything else.

The girl snapped her gum. “Name?”

“Maya Jackson.”

Her name was the same, but she was a completely different person.

The girl handed her the key and Maya was surprised to see her hands shaking as she took it. Funny how you could fool yourself—and everyone else—into thinking you were holding everything together when you weren’t.

Maya headed for her room, surprised that taking the stairs to the second floor felt like climbing to the top of the Empire State Building. She was so fried she could barely stand, yet at this exact moment she knew Logan was knee-deep in ashes, wielding heavy equipment and hoses to save what was left of Joseph’s cabin.

Once she got inside her room, she stripped down, barely acknowledging the bruises, scrapes, and welts that covered her arms, legs, and torso. She walked into the shower and leaned her weight against the tiled wall. When she looked down, the white floor tiles were black beneath her feet. She watched ash and dirt wind down the drain until the water ran cold.

Shivering, she wrapped a towel around herself and walked into the bedroom. Heavy weights hung from her eyelids, and she used up her last burst of energy crawling under the covers. There were a hundred things she should be doing. But all of them required strength and energy she didn’t have.

Additional hotshot crews and smoke jumpers from all across the West were on their way to fight the forest fire in Desolation Wilderness. By late Sunday afternoon, Logan had to make the difficult decision to bring his crew in again. With forty-mile-an-hour winds, the usual method of digging fire lines wasn’t going to cut it. And while he reassessed the situation, his men could get some much-needed rest.

They’d straggled into the station, exhausted and covered in ash and dirt, each one of their faces lighting up when they saw him behind the maps.

“Logan, glad you’ve decided to join the party. How was your vacation?”

He’d grinned at the rookie who was as happy as a pig in shit to be out there with the rest of the hotshots, risking his life. Logan had been that kid once. Hell, he still was, only with more responsibilities on his shoulders.

The Forest Service superintendent had already called to apologize for getting in Logan’s way this weekend with the suspension. Logan told the man he knew he’d simply been doing his job. Putting him on suspension was a judgment call. Nothing personal.

He shared a chili dinner with his crew, and when they stumbled off to bed, he, Gary, and Sam discussed tactics.

Most of the guys looked beaten all to hell. Not Sam MacKenzie. Even the toughest fires didn’t scare him. Nothing did.

“What’s the forecast?” Sam asked.

“High winds and low humidity for the next forty-eight hours. Water is either blowing out from beneath the helicopters or evaporating before it hits the ground. Some of the guys are getting in as close as twenty feet, but it’s not making a difference.”

“It’s been too long since these forests have burned. The trees are ripe for it,” Gary added, fatigue hanging on every word.

“Both of you need to get some sleep.”

Sam remained at the table. “I talked to Connor today.”

Firefighters were masters of understatement, part and parcel to the life-threatening risks they took every day. But sometimes Logan wanted to jump for joy anyway.

“Thank God he’s awake. How’s he feeling?”

“Like shit,” Sam said. “I never thanked you for saving his life.”

“We did it together.”

Nothing more needed to be said, so Sam pushed back his chair and headed off to his bunk, leaving Logan alone with the maps. A couple of hours later, he finally accepted that all they could do until the winds died down was keep the fire out of the trees. By dusk the next day, chainsaws and axes were going to feel like natural extensions of their hands.

When night fell, he’d sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, thinking of Maya. She was so beautiful. So stubborn. Too damn stubborn to tell him she loved him. Even though she did.

It didn’t matter if she stayed in Lake Tahoe until they put this fire out. He’d find her wherever she went.

And he’d love her forever.

When sunlight finally glinted in through his eyelids, he splashed his face with water then rang the station bell. Fifteen minutes later, his men were assembled, looking sharp and ready for another killer day in Desolation. He kept his instructions short and sweet.

“Clear all low-hanging branches and chop down any burning trees. We’ve got to keep the fire from spreading to the treetops. Helicopters will continue making bucket drops on the hot spots as long as it’s safe to keep flying in.” He paused to make sure every last one of them understood his orders. “At the first sign of danger, get out. I don’t care if every house in Tahoe turns to rubble. I’m not losing any more men.”

Somber eyes met his, filled with determination. He followed his men out the door to their trucks.

He thought about Maya, knew she’d learned that lesson well: At the first sign of danger, get out. Her casualty list was long enough already. She didn’t need him to be one more name, one more firefighter she’d loved and lost.

He couldn’t turn his back on a fire. And he couldn’t walk away from the woman he loved. Even if it was what she thought she wanted.

The original anchor point was no longer safe, so the crew drove into a wide clearing that had been bulldozed flat. From there, Logan watched flames jumping across treetops as heat rumbled over the mountains like a fleet of jets. Entire trees were torching, exploding into flames instantaneously.

He pulled down his hood and picked up a chainsaw. It was time to get back to work.

Maya woke up stiff and sweating beneath the thick comforter as the sun set through the thin drapes on her window. Logan’s face was the first image she saw. She had faith in his fire knowledge and his years of experience as a hotshot, but the madness wouldn’t end until Jenny was behind bars—or dead.

Moving quickly, she brushed her hair and teeth, then realized she had to put on her same filthy clothes again. Picking them up off the carpet, she shook them out in the shower. Her stomach growled. Grabbing her key, she walked down to the lobby.

“I need to use the phone.”

The girl behind the desk shrugged. “Whatever.”

Maya walked as far away from the blaring TV as the phone cord would allow. Using her company calling card number, she dialed information and got her boss’s home number. He picked up on the third ring.