Chasing Fire

jacket, laid her water bottle on it. “Distance or time?”
    “How about a race?”
    “Easy for you to say, Fast Feet.”
    “I’ll give you a head start. Quarter mile of three.”
    “A quarter mile?” She did a little toe-heel to loosen her ankles. “You think you can beat me with that much of a spread?”
    “If I don’t, I’ll have plenty of time to enjoy the view.”
    “Okay, sport, if you want my ass in your sights, you’ve got it.”
    She took the inside lane, cued her stopwatch, then took off.
    Damn nice view, Gull thought as he strolled onto the track, plugged in his earbuds. He took a moment to loosen up, shaking out his arms, lifting his knees. When she hit the quarter mile, he ran.
    And God, it felt good to move, to breathe, to have music banging in his head. Warm, dry air streamed over him, the sun splashed on the track, and he had Rowan’s curvy body racing ahead of him.
    It didn’t get much better.
    He built up his pace gradually so by the first mile had cut her lead in half. She’d changed into shorts that clung to her thighs, and a tank that molded her torso. As he closed more distance he let himself enjoy the sexy cut of her calf muscles, the way the sun played on those strong shoulders.
    He wanted his hands on both.
    Totally in lust with that body, he admitted. Completely fascinated with her mind. The combo left him unable to think of anyone else, and uninterested.
    At two miles he advanced to a handful of paces behind her. She glanced back over her shoulder, shook her head and dug for more speed.
    Still, at two and a half, he ran with her, shoulder to shoulder. He considered easing off—a sop to her labored breathing—but his competitive spirit kicked in. He hit mile three a dozen strides ahead.
    “Jesus, Jesus!” Rowan bent over to catch her wind. “I ought to be pissed off. That was humiliating.”
    “I thought about letting you win, but I respect you too much to patronize.”
    She wheezed out a laugh. “Gee, thanks.”
    “You bet.”
    “Still.” She examined the stopwatch she’d clicked at the finish. “That was a personal best for me. Apparently you push me to excel.”
    Her face glowed with exertion and sweat; her eyes held his, cool and clear.
    He hadn’t run far enough, Gull realized. He hadn’t nearly run off the need. He hooked his fingers in the bodice of the tank, jerked her to him.
    “Hold on. I haven’t got my breath back.”
    “Exactly.”
    He wanted her breathless, he thought as he took her mouth. Hot and breathless and as needy as he. She tasted like a melted lemon drop, tart and warm. The heat from the run, and from that dominating lust, pulsed off both of them while her heart galloped against his.
    For the first time she trembled, just a little. He didn’t know whether it came from the run or the kiss. He didn’t care.
    From somewhere nearby, someone let out a hoot and whistle of approval. And for the first time, like a lemon drop in the sun, she began to melt.
    The siren sounded.
    They tore themselves apart, their breath quick and jerky as they looked toward the barracks.
    “To be continued,” Gull told her.

12
     
    I n the air the next afternoon, with a golf pro harnessed to him, Lucas watched the base scramble below. He and his daughter wouldn’t eat dinner together tonight after all.
    The disappointment ran keen, reminding him how many times he’d had to cancel plans with her during his seasons. He wished her safe; he wished her strong.
    “This is the best time of my life!” his client shouted.
    You’re young yet, Lucas thought. Best times come and go. If you’re lucky enough, they keep coming.
    Once they’d landed, once the routine of photographs, replays, thanks wound down, he read the text on his phone.
     
    Sorry about dinner. Caught one. See you later.
     
     
    “See you later,” he murmured.
    Lucas called base to get a summary of the fire.
    The one the day before had only required a four-man crew, and they’d been in and out inside ten hours.
    This one looked trickier.
    Camper fire, off Lee Ridge, load of sixteen jumping it. And his girl was in that load.
    Though he could bring the area into his head, he consulted his wall map. Ponderosa and lodgepole pines, he mused, Douglas fir. Might be able to use Lee Creek as a water source or, depending on the situation, one of the pretty little streams.
    He studied the map, considered jump sites, and the tricky business of jumping into those thick and quiet forests.
    She’d be fine,