Summer of Fire - Linda Jacobs [141]
“That was some decent flying you did today,” Steve said evenly. “Not to mention dragging my dead ass up that hill.”
Deering stopped. “I didn’t think you believed I could pour piss out of a boot.”
“I didn’t.”
“So?”
“Clare suggested that perhaps my view of you was colored by my . . . past experience with flying.”
For the first time, Deering imagined what it must have been like for Steve to survive while his wife and baby lay mangled in the plane’s wreckage. How excruciating would it be if Deering never saw Georgia again?
“I’ve been thinking about that day we went down in the lake,” Steve went on. “That whole business with the wind off the fire and trying to use the bucket to help those folks . . . well, who’s to say we didn’t both do the best that was humanly possible?”
“Who is to say?” Deering asked carefully. “First Assurance?” Suzanne Ho was still out there, unwilling to authorize his claim until she talked to his passenger.
Almost casually, Steve shrugged, “Insurance companies are a pain in the butt.” He flashed a small grudging grin. “Ya done good today.”
The two men fell into step. The brighter light at the end of the hall silhouetted a small woman, her red-gold hair a halo.
Deering inhaled sharply.
From beside him, Steve said, “Is that . . .?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Georgia’s eyes looked enormous in her pale face. “Garrett Anderson called me at the hotel and said you were here. I drove up this morning.”
Deering’s steps quickened. He buried his face in the side of her neck and wrapped her tight against him. She pressed close and slid her hands inside his filthy flight suit.
Relief suffused him, as profound and complete as any he had ever known. Her touch said she’d forgiven him Clare, and if fortune smiled, their lives could go on.
“Hon,” she said brokenly. “We’re going to have a baby.”
Only a moment before, he’d been stupid with fatigue and, surely, he still was, but at the sound of her voice, he took off without benefit of wings. “A kid!”
The surge of elation surprised him. He thought of Clare’s daughter, nearly grown, and yet she’d longed to find her mother when trouble struck at Old Faithful. Would he and Georgia be able to raise a loyal and loving child like that?
Deering became aware that his wife was waiting with her breath held for him to express something other than surprise.
How would he feel after the first shock subsided? He and Georgia weren’t young; he’d be nearly sixty when the kid started college . . .
But Lord, what a chance to start again. His brother had grandchildren and whenever Deering held one of the tiny mites, it gave him the thrill of possibility. Thinking of life’s changes reminded him of his gift to Georgia, the one she’d waited for over twenty years.
“That’s great about the baby.” He spread a hand over her warm tummy. “I’ll have lots of time to spend with him . . .”
“Him?”
“Or her. I’ll be home since I’m giving up flying.”
“You’re what?” She looked at him with disbelief. “I’m going to retire.”
Georgia pressed his hand to her stomach. “But this little one’s going to need college money.”
“I’ll find something else.”
“Like what?” She pulled back with hands on hips, his much-loved little harridan. “I know you’ve crashed twice, but look at the good you’ve done.” She didn’t stamp her foot, although he felt like she had. “That Smokejumper you saved . . . and Garrett said how you got those people off the mountain today when Karrabotsos was burned.”
“For Christ’s sake, Georgia, you’ve been on my ass to stop flying ever since I can remember. Can’t you just be happy you finally won?”
She smiled. “I thought I’d never hear you say it.” On tiptoe, she brushed a kiss across his cheek. “It was my fondest dream, but,” her whisper made it real, “promise me you won’t decide today.”
There would be time to think later. For him and Georgia to try and find their way through the briary mess this summer had become. For now, he held her, just held her.
“Babe,” he whispered. “Let’s go home.”
Clare sat in the waiting room and cupped warm Styrofoam. The coffee was the same bitter machine brew