Summer of Fire - Linda Jacobs [75]
“This is where Karrabotsos lives.” Deering motioned to a house she had passed the day she and Sergeant Travis had found the migrant camp. She recognized the snowmobile parked on the front porch.
“Did you plan this, too?”
“You’re the one who starting walking down this street.”
She sighed, “So I did.”
“Come inside.”
She ought to go back to the Red Wolf and have a drink with Hudson and Sherry, but the reddish glow in the sky reminded her of the filtered light in the tent at the spike camp. She’d thought of it, ten times, a hundred, at odd hours of the day and night . . . most often when she lay in her narrow twin bed at Old Faithful and argued the pros and cons of finishing what they had started.
“Please.” Deering circled his fingers on the sensitive flesh on the back of her arm.
He wasn’t perfect and neither was she.
With a key from beneath a flowerpot, Deering unlocked the front door. Inside, he disappeared into blackness until a faint glow shone at the end of hall. “Beer?”
“Sure.”
The refrigerator shut. Bootheels sounded on hardwood. Halfway up the hall, Deering snapped on a light in a side room, turning him into a tall silhouette.
The can he pressed into her hand was cold and wet. She took a huge swallow.
“Come down here.” Deering led her toward the light.
They would talk now. Had he always wanted to fly? Was he a bad boy in third grade? Did he ever get a puppy for Christmas?
Clare stopped in the doorway. Against the paneled wall was a single bed as narrow and lonely as hers at Old Faithful. Deering set his beer on a chest of drawers, took hers and placed it beside his. He stepped closer and tilted her chin up toward him.
It was going too fast, like last time. All she really knew about Deering was that he loved to fly, a daredevil to some, or fool, if you listened to Steve Haywood.
“Wait.” She stopped him with a hand on his chest. “We need to talk.”
He covered her hand with his, pressing her fingers. “For Christ’s sake, you wanted it as much as I did.”
It still grated that he’d lied.
Deering dipped his head, a move to kiss her. His breath smelled of smoke and beer.
Clare blocked him with her forearm. It was more than just the night at Mink Creek. This evening it rankled that instead of buying her a decent margarita, he’d snagged a beer from the fridge and tried to lay her down before she’d had two sips. Granted, she was out of practice, but she had an idea of how she wanted to feel.
She tried to gather the shreds of her thoughts. “It’s just that . . . “
Deering backed away and stared at her. “We’re working eighteen hour days. I’m based in West Yellowstone and you’re staying at Old Faithful.” He waved a frustrated hand. “We’ve gotta take advantage of the chances we get.”
Clare went cold inside. “I get it. You’re saying ‘let’s hop in the sack’ and I’m supposed to say, ‘Great, I have an hour free on Tuesday’.”
She went down the hall, past Karrabotsos’s snowmobile, and into the night.
YELLOWSTONE FIRES
August 22, 8:00 a.m.
Here is a list of the fires and approximate perimeter acreages. To date, about 354,470 acres have been affected by fire. However, only about half of the vegetation has burned within many fire perimeters. Throughout the summer, 50 different fires have been started by lightning. Of those 50, seven are still burning inside the park. Fire fighters are working to control them. Any new fires will be suppressed as quickly as possible.
Clover-Mist Fire: 156,502 acres. Mist Fire started July 9. Clover started July 11. They joined on July 22. Shallow Fire started July 31. Fern Fire started August 5. These two fires joined Clover-Mist August 13. Lovely Fire started July 11 and burned into Clover-Mist on August 21. Crews attacking hot spots on northeast flank. Fire trucks and crews in Silver Gate and Cooke City as a precaution. Pebble Creek Campground is currently closed and is being used as a firefighter