Summer of Fire - Linda Jacobs [66]
Georgia clutched her coffee cup too hard. Hot liquid slopped over and burned the soft skin between her thumb and forefinger.
“Mink Creek Camp had to evacuate all hands,” Jack told Karrabotsos. “Deering’s coming in now with your Huey.”
Clare gripped the armrest as Deering set the helicopter down at West Yellowstone.
Bursting with the desire to blurt exactly what she thought of him, she kept silent while a stout middle-aged woman with one of the catering companies waved thanks and headed toward the terminal.
With his head down, Deering gave complete attention to the aircraft.
Clare pitched her headphones into the floorboards and climbed down, stretching her legs to reach the ground. She waited, fists planted on her hips.
He seemed to take an interminable time turning off switches, reading gauges and writing on a clipboard. Finally, he removed his helmet and got out, brushing back his hair from his forehead. He reached to the breast pocket of his flight suit for a Marlboro and walked away from the helicopter. A match flared, a small glow against the floodlights illuminating the ramp.
Clare stomped after him. “You lied about the chopper, to spend the night with me.”
“That’s right.” His dark eyes were steady.
Suspicion dawned. “I suppose that wasn’t really the last tent in camp.”
“No.”
Clare started away from him with a hard ache in the back of her throat.
Deering grabbed her arm and turned her. “Clare, wait.” He pulled her against him, so tightly she could feel his flight suit zipper against her stomach. “It’s not that simple . . .”
“What else have you lied to me about?” It shocked her, how the fires and the danger seemed to have heightened everything from desire to despair. She wanted to slap him, but she didn’t. She’d never raised a hand to Jay, either, not even at the end.
Instead, she turned and ran. Near the terminal, she passed a small woman with red-gold hair, who also seemed to be in flight away from the tarmac.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
August 15
Above the North Fork’s burned out wake Deering flew the Huey toward the red rim of the world. He was dragging from another fifteen hour day and ready to set down in West Yellowstone. It would be nice to tuck into a juicy steak at the Red Wolf and swap some lies with Karrabotsos.
Upon reflection, tonight he didn’t think it would satisfy.
It had only been two days since he’d seen Clare, but his life was divided inexorably into the time before . . . and the time after. Her flesh had been as he’d imagined, lean and needy when he slid his body over hers. It was only a technicality that they hadn’t actually . . .
For over twenty years, he’d never considered being unfaithful. Not when other guys sampled the delights of Southeast Asia’s fine-boned women. Not when he’d flown fire in Southern California where every woman looked like a movie star. And not on a hot night in an Oregon fire camp, when an attractive brunette named Helen had made it clear she was available if Deering said the word.
He had headed for his solitary sleeping bag without saying it.
As he flew toward West Yellowstone, the first star hung above the North Fork’s smoke. It was magical how that always happened, the way he could be staring right there and not see it, as though it waited until he blinked. This lone bright jewel against a deepening azure field made him remember when his Dad would hold him on his hip and point to the sky. “Make a wish on that one, son, the first star you see.”
Part of Deering wished he could press Clare beneath him and find relief for the urgency she’d awakened.
In the western sky, another star joined the first.
Part of him wanted to be home with Georgia.
Clare stared at the hazy sky from Madison Campground and tried not to rustle her sleeping bag. Beside her, one of the women soldiers slept heavily, breathing through her mouth. Her sinuses were probably as screwed up as everyone else’s from the smoke.
After a long day on the North Fork, Clare had decided against hitchhiking to Old Faithful. She did not care to have