“You’re pregnant!”

Her face turned bright red. “Yes,” she said through gritted teeth.

Lexie had slept with someone else. The room tilted. Lexie had slept with another man.

“I’m sorry you had to learn about it this way,” Lexie said. “I wasn’t sure how to tell you.”

“How could you do this to me?” He’d be the laughingstock of his Hot Shot crew, of every crew and support group from Montana to Arizona—if he wasn’t already. Had Lexie left him for this guy?

“I didn’t mean for this to happen, but it doesn’t change anything between us.”

“You’ve been walking around like…like…that for months, haven’t you? And everyone in town knows you’re pregnant.”

“Probably.”

Jackson rubbed his sleep-deprived eyes. “Who is he, Lex? Who did this to us?”

Lexie’s mouth dropped open, then she narrowed her eyes at him and said, “You did, you idiot.”

Dear Reader,

This year I will celebrate twenty years of marriage to the same man. But don’t look to me for marital advice. Sometimes I wonder how we made it, given several cross-country moves, job changes, financial challenges, kids, kittens and puppies. One thing I do know—we’re not the same two people who held hands and recited vows so long ago. We’ve grown and we’ve changed.

Lexie and Jackson Garrett are high school sweethearts who marry young. Jackson chases his dream of becoming a Hot Shot fireman—fighting wildland fires from Alaska to Florida. Holding down the home front alone for months at a time, Lexie faces a different set of challenges. It’s not life or death, but it’s still survival. Despite loving Jackson deeply, Lexie can’t handle facing another family crisis alone. Unwilling to settle for a relationship that is less than what she deserves, Lexie asks for a divorce.

When Jackson realizes he’s not immortal, when he understands what he’s lost, when he finally starts to change, he heads straight home to Lexie with one goal in mind…getting married again.

I hope you like Lexie and Jackson’s story. I’d love to hear from you. You can contact me at P.O. Box 150, Denair, CA 95316 or through my Web site at www.MelindaCurtis.com. Enjoy!

Melinda Curtis

Getting Married Again
Melinda Curtis

www.millsandboon.co.uk

With much love and thanks to…

My husband and kids, who have learned this year—through trial and error—how to work the toaster, microwave and iron.

Michael Rhodes, Nicki Amburn and Rick Priest, for sharing Hot Shot and base camp stories, maps, nicknames and information. Any mistakes are mine alone.

Those who keep the home fires burning while their loved ones are away putting out fires—whether out on a fire line or away at the office.

And finally, to the brave men and women who fight wildland fires, who risk their lives to “face the dragon” without much more in return than personal satisfaction and a paycheck as they protect our homes and national treasures. You are an inspiration.

Those who have fallen will not be forgotten.

Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

DRIVEN BY THE WHIPPING WIND, roaring flames made torches of the drought-dry trees on the ridge. Jackson Garrett could feel the heat increase as a wall of fire advanced toward him. Embers shot into the air like Fourth of July rockets, blossoming into flame as they hit the earth.

Ignoring the sweat trickling down his face, Jackson turned to watch the progress of the ground fire, which crept slowly up the steep slope in the direction of him and his crew. The panicked voices on the hand-held radio crackled in his ear over the building snarl of the fire. The words were in Russian and, although he’d been in Russia for nearly half a year, they were speaking too fast for Jackson to understand. Except he did understand.

They were dead.

Not yet, but it was only a matter of time. Ivan, Levka, Potenka, Breniv and Alek. Men he’d trained these past few months to fight forest fires the American way. Men he’d become fond of despite the language barrier and their reluctance to learn a method some bureaucrat figured would help the Russians stem their annual forest fire devastation.

What a joke. You needed equipment to fight fires—reliable equipment that wasn’t salvaged from some war fought fifty or more years ago—and well-trained, well-conditioned men. His Russian team was shaping up, but they had little experience. The men worked sluggishly on the mountainside in the one-hundred-and-ten-degree heat of the fire. They fought without the fire-resistant protective gear that Jackson had taken for granted in the States. As for equipment, in this area of Siberia it included garden-variety shovels, a relic of an airplane that was supposed to be used to drop retardant on the fire—except that after months of fighting wildland fires there was no fire retardant left—and an antique fire truck with only two working gears, reverse and first—not much use in the mountains.

When Jackson had arrived in Russia and realized the limited experience and resources of the men he’d been assigned to, he’d laughed. A smart man would have filed a report with the government agency that sent him over and taken the first plane back to the States.

But then, most smart men didn’t have a freshly signed divorce agreement tucked in their passport.

Jackson had nearly ten years’ experience as a Hot Shot, one of an elite group of government firefighters trained to battle the hottest part of wildland fires. Hell, Jackson figured, he’d be able to teach his ragtag crew a thing or two about fighting forest fires. They had shovels, didn’t they?

So he’d stayed, not yet ready to return home and smile at his Hot Shot buddies and hide the fact that his wife had blindsided him with a divorce, or fess up that he hadn’t been able to sweet-talk his way back into their bed. That last night he spent in Silver Bend, Idaho, he’d told his best friend, Logan McCall, that he wouldn’t have to sleep on Logan’s couch again because his wife, Lexie, had called and wanted to meet him for dinner.

When Jackson met Lexie at that Boise restaurant more than six months ago, he’d been stupidly sure of himself—even after he’d signed the divorce papers and finessed Lexie into a motel room in Boise, convinced they’d rip the papers to shreds come morning. He was so confident they’d reconcile, he’d been thinking about how he’d brag to his buddies about Lexie’s hot temper and how that made making up that much hotter—while she was putting her clothes back on and walking out on him for good.

“This was breakup sex. Nothing more,” Lexie had pronounced, her eyes brimming with tears, the divorce papers clutched in one hand and the motel room door handle gripped in the other. “I didn’t believe those empty promises of yours at dinner. I just had to…” Lexie paused, swallowed, blinked rapidly. “It was breakup sex,” she reaffirmed before disappearing out of his life.

Now, Jackson wondered why Lexie had slept with him that night and why she’d been so upset about it afterwards. He remembered the first time he’d asked her out in high school. He’d given her some smooth line. He couldn’t even remember now what it’d been. She’d laughed at him—after he’d spent weeks working up the nerve to ask her out—and told him he was full of hot air. She’d gone out with him anyway…after he’d asked her out three more times.

There was a joke. Soon, he’d be nothing but hot air, his body incinerated and smoldering. Lexie would cry for him when she found out, because she had a heart that was big enough to mourn an idiot like Jackson, even after she’d kicked him out of her life. It’d be harder on his little girl, Heidi. But Heidi had Lexie, and Lexie would support their daughter and love her no matter what. Heidi could count on Lexie.

According to Lex, Heidi couldn’t count on him.

The idea that his family would go on without him held no comfort. Jackson swayed on the mountainside, suddenly feeling every ounce of the forty-plus pounds of gear he carried, as he realized how dispensable he was to Lexie and Heidi. He’d become just a voice on the other end of the telephone line, a house payment, medical coverage. He wanted his family back. Not that he was in a position to get them back now, caught between two fires halfway around the world. He didn’t even have a way to call them and hear their voices one last time, to tell them how much they meant to him.

He’d been in tough spots before, but he’d always made it out. His Hot Shot crew back home nicknamed him Golden because they could always rely on him to get them out of sticky situations. Now he realized the reason he believed he’d make it was that Lexie had always been waiting for him.

She wasn’t waiting for him anymore.

With his right hand, Jackson reached into his pocket and fingered the small medal Lexie had given him years ago. It was his good luck charm. No. That was wrong. Lexie was his good luck charm. Things just weren’t the same without her in his life.

“Damn it,” Jackson muttered, as the fire above him roared a challenge—fight or die. Time for him to stop moping and realize he needed to battle for the only woman he’d ever loved. He couldn’t die now. Somehow, he’d screwed up his life, but he wouldn’t go like this. He wouldn’t leave Lexie and Heidi without trying to be a good husband and dad one more time. He’d figure out where he went wrong later, after he found a way out of the firestorm closing in on them.

Scowling, Jackson watched his team of trainees futilely attempt to complete the fire line he’d abandoned the moment he’d seen the fire peak the ridge. But with no chopper rescue possible, and no planes to drop a load of water to form an escape route, they were as good as crispy.

They needed a miracle.

Or a man who had to make it back home.

CHAPTER ONE

“WELCOME TO SILVER BEND, Idaho, Population 770.”

“Off by one,” Jackson mumbled to himself from the driver’s seat of his idling truck. Nobody had subtracted him from the sign when Lexie divorced him seven months ago and he’d gone to Russia to join a humanitarian aid party. Facing death there had made him realize he had a lot to live for.

Strike that. He had a lot to do over. Jackson just hoped that he’d be able to figure out where he went wrong, hoped Lexie would give him a second chance.

He recalled Lexie’s face when she’d handed him the divorce papers that last night he’d spent in the States. Her shuttered, pale features so different from those of the vibrant, smiling girl he’d fallen in love with in high school. All those years ago, he’d won her heart and she’d followed Jackson everywhere, from one party to the next. Twelve years later, she didn’t want to do any of the things they used to enjoy together. Toward the end, she wouldn’t even go with him to hang out at the Painted Pony, the restaurant his mother owned. Not for the first time, Jackson wondered when Lex had changed.

How was he going to win her back when she didn’t want anything to do with him?

If he turned left here, on Lone Pine Road, he’d be at his house in minutes. It was Lexie’s now. He hadn’t contested any of her requests. Why would he have? He hadn’t thought she was serious about splitting up.

Since he’d fought his way out of the Russian fire, Jackson had wanted to come home to reclaim his family. As soon as he’d been able, he’d said goodbye to his comrades and hopped on the first plane back. He should just charge up the mountain, fall on his knees, promise her anything and beg her to take his sorry ass back.

Yet, he hesitated.

Trouble was, a severe case of groveling might not be enough for Lex. He needed something meaningful to say, something to sway her. He doubted “I had the crap scared out of me in Siberia and realized I can’t live without you” would cut it.

And that’s what held him back.

Jackson reached for the paper-wrapped bundle sitting on the seat beside him and fingered the handmade wool shawl—a gift for Lexie. Breniv, one of his Siberian fire-fighting trainees, had taken Jackson aside the day before he left for home. They had stood alone on a muggy, empty side street outside of the fire station, the laundry waving from windows high above the street.

“You bring gift for woman?” the burly Russian had asked in his broken English, dark bushy brows drawn low.

Jackson, who had said nothing about Lexie to anyone, had given Breniv a cool look and a curt “No.” One of Jackson’s reasons for hanging around his Russian counterparts rather than the other Americans was to avoid personal conversation, particularly about his marital status—about the plain gold wedding band he still wore.

Breniv ignored Jackson’s off-limits demeanor. “Woman know you love, no?”

“No.” Jackson shook his head and looked out on the sturdy brick buildings along the street, reminded of the ache in his heart.

“Here, we have way of showing love,” Breniv persisted patiently, as if Jackson were a child. “You face death, you show love.”

His words caught Jackson’s attention, because that was exactly how he felt. Life was more fragile to him now. Love more precious. He wanted to be with the ones he loved.

“Yes.” Breniv spoke as if reading Jackson’s thoughts. He pressed a small packet into Jackson’s hands. “Keep woman warm, she love you back.”

Jackson carefully lifted the ends of plain folded paper, revealing a beautiful black shawl with pink roses that was made of the finest wool. Jackson had seen shawls like these in the market, had heard other American firefighters talk about the high prices of the handmade, hand-blocked shawls.

“Breniv, this is too expensive. I can’t accept it.”

But Breniv was already backing away, his expression solemn. “You save life.”

“Not all of them.” He couldn’t accept the gift. Didn’t Breniv realize Jackson had almost killed them all by taking them out to fight a forest fire when they were so ill-equipped? Fighting a fire without benefit of weather reports to predict the impact of strong winds or air support to monitor the progress of two converging fires was foolhardy at best. Fighting a fire without an escape route was plain-ass stupid.

They called Jackson a hero.

He was no hero.

While the flames had roared toward them, he’d made his team shore up two sides of a crevice carved naturally into the mountainside, not an easy task given the hard-packed forest soil. Only as the fire leapt closer did he see the look of terror in Alek’s eyes. It was the young man’s first summer fighting fire. Jackson doubted the rookie had ever seen a fire’s rage mere yards away.

They’d crammed themselves like sardines into the grave they’d made and covered themselves with Jackson’s fire shelter—a one-man tent made of silica, fiberglass and aluminum foil that reflected heat. Everyone jumped in, except Alek. The fire had passed over the men with heat so intense it blistered exposed skin.

Alek had not been so lucky.

By the time the vivid memories of crackling wood, unbearable heat and failure receded, and Jackson returned his attention to the humid street in Russia, Breniv was gone.

Now the shawl sat on the passenger seat next to Jackson as if holding a place for Lexie. The rest of the gifts he’d brought back were tucked into his backpack on the floorboard of his truck.

Who was he kidding? Gifts and groveling weren’t enough to get her back. She wanted the one thing he’d been unable to give her—another child.

Jackson pulled onto the highway and headed into Silver Bend. He needed a beer before he decided what to say to Lex. Since it wasn’t noon yet, a strong cup of coffee would have to do, and if that cup came with a bit of advice from his mom, so much the better. He could use all the help he could get.

As Jackson drove by the gas station, the attendant nodded in greeting while pumping gas into Marguerite’s shiny new Cadillac. Marguerite Sterling, his mother’s friend, craned her neck far enough in the direction of his passing truck that Jackson feared she’d knock her spine out of alignment again.

Jackson waved, somewhat comforted by the familiarity of it all.

Smiley Peterson tottered out of his client chair in the barbershop and pressed his bulbous nose to the glass when Jackson parked his truck on Main Street in front of his shop. The old man shuffled to the front door, opening it with a clang of the bell that Jackson had helped him install.

“Hey, Jackson, that you?” he called.

Jackson climbed out of his truck, working the kinks out of his body after sitting for so long. It took him a bit to answer, but Silver Bend was a quiet town where slow wasn’t necessarily considered stupid.

“Yeah, Smiley. It’s me.” Jackson slung his backpack over one shoulder.

“Seen Lexie?” Smiley asked, not smiling. Jackson couldn’t remember when he’d seen Smiley without his trademark toothless grin.

Ignoring the feeling of emptiness that hearing Lexie’s name gave him, Jackson shook his head, pushing off his unease. Lexie was fine, he was sure.

Jackson gestured to Smiley’s candy-striped barbershop pole listing dangerously to one side of the door. “How long has that sign been broken? Some fool will smack into it if they aren’t watching where they’re going.”

“Blew loose in a summer storm a week or so ago.”

“Got a screwdriver handy?” It wouldn’t take but a few minutes to fix it.

Now Smiley grinned. “’Course I do.”

The old barber leaned against the door frame while Jackson tightened the pole back into place. “Wanna shave that beard?”

“Naw.” Jackson stroked the thick growth covering his cheeks and jaw. He hadn’t shaved since he left home, hadn’t had a haircut in months either. Besides, no one let Smiley near their hair anymore. He’d nearly taken off a little kid’s ear a couple of years back because his eyesight was atrocious and his hands were too shaky. Now, he employed younger hairstylists in the afternoons and on weekends, but he still hung out all day in the shop.

“Shame. Goin’ back soon?”

“I start back in two weeks.” The Department of Forestry hadn’t expected him to return for another five months, so there weren’t any immediate job openings for a Hot Shot leader. His slot as superintendent of the Silver Bend Hot Shots had been filled for the year by Logan. He’d been assured they’d find something for him in two weeks. In the meantime, they had granted his vacation request.

Bureaucrats may talk about budget cuts and downsizing, but when push came to shove, the Department of Forestry found the approvals and moneys necessary to keep valuable assets like Jackson on the ground where he could make the most difference.

An asset. That’s how his boss at the Department of Forestry in Boise had referred to him this morning when Jackson explained that he was thinking about giving up firefighting.

There were fewer than one hundred Hot Shot superintendents in the United States, employed by various government agencies including the Department of Forestry. There were less than fifty with Jackson’s tenure of service, and fewer than twenty who had served overseas. The Department of Forestry wanted Jackson back on the first line of defense against wildland fires—not exactly the ideal situation for a guy who broke into a sweat just remembering the feel of heat on his skin.

Jackson hadn’t wanted to listen to his boss’s protests, but he couldn’t help himself. He was a second-generation Hot Shot. Fighting fires was in his blood. The last thing he wanted to do was quit. But what choice did a coward like him have?

Despite his boss’s protests, he’d applied for two different desk jobs, one as a fire specialist—to predict the path of destruction a fire might take—and one as a member of the Incident Command team—an on-site group that managed the various crews and support personnel needed to combat a fire. Both jobs were with the National Interagency Fire Center, which monitored fires in the nation, processed requests for assistance with fires burning on government land and recommended deployment of resources, which included everything from fire engines to portable showers to fire fighters. The DOF and NIFC were both located within the Boise airport.

Jackson handed the screwdriver back to Smiley and accepted the old man’s “Welcome home” before continuing on his way.

Jackson walked down the empty sidewalk to the Painted Pony, noticing the vast number of cars and trucks parked in the lot beside the life-size plastic horse that was the restaurant’s icon. He recognized many of the vehicles as being owned by his Hot Shots. In this part of Idaho, forestry and firefighting jobs were a big part of the community. A few tourists came for the rafting on the Payette River, but Silver Bend, with its ranger station and Hot Shot base, was considered by locals to be a fire town.

He entered the town’s lone restaurant and local hangout, then paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness, letting the familiar smells and sounds envelop him.

Almost immediately, the door opened behind him and another of his mother’s friends, Birdie Lowell, local busy-body and grocery store owner, came in on his heels. Jackson had thought Birdie was old and cranky when he was a kid. Today, she looked ancient and cranky. The last time he’d seen the old woman, she’d told him the one way to get Lexie back was to take her camping. As if roasting marshmallows over an open fire would win her back.

Jackson stepped aside to let Birdie pass. He wasn’t in the mood for her brand of advice today, but Birdie stopped in front of him anyway.

“Have you seen Lexie yet?” Birdie asked, forehead crinkling as she craned her neck to look him in the eye.

Jackson’s jaw tensed. It was clear that everyone knew about the divorce, which was damn irritating when Jackson was trying to figure out how not to be divorced. “Not yet, Birdie. How’re you?”

Birdie pursed her pale, thin lips while she studied his face. After about thirty seconds, she huffed “Fine,” and then strutted out with an ungainly, jolting gait similar to a pigeon’s.

Obviously, something funny had been added to the water in Silver Bend, because everyone was acting as if Jackson needed to run straight to Lexie. Sure, he’d just returned from Russia, but it wasn’t as if Lexie was anxiously awaiting his return.

That was the problem—she was too damn good at taking care of herself.

Jackson took a moment to reacquaint himself with his mother’s restaurant. He’d grown up cooking, bussing tables and doing dishes at the Pony, idolizing the Hot Shots that treated the place as a second home. There was nothing like the combined aromas of yeasty beer and seasoned curly fries to make him feel like he was back where he belonged.

Nothing had changed here, thank you very much—from the retro blue-green and chrome chairs to the faux white marble countertops to the mural of a rearing black-and-white pony. The scarred pool table still stood to his right, a small video game section to his left. Three rows of oblong tables cascaded back to the bar.

One of the tables near the kitchen was overflowing with familiar faces. Most of his Silver Bend Hot Shots were congregated for a late breakfast. In their fire-resistant Nomex green pants and yellow shirts, they looked ready for battle. The group glanced at him curiously, at first not recognizing him behind his beard.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in.” Logan McCall, who had been the best man at Jackson’s wedding, kicked his chair back and strode across the room “Slummin’, Golden? Or did they kick your lazy butt out of Russia?”

Jackson grinned and took two steps before receiving a bone-crunching hug with much backslapping. “I heard the fires were raging back home, so I took the first plane out, Tin Man.” Jackson used Logan’s nickname, bestowed after one particularly disappointed woman publicly proclaimed Logan to be lacking a heart. Logan was a confirmed bachelor who enjoyed women as long as they didn’t expect more from him than a night or two of his company.

“Just in time,” Logan said. “We’re shipping out today. Got us a nice runaway in Wyoming over at Bighorn.”

Like most Hot Shot teams, Silver Bend fought fires anywhere they were needed, from Alaska to Florida. It was dirty, exhausting, dangerous work fighting fires from the ground with little more than a shovel and a Pulaski—a combination ax and hoe. The physical job requirements were so tough, only the strongest passed the arduous work-capacity test. And only the most courageous lasted more than a few seasons.

His gut clenching at the thought of facing flames again, Jackson concentrated on holding on to his smile.

“Have you eaten? The guys would love to hear some stories.” Logan pointed to the table and walked back as if assuming Jackson wanted nothing more than to join them.

Jackson recognized many of the faces there, had trained most of these men. Those who he didn’t know watched him with the eager expressions of novices. Jackson quickly looked away from their curious stares.

Logan introduced Jackson to the newest Hot Shot members, and slid him into a chair facing the kitchen. “Best view in the house,” Logan said with a private grin, as if he, and he alone, were privy to some inside joke.

Someone poured Jackson a cup of coffee.

“Did you teach the Russians how we fight fires…Golden…sir?” This from a fresh-faced boy, introduced as Rookie, who didn’t look old enough to drive, much less shave, although he had the broad shoulders and beefy arms of a seasoned firefighter.

Most Hot Shots kept in shape, but the Silver Bend Hot Shots trained like fiends—lifting weights and running miles across the mountainous ranges in the area to increase their strength and endurance. They had a reputation for the ability to build more fire lines than any other crew, and generally considered themselves the best of the best. Up until last year, Jackson had believed leading the Silver Bend Hot Shots was a job he’d been born for.

“I did teach my Russian crew something.” Jackson only half smiled, trying to ignore the hero worship in Rookie’s eyes as he remembered another eager, young recruit. Unwilling to elaborate, he felt his easy grin slip away as his mind flashed upon that face, filled with terror.

Why did you run, Alek?

The table was oddly silent as everyone waited for Jackson to say more. He took another sip of coffee, unable to talk about what had happened over there. The goofy grin on Logan’s face was starting to wear on his nerves.

He could hear his mother in the kitchen, banging pans and talking to herself. Now would be a good time to excuse himself, greet his mom and ask her what she thought he should do about Lexie.

“They spoke English, did they?” Chainsaw Hudson asked after a bit. Chainsaw carried his namesake into battle. One of the shorter crew members at only six feet tall, Chainsaw was a burly man who was a terror to trees standing in the way of a firebreak.

“Some. I had an interpreter most of the time.”

“A blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty?” Chainsaw waggled his brows suggestively.

Jackson chuckled, thinking of Levka, the pudgy, wrinkled firefighter that had been assigned to the team of U.S. firemen. “Something like that.”

That was just what the crew wanted to hear. Chainsaw slapped Jackson on the back as other crew members pulled their chairs closer. “Gentleman, our boy is definitely back in the dating game. Anyone want to offer him some tips?”

Everyone started talking at once.

Jackson brought his coffee cup to his lips, letting the table’s enthusiasm roll over him unacknowledged. He didn’t want his team to know he was still devastated over his divorce. He’d never live something like that down.

If only he could hide his cowardice as easily.

“I suppose you’ll have lots of stories to tell. Knowing you, they’ll be good ones.” This from Spider, who had a love of scary movies and wore only black when he was off duty.

Jackson didn’t answer. He didn’t plan to tell many stories, especially stories about that last fire. The heat. The smell of fear so pungent you could taste it.

He took another sip of his coffee, trying to drown the gnawing monster of doubt eating away at his gut. The same demon had been his constant companion since the fire. Nothing seemed to keep the demon at bay—not coffee, not alcohol, not exhaustion.

“Seen Lexie yet?” Spider asked, stretching his wiry frame and tipping the chair back on two legs.

His control—already worn down from exhaustion and longing—at its end, Jackson leaned forward. Appearances be damned. “Hell, no, I haven’t seen my wife yet. Why do you ask?”

“But…but,” Spider sputtered. “You’re divorced.”

Jackson stared real hard at Spider.

Spider let his chair fall forward with a solid thunk on the hardwood floor, averting his gaze. “I’m just gonna keep my mouth shut,” he mumbled.

“Jackson!” Mary Garrett gasped before running around the ancient wooden bar of the Painted Pony.

He’d shot up out of his chair upon seeing her, and was ready when she threw herself into his arms.

“I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.” His mother squeezed him tight.

“We finished up a little early,” Jackson replied gruffly, holding his mom close and trying not to remember that he almost hadn’t made it home. He wanted to tell her that he loved her, but he rarely uttered those words, even to Lex—and there was his reputation to consider, with half a team of Hot Shots watching his every move. Instead, Jackson put some distance between them and reached down into his backpack for the gift he’d brought back for her. Awkwardly he thrust a book of Russian fairy tales her way.

His mother ran her fingers over the brightly colored cover, then flipped through the pages. “What fun this will be to read with Heidi,” she said, her eyes bright. With a sigh, she laid the book carefully on the bar.

“Let me look at you and make sure those Russians took good care of you.” His mother studied him. “You were always such a picky eater, and I worried you wouldn’t have anything to eat over there.”

“Mom.” He scuffed his boots against the wood floor as if he were thirteen, not thirty, hearing Logan’s chuckle behind him. His mother often treated him as if he were still in the seventh grade. The only saving grace was that she treated every one of the Silver Bend Hot Shots as if they were in the seventh grade. The Painted Pony was the last place the Hot Shots stopped before leaving to fight a wildland fire, and the first place they gathered when they returned.

His mom gave him the once-over, then peered at his face. “Have you slept at all?”

“Not much.” Jackson still had frequent nightmares about the fire’s advance and continued to carry the emotional scars from his brush with death. It was tough enough for him to fall asleep when he was alone, even harder when he’d been worried that he might wake up screaming or in a cold sweat on an airplane full of strangers.

“It’s a good thing I’m working, then. You can go get some sleep and then take me to dinner tonight.”

“Dinner? I suppose you’ll want to go somewhere nice in Boise and spend all my hard-earned money,” Jackson teased.

His mother’s eyes widened. “Oh, I forgot. I can’t go to dinner with you tonight. Bridge night. Where are you staying? I’ll call you later.”

“Uh…” The question was so unexpected that Jackson stroked his beard as he searched for a tactful reply. “I thought I was staying with you. I don’t have a room at the barracks.” Unless they had a family, Silver Bend Hot Shots bunked down together at a large ranger station up the road.

“Me? Oh, honey, I’m sorry, but you’ll cramp my style.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen as if concerned something might catch on fire.

“Your style?” He wasn’t welcome in his mother’s house because she was exercising between the sheets? His father died eighteen years ago and his mother hadn’t dated since. In her late fifties, Mary Garrett sported a lined face and the brown mottled complexion of one who enjoyed the outdoor life. Neither slender nor overweight, with short hair turned completely gray, his mother was a bundle of energy, but there was nothing Jackson saw in his mother that someone of the opposite sex would find…well, sexy.

“That’s right.” Her voice was firm and her chin lifted.

What had gotten into his mother? Then she changed the subject on him again.

“Have you seen Lexie?”

Jackson gritted his teeth as he shook his head. “No. Is she working today?” Lexie worked at the Painted Pony during the breakfast shift, as both a cook and a waitress.

“Working?” His mother seemed incredulous. Then she reached up to pat his cheek. “No, honey, not really.”

“Dad?” Heidi appeared at the counter, carrying two mountainous platters of pancakes that wavered when she saw him. She stood frozen in place for a moment, blue eyes filling with tears.

Mary came to the rescue and took the plates from Heidi before she dropped them.

Jackson couldn’t breathe past the sudden lump in his throat at seeing his baby girl, who looked a good inch taller and more like an adult than ever before. At eleven, Heidi was the spitting image of her mother—thick brown hair, bright blue eyes and dimples. Her long ponytail bounced as she ran into his arms. Unable to contain his excitement, he spun her around, then plunked her back on her feet and planted a kiss on her crown.

“I can’t believe you’re back.” Heidi squeezed him again as if reassuring herself that he was real. “It’s been, like, forever.”

Not trusting himself to speak, Jackson just grinned. Heidi was the reason Jackson and Lexie had married before their high school graduation. Lexie had planned on going to college, but the baby had pretty much made that dream impossible. Yet, she’d never once told Jackson she regretted getting married, raising their daughter and abandoning her dreams. They’d wanted to have more children, but the doctors said that Lexie wasn’t able to carry any more babies. That news had broken Lexie’s heart, and eventually, Jackson believed, his marriage as well.

“I almost didn’t recognize you with that beard.” Heidi reached up and tugged gently on his whiskers. “Are beards popular over there?”

“It’s the poor-man’s nose ring,” Logan said, grinning as he loaded up a plate with pancakes.

“Uncle Logan!” Heidi rolled her eyes, then hugged Jackson close. “Wait until I tell Mom you’re home.”

LEXIE IRRITABLY SCRATCHED OUT the figures on the tablet in front of her until the pencil lead snapped. No matter which way she looked at it, she wasn’t going to have enough money this month to pay every bill. She crumpled up the yellow sheet and tossed it in the trash. The money Jackson transferred automatically to her account covered the mortgage and house insurance plus the majority of the grocery bills. It didn’t cover the rest, including the vet bill, and new school clothes for Heidi, who’d grown over the summer.

Lexie shifted in Mary’s chair, trying to ease the pain in her lower back. She’d come over this morning to help Mary feed the departing firefighters and she’d overdone it just a bit. Lexie didn’t regret a few aches. She was just as fond of the Hot Shot crew Jackson used to lead as Mary was. They deserved a little pampering before they risked their lives on a mountain where raging fires sent temperatures soaring above one hundred degrees.

Besides, she needed something to keep her mind off the ticking clock and her mounting bills. When she’d drawn up the divorce settlement, Lexie had been too proud to ask for much money. She’d had a steady paycheck and had thought she could make her own way. That was before she’d had to give up her job at the Painted Pony.

Lexie unfurled herself from behind Mary’s desk and rubbed her back as she headed into the Pony’s kitchen. Not for the first time since the divorce, Lexie wondered if she’d done the right thing. It wasn’t just the money. There was Heidi to consider. Was it fair for Lexie to raise their daughter alone?

Lexie snorted. As if she hadn’t been raising Heidi alone her entire life. Jackson was never home. He was either in another state fighting fires, out somewhere training, or off with his never-ending list of friends. She’d always love Jackson, but their marriage was past the point of salvation. She’d been his housekeeper, his cook and his mistress, but somewhere down the line they’d stopped being friends, stopped being lovers, stopped talking about anything other than his schedule and how he wasn’t going to be around. Finally, Lexie told him not to bother coming home.

Absently, Lexie rubbed her stomach, fighting the slightest twinge of guilt. A year ago, Lexie had discovered she was pregnant. At first, she’d thought the doctors had made a huge mistake; they had told her long ago that she couldn’t get pregnant again. But a miracle had happened—and she had begun to believe that this was the sign she’d been looking for. Her love with Jackson was worth saving.

She’d asked him to meet her for lunch in Boise in a swank little café on the outskirts of the city. Jackson had told her he’d be there after he was done helping a neighbor clear away brush from their house. Lexie had waited an hour before she started to cry.

And then the bleeding started.

Lexie had driven herself to the hospital—alone. Checked herself in—alone. Held herself together throughout the miscarriage when she couldn’t reach Jackson. Then she’d driven herself back to Silver Bend. During the trip home, Lexie had come to realize that she was no longer important to Jackson. This wasn’t the first time Jackson had stood her up, or Heidi, for that matter. How could anyone treat those closest to him—his wife and daughter—so callously? If this wasn’t a sign that their love was unsalvageable, Lexie didn’t know what was.

When Jackson showed up after having missed dinner, with some excuse about a friend’s car not starting, Lexie made her decision. She asked him to move out that night without ever telling him of the child they’d lost.

Lexie sighed, pushing back the guilt. She needed to focus on her current problems, not her past. She’d make it somehow. Just a few more months and things were bound to get better.

The Hot Shot crew in the dining room of the Pony roared with laughter, the raucous sound carrying over the noisy fans in the kitchen. Lexie glanced up from the steaming bowl full of scrambled eggs she’d left on the counter for Mary and Heidi to carry into the dining room minutes before. Something was going on out there. The Silver Bend Hot Shots were such a boisterous, upbeat group that their mood was infectious. Lexie needed some of those positive vibes right now.

She carried the bowl of eggs over to the kitchen window where she could look out on to the dining room. A bearded man with hair touching his shoulders stood with his arms looped around Heidi and Mary, their backs to Lexie. He wasn’t dressed in Hot Shot gear, but the way he stood reminded her of someone. Lexie stretched to put the big, heavy bowl of scrambled eggs up on the shoulder-high countertop, feeling its weight all the way down in her belly. And then he laughed.

It can’t be.

The heavy crock slipped out of her fingers onto the countertop with a sickening crack, splitting the bowl in two and cascading eggs across the counter and onto the floor. Everyone’s head swiveled in her direction, including that of the bearded stranger. Only he wasn’t a stranger. He was the man who still held the key to her heart.

Light-headed, Lexie gripped the counter, grateful that it stood between her and Jackson so that he couldn’t see all of her, couldn’t see that she carried his child.

A child she hadn’t told him about. The child they’d created the night Jackson signed the divorce papers.

Their eyes met and held, making it hard for her to breathe. Having been a firefighter’s wife for so long, she couldn’t resist taking inventory, making sure he was all right. His tall frame was still sturdy. Blue jeans covered his powerful thighs, and his broad shoulders filled a forest-green T-shirt. His sable hair fell uncharacteristically below his ears and brushed his T-shirt collar in the back. A thick, dark beard covered his square jaw, making him look less like the young man she’d married and more like a weary man of the world.

Jackson was safe. She couldn’t think beyond that fact. Firefighters who came home early from assignments weren’t always unscathed. Broken bones. Singed body parts. Eyes so red from bitter smoke that they couldn’t see. But Jackson stood solidly in front of her. Unharmed.

The desire to touch him overwhelmed her. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair, feel the strength of his chest beneath her palms, reassure herself that he was, indeed, home in one piece.

“Are you all right?” Mary darted into the kitchen, gave Lexie the once-over, and then started cleaning up, effectively distracting Lexie from the spell Jackson had put her under.

He may look oh-so-right, but he wasn’t able to love them as a father and husband should. Yet, she couldn’t resist looking at him again.

Jackson’s smile was tentative, his green eyes guarded. It was the first time in a long time that she’d seen him unsure of himself. Oh, he had his weak moments, but Lexie also knew that Jackson hid behind his charm. Few knew he didn’t have the hidden reserves of confidence he’d prefer everyone believed. He certainly had never been anything but upbeat and positive with Lexie through their entire divorce.

“How’re you doing, Lex?” His voice coasted over her like warm honey from across the room.

Lexie licked suddenly dry lips. She should have told him months ago about this baby. He’d know how she was “doing” the minute she stepped out from behind the counter.

The baby thumped against her ribs, trying to capture her father’s attention from deep within the womb.

Heidi hugged Jackson, her joy in seeing her father apparent in her radiant smile. “He’s home, Mom, for good. Just like before. Isn’t it great?”

Jackson’s smile broadened. The Hot Shots at the table were nudging each other and grinning as if this was the best show in town. She supposed it ranked right up there with the time old Marguerite slurped one too many strawberry daiquiris, shimmied into the lap of a highly embarrassed and uninterested Sirus Socrath, the former superintendent of Silver Bend’s Hot Shot crew, and sang “Like a Virgin.”

“Your father is back from Russia, but I’m sure he’s off to fight fires somewhere,” Lexie said, hastening to correct the impression that Jackson was home to stay. It was the height of the fire season and there were several forest fires rampant across the western states. She pasted a smile on her face and looked at Jackson hopefully.

Jackson tugged Heidi’s ponytail, grin firmly in place. “Nope. I’ve taken two weeks off.”

“In the middle of the fire season?” Lexie’s voice cracked on the last word. Any hope she had of keeping her pregnancy a secret from Jackson faded fast. Would he be angry with her? Would he even care?

“Yep. I decided I needed a break, needed to reconnect with my family.” His eyes, dark rimmed as if from lack of sleep, seemed to glow warmly at her, but Lexie was anything but reassured.

“Wow. That’s…” Lexie’s head bobbed as she floundered for something to say, some way to break the news to Jackson gently. She used to be known for her witty comebacks. Now, all she could manage was “That’s… Wow.”

“Aren’t you gonna hug Mom?” Heidi asked, looking innocently up at her father.

One of the Hot Shots chuckled.

“Oh dear,” Mary said, and disappeared into the back room.

Lexie’s eyes narrowed even as her chest heaved. She was being set up by her own daughter, in front of an audience, no less. Emotions warred within her—indignation at being caught off guard and outmaneuvered by an eleven-year-old, anxiety that Jackson might find out how close she was to needing his help, a feeling of relief that Jackson was home safe, the sour guilt of her secret.

The baby slugged her bladder.

Jackson walked closer, his footsteps a slow herald of the moment of truth. Everyone was looking at her now, probably hoping she’d fall back into his arms as if he’d never broken her heart and shattered her dreams of family. Each step Jackson took made Lexie want to shrink back into the kitchen, but she still had enough pride to stand and face him.

CHAPTER TWO

JACKSON FELT about as nervous as the first time he’d asked Lexie out. She looked great. At least the part of her he could see looked great behind the counter. Thick lashes framed wide blue eyes unadorned by makeup. He could gaze into those eyes forever. Her hair, begging to be touched, fell in soft brown waves about her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed, and there’d been a few moments there when their eyes first connected that he’d been glad he came because of the way she was looking at him, as if she were happy to see him.

Heidi was pushing his luck a little, but heck, if he could get a hug from Lex on day one, that was something, right?

He gave Lex his best “hey, trust me” smile, planning to take this as slowly as she wanted, and entered the kitchen. The sight of her full, lush body made him stop in his tracks.

“You’re pregnant!”

Her face turned bright red. “Yes,” she said through gritted teeth.

Lexie had slept with someone else. The room tilted.

“When did this happen?” Jackson’s eyes bounced around the room from Heidi—argh, don’t ask Heidi—to his Hot Shot buddies—he’d never live this down—to his wife. “How could this happen?”

Lexie ran her hands over the blue T-shirt—his T-shirt—covering her very pregnant belly.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“I tried to tell you the last time you called, Dad, but I don’t think you heard me.” Heidi leaned over the counter and smiled sweetly as if she hadn’t been in on this secret for months.

Jackson tried to remember the conversation Heidi referred to. It took a few seconds for something to click. He dropped his head and shook it slowly from side to side. “You said she was perfect.”

“No, Dad, I said she was pregnant,” Heidi corrected, then had the nerve to look back at the Hot Shot crew and grin.

The men, of course, heard their exchange and roared with laughter. Oh, this was one for the record books, all right.

Jackson struggled to control his emotions. He wanted to throttle whoever had gotten his wife pregnant, or at the very least, punch a wall.

Lexie had slept with another man.

“The ink wasn’t even dry on our divorce.” Jackson’s gaze returned to the floor. He couldn’t bear to look at her. How could she do this to him?

“Heidi, go get yourself something to eat.” Lexie’s voice brooked no argument and Heidi scooted over to the table with the firemen. She was always more inclined to obey Lexie than to listen to him.

Jackson lifted his suddenly heavy head and stared at Lexie, barely able to contain his sorrow. He’d never get her back now. How could he, with this child between them? “You were the only thing…” Jackson let his voice trail off, swallowing thickly. She was the reason he’d found a way out of that fire. She and Heidi had been his reason for living. Lexie was his talisman, for heaven’s sake.

A cold emptiness settled inside of him. He leaned against the kitchen wall, needing support for knees suddenly as limp as spaghetti.

“I’m sorry you had to learn about it this way,” Lexie said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t sure how to tell you.”

“How could you do this to me?” He’d be the laughingstock of his Hot Shot crew, of every crew and support group from Montana to Arizona—if he wasn’t already. Had Lexie left him for this guy? And what about her infertility problem? Maybe it wasn’t her problem, after all. Maybe all those doctors were wrong. Maybe all his sperm weren’t accounted for.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen, but it doesn’t change anything between us.”

And then the reality of the situation hit him. He pulled Lexie deeper into the kitchen and lowered his voice. “You’ve been walking around like…like…that for months, haven’t you.” He pointed to her swollen belly.

She arched her brows at him as if he’d lost his mind. “That’s right.”

“And everyone in town knows you’re pregnant.”

“Probably.” Lexie crossed her arms just underneath her very full breasts, resting her arms over her round stomach.

Jackson pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s why everyone I saw today asked if I’d seen you. They’re salivating out there right now.” This time he pointed toward the dining room. “Just waiting to hear how I react to…to…you!”

“Probably.”

He forced himself to lower his voice. “Smiley. Birdie. Spider. And who knows how many others.”

“It is a situation that people appear to be curious about.”

Jackson slapped the wall with his palm. “Well, I’m curious, too, damn it.”

“Really?”

Jackson tilted his head to the ceiling as if the cracked stucco held the answer to his problems. This other guy was going to move in, sleep in his bed, and kiss his wife good-morning, not to mention good-night.

Lexie was lost to him. And Heidi…

Oh, hell.

Jackson rubbed his dry, sleep-deprived eyes. “Who is he, Lex? Who did this to us?”

Lexie’s mouth dropped open, then she narrowed her eyes at him and said, “You did, you idiot.”

“SAY AGAIN?” Jackson squinted at her.

Keeping her arms crossed, Lexie tapped her forefinger impatiently on one arm, unable to believe Jackson thought she’d slept with another man. And here she’d assumed he’d been upset that she was pregnant. “I’m seven months along.” Three months ago, she’d been told not to be out of bed for more than a few hours at a time or she’d lose the baby because of an incompetent cervix. She’d spent three months being unable to do things with Heidi the way she wanted. Months spent teetering on the edge of failure. Months of—

“And?” Jackson prompted.

Maybe the breakup sex hadn’t been as memorable for him as it had been for her, or maybe he couldn’t add. Lexie wasn’t sure why this wasn’t sinking in. Finally, when she couldn’t stand the fact that he didn’t comprehend her, Lexie tossed her hands in his direction. “And it’s yours.”

Her outburst was loud enough to carry to the dining room. Somebody mumbled at the Hot Shot table and was promptly shushed. The Hot Shots weren’t this quiet and attentive at the movie theater. She and Jackson were putting on quite a show.

It took a moment for Jackson to process this information, in which time Lexie wondered, as she had for months, how Jackson would react to the idea of becoming a father once again.

Then Jackson smiled at her. Even with half his face covered by a beard, his grin was still powerful. Jackson’s smile could charm the birds out of the trees, convince a teacher that his dog had indeed eaten his homework or reassure a lonely teenage girl who’d never felt loved before that she was the most important thing in the world to him. When Jackson wore that smile, people believed everything he said.

“This is fantastic, Lex. I wish you’d told me sooner.”

Before Lexie knew what was happening, Jackson had his arms around her. His warmth enveloped her. Jackson’s fingers began making circles around the small of her back in just the right spot to relieve the soreness. For the first time in months, Lexie felt a little of the pressure inside her ease.

Wow.

Instinctively, she melted against him. They’d dreamed of a large family, tried as many fertility treatments as they could afford, all to no avail. A part of Lexie had died with the baby she’d miscarried last year, but still, she’d told no one, denying herself the comfort of Jackson’s arms because she wouldn’t settle for anything less than a strong, loving relationship.

Jackson nuzzled her hair and she felt his breath waft across her cheek. Then he pressed a gentle kiss on her temple as if they were still a couple very much in love.

Heidi whooped, spying from her position at the kitchen window and the Hot Shot crew broke into applause at her cue.

Uh-oh.

Dumbfounded at finding herself in the one place she longed to be, the one place she couldn’t be without risking her heart again, it took several heartbeats for the alarm to register in Lexie’s head. She knew Jackson cared for her, but if he were to make a list of his priorities, she’d come out somewhere near the bottom. Lexie would be a fool to let him back into her life, even if he was the father of the little one growing inside of her.

The baby poked her.

Lexie began to pull back. “Jackson, you shouldn’t be touching me like that.”

“Another baby, Lex. This is perfect.”

His fingers were magic, but Lexie needed to fight against his touch. They were divorced. She couldn’t go through the disappointment and heartache of having Jackson in her life again, seeing him leave to risk his life to fight a fire, gluing herself to the television screen in the hopes that she’d see him, praying she wouldn’t recognize him on screen because then the danger would become all too real. And when he was home, he found dozens of reasons to stay away, to help others, leaving Lexie and Heidi on their own.

“Jackson, I’m asking you to stop.”

“Why?” He gazed down at her with such tenderness, Lexie found it hard to find the words she had to say, found it hard to move away. She forced herself to dredge up all the unpleasant memories—Jackson missing from the dinner table, Jackson forgetting to pick up Heidi’s Christmas present from the store in Boise, Jackson unreachable when she’d miscarried. For Lexie, love meant putting a priority on someone and being there through the good times, the bad times, even the boring times. She and Heidi deserved that much.

The baby stretched, pushing on Lexie’s bladder and her lungs simultaneously, and holding the position. This kid was definitely into yoga.

Lexie managed to step back. “We’re divorced.”

Jackson’s brow puckered. “It’s my baby.”

“So? You weren’t around to raise the first one.” Shocked at the harshness of her own words, she retreated another step as she struggled to catch her breath.

“I work in a job that takes me away for weeks at a time.” His words were clipped and his green eyes flashed a warning.

Here was the anger Lexie had expected when she’d asked him to leave a year ago, the anger that she’d thought would prove he still loved her.

Too late. Why was Jackson always too late?

“I know that.” When it seemed he’d argue further, Lexie held up a hand, willing it not to tremble. With her other hand, she tenderly pushed on her stomach, encouraging the baby to give her breathing room. “I’m not going to talk about this now. You’ve just found out about this baby, and you’re upset.” And Lexie hadn’t had any time to prepare for this meeting.

“I’m not upset, I’m ecstatic.” He wasn’t smiling. In fact, when he spoke, it was with a clenched jaw. “I’m coming home. I’m moving back in. We’ll get married.”

“No,” she protested weakly, wanting to protect her fragile heart. Except, a little voice deep inside whispered that this was meant to be.

The air suddenly seemed too thick, the kitchen too hot. Lexie sank down to her knees, barely aware of Heidi shrieking her joy that Jackson was moving back in.

Jackson eased Lexie into his lap. “Head between your knees, darlin’. Breathe deep. That’s excellent.”

Jackson was elbowing his way back into her life. Nothing was going to be excellent again.

“WE’RE NOT GETTING MARRIED,” Lexie whispered at him.

Jackson sat across the table from Lex, having helped her to a chair while she scolded Heidi and the Hot Shots for fussing over her. All the while, Jackson couldn’t help but think that this baby was the reason he’d made it home safely, the reason he and Lexie would get back together. She was his good luck charm.

But she didn’t seem to see it that way. “We’re going to be friends.”

“Like hell we are. Show’s over, boys,” Jackson growled at the firefighters hovering over his wife. “Don’t you have a bus to catch?”

“Sure thing.” Logan slapped Jackson on the shoulder. “Welcome home.” It took the acting superintendent less than two minutes to drive his crew outside.

“Heidi, come help with the dishes,” Mary singsonged, as if the world hadn’t just come crashing down around her son’s ears.

Jackson waited until the door closed behind the last fireman and Heidi followed his mother into the kitchen before confronting Lexie. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t move back home.” He stared pointedly at Lexie’s belly.

“We’re not married,” she said wearily, shifting in her chair in a way that had Jackson recalling how Lexie’s back bothered her when she was pregnant all those years ago. Her eyes kept skittering away from his, as if she couldn’t stand to look at him.

Smiles generally came easily to Jackson, but when he tried to smile at Lexie, he felt as if he were a wolf baring his teeth at her. “We can fix that. Marry me.”

Her eyes widened and she looked at him dead-on. “Please don’t suggest that. We had our chance.”

Jackson opened his mouth to contradict her, then closed it. He couldn’t have said for sure, but there seemed to be panic in her big blue eyes. Why did the thought of his moving back in scare her? Unless there was someone else.

Jackson’s heart sank to his toes. He clasped and unclasped his hands, studying the face of the woman he loved. Everything had seemed clear and simple in Russia. Here at home, the reality of winning Lexie back was daunting, perhaps impossible.

What would he do if she’d fallen in love with someone else?

Jackson swallowed hard as the silence stretched between them. Lexie was back to squirming in her chair, trying to get comfortable. But what if she wasn’t squirming to ease an aching back? What if she was squirming because she didn’t want to tell him about another man in her life? She’d had plenty of time to fall in love again. Pregnant or not, she was a beautiful woman that turned heads. How did you ask a woman if there was someone else more important than you in their life? Words bumbled through his head, quickly discarded. Anything he said would just distance them further and wound his pride.

“This shouldn’t be so hard,” Jackson blurted, inwardly cursing himself as the coward he was. If there was another man, he didn’t want to hear it from Lexie. The way Silver Bend talked, he’d hear about it soon enough.

“It shouldn’t be anything,” Lexie replied, her expression distant, almost aloof. “All we have to do is add the baby’s name to the visitation papers. End of problem.”

“Problem,” Jackson murmured, shocked by how callous his wife had become. His softhearted Lexie was also an incredibly capable woman, who’d demonstrated on several occasions over the years that she didn’t need him. Just once, he’d like Lexie to want him for something other than an errand or a chore around the house.

Old wounds reopened, smarting more than they had the first time she’d sent him away. That night, he’d attributed her rejection to moodiness, assuming it was temporary. So, he’d been calm. Reasonable. This time, her dismissive words drove his anger uncharacteristically to the surface.

“Is that all I am to you? A problem?” He leaned across the table. “There was a time when you begged to have me as your problem.”

Lexie stared toward the kitchen, one hand rubbing the curve of her stomach.

“In fact, I remember our wedding night when you said you couldn’t imagine life without me.”

Her face seemed to pale; her lips tightened into a thin line. The saner part of his brain, the one that had paid attention to hours and hours of medical training, told him that now was the time to back off. But his brain didn’t seem in control of his rampant emotions.

“Or was that just a lie?”

Her hand stilled. She seemed to barely take a breath.

Jackson pushed on. “Do you remember the day you asked me to leave?”

She nodded almost imperceptibly, her profile to him.

Jackson lowered his voice, but his words were still cruelly edged. “You told me you loved me that morning, then you told me to get out that night. And what about my last day in the States? You asked for my signature on the divorce papers, then came with me…willingly…to a motel where we spent hours…” He couldn’t stop himself from looking at her stomach. “…Apparently making that baby you’re carrying.”

Lexie’s head dropped. Her eyes closed.

“Tell me, Lex. What’s true between us and what’s a lie?” He wanted her to say she still loved him.

After a moment, she blinked and lifted her soft, watery gaze to him. She always cried right before they made up, but still Lexie said nothing, gave him no explanation for her actions, nor did her tears well over and fall.

“I don’t want to be a problem to you or our baby.” Jackson extended his hand, palm up, across the table toward her. “I’m here for you, Lex, just like I’ve always been.”

Lexie’s features stiffened. She rose awkwardly from the chair and stared down her slender nose at him. “I’m not taking you back.”

“THANKS FOR THE VODKA. Hopefully I won’t have to use it to bribe some tight-ass supply manager for some of Chainsaw’s gasoline.” Logan stroked the Russian bottle of spirits almost reverently before tucking it into his backpack. “The bus is late, as usual.”

The Forest Service arranged for ground transportation to and from fires outside the area on vans and buses, sometimes as spartan as school buses. They stood outside the ranger station in Silver Bend, along with twenty other men checking their packs and shooting the bull. Most of the crew kept their distance from the two leaders.

Logan had just finished telling Jackson about a fire that the Silver Bend Hot Shots had worked in Oregon. The fire had been a tricky one to control, requiring several crews, smoke jumpers and air support. Jackson could barely contain his envy or his anxiety. He would have loved to fight such a fire. In the past, he’d reveled in the challenges of leading a team against something so incredibly powerful.

A nervous sweat broke out on his upper lip as the cowardly demon danced a tango across his bowels. Self-consciously, Jackson wiped at his mustache.

He was done fighting fires on the line. He’d made his choice. Why hadn’t the demon left him?

“You’re too quiet. You’re never quiet,” Logan remarked when Jackson couldn’t bring himself to talk about the fire. “It’s depressing.”

Jackson blew out a breath. He was the first to admit he was upbeat, but no one was up one hundred percent of the time. After all these years, he would have thought that his closest friend wouldn’t require him to be “on” every second. That’s what he’d loved about Lexie. From the first time they’d met in high school, she’d seemed to understand that he needed to be quiet sometimes, that his perpetual optimism and outgoing nature wasn’t everything he was. She didn’t ask him ad nauseam what was wrong if he was quiet or contemplative. She didn’t try to joke him back into an “up” mood.

God, he missed her. When she’d kicked him out, he’d gone out of his way to be nice, solicitous, the perfect gentleman. He could win anyone over with a smile. But his smile hadn’t worked. Maybe he should have let her know how hurt he was, how lost he was without her. Instead, he’d thrown himself into his work to avoid the pain of her rejection and he’d rarely seen her, hoping that she’d miss him as much as he missed her—and take him back.

Jackson slouched against the green wall of the ranger station. His neck was stiff and his body sluggish, unused as it was to this time zone and abused by a fitful night of horror-chased dreams on the airplane. He needed to see Heidi again soon. He’d forgotten to give her the souvenir he’d brought home, so distracted was he by seeing Lexie pregnant.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Lex?” No one had wanted to tell Jackson about this baby, this gift. Lexie most of all. Wasn’t that a kick in the head? Jackson still loved her, and she couldn’t even tell him they were pregnant again.

As the silence lingered, Jackson experienced a moment of doubt. Was Logan seeing Lex? It was always the best friend, wasn’t it?

“Lexie isn’t any of my business,” Logan said finally, giving Jackson a level look. “Never has been.”

Jackson released the breath he’d been holding, turning his attention to his other burning question. Painful as it was, Jackson had to ask. “She’s not…seeing anyone, is she?”

After looking around the lot at the men assembled there, Logan shook his head.

“The baby is mine,” Jackson said with more force than he had intended.

“Everyone in town knows who knocked her up,” Logan admitted with an easy grin.

“Yeah, I’m going to have another baby.” Jackson grinned, too. He thought he’d given up on that dream a long time ago. Part of him was overjoyed, yet frustration seethed just beneath the surface. Another baby wasn’t enough. He needed Lexie back.

His smile faded.

“What’s up with you?” Logan asked, scrutinizing Jackson’s expression.

Jackson tried to smile, but his cheeks felt heavy. Finally, he spoke, drawing his words out slowly. “Do you remember that fire a couple of years ago in Hell’s Canyon?”

Logan nodded, casting his gaze out toward two men whose voices were raised, bodies angled toward each other in anger.

Seeing Logan glaring at them, the two men went to separate corners of the station. Although not nearly as broad as Jackson, Logan was a couple of inches taller and didn’t take crap from anyone. The team knew better than to mess around with Logan when it came to discipline.

“Bitch of a fire,” Logan noted.

“That fire kicked our butts and singed our whiskers,” Jackson agreed.

“Everybody made it out alive,” Logan pointed out. “What with the steep slopes, erratic winds, and Incident Command telling us to pull back and regroup three different times, I wasn’t sure we’d all make it out safely. Not that you ever doubted it.”

Jackson made a noncommittal sound. He’d thought at the time that the brass had pulled them back too soon, but now he wasn’t so sure. When he thought about it, he was surprised that more firefighters weren’t lost to the powerful devastation of fire every year.

He didn’t used to feel that way. Hot Shots lived for the exhilaration of a fire. They didn’t fight fires with bulky protective jackets as city firemen did. Fire trucks? Hell, no. Hot Shots fought fire in fire-resistant clothing and hand tools. Mano a mano. Battling such a powerful force was addictive. Some guys never wanted to give up the rush. Most Hot Shots were forced out when they could no longer meet the physical demands of the job.

Or when they lost their nerve.

Jackson swallowed the bitter thought. In his wildest dreams, he’d never imagined he’d be one of the washouts.

Loser was more like it.

Jackson sighed. “I thought we were invincible after we got that fire under control.” In his mind, he relived the flames licking at the tent above his shoulders, heard its mocking crackle as it moved past him and the other men, eating up the oxygen.

“Nobody’s invincible, Golden.”

There seemed to be an undercurrent of sadness in Logan’s reply. Could it be that Logan battled the fire demon, too?

“Do you ever wonder if we’ve had more than our share of luck? I mean, look at us, Tin Man. We’ve been fighting wildland fires for, what? Ten years now?”

“What are we talking about this for? You’re the golden one. You’ve got a never-ending supply of luck.” Logan searched Jackson’s face for a minute, then looked away and added in a more serious tone. “Some civilians never live to see their thirty-first birthday. Car wrecks, suicides, cancer.” He shrugged. “So we’ve got our share of scars. But we’re still here, still in one piece.”

“Yeah, but for how long?” Jackson’s heart sank. It would have been easier to deal with his cowardice if Logan felt the same way. And wasn’t that exactly the way a coward was supposed to think? Afraid to do anything alone.

Up until a few weeks ago, Jackson lived to fight fires, keeping his body in top condition because he loved the physical demands and mental challenge of the job. In Jackson’s opinion, there was no other work that made him feel so alive. And yet, his stomach now roiled at the thought of facing a fire again. Because for the first time, he’d allowed fire to bring death to someone under his command.

“Jackson, are you quitting?”

Jackson’s chin lifted, but his eyes felt gritty and his vision blurred, as if he’d been out on the line under heavy smoke too long. “I’m thinking about it.”

“What the hell for?” Logan pushed off the wall.

Jackson shrugged. “You’re the sup now. It’s time for me to move on.”

“Hey, I was happy as a clam being your right-hand man.” Logan lowered his voice. “These guys look up to you. They’d follow you anywhere.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. They’d do the same for you. It’s just…” Jackson ran a hand through his shaggy hair. When he continued, he hoped it was with the truth. “I can’t get Lex back if I go back to the line.”

“So, you’re cashing it in just to make up with her?”

Jackson didn’t answer, letting his friend believe Lexie was the only reason he was giving in.

“Man, I hope you know what you’re doing,” Logan said, shaking his head.

A ranger stepped out of the station and scanned the crowd of Hot Shots until he found Logan. “You guys got lucky. They’re using a local crew for Bighorn. They say you can stand down.”

Curses and groans filled the air. The Hot Shots were clearly disappointed. The men began picking up their belongings and lugging them back to their barracks.

Rookie grinned at Jackson as he walked by. “Maybe we’ll get one tomorrow,” he said.

“That kid’s too young to be out here,” Jackson grumbled to Logan.

Logan didn’t look up from gathering his gear. “He’s twenty, as old as you and I were when we started.”

“You make sure you watch out for him.”

“He’s been out here for months. He’ll be okay.” Logan stared at Jackson. “Maybe it’s you I should be watching out for.”

Jackson frowned and glanced at his boots. He could feel Logan waiting to hear what was bugging him. Logan could wait all day; Jackson wasn’t going to say a word. He clamped his lips tighter together, willing his mind to see the green vibrant trees before him and not the burning giants of Siberia.

“You know, you and Lex are something else.” Logan sighed. “Stubborn as a pair of mules. Can’t you just tell me a joke or something? I could use a little levity about now.”

“Why? Are you that bummed out about missing the Bighorn fire? Because that rookie is right. There probably will be another one tomorrow.”

“No.” Logan chewed on the inside of his cheek. “It’s Deb. She’s not…she’s…she’s dying.” These last words came out and lay between them in a strangled, raw heap.

Deb. Logan’s twin sister. To say they were close was an understatement. An abusive, drunken father had driven the siblings to a near-psychic connection. Without Deb, Logan would be left with no one.

“How? Why?” Jackson put a hand on Logan’s shoulder when it seemed his questions might crack Logan’s composure. “I’m sorry. Don’t answer that.”

Logan bowed his head.

Crap. Tell him something amusing, anything.

“Uh…hey, did I tell you that Russian customs confiscated my stash of toilet paper?”

Eyes still cast to the ground, Logan rubbed his nose, so he missed Jackson rolling his eyes. Jackson couldn’t believe he was going to tell Logan about this.

“Yeah, they swiped my twelve double rolls of Charmin. They claimed it was contraband.”

Logan drew a labored breath. The guy must be going through hell.

“You never go anywhere without your Charmin.”

Jackson patted Logan none too gently on the back, hoping it would help him regain his equilibrium. “T.P. has many uses beyond what it’s sold for. Remember that time I bandaged Whitey’s blistered hands with it? Or when I used it to start a fire when we were back-burning in Wyoming?”

“I find it hard to believe—” Logan looked up with a weak grin “—that you only brought twelve rolls when you were scheduled to be there a year. What did the mighty Golden do without his handy-dandy Charmin?”

“I bought six copies of the newspaper every week.”

Logan’s grin broadened. “Russia was quite an experience for you, man.”

“It’s good to be back in the States.” It would be better to be home with Lexie.

JACKSON’S TRUCK BOUNCED over ruts in the dirt and gravel road that wound between tall pines on what had been his and Lex’s property. Tossed about as if in white water, Jackson was reminded of how much Lexie hated the ruts. It was the first thing she fixed outside after the spring runoff. Only, she hadn’t gotten around to fixing them this year.

He could offer one big guess as to why she hadn’t. Their baby.

Jackson drove out of the grove and onto the main property. There was nothing like the sight of home—a red barn that had seen better days and, up on the hill, a small ranch house painted bright green. A dog barked somewhere and Heidi ran toward his truck, ponytail flying out behind her as she raced through the knee-high grass.

“Dad!” she cried, waving. The smile cracking her face was as broad as his.

Jackson parked in the middle of the drive and jumped out of the truck to catch her hurtling herself at him. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of hugging his little girl.

“I have so much to tell you.” Heidi looped an arm around his waist, tugging him up toward the house.

“You have all the time in the world, Runt. I’m home.” Jackson’s throat tightened on the words. How he wished that were true. He held his daughter close. He could just picture himself walking up the hill and having Lexie run down to meet him halfway, throwing herself into his arms with the same enthusiasm Heidi had shown.

Jackson glanced up toward the house and took a deep breath. Heidi still loved him. He would make things right with Lex.

“We’ve been so busy.” Ever the drama queen, Heidi hopped a few steps ahead of Jackson to command his complete attention. She held up her forefinger. “First, the most major of bummers. Our VCR is broken, so no movies all summer.”

Heidi popped up a second finger. “Then there’s Rufus the Re-pro-bate, as Mom calls him.”

Rufus was the chocolate Lab that Jackson had bought Heidi the week before he left for Russia. The scrappy puppy had been all belly, with big soulful eyes and soft fur. Jackson had picked the pup out of the litter because he admired his spunk.

“Rufus is a bad dog,” Heidi proclaimed in an ominous tone. “He chases gophers, which is good. But he doesn’t catch them, which is bad. He leaves lots of gigantic holes in the yard.”

Jackson reached over, rubbed Heidi’s shoulder, and tried not to think about Lexie’s reaction to a dog demolishing her precious backyard. Lexie had worked her fingers to the bone making that forty-by-sixty-foot plot resemble a well-groomed yard like most of their friends in Boise had. Jackson didn’t understand it. They lived in the middle of the National Forest, not a suburb. Who needed tamed, trim grass and shrubs?

Heidi held up a third finger. “And who could forget Marmy.”

“Who?”

“The orange-and-white kitten you gave us with Rufus. Mom called her Marmalade, but now we just call her Marmy. She doesn’t poop in the corners anymore when she comes inside, but she still brings Mom field mice. And they’re not always dead.” Heidi was almost squealing with excitement. Her dimples deepened. “Mom screams loud enough to be in the movies.”

Heidi dissolved into giggles, eliciting a smile from Jackson. He could appreciate the humor of it all. But did two pets that were nothing but trouble bode well for his case with Lex?

“Mom’s resting. She has to do that a lot. I wouldn’t want to be her for anything.”

“Is something wrong?” Jackson tried to keep his voice steady.

“She’s just tired.” Heidi tugged on Jackson’s arm, pulling him up the hill and closer to the house. “So smile and make nice. If she’s still in one of her moods, I’ll offer to bake her some cookies and you can take out the trash.”

“She’s in one of her moods?” Jackson wasn’t so sure that he wanted to be rejected twice in the same day. In fact, he couldn’t face Lex without arming himself with the proper defenses. More gifts. That’s what he needed.

Jackson resisted Heidi’s tugging. “Hey, what do you say we do a little shopping while your mom rests?”

“Shopping? Clothes shopping?” Heidi clasped her hands to her chest and leaned against Jackson. “Need you ask?”

“Go ask your mom and hustle back out.” Maybe if he gave Lexie a little time to get used to him being home, she’d come around to his way of thinking. Getting married again was the logical move.

Jackson glanced over at the house, longing to go inside. If Lexie acknowledged him when Heidi came back out, he’d talk to her—calmly, patiently and with a reassuring smile that would cover the fact that he was feeling anything but calm or patient.

He braced himself with a smile when Heidi pushed open the screen door and came back outside, but the door banged closed behind his little girl as firmly as if Lexie had shut him out herself.

“What did she say?”

“Mom said it was okay. She asked how you were doing and said to make sure I got some low-rise jeans.”

All Jackson heard was that Lex had asked about him. For a moment, hope flared.

Then a silent Heidi blinked up at him innocently.

Too innocently.

Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “She didn’t ask about me, did she?”

“Well, she wanted to,” Heidi hedged.

Tilting his head back, Jackson stared at the clouds gathering in the blue sky above him. “And the low-rise jeans?”

“That was a definite no.”

CHAPTER THREE

“LOOK OUT!”

The screen door banged open, jerking Lexie awake just in time to see a large, brown streak bounding toward her. Rufus leaped at Lexie’s feet, narrowly missing Marmy, who scampered away down the hallway with the brown pursuer hot on her heels.

“Rufus, no!” Jackson yelled, as he and Heidi followed the Lab into the living room. “Sorry, Lex. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Lexie took a deep breath and rubbed her tummy, which had clenched tight at the prospect of forty-five pounds of dog landing in her lap. Her heart was racing. The baby kicked her ribs once. And again. Then started a drumroll.

Jackson gave Lexie a once-over, which did nothing to slow her pulse.

“Sorry about that, Lex. He wormed his way past us.”

“I’m fine, really.” She’d feel better once he quit looking at her. Lexie rubbed the numb spot that the baby was pounding.

“Mom, look at all this stuff we bought.” Heidi sank to the floor near Lexie, sharing her treasures, the drama of their entrance already fading. “I promised Dad I wouldn’t wear any of it until school.”

Heidi shook out three blouses in rapid succession. Lexie barely had time to look at them before her daughter brought out another shopping bag.

“And new jeans.”

“Blue jeans,” Lexie said wistfully, almost able to feel the thick denim on her legs. What she wouldn’t give to be able to pull on a pair of pants that didn’t have an elastic waistband. “Did you spend all of your father’s money?”

“Almost. We spent what was in my wallet, anyway.” Jackson shouldered open the door, carrying an oblong box that looked suspiciously like stereo equipment. The box effectively distracted Lexie from gazing too long at Jackson’s muscular arms.

Rufus returned, shoving his nose repeatedly under Lexie’s arm until she petted him. He gave her a pink-tongued grin.

“Who’s that for?” Lexie asked, keeping her eyes on the box as Jackson set it on the floor. Her pulse had finally decided to return to something close to normal and the baby was peaceful once more.

Heidi folded her loot. “Dad bought a DVD player and he got five free movies, too. Isn’t it great? Now we can watch movies again.”

“All our movies are on video,” Lexie said, trying to catch Jackson’s eye. Between the electronics and the clothes, Jackson easily could have spent three hundred dollars or more.

That was just like Jackson. He never approached a problem head-on. He always worked his way in the back door. If he thought she was taking him back and returning to the same lifestyle—worrying about him nine months out of the year, sleeping solo in their king-size bed—he had another thing coming.

“Birdie rents DVDs at her grocery store,” Heidi pointed out. “Oh, and I forgot we picked up a pizza on the way back into town.” She shot out the door.

Jackson continued unpacking the box. “Heidi mentioned the VCR was broken, and you know it costs just as much to fix one as to buy one.”

“A VCR, sure. But not a DVD. Those are more expensive.”

“It’ll last a long time.” He began pulling out cords from behind the television as if he had every right to be rearranging her wires.

Heidi returned with the pizza and placed the box on the coffee table. “I’ll get you some milk, Mom, and napkins. Then can we watch a movie?”

Lexie sighed, giving in. “I suppose.” Eventually, she was going to have to learn to be in the same room as Jackson without letting herself long for his touch. For Heidi’s sake.

But eventually seemed a long time away.

“And you’ll be leaving after the movie,” Lexie added, when their daughter had disappeared into the kitchen.

“I can sleep on the couch,” Jackson said from behind the television, his denim-clad buns in clear view, just as toned and tight as ever.

“No, you can’t.” It was a mere twenty feet from the couch to their—her—bedroom. They used to joke about that. Twenty paces was not nearly enough distance between Lexie and temptation. If it weren’t for Heidi, she’d send him on his way right now.

“How’ve you been feeling?” Jackson turned his head and smiled at her.

She told herself it was the same smile he’d always had, but something about him seemed tired and drained.

“I’ve been better.” The bleeding had been scary the first few times it happened several months ago, but she’d become used to it. And the nausea had returned a few weeks ago, which was unpleasant. Yet, all of this hardship was bearable when she compared it to shutting Jackson out of her life. That’s how she measured this pregnancy—against the void in her heart. Asking her husband to leave and sticking to her decision had been the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. Everything else—even this difficult pregnancy—was easy by comparison.

“Are you getting all the rest you need?” he asked.

“What did Heidi tell you?” Lexie glanced back toward the kitchen, then sighed. Jackson needed to know about the health of this child. He deserved to know about the child they’d lost, too, but she wasn’t ready to tell him that yet. “I’ve had to take it easy since my fourth month.” It seemed like forever. But then, it seemed like forever since she’d sat with Jackson and talked.

“I’m sorry about the things I said earlier.” He stood up straight and turned to face her, green eyes bright. “You caught me off guard.”

He really knew how to work her. She could feel her resolve softening “I suppose anybody would be upset to come home and find this—” she pointed at her belly “—waiting for them.”

His eyes bore into hers. “Are you sorry? About the baby, I mean.”

Lexie shook her head.

“Me, neither. It’s a gift, Lex.”

Speechless, Lexie cradled her belly with both hands.

Jackson ran his fingers through his long hair before admitting, “No matter how much I loved you, I couldn’t give you another baby. I knew that was hard on you.”

This was the real Jackson, the man he rarely showed to anyone else—sincere, open—nothing like the man he’d become when she’d asked him to leave—annoyingly upbeat.

“Is Heidi happy about the baby?”

“She’s excited.” This was the man she’d fallen in love with. The man her heart longed for. The walls around her heart weakened. “You know, she always wanted a brother or a sister. Growing up, I did, too.” Until she’d realized how messed up her life was. Welfare, social workers, humiliation, a father who hadn’t loved her enough to hang around. She’d contented herself with the stingy, conditional love her mother offered. Until she found Jackson and realized there were other kinds of love.

Only later did Lexie learn that even Jackson’s love was fragile and fleeting.

Heidi entered the living room, carrying a tray with three glasses. “I got everyone water. We’re out of milk.” This last was said somewhat testily, as if it was Lexie’s fault that they’d drunk the last of the milk.

Lexie experienced a twinge of guilt that she hadn’t been able to keep as much food in the house since she’d gone on public assistance.

“Start a movie, Dad,” Heidi commanded, sinking to the floor.

“And then your dad needs to leave. I’m sure he has lots to do,” Lexie said firmly.

Jackson stared at Lexie with such a haunted expression in his eyes that Lexie had to look away. She’d barred Jackson from her life for a reason. He’d buried the man she’d fallen in love with underneath a veneer of confidence and easygoing charm.

She just had to work harder to remember that what she was seeing now was only a rare glimpse of the man he’d once been.

THE TWITCHES CAUGHT LEXIE’S ATTENTION.

Propped against the couch at Lexie’s feet, Jackson had fallen asleep soon after the movie started. The twitching had begun about twenty minutes later. Still, he seemed fine, until the movie’s credits started to roll.

“Don’t. No.” Jackson muttered and turned his head from side to side. “Come back.”

“Is he having a bad dream?” Heidi asked.

“Don’t! Alek, no!” Sweat covered Jackson’s brow. His leg bucked, as if fighting to move.

“Mom?” Heidi scooted closer to Lexie.

“It’s just a dream.” Lexie put her arm around Heidi’s shoulders. She raised her voice. “Jackson, wake up. You’re dreaming.”

“The fire! Alek!” Jackson’s face scrunched up as if he were in pain.

The hair rose on the back of Lexie’s neck. Without thinking, she knelt next to Jackson, placing her hands on his shoulders. “Jackson.” She shook him gently. “You’re dreaming.”

“Don’t!” He sat bolt upright and gripped her arms above her elbows. Glazed eyes stared into hers.

“You’re fine. Everything’s fine. It was a bad dream,” Lexie said soothingly.

A violent shudder rippled through Jackson. He drew a deep breath. Then he seemed to return to wakefulness. At least his eyes blinked. His grip was starting to numb Lexie’s arms.

“Dad, you’re scaring me,” Heidi said in a small voice.

“Jackson.” Lexie pulled back slowly until his hands fell away.

Jackson washed a hand over his face. As quickly as he had snapped to awareness, he was gone.

Before she realized what she was doing, Lexie had pushed herself up off the floor and was following Jackson out the door. If he left like this, he’d never get to sleep later.

Jackson was opening the door to his truck when she reached the porch.

“Wait.”

The sun had gone down and the blue sky had given way to purple, casting Jackson’s face in shadow when he turned to face her.

“Wait,” she repeated, hurrying over to him.

Jackson stood outside his truck, watching her ungainly approach. “You shouldn’t move so quickly.”

“Then, don’t run out like that.” Lexie panted from the exertion it took to make her body move that fast. “Who’s Alek? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. No one.” He wouldn’t look at her.

Of course he’d say that. Lexie sighed. Why did she expect him to open up to her when he hadn’t done so in years? “I don’t know why I followed you out here. I guess I was worried. Never mind. Some things never change.”

Jackson stepped after her and caught her hand when she would have returned to the house. Against her better judgment, Lexie found herself facing him in the deepening shadows.

He clasped her other hand.

“Jackson—” Lexie warned, even as she felt her heart beat faster at his touch.

“I’ve missed you, Lex.”

Uh-oh. This was how she’d gotten into trouble the day they’d signed the divorce papers. “I should go inside.”

“We’re friends, right? Talk to me.”

She could hear the smile in his voice. He was turning on the charm, turning the attention from his problems to something he wanted to talk about. For some unexplained reason, Lexie’s voice and motor skills were conspicuously absent. She could only stand and listen.

“Two hearts destined to be together,” Jackson lowered his voice, quoting a phrase that had been part of their wedding vows.

The intimacy of the night, the feel of his hands clasped around hers, standing facing each other as they had on their wedding day… Lexie’s eyes filled with tears of regret. She wished the porch light were on so that she could break the spell between them.

She took a shuddering breath and tried to pull back, but Jackson held on to her.

Jackson searched the sky above them. “The first stars are beginning to shine, Lex. Tell me, what’s your dream?”

Lexie’s breath caught in her throat. It was a silly game they’d indulged in when they were younger—wishing on the first star of the evening. She’d wished for another baby, and later, when they learned a second child wasn’t in their future…

“Do you still wish for a business of your own?” Jackson completed her thought.

“How can you remember my dreams and not remember the important stuff?” Like Heidi’s birthday or their anniversary.

“I’ve always told you your dreams are important. Everyone says you should sell those marinades you make—”

“And call them Hot Shot Sauces. I haven’t forgotten.” She’d given up on making her people-pleasing spicy marinades a paying reality. His dream had always been to be a Hot Shot, like his father. His dream was a reality.

He cupped her cheek. “I don’t want to argue.”

“Me, neither.” It felt too good standing here in the darkness with her hands in his. Lexie knew that tomorrow the sun would come up and he’d still be the man who wouldn’t open up to her. She’d give herself sixty seconds more of the fantasy that Jackson was perfect for her, and then she’d gather her strength and return to the house.

As if sensing he’d pushed some limit, Jackson said, “You’ll remind me tomorrow why we can’t be together, won’t you?” His words were tangled with bitterness. “Damn it, Lex.”

“Don’t.” She placed her fingers over his lips. His warm breath wafted across her skin. She’d done her duty. She’d soothed whatever had unsettled him inside so that he had a better chance of getting some sleep. “I’m going inside now.”

Lexie felt his lips tighten as if in a frown. She pulled her fingers back and rested her hand on her belly.

He released her other hand.

“Before you go, can you…can you tell me about Deb?”

Lexie had to close her eyes against the tears. Deb was Lexie’s best friend, and had been since high school. “You heard she’s dying.” Leaving behind two beautiful, nine-year-old twin girls. Lexie stroked the baby in her tummy.

“Logan wouldn’t tell me much.”

“She’s got an inoperable brain tumor. By the time they diagnosed her, it was too late for chemo.” Lexie swallowed against the dryness in her throat, and tried to lighten her tone. “You should see her. She’s so strong and brave about it, it makes you feel guilty when you feel like crying in front of her.”

He leaned back against the truck. “And the girls?”

“They’re scared, but I don’t think they believe she’s really going to die. They still believe their mom is invincible. Logan’s the one who treats her like glass. I don’t talk with him much about Deb.”

He mulled that over for a bit. “Thanks for telling me.”

“You’re welcome.” Lexie turned back to the house. She’d survived that encounter well. They hadn’t hugged or kissed. She hadn’t ended up in a motel room with him. They seemed to be almost on friendly terms. Lexie thought she could handle their relationship turning into friendship.

“Lex?”

She paused, looking over her shoulder.

“Will you marry me?”

“SHE’S NOT TAKING ME BACK.” Jackson leaned against the door frame of his mother’s office in the Painted Pony, arms crossed tightly over his chest. The Hot Shot in him felt as if he should act like he didn’t care—be strong, be a man—while the rest of him felt bruised, spent and in need of a rest. Lexie and Heidi had just witnessed a display of his weakness.

He could still hear Heidi’s voice. “Dad, you’re scaring me.”

And then to limit himself to holding Lexie’s hands in the darkness, trying to draw her back emotionally into the past where their love had been strong, only to have her put a friendly distance between them. Reclaiming their love seemed hopeless.

He doubted his mother would be able to put a bandage on his heart, kiss his brow and make him feel better. She couldn’t fix a broken heart or give him back his courage. He didn’t care, as long as he could get some rest and perhaps a bit of her advice.

His mother looked at him over the top of her reading glasses. Bills, invoices and receipts were scattered across her desk. An old calculator was perched at her elbow. Jackson recognized the distracted look in her eyes. She was focused on something and didn’t want to be disturbed.

“She told you she’s not taking you back?” his mom asked.

“Several times.” It was easier to talk about his failed marriage than his grim future. With a sigh, Jackson walked over to the kitchen cupboard and took out two fluorescent light bulbs. “The light isn’t strong enough in here for you to be reading that fine print.”

As he replaced the burned-out bulbs in the ceiling above her, Jackson felt his mother’s scrutiny. Any time now, she’d tell him what she thought he should do. When he was finished, he stood next to her desk. Only, she’d returned her attention to her work.

“I was chugging along until you came in. I’ve got a bridge game tonight, you know.” His mother focused on the stacks of paper in front of her.

Jackson sank into a chair next to the desk. Waiting. She’d start lecturing him any time now.

His mother added up a stack of invoices. She jotted the figure down on a yellow pad, then slipped the papers into a folder. Jackson drummed his fingers on the tabletop.

“I’m about to become a father for the second time. And I’m not sure what to do about it.”

Without acknowledging him, his mother began to add up a pile of receipts.

Jackson leaned forward. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

She stared at him over the top of her glasses again. “About what?”

“About me. About my life and how I screwed it up.”

“We’ve had that discussion. More than once. We disagreed, as I recall.” She straightened the pile of receipts and began to add them up a second time.

“Let’s have it again.”

“Jackson, I don’t have time for this.”

“She’s not going to take me back.” His voice sounded weak and pitiful. He pushed himself out of the chair, telling himself that at thirty a man shouldn’t need his mother’s advice. “Never mind.”

“Jackson—”

“I know you said I couldn’t stay with you, but I really need a place to bed down until I get back on my feet. I’ll bring a sleeping bag out of the garage so you won’t have to wash any sheets.” He started down the hall.

“Of course you can stay with me. You’re always welcome home. I was joking earlier.”

“My home is on Lone Pine Road.” There was that defeated tone of voice again. He walked quickly toward the back door, away from people he knew in the Pony’s dining room, as if he could escape the fact that he’d lost his family for good. Never mind that he’d already lost the guts to fight fires.

“Jackson, you don’t need a sleeping bag. You can sleep in your old room. How you’ll fit into that single bed is beyond me. Although I know you and Lexie spent some time there in your youth.”

He hesitated, head hung at the reminder of the love he once had. His mom laid her hand on his shoulder.

“I didn’t mean to ignore you.” She chuckled once. “Well, maybe just a little. I do need to finish the monthly expenses before I go to Birdie’s. And it was the only way I could stop myself from giving you advice.”

The pressure that had built on Jackson’s chest eased a bit. There had been two constants in his life after his father died—Lexie and his mother. “You know I always listen to what you say.”

She chuckled again. “You may listen, but I know you don’t hear me.”

Jackson spun around, reached for his mom and squeezed her tight. She knew him too well—it was true, he hadn’t listened to her advice in the past. If he had, he wouldn’t have gotten Lexie pregnant, wouldn’t have married her so young, and would have crawled back to her on his hands and knees when she asked for a divorce.

After a moment, Jackson released his mom. “Is your advice in abridged form or a long-winded version?”

“Need you ask?”

“We better sit down.” Jackson led his mother back to the office.

“I need a cup of coffee first,” she said, detouring into the kitchen. His mother was a coffee fanatic. “Want one?”

“Sure.” If he could, he’d load up on caffeine and never sleep—or dream—again.

A few minutes later, when his mom was settled in her chair, Jackson raised one eyebrow. “Well?”

“I’m not sure where to begin.”

That didn’t sound encouraging. Needing something to do with his hands, Jackson sipped his coffee.

“Why on earth would Lexie take you back? I wouldn’t take you back if I were her.”

Jackson very nearly sprayed coffee all over his mother. “This is your advice?” he asked when he could manage to speak.

“I love you, dear, but sometimes I don’t understand you.”

With deliberate movements, he set the coffee cup on the desk. “So you think I should just give up?”

“Not at all.”

Closing his eyes, Jackson sank back into the chair.

“I know that you love Lexie. She’s wonderful. She did everything around the house. She cooked. She cleaned. She even mowed the lawn. You didn’t have a care in the world.”

It was the same argument Lexie always made. Jackson used his standard defense. “I bring home a steady paycheck. I don’t drink too much, and I don’t beat my wife. Why does it always comes back to how much she did around the house? My job takes me away.” A job he was giving up. But Lexie still wasn’t going to give him a second chance.

Jackson slumped farther into the chair. “Besides, you do everything around the Pony and the house.”

“Yes, but I took on all those responsibilities after your father died because they wouldn’t have got done if I hadn’t. I see now that Theresa and I pampered you far too much.” Jackson’s father had died fighting a fire when Jackson was twelve, leaving Jackson as the man of a house where he was outnumbered by two females more than happy to take care of him.

“I’m lazy. Is that it? She left me because I’m lazy?” This was the last thing he wanted to hear from his mother. His mother was supposed to be his strongest supporter. Suddenly Jackson couldn’t sit still any longer.

“Well—” she began.

“I’m a deadbeat Dad, like you see on those afternoon TV shows. That’s what you mean.”

“That’s not—”

“I’ve had enough advice for one night, Mom. See you in the morning.” Jackson ignored his mother’s pleas to return and raced out to the parking lot.

“WE THOUGHT YOU WEREN’T COMING,” Marguerite announced upon opening the door to Birdie’s house, wearing a plunging, lacy dress Mary considered more appropriate for Madonna than for a plump, widowed retiree.

“It’s not even eight-thirty.” Mary tried to keep her tone even as she stepped inside, although she longed to snap at someone. It wasn’t Marguerite’s fault that Mary was late to the group’s weekly bridge game.

Mary wasn’t upset at Jackson for delaying her, although he hadn’t wanted to listen to the rest of what she had to say about his relationship with Lexie. Mary’s mood had more to do with her anxiety about her own love life. She had recently made a decision to return to dating.

For nearly twenty years, Mary had avoided thinking about men as anything other than friends. She’d warmed her toes at night with her grandmother’s hot-water bottle while she kept her mind busy worrying about her kids and the business she’d started with Jeremy’s life insurance money. She had the Painted Pony to run, gray hair she’d earned every right not to color and an occasional whisker she plucked off her chin. She thought men, romance and sex were a thing of the past.

That all changed a few months ago when Sirus Socrath, Jackson’s former Hot Shot superintendent, stopped to help Mary change a flat tire alongside the road. She’d been driving into Boise to pick up supplies, when a tire blew. While she was struggling to loosen the last lug nut, Sirus had pulled up.

“Having trouble?”

“I think this one lug is rusted on.” Mary gaped at Sirus’s long, lanky frame. From that angle, he looked like the cock-of-the-walk, as her mother used to say. Mary blinked, unused to thinking of Sirus as anything other than a hardworking man of the community and her friend. In that moment, she saw him for the first time as M-A-N as if she were W-O-M-A-N. Mary shook her head and dismissed the odd feeling. She was a grandmother, for heaven’s sake.

Sirus knelt next to her on the road’s dirt shoulder and loosened the lug nut with ease. His hands were as long as the rest of him, his arms strong from years of fighting fires.

“Not rusted. It just needed a man’s touch, you know?” Sirus’s faded blue eyes gazed directly into Mary’s and his lips turned up ever so slightly at the corners.

Was Sirus Socrath flirting with her? Mary reminded herself that she was fifty-five, and Sirus was sixty if he was a day, and twice divorced to boot. But that didn’t stop her heart from pounding as it hadn’t for years.

A few days after the flat tire incident, Sirus showed up at Birdie’s on bridge night even though he’d never been there before. He claimed to have come to replace Smiley, who could barely see the cards anymore, although Mary imagined Sirus joined them to spend more time with her. Still, nothing changed between them. Sirus didn’t seek Mary out or call her, try to hold her hand or kiss her. Sirus never gave Mary any reason to think he wanted her to be anything more than a friend. Yet, Mary was sure he did want more.

Either that or she was going insane.

Perhaps she’d swallowed too much river water, or maybe she was finally completing menopause. It didn’t matter what the cause was. Once Sirus lit the dormant spark within her, Mary couldn’t seem to put it out.

The seed had been planted—she’d been alone too long.

Mary stepped inside Birdie’s house, feet thumping on the hardwood floor as loudly as her heart pounded now in her ears. She could feel Sirus’s eyes upon her. He had kind eyes. Patient eyes. Eyes that let her know he’d wait for Mary to decide when she was ready for him.

Ready for him? She’d been alone for nearly two decades. She could take care of the house, her car and her business. But she’d forgotten how to take care of a man.

Mary had promised herself she’d work up the courage to ask Sirus back to her house for coffee tonight, the same as she’d been promising herself every Sunday night for the past month. They’d sit on the couch and talk. She’d ask him how he’d come by that scar on his forehead. Later, when she’d drunk some coffee that she planned to lace with a little confidence-building whiskey, maybe she’d work up the courage to kiss Sirus.

Mary couldn’t look at Sirus now, for fear she was suffering from an overactive imagination and Sirus would be looking at her as just a friend. If he’d awakened these longings accidentally, Mary wasn’t sure what she’d do.

There were snacks on the green felt-covered card table and mints in a crystal bowl that Birdie insisted was from France, though Mary had seen bowls just like it at the dollar store in Boise. The television blared. Someone, probably Sirus, had scooted Birdie’s brocade wing chair up close to the set and Smiley perched on it, leaning so close to the screen that Mary thought the old barber might fall into it.

Sirus and Smiley had been sharing Sirus’s small cabin since Smiley drove off the road two years ago and nearly killed himself. They weren’t related, although Smiley was old enough to be Sirus’s father. But neither of them had any family close by. It was just the way of the community to take care of its own.

Sirus gazed up at Mary from his seat at the card table and sent her a smile that warmed her to her toes.

Would you like to come over to my house later for coffee?

The question remained unvoiced.

She was such a coward. She couldn’t even risk a little rejection from an old friend.

Mary slid into a metal folding chair across from Sirus. She’d found true love once, over thirty years ago with Jeremy Garrett, a Hot Shot, and had been blessed with that love for more than a decade. Then, eighteen years ago, Jeremy died while fighting a wildland fire. It had very nearly broken her heart when Jackson followed in his father’s footsteps. Every time Jackson went out on a fire, Mary smiled bravely and prayed for his safe return.

“How are you this evening, Mary?” Sirus asked, bringing her thoughts back to the present.

The blender whirred in the kitchen. Marguerite and Birdie were making the strawberry daiquiris they loved so much. A quick glance at Smiley showed him engrossed in a television reality show. This was about as private as the evening was going to get.

“Jackson came home today.” Mary tried to send Sirus a smile, but smiling at Sirus had become a self-conscious act for Mary, as if she were a teenager with an unrequited crush.

“Yeah, he stopped at the office. I didn’t get much of a chance to talk to him.” No longer able to keep up with the younger firefighters, yet still a prime physical specimen, Sirus now worked at the National Interagency Fire Center as an incident commander. He coordinated fire attack crews in the field. That meant working nontraditional hours and days. It wasn’t unusual for NIFC to be staffed round the clock during fire season.

Sirus kept his warm brown gaze on Mary, while his large hands shuffled the deck of cards. His face was as long and narrow as the rest of him, but not sharp. Nothing about Sirus was sharp, not even the faint scar along his temple. Carrying himself tall and proud, he was a handsome man in his own way. Mary liked looking at him. He was a sturdy man, too, in both stature and personality. You could rely on a man like Sirus.

“Jackson’s staying at my house.” She’d known Sirus for years without so much as a stray spark of interest flaring between them. Why now? She was happy with her life the way it was. Wasn’t she?

“How’s he doing?”

“He’s…” Mary frowned, struggling for the right word. Her son was still heartbroken over Lexie, but there was something else about his demeanor that didn’t seem right, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. “I don’t know. He’s quiet. You know Jackson, he’s always got something to say.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m probably just imagining things.”

Sirus considered her words for a moment. “Does he seem—”

“Look at this, Sirus,” Smiley interrupted loudly, pointing at the television screen. “This fool’s going to eat raw snake eggs.”

Sirus shrugged apologetically and obliged Smiley by acknowledging the grossness of the stunt.

In the meantime, Mary’s mind wandered. What if Mary kissed Sirus and liked it? Or worse, what if she were brave enough to take off her clothes and climb into bed with him someday? What if the sex was great? Her smile would give it away. Everyone in Silver Bend would know she was Sirus’s love toy.

And if their lovemaking fell short of greatness…

Disaster.

Sirus was her bridge partner. If she began a relationship with him and it failed, she’d have to look across the table and see his disappointment on a weekly basis. Men were always dissatisfied when it came to sex. They didn’t get it enough. They didn’t get it with someone young enough. They didn’t get it wild enough. And Mary didn’t even want to think about the extra pounds and wrinkles she’d accumulated since the last time she’d been with a man. Sirus was bound to be disappointed with her. She’d never be able to play bridge again.

The television segment finished and Sirus’s eyes drifted down to Mary’s hands and then back up to her face. “You must be happy that Jackson’s home.”

The temperature in the room rocketed up five degrees. “Words cannot describe how I’m feeling right now.” Guilt. Disappointment. Lust.

Lust? Mary had to be imagining Sirus’s interest, even if she wasn’t imagining her own.

In the kitchen, the blender ground to a halt.

“Why don’t you shuffle?” Sirus set the cards in the middle of the table. “Your hands move with such grace, it’s a pleasure to watch.”

Mary could picture her hands moving, all right. Her cheeks flushed with heat. She let her eyes follow the pearly snaps on Sirus’s worn western shirt down to the edge of the table, wondering about Sirus’s body. Long legs, long arms, long fingers…

She was depraved!

Mary’s eyes snapped up to Sirus’s. He chuckled, and it sent another tingle of awareness through her. Mary coughed, trying to break this spell he had over her.

“Here come the refreshments,” Marguerite said as she brought in a tray full of the icy pink drinks.

“What’s so funny?” Birdie asked, carrying a plate of cocktail wieners and cheese cubes, each speared with a toothpick.

“Jackson came home,” Sirus said.

“Grew a decent beard in Russia,” Smiley nearly shouted, not turning from the television.

“Smiley, turn that down. You’re not deaf,” Birdie instructed, holding her small frame as tight and precise as a bird.

Smiley did as he was told. Most everyone in Silver Bend did what Birdie wanted. She’d been married to the town mayor for years and then taken the position herself after his death.

“Never mind that. Did he see Lexie?” Marguerite sat down next to Mary and leaned her buxom qualities over the table.

“What did he say about the baby?” Birdie probed.

Mary blinked, then shook her head and made a weak attempt at a smile. “I don’t know.” Although Lexie didn’t talk about it much, she had confirmed when asked that the baby was Jackson’s. That knowledge had only made folks in Silver Bend more interested in Jackson’s reaction.

Marguerite settled back in her chair. “He’ll do the right thing.”

“Should come in for a shave,” Smiley added.

“She’ll take him back, of course.” Marguerite took the cards from the middle of the table and began to shuffle. The many rings she wore sparkled in the lamplight.

Mary looked away, not wanting to know if Sirus was fascinated with Marguerite’s hands, too. She’d never noticed his interest in her before. What if she’d never noticed his interest in Marguerite, either?

“It’s none of our business, anyway,” Sirus said.

“Hogswaddle. We care about them. Besides, they were meant for each other. I’ll tell Jackson tomorrow that he should send flowers.” Birdie’s words rang with authority.

“Flowers. That’s so sweet,” Marguerite crooned. “Maybe I’ll stop by later in the week to see how they’re doing.”

“Let’s just mind our own affairs and play cards.” Sirus didn’t sound happy.

It was all Mary could do not to look at Sirus. He was right, of course. But that wasn’t the way it was in the tight-knit, small community of Silver Bend. If Mary wanted to explore these unsettling feelings Sirus had aroused in her, she’d receive just as much advice and meddling as Lexie and Jackson were about to get.

She was too old for this.

CHAPTER FOUR

“YOU COULD HAVE CALLED to warn me he was coming home,” Lexie gently chided Mary the next afternoon as she sat in a booth and rolled silverware in paper napkins. The baby she carried was oddly still.

Lexie and Heidi came by the Painted Pony on Monday mornings to help Mary put the place back in order after a hectic few days of weekend traffic. Mary’s business was steady, but she, like everyone else in Silver Bend, ran lean in terms of crew. Although Lexie used to be a cook and waitress for Mary, the discovery of her pregnancy and the complications that made it high risk had forced Lexie to stop working altogether, swallow her pride and apply for assistance.

“Heidi, don’t do that.” Mary turned to Heidi, who had stacked glasses in a pyramid at the other end of Lexie’s table without Lexie even noticing.

“I know what I’m doing.” Heidi grinned. “Just a few more and I’ll break my record.”

“If any glasses break, I’d like them to be broken by paying customers,” Mary chastised, but some of the sting had vanished from her tone.

Heidi’s smile was nearly as powerful as her father’s.

“Heidi, just because you started wearing a bra doesn’t mean you can bend the rules.” Lexie tried to tease Heidi into doing what her grandmother had asked.

“Mo-om.” Heidi rolled her eyes. “Have I ever broken a glass?”

“Yes!” Mary and Lexie chimed in.

“That was a long time ago.” Heidi delicately placed another glass on her pyramid.

“Two months,” Lexie pointed out.

“Last June,” Mary clarified. “Go put those in the dishwasher with the other dishes you’re supposed to be washing.”

“And if you break any, you’ll be grounded until you’re old enough to wear a girdle,” Lexie added.

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