She nods shakily. “Good night, Xander.”
Before she can shut the door, I step forward until we’re close again. “Oh, and Teddy?” I say, my words coming out huskily. I’m feeling ballsy, and I need her to know I mean what I said.
“Hmm?” she whispers, her eyes bouncing between mine.
Reaching out, I trail my fingers along the sash of her robe, feather light, and she sucks in her breath, staring up at me. Whispering low, I breathe, “I really fucking like hearing you say my name when you come, Mama.”
Her mouth drops open, her cheeks go red, and I can see it in those pretty gray eyes when she realizes what I mean. I let one corner of my mouth tip up before I lower my hand and step backward off the porch step again. “Lock the door, Teddy.”
I remain where I am until I hear the lock engage from the inside, though I don’t hear her steps fade away from the door. And I can’t help but wonder if she’s standing just on the other side, just as I am, not wanting to walk away either.
My brother Zach told me once that he’d rather fight one hundred structure fires than to fight a wildfire, because with a structure fire, you know where your flames are at. But with a wildfire, it can sneak right up behind you.
I don’t know if it’s my own overinflated ego at having done this for nearly twenty years, but fuck that. I’d rather be out in a wildfire any day than be stuck in a burning building. I did that for years before moving out to Sky Ridge to join my dad’s hotshot crew, and though firefighting is where my heart has always been, structure fires make me twitchy.
From my lookout, I know exactly where my crew is at, even though I can’t physically see them. They’re split right now, each squad working their line. King is our lead sawyer and newly instated squaddie, so he has his team up the ridge cutting deadwood and pulling snags out of the line. Cal has the other half of the team down about a quarter mile digging the fire line out. We were fortunate enough to get a dozer hauled in for this fire, but most of the time, the lines are dug completely by hand. It’s backbreaking and labor intensive, and our days on fires start aroundfour am. We’re mandated to break at sixteen hours, but sometimes, I have to force my crew to stop to eat and sleep.
As superintendent, I have to have my head on a constant swivel; I’m watching wind shifts and updrafts from the head of the blaze that’s getting far too close to several homes for comfort. The guys have this weird superstition that I can control the weather and make it do what I want… but I’m just really fucking good at reading it. Or maybe I’ve just been lucky as shit for most of my career. The weather plays such a pivotal role in fighting fires. If the wind changes direction and starts blowing embers into the green—the section of forests not touched by the fire—it leads to spot fires, and those can lead to crews being boxed in, or start a free burn too close to residential areas. There was a finger that snaked out a few days ago on the west flank. Mack’s old crew from Colorado was able to circumvent it before it got out of hand. He’s retired now and they’re under a new Superintendent, but he seems to be damn good at his job.
King and his squad had nearly been boxed in on a ridge the first day we were here, but quick thinking on King’s part had gotten them all out. I’m proud as fuck, he’s earned this squaddie position, and this fire has just cemented that my decision was the right one. I split my time between scouting and helping out wherever I’m needed, but I couldn’t do my job without knowing I can trust my captain and squad leaders to do their jobs. I’m fortunate to have a fantastic team beneath me.
Cal and his squad have been burning out along a two-mile-long line that will box the fire in on itself after a spot of slop over occurred, where the fire pushed past the containment line we’d already constructed. With the back burn eating up as much of the fire’s fuel as possible to head it off, by the time the head of the blaze meets the back burn, there won’t be much green left for it to consume unless it throws hotspots half a mile away.
Fuck, this fire has been a beast from start to finish.
And fuck me, but all I can think about is Teddy. Even though my focus is on this fire, she’s been right there, too.
I’m forty-two, almost forty-three, and not once in my adult life have I ever been so obsessed over a woman as I am with her.
I blame Violette for telling me Teddy isn’t interested in dating. Because now, all I want is for herto beinterested. Teddy has always been completely unobtainable, and strictly off limits; I knew that when I met her. I respected her marriage. But now…
Fuck. Now, she’sslightly lessunobtainable and not asstrictlyoff limits as before… and I’ve never stopped wanting this woman.
I’ve jacked off too many times to the memory of her body on display that morning we’d headed out for this fire. It’s been almost two weeks and I’ve never wanted to get home more urgently than I do now. Her laugh, her smile, fuck, her everything, is what’s getting me through each day.
She’s home alone with all three kids. I should have set up something, sent someone to check on her while I’m gone. I wonder if Violette has seen her, checked on her. I’m sure Scottie has checked in. Cell service out here is shotty at best, so it’s not like we’ve been able to talk.
And trust me, I’ve checked. Numerous times. Not one call or text from her. Fuck, I hope she’s doing alright.
By the end of the day, my team—alongside the other divisions and agencies transported in to help on this fire—have it controlled.
As I make my way back down the ridge to the spike camp we’ve been living out of for the last two weeks, my team is back. It’s nearly dark already, and some of my crew are already passed out in their sacks, others chowing down on food. Everyone is dirty, sweaty, exhausted, and starving. Most of these guys will burn more calories than they’ll consume out here.
King is down the trail about fifty feet, phone to his ear. He talks for just a few minutes before he hangs up, then rejoins us. “How’s Violette?” I call over. He grins, and I realize too late that I’ve fucked up.
“She’s great. She says to tell you Teddy and the kids are fine, too.”
Motherfucker.
Several of the guys turn their attention to us, some calling out razzing questions. King’s grin just gets wider as he sinks onto an overturned log made into a bench. I hate the lot of them.
“Sup, you got a lady and kids we don’t know about?”
“None of your business,” I call out on a grumble.
“Like, Cal’s sister, Teddy?” Opp asks around a bite of his food. Cal rests his elbows on his knees, nodding, though his eyes don’t leave my face. Dammit.
Royce, our newest rookie, pipes up, sitting straighter in his seat as he calls, “Wait, Cal’s sister, the woman that lives next door? The one you helped—” he stops, pantomiming delivering a baby, and I glare over at the rookie.
