“Did you know you were pregnant when we slept together?

“I don’t sleep around with married women, lady, especially pregnant ones. You’ve made me something I really did not want to be.”

Never much good at lying, Becca realized her mouth was still hanging open when Aiden stopped his tirade.

“You thought I was married?”

He scowled. “Not then. But when I saw you here—pregnant as a house—what was I supposed to think?”

“Uh…” It finally registered in Becca’s tired, stressed-out brain. He thought she’d been cheating on her husband. He didn’t know she didn’t have a husband. He didn’t suspect the baby was his.

A nervous, relieved laugh escaped before she could stop herself.

“Wait a minute.” Aiden peered at her in the gathering darkness. Then he snatched up her left hand. “You’re not wearing a ring.”

Becca pulled her fingers back. “I’m not married.” It was too late for that.

“If you’re not married, whose baby is that?” He pointed at her belly as if it were repugnant to him.

“It’s mine.”

Dear Reader,

Have you ever held on to a belief until some life-changing event forced you to rethink things? Such is the attitude of Aiden Rodas. Kids in his future? Bite your tongue! After the way his father abandoned him as a young child, Aiden is determined the Rodas line will end with him.

But Aiden didn’t count on Becca Thomas, an older career woman who’s let life pass her by and is now playing catch-up by having a baby of her own, on her own. When Aiden discovers that the baby Becca is carrying is his—holy moly!—he becomes determined to always be there for his child. And that means acknowledging to the world that he had a lot to do with Becca’s pregnancy.

Aiden doesn’t fit into Becca’s plans at all, but this expectant dad won’t leave her alone, and soon Becca’s not sure she wants him to.

I hope you enjoy my twist on a May-December romance. I love hearing from readers through my Web site at www.MelindaCurtis.com or at P.O. Box 150, Denair, CA 95316.

Melinda Curtis

Expectant Father
Melinda Curtis

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To all the fathers out there who never cease to be surprised when they’re told they’re going to be a dad (this is how babies are made, guys).

Special love to the dads in my life— John, Paul, CR, Jeff, Jim, Sam, Pop, my own Dad and my husband. You all turned out okay when the babies arrived!

Contents

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

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

“MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!” Spider shouted as he sprinted after nineteen men and women through a tunnel of flame.

No one heard him above the roar of the fire.

The Silver Bend Hot Shots were in a race for their lives down a mountainside they’d been trying to save. A few minutes ago, they’d been scraping away brush with shovels and Pulaskis, clearing a firebreak below a tame flank of the Flathead, Montana, fire and joking about how there’d be no overtime because this one would soon be out.

Then the wind changed, no longer a gentle breeze drifting up the slope from the creek. Instead it came from above, injecting life-giving oxygen into the smoldering embers until it was a ten-foot-tall wall of menacing flame. The new fire toyed with the Hot Shots for only a moment before bending across their six-foot-wide break and igniting a fresh blaze on the opposite side with a heated kiss. Tools scattered and packs were abandoned as the group began a desperate run for the ribbon of water they’d started at this morning.

As one of the two assistant superintendents of the crew, it was Spider’s job to make sure everyone made it out ahead of him. One misstep by someone and they’d go down like dominoes, more food for the fiery dragon on their heels.

How much farther?

Ahead of Spider, the fire seemed to be closing ranks around them. The heat and smoke made it difficult to fill his lungs with air. His heart pounded wildly from exertion, adrenaline and fear.

Someone stumbled. Swerving to the side, running perilously close to the tongue of flame on his right, Spider dragged Victoria back onto her feet.

“We’re not going to make it,” she cried, barely audible above the angry roar of the fire.

Even as some part of Spider agreed, he rejected defeat. At thirty, he still had things to accomplish, places to see and women to meet. He was single, with few responsibilities and few regrets, with only his dad to mourn him. The world was his oyster.

Too bad he was about to be fried.

TAP-TAP-TAP.

Inside the Fire Behavior tent at base camp, Becca Thomas smiled and tried to ignore the little one trying to get her attention. She focused instead on the most recent satellite photo of the Flathead fire taken that morning and compared it to the latest computer simulation she’d run on the computer provided by NIFC, the National Interagency Fire Center.

Tap-tap-tap.

“Give me a minute,” Becca murmured, rubbing her stomach, hoping her baby would be patient. She was happy to be pregnant, even if she was thirty-eight and single. She’d thought it all through, had planned down to the last penny. She and the baby were going to be all right on their own.

Her attention returned to the papers on the table that was her desk in this portable camp. There was something about this simulation she didn’t like. As one of NIFC’s senior Fire Behavior Analysts, Becca had learned to trust her instincts. She prided herself on finding the chaos factor in the weather, terrain and fuels, along with a dozen other things she considered when making predictions about a fire’s behavior. Still, there were things she couldn’t control—the way fires created their own wind and weather, and the decisions made by those in the field as to the risks they were willing to take, sometimes against her advice.

Tap-tap-TA-A-AP.

Sitting hunched over her makeshift desk at the Flathead fire was not her baby’s favorite position. Becca would have to get up soon. Until then…

What was it about the simulation that troubled her? She ran her finger over the inputs—the fire’s point of origin, wind speed, types of fuel, degree of slope, humidity readings. She returned her attention to the map of the area. The locations where lightning had struck and started the fire were marked, as was the perimeter of the fire as of eight hours ago.

The fire had spread from three strike points down three sides of a tall peak within the Flathead National Park, a remote, rugged mountain range lacking paved roads. It was bound to the east by the almost vertical, rocky cliffs of the Continental Divide. Everywhere else, the fire was moving hungrily through two generations of forest—giant pines and spruce towering sixty to eighty feet in the air, and younger trees twenty to forty feet high, interspersed with small, steep meadows that hadn’t yet given way to the forest. This area had not seen fire or been thinned by logging in years. Add to that two years of drought and you had one heck of a fuel source. If they didn’t stop it, the fire could easily work its way down to civilization in as little as a week.

Becca’s finger ringed the area around the fire once, twice, trying to pinpoint what was bothering her. And then she saw it—a small, thin creek twisting its way through ridges and rises. It wasn’t much, but in a craggy place like this the wind could ride along the creek bed and push to the top of a ridge, where it could dance with the wind cresting over the top of the mountain, creating a whirling dervish that would wreak havoc on an otherwise tame bed of fire. Making it unpredictable. Making it treacherous.

Tap-tap. The baby continued its protest. Becca pushed herself up out of the chair and began an ungainly pacing. At seven-and-a-half-months pregnant, she had the grace of an elephant.

Ignoring the sweat trickling between her breasts, she paused, squinting down at the map. The creek was mostly in Sector Three. Before dawn they’d sent a team in that area to build a fire line. The crew would have looked for an anchor to their line, something that would offer a safe-retreat zone or a natural barrier to the fire. A creek?

“Is something bothering you? Can I get you anything?” Julia, Becca’s assistant, offered, starting to rise from her seat in front of their computer. “Maybe NIFC shouldn’t have sent you out here.” Julia pronounced the federal agency nif-see.

“No, I’m fine.” Becca straightened, stretching her aching back. Maybe she was overthinking this one. Maybe she was looking for pitfalls and challenges where there were none because this was her last fire before the baby came, her last fire in the field if her career plans worked out right. And her plans had to work out right. She’d bet everything on them, had even put an offer on a little house outside of Boise a few weeks ago.

Someone shouted outside, an urgent command Becca couldn’t make out.

The stuffy, cramped tent that served as the office for the two women on the Fire Behavior Team barely sheltered them from the sun’s rays and did little to keep out the constant noise of base camp. Over the last three days, NIFC had created a small tent city to organize the fight against the Flathead fire in the middle of nowhere, complete with command tents filled with computers and phones, shower and kitchen trailers, and generators large enough to power it all. Not that NIFC expected this fire to last long. The plan was to contain it with as few resources as possible, leave a skeleton crew to mop up and move on.

The unusual sound of booted feet racing past filtered through the tent’s canvas walls, accompanied by more urgent voices.

“Did you hear what they said?” Becca swung around in the direction of Julia. In the process, Becca bumped her tummy against the desk, spilling water from her open water bottle all over the fire maps spread across the worn surface. As quickly as she could, Becca shook out the maps, then mopped up with the paper towels she kept below her table because she’d become such a klutz.

When she looked up, Julia was already moving to the door wiping at the makeup under her eyes. The unusual-for-late August heat and mountain humidity melted makeup right off one’s face, but Julia kept on trying. “I think someone said the fire overran a crew.”

Becca froze, unable to move as fear raced through her veins. Her brother had died in a wildland fire when she was in college. She knew how devastating such a loss was on a family. Since then, she’d worked on fires where lives had been lost, and each time, she’d asked herself what more she could have done to prevent the tragedies.

Only when her hands started to shake did Becca snap out of her shock, running them down the sides of her belly in an attempt to regain some measure of calm. “We need to get to the Incident Command tent ASAP.”

“How could this happen? The computer didn’t predict anything that dangerous.” Julia looked at Becca with wide eyes. She was still new enough to place complete faith in computers.

“We won’t know until we talk to the Hot Shots. Let’s go see what the IC team knows.” Although Becca tried to keep her words light, she left the tent dreading what they might discover. Had she let someone else down?

Minutes later, they joined the rest of the Incident Command team in the main tent.

“We’ve got a bunch of Hot Shots heading into camp with singed whiskers and eyebrows.” Not one to waste time, Sirus— Socrates to the firefighters—the Flathead Incident Commander, had a map spread out on the old, scarred meeting table. “They were lucky. They all made it out alive and relatively unscathed. I want the IC team to meet them in Medical and find out exactly what happened. I want a complete report on my desk by morning.” For a moment, Becca was relieved, until Sirus gave her a stern look. He was no happier than she was with the situation.

Becca operated almost exclusively in California, and was only filling in on this fire. Because she’d never worked with Sirus before, Becca still had to prove to him she was capable. Erratic fire behavior when she’d predicted none wasn’t going to help Becca’s credibility. She couldn’t afford to show her new boss any weakness.

Not now. Becca passed a hand over her belly. Not when so much rested on Sirus’s recommending her for another position.

“We’ll understand what happened before the evening briefing,” Carl, the team meteorologist, assured Sirus, setting his baseball cap more firmly on his bald head. “It won’t happen again.”

In his first year with NIFC, Carl, like Julia, needed to become more familiar with the unpredictable nature of fire before he made such confident statements. Becca often found herself patiently explaining things to Carl, a tricky situation due to his unaccountable ego. Rumor had it he’d been a TV weatherman until his hair had fallen out. Carl didn’t like Becca counseling him, but that hadn’t stopped him from hitting on her.

Puh-lease. Her belly was so large she couldn’t even see her toes when she looked down. What kind of guy hit on a pregnant woman? Only the most desperate, as far as Becca was concerned.

“We may want to consider that we’ve got too much fire for the number of crew we’ve got working,” Becca said as she pulled her T-shirt lower over her belly, only to have it rise back up. Becca forced her lips into something she hoped resembled a smile for the team, a hodgepodge of men and women from different disciplines, including communications, supply and personnel. She didn’t know what had happened out on the fire line, but she was already blaming herself for not thinking about that narrow creek sooner. “Maybe we’ve even got a sleeper.”

One of the trickier fires, sleepers tended to be underestimated and take firefighters by surprise, sometimes with deadly consequences.

“Let’s not go jumping to conclusions.” Carl laughed and gave Sirus a look as if to say “Let’s not panic over what the little woman got in her little head.”

Not wanting to see IC’s reaction, Becca turned to go wait in the Medical tent, her mind already full of questions. Where had the fire crew been? Had the wind changed suddenly? What was the fire like before they realized they were in danger?

“No need to rush.” Bobby, the supply officer, pulled her aside and lowered his voice. “Unfortunately, we’ve run out of gas and they’re hiking down from the drop point.” The drop point, or DP, was five miles up the mountain trail, ten miles on a narrow, winding dirt road.

Fire crews were comprised of men and women of action. The Hot Shots would chafe at having to cool their jets while they waited for transport.

But Becca was willing to bet they wouldn’t wait. They’d hike to the camp. And when they arrived, the adrenaline of survival would have worn off and they’d be in no mood to talk to an official IC representative, much less a tent full of them. More than likely, they’d want a hot meal, a cold drink and an audience of their peers. By the time she talked to them, they’d have woven the truth into something that was several steps removed from reality. She wouldn’t get the detailed information she needed to identify where her fire prediction had gone wrong.

Unless she met them along the way and got the story first.

Becca stepped into the doorway, looking for Julia.

Her assistant had hung back to talk to Sirus. She was trying to be his next Fire Behavior Analyst and, with a bit of hard work, Becca thought she might just make it. “Sir? Which Hot Shot team should we expect?”

“The Silver Bend crew,” he answered, stone-faced. His stepson, Jackson Garrett, led that team.

Becca’s fingers clenched the doorframe. Working in California, she’d effectively avoided the Silver Bend, Idaho, crew for more than seven months. She’d hoped their paths wouldn’t cross on this one special assignment.

For just a moment, Becca considered waiting in the Medical tent with the rest of IC, hiding at the back of the crowd when the fire crew reached camp.

She blinked, coming out of her panicked stupor. No. She would not compromise her duties, even if it put her plans for the future at risk. If she didn’t get to know this fire intimately, other firefighters might face unnecessary danger.

Becca knew only one Hot Shot from Silver Bend, although one was more than enough. Aiden Rodas was a wiry, good-looking, risk-loving playboy. He was younger then Becca, with a really immature nickname— Spider—and a really immature attitude. Not that most Hot Shots didn’t have nicknames, Aiden’s just seemed to stick out more than others.

She’d seen him the other night at a briefing. He’d stood at the rear of the tent, his eyes skimming over her as if she were chopped liver while she explained what the fire would do during the next twelve hours. He didn’t seem to remember that he’d slept with her, which meant he didn’t know he’d helped create the baby she carried.

And she wasn’t about to tell him.

“THEY’RE QUIET,” Cole Hudson said, half under his breath.

“Yeah, too quiet.” Spider considered the somber team of men and women walking the wooded trail behind them. “Chainsaw, you don’t suppose they’re all meditating as we hike, do you?”

“Nope.” Cole hefted his namesake, a thirty-six-inch chain-saw, across his broad shoulders and grinned at Spider before continuing to hike down to base camp. He’d abandoned his chainsaw and day pack containing gasoline when the fire belched this morning, but had been lucky enough to pick up new equipment at the DP.

Spider followed his friend down the steep, winding mountain path. “You think they’re thinking about the fire?”

“Yep.”

The crew, including Spider, had talked excitedly about their hair-singeing escape on the hike back. Spirits still up, they’d recounted their tale to the staffers at the DP while Jackson, better known as Golden, had radioed their situation back to base camp and received instructions to return and debrief IC. And then they’d received the news that they had to hike down the mountain because of some supply snafu, and the team had gotten quiet.

Surviving a run-in with the fire had left Spider feeling like a superhero. That was what he loved about being a Hot Shot—going head-to-head with Mother Nature. Having to walk back to base camp cut him down to size. Admittedly, reality tended to suck after an adrenaline rush like he’d experienced today, leaving him shuffling his booted feet like an old man. Spider imagined the rest of the team felt the same.

He was ready to fill his belly with a hot meal and grab as much sleep as he could before their next shift. But first the group would have to be checked out by the medics, file some reports and obtain more equipment.

“We can’t exactly come down out of the woods looking whipped,” Spider observed. Other crews would give them grief. The Silver Bend Hot Shots were a proud bunch, unused to defeat.

“Nope.”

“I suppose you think we should do something about it.”

“Yep.” Chainsaw swung around to grin at Spider again, nearly taking off Spider’s head with his chainsaw.

Spider ducked and wove to the left. “Couldn’t agree more.” They were a tight-knit group that watched out for each other. Spider had a bad feeling about this fire. It was hungry, and not just for timber and grass. It looked tame, but there were signs that said otherwise.

If Spider saw Socrates he’d tell him what it was like up on the slopes. He’d tell him about the timber as dry and parched as kindling, just waiting for a spark to set it aflame. He’d point out that the seventy-degree slopes were just waiting to trap a fire team and overtake them as they tried to scramble up to safety.

He may consider himself some kind of superhero, but his grandmother hadn’t raised no fool. There were adrenaline-pounding risks, and then there were fool’s errands. Spider hoped this fire wouldn’t turn into the latter.

“It’s not going to look good, us coming into base camp with our tails between our legs.” Logan McCall, the crew’s other assistant superintendent, commented, catching up to them along with Golden.

“Agreed. Any ideas?” Golden asked, looking at each of the three men as he spun his gold wedding band around his ring finger with his thumb.

Spider tilted his head from shoulder to shoulder in an attempt to loosen up. “Yeah, let’s head back to the front line and forget all this political BS.”

Golden looked heavenward. “Sure, let’s head out without Pulaskis.” The combination ax and hoe used to dig out brush as they cleared fuel from a fire’s path was an essential firefighting tool. “Or shovels.”

“Or gas,” Chainsaw added.

“Otherwise, I’d have no problem heading back out to a hungry fire,” Golden concluded.

A hungry fire… Spider couldn’t stop the ominous thought. What was wrong with him? It must be the downside of adrenaline. He had to lighten up. He tried to smile, but only one corner of his mouth seemed to work.

“They’ll be serving dinner soon,” Chainsaw groused, swinging his chainsaw to the ground. “I can’t believe they didn’t have a transport for us down from the DP.”

“I can,” Spider mumbled. Not only had the fire teased them today, but the normally anal, almost military-like structure of NIFC hadn’t yet kicked in full force. Case in point: vehicles without gas. Maybe NIFC thought the fire would burn itself out or be contained in a day or two.

Logan slapped his hand on Spider’s shoulder. “So what are we gonna do about it?”

“I’m schlepping my tired, filthy butt down the mountain, aren’t I?” Spider made a halfhearted protest. He was sweaty from the oppressive heat beneath the fire resistant Nomex pants and long-sleeved shirt that had protected his skin mere hours ago. What he wouldn’t give for a mountain lake or stream to swim in.

“Look at all the gloomy faces.” Chainsaw gestured toward the rest of the group, who started to cluster around them, looking just as hot, tired and beaten as Spider felt.

Normally, he loved being where the action was, making wisecracks to lighten the tension. His Hot Shot lifestyle provided lots of fodder for excitement and amusement, which he gladly spread to keep up team morale.

So why couldn’t he shake the grim feeling that clung to him? Because, he suddenly realized, the crew wasn’t hanging together well. A few were underperforming. Didn’t anyone else see it?

Spider knew a weakened crew could be dangerous—even deadly. He’d been on fires where others had lost their lives, been on fires where the dragon’s breath had singed him, all because the crew members had been distracted, tired or simply fed up with fighting.

Something was going to have to change. First off, the one woman on the team, Victoria, was going to have to either shape up or realize she had no place on his, or any other, Hot Shot crew. He’d have to tell Golden. Thank heavens she was in his unit.

Earlier today, she’d rolled down the cuffs of her protective gloves because it was too hot. And then she’d gotten burned when a smoldering stump she’d been trying to yank out of the ground had flared into flame. It was a rookie mistake, unexpected in a second-year Hot Shot. Spider didn’t know where her mind was, but it wasn’t on her safety or that of the crew’s. Golden liked to nurture and protect his firefighters, but Spider had no patience for underachievers.

Then there was the fact that his father was working on this fire on another crew. Even though his dad had more than twenty years experience, the guy had no legs. You could see the pain on his face with each deliberate step he took. If things got ugly and his crew had to race to safety as Spider’s had, his dad wouldn’t make it. He didn’t know who had let the old man pass his physical last spring, but someone should make him retire.

“This situation isn’t hopeless, just pretty damn depressing,” Golden said with a shake of his head. “Let’s move.”

Hopeless? It didn’t matter that Spider couldn’t find a happy thought at the moment. Nothing was supposed to be that bad.

Spider forced a grin on his face. “Wait. I’ve got an idea.”

“COME ON, BABY,” Becca spoke under her breath. “Move your butt so I can feel my leg.” The baby had shifted and was resting on something that cut off the circulation in her right leg, which now felt as if it were sandbagged as she forced her way uphill.

Sometimes being pregnant was sucky, but it would all be worth it in the end.

Becca didn’t usually let anything slow her down or get in the way of her goals. A planner by nature, she was working toward a fire behavior management position at NIFC’s headquarters in Boise. She’d do just about anything NIFC wanted her to do to be given the job, because there was no way she could chase fires from one forest to another all summer long and raise this baby.

The Boise position meant giving up being in the trenches, crafting attack strategies to make firefighters’ lives safer, but it was a trade-off Becca was willing to make in order to have a child of her own. She’d focused too long on her career, letting the chance for romance, marriage and babies pass her by. To get the job, she had to appear tough and in control for just a few more weeks, in spite of her pregnancy, which slowed her down in ways she hadn’t expected.

The baby sure hadn’t shown any signs of wanting to slow down. It considered her bladder a trampoline and her rib cage a punching bag. Her baby was go-go-go, just like Aiden Rodas.

Becca groaned.

She did not want to think about Aiden—not his smile, not his enthusiasm, not his unique observations on life. He’d actually told her that nothing in life should be harder than checkers. He didn’t realize life required complicated planning.

“Do you want some dried fruit?” Julia asked, dangling a plastic bag filled with the snack toward her.

Becca took an apricot.

“Shouldn’t we have seen them by now?” Julia asked with a crinkle of plastic. She hadn’t wanted to leave base camp and hike out to meet the Silver Bend crew. Julia was a sweet thing until she left her comfort zone.

Ironically, the great out-of-doors seemed beyond Julia’s comfort zone. It was an aspect of Julia’s character that frustrated Becca, yet she felt her assistant would overcome it. After all, there was no way Julia could have assumed a Fire Behavior Analyst would work in a nice air-conditioned office, was there?

“Why don’t we rest here and take a reading?” Becca suggested, ignoring Julia’s question. She slung her lightweight backpack to the ground and dug around until she found her handheld weather meter, grateful to be distracted from thoughts of Aiden.

Ninety-two degrees. Sixty-five percent humidity. Wind speed five. That and the extra pregnancy pounds she carried explained the sheen of sweat covering Becca’s body. She recorded the results in her small notebook, balancing the sheets of paper on her belly, then tucked everything back in her pack.

She bent awkwardly to pick up a handful of spruce needles. “Look at how easily these snap.” She held the needles out to Julia, wanting her to experience the forest fuels firsthand, but Julia looked at the crushed needles as if Becca held a rattlesnake.

Trying not to frown, Becca continued to teach. “Too little rain this past year has left the forest dry and the floor covered in combustible fuels, making it a prime target for a lightning strike. What do you suppose it’s like farther up the mountain?”

“I’m not going to have to find out, am I?” Julia wiped at her eyes.

“Walking the woods brings the topography to life. The more you know of the terrain, the better your predictions.” Disappointed in Julia’s lack of interest, Becca shouldered her pack and continued up the trail. She was determined to find a way to wean Julia’s dependence on computers for fire prediction.

“What makes you think this fire is a sleeper?”

Atta girl. Curiosity led to growth in a job like theirs.

With a small smile, Becca glanced up at what little smoky skyline was visible through the trees. “First, the slopes on these ridges aren’t gradual or smooth. As wind speed picks up, it can really blow in some places and not at all in others.” She paused to catch her breath.

“And second?”

“For the most part, the westerly winds are working for us.” Filling her lungs with air, Becca continued up the slope. “But, I was talking to some of the local kitchen crew yesterday and they say that when the heat breaks at the end of summer it’s because the wind shifts to come from the north. There are a couple of valleys back here that open up onto the highway to the south. With the right northerly wind, there’d be no natural barriers in a fire’s way.”

“Locals?” Julia couldn’t disguise her disbelief. “You asked a local fry cook? You can’t be serious.”

Becca kept the impatience out of her voice because she remembered when she’d been young, immortal and perfect, too. “Locals are a great source of information. And these locals are Native Americans who’ve passed weather knowledge down through the generations.”

Julia tilted her head as she pondered that bit of knowledge, before falling back on what she knew. “Carl will let us know if the wind is about to shift, won’t he?”

“I hope so.” Carl had yet to prove himself worthy of Becca’s trust. Despite the heat, she shivered. Becca didn’t want to think about firefighters in the fire’s path if they didn’t have advance warning.

Julia was silent for a bit, lagging behind, and then she fell into step with Becca, rubbing at her nose. “What if Silver Bend took a shortcut? What if they’ve hitched a ride back to camp?”

Becca heaved a sigh of defeat. Maybe this aversion Julia had to the outdoors wasn’t going to be as easy to beat as she’d thought.

She was sure she’d run into the Silver Bend team on the trail, but just in case, she should have a backup plan. “Why don’t you go back? You can wait for them in Medical in case I’m wrong.”

Julia perked right up, and then had the grace to look embarrassed. “If you’re sure,” she added hesitantly, running a finger underneath one eye and glancing downhill. “I mean, you’ll be alone up here.”

“I’m used to it. You go on.”

“I’ll check the satellite feed and print out a fire update so you can review it when you get back,” Julia said with a wave.

Alone, Becca looked up at the trees towering against a sky blanketed with a thick layer of brownish-gray wood smoke, stroked her belly and took in the grandeur of the forest. Julia didn’t understand what she was missing.

A quarter of a mile later, Becca was puffing, limping and wishing she’d gone back with Julia. She stopped to take a reading.

Eighty-nine degrees. Seventy percent humidity. Wind speed ten. The fire wasn’t affecting the temperature and humidity as much this far from the front. The higher she went, the cooler and more humid the air.

Becca shaded her eyes and scanned as much of the ridge above her as she could see. Her stomach grumbled. Her leg still felt weird. Doubt taunted her tired body. Maybe she had missed the Hot Shots. Maybe she should give up. She glanced back, knowing her stubborn pride wouldn’t let her return just yet. Her mother used to say that pride would one day be Becca’s downfall. That might be true, but willpower and pride had certainly taken Becca far in a field dominated by men.

She started climbing again. It was slow going. The trail steepened and wove through a patch of boulders. She could walk between some and gingerly climb over others where they overlapped or nearly kissed.

Aiden had been a great kisser.

Becca walked faster, despite having to angle her belly this way and that to get through nature’s rock garden. She thought about the baby inside her. Aiden had done his job and they’d both moved on. She’d hardly spared him a thought all these months until she’d seen him on this fire.

Except she often dreamed about him at night.

She shook her head, trying to dispel those unsettling thoughts and concentrate on the task at hand.

A sound on the slope above drew her attention. With images of Aiden still lingering, Becca was startled by a vision of him running over the boulders ahead of her wearing boots and boxers, and carrying his backpack.

And then her foot slipped and her stomach churned with sickening certainty.

She was going to fall.

The baby…

She cocooned her belly with her arms. Her left elbow scraped across a tall boulder as she stumbled cockeyed, and her temple connected with a sickening thud on that same rock.

Becca landed with an air-stealing thump on the ground.

CHAPTER TWO

“WHOA! WHOA! EVERYBODY SLOW UP. Big Mama down.” Spider leaped across a couple of boulders just as a pregnant woman with a long blond braid stood on shaky legs.

“Take it easy, Big Mama.” Spider hopped to the ground next to her.

She took a step back, her blue eyes widening at the sight of him. Or maybe it was at the sound of thundering booted feet on rock as the rest of the Hot Shots approached.

“You’re bleeding.” Without sparing a glance at the crew, he yelled, “Doc, get down here!”

Blood spurted over the side of her face, but that didn’t seem to shake her. “Did you just call me big?”

“I don’t know,” Spider hedged. His grandmother would tan his hide if she’d heard him disrespect a woman like that. But the woman was big. And carrying…a baby.

She raised her eyebrows at Spider with the disbelieving expression of a school principal, challenging him to tell the truth.

Spider lasted another ten seconds before he crumbled. “Okay, I might have.”

She huffed. “Were you raised by wolves? Never call a pregnant woman big.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it.”

But she was on the offensive now. “Are you so blind that you can’t see a pregnant woman in front of you?”

Spider took a step back. “Hey, these boulders are ten feet tall. I couldn’t see a bear hiding down here.”

“I wasn’t hiding.” She crossed her arms over her large—really large—stomach, which only plumped up her prime-size breasts. “A gentleman wouldn’t knock someone over, call them names and then accuse them of hiding.”

“I never said you were hiding.” Spider kept backpedaling. Pregnant women, as a rule, made him nervous. Sex was supposed to be fun, not result in…in…that. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay. Doc!” he yelled again. Sheesh, where were your friends when you needed them?

“I’m fine.”

Dang, she was stubborn. He stared into her ice-blue eyes and almost believed her despite the blood trail on half her face. She wasn’t kidding. She thought she was fine.

He took a finger and ran it over her plump cheek, turning his bloodstained finger in her direction. “That would seem to indicate otherwise.”

Cool as you please, she lifted a hand toward her forehead. He caught her wrist before she could touch the wound.

“Aw-aw-aw. You might have germs on those fingers. Let’s have a medic look at it.” He craned his neck around, reluctantly taking his eyes off her. Most of the guys were standing up on the boulder in their Skivvies, looking down on them with concern. Some were yanking off their boots and pulling on their pants. Arms crossed, Victoria stood apart from the rest in full field gear. She didn’t understand that making a game of racing down to the base-camp showers would ease the tension from the crappy day they’d had.

Doc landed on the ground next to Spider with his pants on. Spider suddenly felt a bit underdressed. Air-conditioned, but definitely underdressed.

Lifting her blond bangs out of the way, Doc examined the cut on the pregnant woman’s temple. “It’s already slowing down on the leakage department, but you’re going to need a stitch or two.”

Blond Mama frowned. At Spider. As if it were his fault.

“I don’t know why you were out here hiking in your condition.” He was compelled to say it, although normally, he’d be a little kinder to a damsel in distress, especially one with a bun in the oven. Yet, there was something about this woman that wouldn’t let him be her hero. “There’s a wildfire raging up there.” Spider pointed behind him. “And it’s not safe for anyone, especially a woman as pregnant as you, to be out here.”

She glared at him in a way that made him wonder how she’d ever gotten pregnant in the first place. He could almost imagine her saying “Oh, you are so dead when I get you alone.”

Really. It was as if he could hear that smooth voice filled with playful disdain, as if he’d heard her say those words before or something like them, although he heard a more loaded, sexy undertone in his head.

Sexy? The Ice Mama?

Ignoring her back-off stare, Spider leaned closer and peered at her in the hopes that he’d figure out who she was. She was almost as tall as Spider, and full of chutzpah, not backing down from his scrutiny. They would have gone on staring at each other all day if Doc hadn’t elbowed him aside.

“Give me some space to work, man,” Doc mumbled as he swabbed her wound with an antiseptic wipe and then applied a butterfly bandage.

She drummed her fingers on the huge rise of her belly. She had long, dexterous fingers. Something in Spider’s memory hiccuped. He knew this woman. “Don’t I—”

“No,” she cut him off emphatically, as if reading his mind.

“Isn’t that the Fire Behavior Analyst?” someone asked from the boulder above them.

Spider looked at her again. In her khaki shorts, white T-shirt and sturdy boots, she looked like your average hiker, except for the baby in her belly. He hadn’t noticed she was pregnant, but he’d only been to one base-camp briefing and he’d been at the back of the throng of teams.

Had he seen her somewhere else? He would have remembered talking to a pregnant woman, right?

Well, not usually.

But there was something naggingly familiar about this one.

IT WAS HIM.

Black hair and intense black eyes. All five foot ten inches of sculpted, sexy man.

Not only was it him, but Aiden Rodas had looked her in the eye as if she were some irresponsible, idiotic woman who had caused her own accident. He had filled her nights with pleasurable memories that came pressing back on her now, heating her from the inside out. And he…

Didn’t even recognize her.

While the man they called Doc applied a bandage to her temple, Becca’s foolish pride steamed. Aiden didn’t recognize her. Had he really been that drunk when they’d met? She hadn’t thought so. She should be grateful he didn’t recognize her. It made everything that much easier.

Still, Becca didn’t want to be just another notch on his bedpost.

The baby kicked her belly in Aiden’s direction, a proverbial wave to garner his attention. Becca ran a hand over her tummy, trying to satisfy the urge to shush her little one. There were plenty of reasons why Aiden didn’t need to know of his role in creating this child. But she wouldn’t waste any more time on Aidan. She’d found the Silver Bend Hot Shots and now had the ideal opportunity to figure out what had happened up there on the mountain.

Becca managed to collect herself enough to get down to business. “I hear you saw some excitement today.”

“Man, did we ever,” Doc chuckled. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“And I’d prefer not to see anything like it again,” someone on the boulders above clarified, and received many jibes for their honesty.

Ignoring her wound, her twinging leg and heavy belly, Becca couldn’t contain her curiosity about the runaway fire. “I’d love to hear about it.”

“Is this our debrief?” Aiden asked, a suspicious expression clouding his face. He’d put on the forest-green pants and yellow shirt that was the Hot Shot uniform.

“No,” Becca protested, holding out her scraped elbow to be swabbed with an antiseptic wipe by Doc, unable to keep from making a face when his ministrations stung. “We just happened to bump into each other—”

“Stumbled upon is more like it,” Aiden mumbled, still eyeing her as if she were the enemy.

“—and I’m just naturally curious.”

Aiden wasn’t buying it. He frowned at her before turning away, climbing to the top of the boulder and disappearing on the other side.

“All done here and ready to move.” Doc snapped his first-aid kit shut.

With a sigh of relief, Becca thanked Doc and followed him with ginger steps down the trail, asking about the fire just as carefully. She didn’t see Aiden, but felt his disapproving presence somewhere behind her.

“DO YOU BELIEVE HER?” Spider asked Chainsaw from the back of the single-file line of Hot Shots wending their way the last mile into camp. Ahead of them, he occasionally caught a glimpse of golden hair and a swinging braid through the trees. The two men were lagging behind mostly because Spider was dragging his feet.

“No, as pregnant as she is, I can’t believe she hiked up here. She’s like Super Pregnant Woman or something,” Chainsaw observed.

“That’s not what I meant,” Spider snapped. “She came up here just to interview us personally, before anyone else could.”

“You are so paranoid,” Chainsaw chuckled. “The Fire Behavior team hikes all over the place. They also go on the helicopter and airplane flybys with Incident Command.”

“And it just so happens that we meet her on the trail coming down from nearly getting burned over?” Spider wasn’t buying it.

“Crazier things have happened,” Chainsaw said.

“The trouble with you is, you’re too trusting,” Spider complained. “I bet she missed something in her analysis and she’s trying to cover for it. I think I’ve seen her somewhere before, too.”

“The trouble with you is, you’ve seen too many bad conspiracy movies and now you can’t trust anyone. Come on, she was probably just doing her job. Get over it.”

“You’re a pushover.”

“And you’re jaded beyond belief.”

Despite himself, Spider grinned. He was jaded and suspicious by nature, a product of a father who’d made too many empty promises. His grin faded. He’d met the Fire Behavior Analyst before. Sooner or later, he’d figure out where and when. Until then, he wasn’t trusting her as far as he could throw her…so to speak.

“SO YOU HAD NO WARNING? No wind kicked up?” Carl was trying to probe the crew into saying weather had nothing to do with the dangerous situation they’d found themselves in.

Half of the Silver Bend Hot Shots were crowded into the Medical tent. The other half had already been questioned, examined, observed by a stress counselor and released to the chow line. Becca had been smart to meet the team up on the mountain. The mood in the tent was more like that of an interrogation than a debrief, thanks mostly to Carl.

“We noticed the wind about the time we noticed the flames were riled up,” the broad man they called Chainsaw answered. The rest of the firefighters had grown silent the more Carl questioned them.

“So the wind did blow.” Carl nodded, scribbling something onto his notepad. “And then what happened?”

“We ran like hell was on our heels.” Aiden stood with his arms crossed, only giving Carl half his attention. The other half kept lasering over to Becca.

“And what do you mean by that?” Carl was persistent. Getting on everyone’s nerves, but persistent.

Aiden pushed up his shirt sleeves with sharp movements. “I mean we had no time to stop and take a reading of the wind speed. It was as if someone flipped the toaster switch to on, and we were the toast.”

“You’ll need to head into town for a sonogram and an X ray,” Maxine, the paramedic on duty said softly, staring at Becca over the rim of her bifocals.

Becca avoided acknowledging the ache in her head, avoided looking at Aiden. The way he kept staring at her had her jumpy enough to want to disappear. Her gaze fell upon a woman in Aiden’s Hot Shot crew who had bright red hair and burns on her wrists.

“I fell on my butt, Maxine, not my belly. The only thing bruised is my behind. I’ll pass on the hospital,” Becca whispered back, because other than her head, she did feel fine. That’s all she needed was a trip to the hospital during a fire. She’d be branded as weak and ineffective quicker than she could refresh her parched lips with Chapstick.

Near enough to hear their discussion, the female Hot Shot smiled as if in approval of Becca’s decision. Becca smiled back. The two women shared something unique—both operated in a man’s world where any reminder that they were the weaker sex was unwelcome.

“What about your head?” Maxine snapped off her gloves and put her hands on her hips, no longer quiet now.

It hurt, but Becca would never admit it, or the way her stomach was starting to rumble with hunger.

“It’ll take more than a bonk on a boulder to send me to the hospital in the middle of a fire.” Becca slid off the examining table—almost gracefully—and with a nod in the female Hot Shot’s direction, made to leave. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work. The evening briefing is in about ninety minutes.”

“I’ll need to run this by Sirus,” Maxine warned, clearly not approving.

“Of course.” Becca understood about liability and, if ordered by the Incident Commander, she’d go to the doctor.

But until then, it was business as usual.

“I’m off as well,” the Hot Shot with the burns on her wrists announced.

“Not much I can do for you anyway. Doc did a good job on your bandages.” Maxine patted Doc on the back as she went to greet a man limping into the tent. “Make sure you wear those gloves properly in the future.”

With a brief thank you to Doc for cleaning her up on the mountainside, Becca was out of there, somehow managing to exit the tent without having to look at Aiden again. Her head pounded, her back ached and her ankles were swollen. She’d gotten much more out of the Hot Shots as they’d escorted her back to camp than Carl was getting from them now. The airflow had come from above them, although some had felt light breezes from the direction of the creek. Almost without warning, the winds had come from over the mountain, driving the fire down on top of them like one big blanket of flame.

Becca shivered, despite the oppressive mountain heat. They’d been lucky to have Jackson Garrett as their leader. The Hot Shots nicknamed him Golden because of his knack for reading fire situations before they became deadly. According to Golden, he’d felt the pressure change and the winds stir around him, and watched the flames leap up then retreat in an area above them. He’d given the order to pull back just as the fire had roared to life at their backs.

Becca saw some of the Incident Command team grouping down by the chow line. She’d still have time to check the weather satellite one more time and start a draft of her report on what had happened to Silver Bend before the briefing.

“Excuse me.”

Becca’s shoulders tensed. There was still plenty to do and by now the rest of Incident Command would have heard of her accident, so she had to prove that the pregnant Fire Behavior Analyst was as tough as any man. A bump on her noggin? Wouldn’t slow Becca down. But the interruption came from someone she couldn’t easily ignore.

Becca turned around to see what the female Hot Shot wanted.

“What you did back there in Medical was…great. You made taking control look so simple.” The Hot Shot shifted her feet and jiggled her fire helmet with one hand as if she were nervous. “My name is Victoria… The Queen.” Self-consciously, she touched her red hair. “Would you like to have some dinner? I could use the company.”

There was an informal sisterhood in the fire community. Women helped each other with moral support, advice and a safe place to vent. But the Hot Shot’s timing was off. Becca’s job was calling, her credibility at stake. If she wanted that promotion in Boise, she had to perform above excellent, above what a man could do.

Becca opened her mouth to refuse, to suggest they catch a cup of coffee in the morning, but then she caught Aiden’s disapproving stare as he came out of the Medical tent. His attention seemed to be aimed at both Becca and the Hot Shot with her, which pushed Becca’s nurturing instincts into over-drive. He clearly disapproved of Victoria, who might have approached Becca to talk about how to deal with Aiden.

Becca sighed. Her conscience wouldn’t let her leave this until later. Besides, her stomach growled again; the baby needed to be fed.

“Can we make it quick? I still have plenty to do before the IC team meets to set up their plan of attack.”

“I appreciate it. I need to stand in line for the shower anyway.” The Hot Shot ran a hand over her hair. At some point, it had been in an intricate French braid. Now red hair hung in limp strands around her dirt-streaked face.

The last glimpse Becca had of Aiden was of his frowning countenance as they made their way to the chow line.

The sight made her smile.

“YOU COMING TO EAT, Roadhouse?” Bart asked as he wiped his face with a worn blue bandana and made to follow the rest of the Montana #5 ground crew into the chow line.

“In a minute.” Roadhouse wanted to make sure his son, Aiden, was okay. He’d heard about the Silver Bend crew’s close call on the mountain. He’d even heard there were no severe injuries. But that didn’t stop him from worrying, or ignoring his empty belly and walking on stiff knees through camp looking for his son.

Roadhouse was on a private fire crew—second-class citizens to the likes of Aiden on their Department of Forestry firefighting teams, even though the pay was better in private crews and the work often farther from the front line. DoF Hot Shot crews got the prime jobs on wildland fires, except in situations like this one, where bodies were scarce.

Non-fire civilians might say Roadhouse was lucky to be away from the action most of the time, but when fire ran in your veins, you wanted to be at the front line, with adrenaline and the dragon roaring in your ears. Why suit up otherwise?

Before he’d rounded camp once, he saw Aiden step out of the Medical tent. His heart nearly stopped. Other Silver Bend members were filing out as well. What had happened to his boy?

“Roadhouse,” a deep, familiar voice called out behind him.

Roadhouse glanced around, knowing he had to give Socrates, one of NIFC’s most respected Incident Commanders, his full attention, but unwilling to take his eyes off his kid.

“How was it out there?” Socrates didn’t call him “Old Timer” like some of the kids on the crews, because he’d been fighting fires longer than Roadhouse. He had the gray hair and scars to prove it.

“It’s a sleeper, sir,” Roadhouse stated bluntly. Wouldn’t do to hold back with Socrates. “The fire seems tame, but it’ll surprise us all at the end. You can sense it up on the line.” He could have griped about the gasoline, but Roadhouse wouldn’t complain about having to hike five additional miles to base camp. Back in the early days, firefighting in the mountains was more of a survivalist challenge. A bit of hiking was nothing in comparison.

Socrates stared long and hard at Roadhouse before admitting, “Someone finally agrees with the Fire Behavior Analyst.” Socrates scanned the camp. From the rise where they stood, they could see most of the mess area, tables filled with grubby, hungry firefighters, the Medical tent, the staging area where trucks unloaded men and equipment, and the command tents.

Aiden started up the hill toward them with the Silver Bend superintendent, Golden. Roadhouse turned around, pretending to look up the mountain, hoping his son wouldn’t recognize him with all the grime and his long hair tucked beneath his helmet. Desperate for Aiden’s company, Roadhouse had resorted to dropping into Aiden’s path when he least expected it—only because Aiden would vanish if he saw Roadhouse first. When that happened, it nearly broke Roadhouse’s heart all over again.

“Golden,” Socrates nodded to his stepson when he stopped a few feet away.

Still in his prime and liked by many, Golden was fast becoming a legend. People would tell stories about Golden around fire camps long after he was gone.

No one would remember Roadhouse when he was six feet under, fondly or otherwise, least of all his son.

Hearing a second set of footsteps, Roadhouse turned around with a sinking heart, meeting Aiden’s curious gaze, watching it harden with recognition.

When would his son learn to forgive?

WHAT A LOVELY little family reunion. Spider pulled his helmet off and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Wasn’t he just a luck magnet today?

“You know Roadhouse, don’t you, Spider?” Socrates asked with an arched brow. To an outsider, it might appear that Socrates was being polite, making sure they all knew each other. But every one of the men standing on the knoll knew that Roadhouse was Spider’s dad. Just like every one of them knew that Spider and Roadhouse had a shaky past, if you could call neglect and abandonment shaky.

“Yeah, we’ve met,” Spider answered coolly, wishing he’d recognized his father as he’d walked up. He would have walked on, and let Golden talk to their commander alone. “We’ve come to check in.” This last part came out a little belligerently. It wasn’t every day that a man watched a woman get burned, ran down a mountain in his boxers and startled a pregnant woman, then had to face his father. Spider was dirty, tired and not in the mood for pleasantries.

“Come to gripe a bit?” Socrates raised a white eyebrow. He’d been the Silver Bend superintendent before Golden and had trained many of the Hot Shots in the Idaho region, including Spider. He cut right through the bullshit and didn’t let anyone give him undeserved grief.

“No, sir.” Golden shook his head, ever the politician, spinning his wedding band, a movement that reminded Spider how much his friend loved his wife.

“Hey, I’ll gripe if you’ll let me. But I’d rather hear about the latest on the fire,” Spider said, giving Socrates a halfhearted grin, waiting to see if they were sparring or playing nice.

“I’m sure you could have been briefed by Becca Thomas when you ran her over on the hill today.” Socrates shook his head. “Spider, when are you going to grow up and learn to think about the consequences of your actions?”

So, they were sparring.

“I was just telling him—” Golden began.

Socrates cut his stepson off with a wave of his hand and a disapproving glance. “There are women in NIFC and the fire crews now. Did you happen to think that running down the mountain half-naked might be considered harassment by one of them? Perhaps by the woman in your own crew? Either one of you?”

Spider avoided the Incident Commander’s hard stare, but somehow managed to catch his dad’s disapproving shake of the head. Spider drew his shoulders up so that he was at least even in height to his dad, even if he was still shorter than Socrates and Golden. He’d just been trying to lighten Silver Bird’s spirits.

“Morale is a little low in the field, which is understandable given that this is the end of the season and crews, including ours, are burnt out,” Golden spoke defensively. “What are we doing on this fire? Setting up a perimeter and picking our noses while it gains momentum? Or are we trying to put it out?”

Socrates looked pretty damn grim as he stared at them, which gave Spider a funny feeling in his stomach, but he chose to focus on Golden. “I wanted to pull you onto the IC team, Golden. That’ll be awfully hard to justify after a stunt like this.”

“I don’t want to be part of Incident Command, so maybe it’s for the best.” Golden looked frustrated. “I’ve told you that before and I thought we agreed that my skills were best used in the field.”

“We’re not likely to get much more in the way of resources and you’re good at creative ways to fight fire. I could use some help in planning the attack.”

“Try someone else on our crew, like Spider.” Golden was being uncommonly stubborn considering what they’d just been through, and that he had a wife and two kids back in Silver Bend to consider.

“Ding-ding-ding! Round over. Gentlemen to your corners.” Forcing a grin on his face, Spider stepped between the two men. “We’re here for some relaxation, a shower and some real food. It’d help morale a heck of a lot more than me running around half-naked, treading on the politically correct line you seem to have drawn in the sand, Socrates, if you’d just let us know what help we can expect on this beast.”

The Incident Commander considered them silently for several seconds before admitting, “You won’t be getting much help. Based on the Fire Behavior Analyst’s recommendation, I’ve requested more air support and crews.” He didn’t sound as if he’d put much stock in his request. “But resources are stretched thin this time of year and we’re not exactly defending anything from the fire. There are no government logging contracts or public structures in this fire’s path.”

“We’re risking our lives for nothing? That bites.” Spider scanned the picnic tables below them. A blonde and a redhead caught his eye amid the sea of yellow shirts and fire helmets. What were those two women up to?

“You’ll be happy to hear we’ve solved the gas supply dilemma.” Socrates’ voice dripped with sarcasm.

“A little hiking never did anyone any harm,” Roadhouse added, as if defending Socrates, who sure as shooting didn’t need any defending. The man was tough.

“Considering the way Spider hikes these woods, we’d all feel better if he went from here to the DP in a vehicle.” The severity of the Incident Commander’s tone left little room for argument.

CHAPTER THREE

“THAT WAS FUN,” Spider mumbled to Golden as they made their way back slowly to the mess area.

“Oh, yeah. Pulling teeth should be this fun,” Golden answered. “If Lexie’s been talking to Socrates about getting me into a safer job—”

“Your wife wouldn’t do that,” Spider quickly cut Golden off. “She’s so not like that.”

Golden sighed. “I know.”

“But I feel for you, man. It would really suck to be on the IC team right now.”

“Not that your opinion means much, Spider.” Socrates spoke dryly as he passed the pair. “I’d even pull you on to the IC team if I thought your antics would do us any good. In fact, just so you get a taste of it, I’d like you to discuss your experience today with Becca Thomas before you head out tomorrow. The more she knows about this fire, the better off we’ll be.”

Spider swore under his breath and stopped in his tracks, letting Socrates proceed alone. Had the Fire Behavior Analyst requested he talk to her since he’d avoided her all afternoon? Was this her way of punishing him for her injury?

“Damn, Spider. You really know how to put your foot in your mouth.” Golden laughed. “He’s gonna put you on the IC team just for spite.”

“That’s not funny.” Like most Hot Shots, just the thought of being corralled in camp gave Spider the hives. He’d become a Hot Shot because he loved the physical challenge, the adrenaline rush and being outdoors six to eight months a year.

Golden looked relaxed now that it seemed Spider might be the Incident Commander’s minion of choice. “Socrates is right about one thing. You need to stop and think every once in awhile. I’m glad the race downhill wasn’t my idea.”

Spider tossed up his hands in mock innocence. “First you egg me on, then you abandon my tactics. Thanks for the support, fearless leader.”

“You know what I mean. You and The Queen weren’t getting along before this. Socrates is right. With no love lost between you, she could file a harassment claim against you.”

Spider had first noticed Victoria slacking just before they’d been certified in the spring. He’d mentioned it to Golden back then, but he’d told Spider he thought it was preseason jitters. That hadn’t been the case. Now at the end of the season, Victoria was endangering her life and those of the crew with every mistake she made.

“I saved her bacon on the mountain today. Maybe she needs more training. Maybe sooner rather than next year.”

“Maybe.” Golden almost sounded convinced. “She was fine earlier this season, but she’s struggled through the past couple of fires.”

Relief teased at Spider’s tired brain. Sure, there were a couple of rookies he worried about, but no one on his unit of eight men—half of the Silver Bend crew—made him more anxious than Victoria. If he could get her out of danger, the team would be that much stronger. Maybe this fire assignment wasn’t so bad after all. “Okay, let’s send her back home or something.”

“I don’t think we need to go that far.”

Spider stopped and grabbed Golden’s shoulder. He’d been so close to improving their crew’s safety. “Whoa. She’s a liability, man. One mistake after another. She’s not cutting it with Logan’s unit.”

“I know. That’s why I’m going to shift her into yours.” Golden grinned.

“What?” It was bad enough to have a royal screwup on your crew, add that to the fact that she was the girliest girl in the history of the Hot Shots and that she was reporting to him. Uh-uh.

“Here’s your chance to put your money where your mouth is, Spider,” Golden goaded. “You always said it’s your fault if someone on your unit isn’t performing.”

“But this is different. We’re in the field and she’d dead weight.” Spider looked around searching for any reason Victoria shouldn’t report to him. He’d only worry more, which would affect his performance. Pretty soon, Golden would be sending Spider to be retrained. Being sent to extra training courses at NIFC when you weren’t switching jobs was like stamping a big “L” on your forehead. So, he reached for the first thing that came to mind—to stop Victoria from being assigned to him. “For crying out loud, Golden, she’s got nail polish on.”

“Yeah, and she uses a napkin and a fork.” Golden shook his head. “Come on, let’s go tell her.”

“Now?” Victoria was sitting with the pregnant Fire Behavior Analyst, the one person he bet could influence Socrates when it came to base camp special assignments.

This day kept getting better and better.

“HOW DID YOU MANAGE IT?” Victoria asked Becca. They sat with full plates in front of them at one of the picnic tables NIFC had set up in a small clearing, surrounded by towering pine trees.

Becca had to chew the rubbery spaghetti a bit before she could reply. “Manage what?”

“To last so long in a man’s world.”

“It’s not a man’s world anymore.” Becca struggled to make her words sound convincing. The farther she climbed up the management ladder, the less she could say about the way it really was in the system. She didn’t know Victoria at all, and, much as she wanted to, she wasn’t going to agree with her about the barriers women still faced in wildland firefighting ten minutes after meeting her.

Becca picked up an apple and wiped it with a napkin to keep herself from admitting anything. She’d accepted her dinner invitation to help Victoria, not ruin her chances at that promotion. A quick glance showed her that all the men in IC, including Carl, were congregated at a table on the other side of the mess area.

Victoria looked at her closely, then sighed. “So if I say I’m going to file a harassment suit against the Department of Forestry because my crew ran down the mountain, flags waving out of their boxers, you’re going to tell me I should, right?” Despite the bandages around her wrists, Victoria had delicate hands with short nails painted a beautiful shade of red. She pointed at Becca, her disappointment evident in every word. “You don’t understand. It’s different out there.”

Becca did understand. It wasn’t that different in base camp. To succeed, a woman had to have a nearly squeaky-clean reputation, look the other way seventy-five percent of the time, as well as be quicker, smarter and tougher than a man. Becca stroked a hand around her belly. Try outdoing a man while being pregnant.

“Forget it,” Victoria said, turning her attention to her meal.

The Hot Shot’s disappointment stung because Becca and this woman had a lot in common. Both were struggling to appear as strong and capable as any man. Keeping up the facade was a tough job. For the first time since joining NIFC, Becca was tired of doing it. Granted, the pregnancy was sapping her staying power, and her pounding head wound wasn’t helping her energy level today, but mentally, Becca needed time away to regroup, even if it was only an afternoon. Time was something she didn’t have in base camp, not when she didn’t have an accomplished assistant.

While Becca stared at Victoria’s nail polish, the baby kicked her ribs as if in reprimand. Still she hesitated.

“So much for the myth of the sisterhood,” Victoria mumbled with a shake of her head.

Becca had watched out for her female colleagues most of her life. And, in their own way, they’d watched out for Becca. There were some things that only another woman would understand. The Hot Shot was right—in a man’s world, women needed to support each other.

“Off the record—” Becca put her fork down, glancing around to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard “—you and I both know you can’t file a claim.” She’d be labeled trouble, and no one would hire her after that.

“I know.” Victoria pushed her spaghetti around her plate. “This is my second year as a Hot Shot. I thought the first year was tough but this year is different. Everything seems to be going wrong. Everything,” she repeated, a dejected gloss in her eyes.

“You just need to find your rhythm, that’s all.” Becca had been right to spend time with Victoria. She seemed to need a friend.

“Do you really think so?”

Becca put her hand on Victoria’s, careful of the bandages around her wrist. “Hey, if it’s worth it to you, it’s worth the sacrifice—the dirty jokes, the way they act like fifteen-year-old boys, even the skinny-dipping in that mountain stream—all the things they can do together that you can’t because you’re a woman. If you want to fight fires that much, it’s just like having a bad commute or a crummy office—you put up with it, because you’re good at it and you want this more than anything.”

“I can’t see myself doing something else. It’s stupid, but I feel as if I was destined to do it, even though it’s harder than anything I’ve ever tried before.” Victoria’s smile elicited one from Becca, who knew exactly what the Hot Shot meant. “Some of the assistant supers, well, just one of the assistant supers, gives me a pretty hard time. He’s not in charge of my unit, thank heavens, but he…” She glanced up. “Here he comes.”

To Becca’s dismay, Aiden was bearing down upon them with Jackson. She swung one leg over the bench to leave. She’d been lucky—if offended—so far in that Aiden didn’t remember her. Just how far would luck take her?

“Don’t go,” Victoria whispered, a plea in her eyes that Becca wanted to ignore. The woman needed more backbone if she wanted to succeed out here.

Becca hesitated long enough for the men to stop at their table. If she left now, she’d have to acknowledge Aiden. Sensing her agitation, the baby hiccuped. Maybe if she sat really still, they’d ignore her.

“How are you feeling?” Jackson asked Becca as he stopped near her with a friendly smile.

Trying not to grit her teeth, she reassured Jackson that she was fine and bit into her apple, carefully wiping the juice from the corners of her mouth. Out of the corner of her eye, Becca caught Aiden looking at her with his now familiar scowl.

The baby hiccuped again.

Becca stared at her plate. How dare he not remember her? How dare he not remember the way she’d taken him to the limits of his willpower and beyond. She just had to look at him and she was flooded with memories.

And an unwanted sense of longing.

She arched her back as the baby hiccuped a third time. Aiden probably dismissed her as just another old, pregnant woman, of no more interest to him than a heavily veiled nun.

Without preamble, Jackson got down to business. “Victoria, I think you might benefit from a change. I’m assigning you to Spider’s unit.”

Victoria appeared stricken. “Why?”

“Maybe he thinks I’ll whip you into shape,” Spider said, arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t smile or reassure Victoria in any way. He clearly did not want Victoria reporting to him and Becca felt sorry for her all over again.

She willed Victoria to fling a snappy retort at him, but Victoria didn’t move or speak. Without thinking, Becca stepped up for her new friend. “Maybe Jackson thinks Victoria will whip you into shape, Aiden.” Then, because she was a little surprised at herself and wanted to soften her words, Becca gave him a cordial smile.

Jackson and Aiden were momentarily speechless.

“I think the team would benefit from the change.” Jackson finally filled the awkward silence. Then he touched Victoria’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”

Victoria’s curt nod and downcast eyes broadcast how hurt she was by the move. Aiden had gone back to scowling.

“Get some rest. We’ll see you in the morning.” Jackson bid them good-night.

“Socrates…er, Sirus, asked me to talk to you about our experience today,” Aiden said with a stubborn set to his chin.

Becca managed to choke out, “Perhaps I can find some time for you after the briefing.” Drat. It was the last thing she wanted to do.

With a brief nod in Becca’s direction, Aiden followed Jackson up to the dinner line.

“Thanks.” Victoria groaned. “Spider hates me.”

“Don’t give him an inch. Guys like him look for weakness, especially in women out here.” Becca wasn’t going to let Aiden find her weakness, her secret. The baby shimmied around, making her dizzy for a few seconds.

“Oh, great. Just what I need to top my day.” Victoria ducked her head. “There’s that creepy old guy.”

“Who?” Becca glanced around, one hand splayed protectively across her belly.

Victoria made a face. “That guy with shaggy hair standing at the end of this row of tables.”

Becca tried to look casually in that direction. She spotted a beaten-looking firefighting veteran. He was gazing at them with a dull expression on his lined face, then he turned his attention to Jackson and Aiden.

“I’ve seen him around fire camps this year,” Victoria whispered, barely moving now, as if keeping still might make her invisible. “He seems to stare at our crew a lot. It creeps me out.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Becca saw Aiden turn and lock his gaze on her. She was suddenly able to relate to Victoria as a target of unwanted attention. She rubbed the baby in her tummy with one hand, trying to reassure herself that he didn’t recognize her, although it was disappointing that he didn’t. She’d thought they’d been spectacular together.

It was hard to believe that her impression had been wrong.

Maybe…she sucked in bed.

Becca shied away from the embarrassing notion. It didn’t matter that she was nothing to Aiden or any other man, for that matter. She’d gotten what she wanted.

Becca patted her belly again.

“I KNOW HER,” SPIDER SAID as he trudged back up the hill with Golden to the supper line. The afternoon breeze had died down and the oppressive heat was making one last run before the sun sank low on the horizon. “She knew my name.” Few people in the fire community knew his given name.

“The Fire Behavior Analyst?” Golden asked. “You might. She’s been around for years and years. I hear her brother was a Hot Shot a long time ago.”

“She’s not that old,” Spider grumbled, not knowing why he felt the need to stick up for her. “Have we been on other fires with her?”

“Probably not. She’s California Overhead.” Meaning the California division of Incident Command. “Socrates picked her up as an end-of-the season replacement. I’ve heard she’s one of the best FBANS around, though.”

Spider wasn’t impressed. He’d heard too many times before about “the best” and found them sorely lacking in the field. He looked at Becca again. Where had he seen her? And why was the memory bugging him?

“This fire’s going to be a tough one. I’ll need your help keeping the team’s spirits up, including tonight,” Golden clarified, with a glance back at the Fire Behavior Analyst. “Don’t get distracted.”

“She’s hardly my type,” Spider said too quickly, unable to resist looking back, too. Pregnant and bossy. Not his style at all.

With long fingers, Becca twisted and tucked stray golden strands of hair behind her ears, and blinked heavily at Victoria as if she were fighting off fatigue.

“Oh, man,” Spider said under his breath as the images flooded his brain. He’d met her in Vegas—a tall, blond goddess who’d seduced him while he was at a firefighting convention the day after New Year’s. He’d been nursing one in a string of too many beers, trying unsuccessfully to forget what his father had just told him—about a half brother and a half sister he hadn’t known existed, two children Randy Rodas had fathered while married to Spider’s mom.

Becca Thomas had worn this amazing, flimsy white dress that had clung to her curves and exposed most of her creamy skin and long legs. She’d walked over to him, sizing him up, taking his measure and finding him wanting…her.

Spider wasn’t normally picky about a woman’s intellect, as long as her features caught his attention. But his nameless goddess was no slouch in the brains department and had a face that was proud with high cheekbones and bright blue eyes. The sex had been great. The conversation had been great.

And come morning, she’d disappeared without so much as a “thanks, it’s been fun.” Not that he was complaining. Earth-shattering sex and no complications was primo. He just wasn’t used to being the one who woke up alone.

No wonder he hadn’t recognized Becca at first. Her body was plumped up from the pregnancy, from her ankles to her cheeks. But the hair was the same, her gestures were the same and her sharp wit was the same. Only she looked about ready to give birth, too far along to be carrying something he’d left behind. She had to have been pregnant before they’d met. An older woman like her didn’t just get pregnant unless they were married.

Spider squinted at Becca, angry now. She hadn’t mentioned she was married in Vegas. Spider didn’t screw around with married women. That was just wrong. Unlike his father, he considered marriage as something sacred, to be honored. If Spider even spotted a glimmer of a ring on a woman’s finger, it was a no-go.

Becca Thomas had used him for her own purposes, whatever those might be, and had made him into a filthy, stinkin’ cheater.

“SIRUS REVIEWED HOW THIS FIRE made a large, hot run this afternoon,” Becca spoke into the portable microphone outside the Incident Command tent as she began her part in the evening-shift briefing.

Blanketed in thick smoke, the sun was receding behind the towering Flathead mountain ridges. It would still bathe them in soft light for another hour, but already the air was cooling. Once the teams were briefed, the crews on the evening shift were heading up to the drop point. Often the winds lessened or died down at night, so some of the best suppression efforts on the ground were possible when the sun went down. Those crews on R & R tended to come over to listen to the brief, to hear the latest on the fire, which was why the group was larger than the number of men and women going out to fight the fire this evening.

Aiden stood at the back of the crowd, probably waiting to talk with her. She tried not to let his stare intimidate her. He was probably still irritated at her snappy comeback in Victoria’s defense.

Becca’s head pounded beneath her stitches. It didn’t matter that Fire Camp Aiden was cold and cocky, vastly different from the Aiden that had charmed her in Las Vegas. As long as Aiden didn’t remember her, he could glower as much as he liked.

“I’m here to tell you that we can expect to see the fire make even more runs.” Becca hated delivering bad news, especially when this fire seemed so low in priority to NIFC that the resources they needed to contain the fire weren’t readily available.

“The winds are predicted to continue to come from the north, hot and dry, which means we’ll have to be vigilant on the south slopes where the fuels are drier still. As you’ve probably heard, these winds kick up without much warning as the temperature rises in the afternoon. I know I don’t need to tell you to set a lookout, but—” she paused to pat her belly “—you’ll forgive me if I sound a little maternal toward you all. Please be careful.”

As she’d hoped, that elicited chuckles from the group.

“Now, as for the conditions you’re likely to encounter out there tonight…” Becca proceeded to go over the possible scenarios the crews were going to be working in that night, as well as trigger points—the geographical limit where a fire became unsafe for the manpower assigned and a retreat was ordered.

She could remember when she’d first started as a Fire Behavior Analyst. She’d been too earnest, all monotone urgency. The fire crews hadn’t paid much attention to her at all. It had scared her to death. If she couldn’t get through to them, their risk of injury increased. Now, after fifteen years of fire prediction, Becca knew how to keep their attention.

When the briefing ended, Becca asked Sirus to walk with her back through the sea of tents to the Fire Behavior tent, hoping to talk to him more about an idea she had to contain the fire—an idea the IC team hadn’t been receptive to—as well as a more personal issue.

Energetic crews were loading into trucks and heading up the mountain. Becca had to give it to the firefighters. They couldn’t wait to get out there and risk their lives. They thrived on the kind of danger she tried to help them avoid.

And, even though she knew so few of them personally, she knew them in spirit. Firefighters with mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, spouses and lovers at home in their air-conditioned houses, hoping for their safe return. Becca hoped she was doing her part to see they made it home unscathed.

“Have you worked a lot in Montana?” she asked Sirus.

“Some,” he admitted. “But not in the fall. NIFC usually has me shifting to special projects by then. Desk work.” This last was said with the distaste of a man who loved the outdoors. “Why do you ask?”

“I was just wondering what you knew about the weather here this time of year. Some of the locals have been saying the wind shifts when the temperature cools off. With the steepness of these ridges, we could be putting a lot of people at risk if we aren’t careful. Perhaps we should pull back. You know, build a line in a place where we know we can stop it.” This was her first experience working for Sirus. She’d served on special committees with him in the past and had learned the value of Sirus’s opinion. He knew how to work the politics and the crews without losing the respect and liking of either side of the fire line, and he cut right to the chase—no hidden agendas.

He slanted a dark glance her way. “Do you have solid information about the weather that Carl or I don’t have?”

Ignoring the implied warning, Becca pressed on. She desperately wanted Sirus to see the logic of her thinking. “Historical weather patterns can be tremendously helpful—”

“I know you want to change tactics on this fire, Becca, but you’re one voice of several that I have to listen to as I decide what we’ll do. Don’t push me,” he snapped. After a moment, Sirus sighed and when he spoke again, his words were calmer. “Sorry. Lack of sleep tends to give me a short fuse. Look, if they send us more support for the fire, or if you can get Carl on your side, I’m more likely to reconsider that idea of yours. It’s just too soon to change tactics.”

Their current strategy was to fight the fire close to the flame. Becca believed pulling back and preparing for it was a safer strategy, and gave them a better chance to contain the fire with the resources they had to fight it.

It was going to take a good bit of convincing to get Carl to believe in her theory. Perhaps her hopes were better placed on NIFC. “Do you think NIFC will change their minds about this fire?”

“And give us more support?” Sirus shook his head. “Most additional resources are going to that huge fire in Washington. Fires are burning all across the western states, most are closer to the urban interface, threatening homes and small towns. There’s nothing here but a national forest in one of the least populous states in the union. What do you think our chances are of getting more support?”

“Pretty slim.” Becca’s belly seemed weighted down by the news. “It’s depressing. Even though it’s only been a few days, it’s at the end of the season on a tough fire. You can feel the hopelessness in everyone, from the firefighters to the support staff here in camp.”

Sirus frowned. Glancing around, Becca was relieved to find they were alone, despite the fact that crews strode with purpose past them in both directions. It was probably the best opportunity she’d get to speak to Sirus about more personal matters. He was on the hiring committee for the Boise job, which was one of the reasons she’d accepted the Flathead fire assignment.

“Speaking of chances,” Becca began, “what do you think my chances are for that Fire Behavior management position in Boise?” She barely made it out of the way of a rowdy crew carrying shovels and Pulaskis, striding toward the parking lot and their transport to the DP.

At the door to the Fire Behavior tent, Becca looked up at Sirus, who still hadn’t answered her question. His expression wasn’t encouraging. Her hopes suddenly sank to her toes.

“They’re not going to give it to me, are they?” Becca managed to say.

“I’m sorry,” Sirus said, looking steadily into her eyes. She admired his directness, even as she dreaded his take on the situation. “You have everything they’re looking for—education, experience, and years with NIFC. And you’ve earned a lot of respect for your creative, if sometimes conservative, fire strategies.”

Ignoring the label that she was too conservative—who could be too conservative when lives were at stake?— Becca waited for the but.

She glanced down at her belly. It had to be because she was pregnant. Some good old boy who had a friend on the interviewing committee and who let the simulation program do his work for him was going to get the job. It really was a man’s world.

Still, she had to ask, “Why?”

He didn’t hesitate. “It’s your management skills.”

“My…my what?” Becca couldn’t believe her ears. “How could they say that? Every one of my direct reports has gone on to do well.”

The expression on Sirus’s face was solemn. “Many of your direct reports have gone on to do well in other fields.”

Becca’s equilibrium shifted, although her instability had nothing to do with the baby. What did you say in a situation like this? Defend yourself? Or crawl in some hole and lick your wounds?

“They weren’t suited to the work.” Becca lifted her chin, hugging her clipboard so tightly that the baby tried to elbow it aside. She loosened her grip while she tried to make Sirus see things from her perspective. “Most of these people—let’s face it, they send kids out here most of the time—don’t know what they want to be when they grow up.” Julia came to mind, bright, but with a mindset closed to less high-tech methods of information gathering.

Becca glanced around, but her assistant was nowhere in sight. “Too many see it as a step up in pay grade rather than a calling. They seem surprised when they realize the day doesn’t begin at eight and end at five, or that they can’t just bring a printout to a meeting and read from it.”

Sirus regarded her silently for a moment before looking away. “You know how things are around here. We have to deal with body count and open slots. If NIFC gets someone in the position, they’d rather not have them looking to move or quit after their first season.”

“You’re saying that I scare these people out of the job?” She refused to believe that. She tried so hard to help her direct reports improve on their weaknesses, to weed out the ones she felt weren’t suited to the work, and this was the thanks she got?

He touched her shoulder ever so briefly—a condolence gesture. “What you’ve told me makes a lot of sense and gives me a new perspective, but—”

“That’s the way they see it back in Boise.” She bit her lip looking anywhere but at him. What was she going to do? “I’m pregnant,” she let slip lamely, her nose stinging with the desire to cry. That’s all she needed, a breakdown in front of her boss.

“There are other positions in Boise that need good people,” Sirus suggested gently. “I’m sure they’d love to have you somewhere.”

“Somewhere not in my field.” Someplace she wouldn’t as directly watch over the safety of firefighters.

NIFC didn’t like the way she managed. They considered that her weakness.

Because they sent her people like Julia and had never seen her manage top-notch employees.

The baby shifted and Becca took a step back to regain her balance. How was she going to support herself and the baby? And the little house on the outskirts of Boise was definitely out of reach. All of her plans…

“Have they…” She could barely bring herself to ask. “Have they made a final decision?”

“No, but when I was in Boise last week, that was where they were leaning.”

“So, there’s still a chance,” Becca whispered.

Sirus made a face. “It’s pretty slim. You’d have to prove that you can effectively manage.” He gestured to her tent, presumably where Julia was. “And that’s all you’ve got to work with.”

Sirus was right. Becca wasn’t getting that job.

CHAPTER FOUR

“I’D LIKE A WORD WITH YOU.” Stepping into her path, Aiden gripped Becca’s arm when she came out of the Fire Behavior tent nearly an hour later. Without waiting for her assent, he pulled her away from the main camp and into the shadows of the night.

Panic shivered through Becca’s system, making her knees like jelly.

He knew. What was she going to do?

Her throat closed up. She placed one hand over her belly, over the baby who she’d hoped wouldn’t have to suffer an emotional tug-of-war. This close to him, she could smell the soap he’d used. It reminded her of his body pressed against hers, all hard planes and wiry muscle.

When he didn’t say anything, Becca fought back her panic. They were beyond the parking area now, beyond where anyone else was. The portable lamps mounted on twenty-foot poles cast light beyond the camp’s borders into the woods. Maybe he didn’t know.

Then why was he dragging her away?

“If you want to talk about the fire today, I’ll need my notepad.” The pounding from the cut in her temple that had finally receded to a dull ache resurfaced with a vengeance.

“You’re not going to want to take notes on anything I have to say.” Aiden kept on marching as they entered the edge of the forest. He wore a fresh pair of fire-resistant, forest-green Nomex pants and a Nomex yellow button-down shirt, while she was still in her sweaty, smelly shorts and bloodstained T-shirt, covered only with a worn, red fleece vest.

They moved past pungent, fresh bear scat. Becca shivered, her gaze alternately darting from the ground, looking for bear tracks, and into the shadows, looking for bear. Grizzlies were common in this part of the country and had discovered base camp early, testing the patience and locks of the caterers. There was no food allowed in tents or base-camp packs on this fire, but that regulation hadn’t kept the bears away.

“If you’ve got to talk to me, just say it here.” She struggled to keep her voice even. Between the bear and Aiden, she was trembling.

With a sound of disgust, Aiden released Becca and stepped away. “I’ve been trying for the past two hours to figure out why you did it.”

Still panting for breath, Becca struggled to formulate an answer. Going to bed with Aiden, a stranger, to get pregnant had seemed logical at the time, but now? Staring into his dark, angry eyes, it seemed incredibly foolish.

He circled her. “You must have thought I was stupid. Did I look like an easy mark? That older woman, younger man thing?”

Mutely, Becca shook her head. He’d been perfect up until the point she’d discovered he was a Hot Shot. His team logo—a tree centered on an orange flame—had been permanently etched in Becca’s mind when she’d seen it on a T-shirt on his bathroom floor.

Becca continued to watch him, flooded with feelings of shame, but she would not share this baby with a stranger. She would not stand by and let some man treat her child like a piece of property to be divided, as was happening with her nephew. Nor would she sink to fighting over her child, making them an emotional wreck.

“Why’d you do it? Why’d you make me into a cheater?” He leaned in closer. “Did you have a little spat with your husband? Was he cheating on you? You didn’t even tell me to give me a choice.”

“Hu-husband?”

“Did you know you were pregnant when we slept together?” He was pacing around her. “You must have known because you said you had the birth control covered. I don’t sleep around with married women, lady, especially a pregnant one. You’ve made me something I so did not want to be. Man, this sucks.”

Never much good at lying, Becca’s mouth was still hanging open when Aiden halted his tirade.

“Well?” he prompted.

“You thought I was married?”

He scowled. “Not then. But when I saw you here—pregnant as a house—what was I supposed to think?”

“Uh…” It finally registered in Becca’s tired, stressed-out brain. He thought she’d been cheating on her husband. He didn’t know she didn’t have a husband. He didn’t suspect the baby was his.

A nervous, relieved laugh escaped before she could stop herself.

“Wait a minute.” He peered at her in the gathering darkness. Then he snatched up her left hand. “You’re not wearing a ring.”

Becca pulled her fingers back. “I’m not married.” It was too late for that. While she’d been focusing on her career, her friends and siblings had been getting married, and having babies. She’d just played a little catch-up and skipped a step or two—dating, engagement, marriage. At thirty-eight, she couldn’t wait for Mr. Right.

“But if you’re not married, whose baby is that?” He pointed at the baby nestled in her belly as if it were repugnant to him.

“It’s mine.” Not Aiden’s. She wrapped her arms around her belly as if she could prevent him taking the baby from her.

Under the orange, fire-lit sky, Becca watched the wheels turn in Aiden’s mind.

“Tell me that baby isn’t mine,” he demanded slowly in a voice shaking with anger.

“This baby is mine,” Becca repeated, staunchly walking the line between lying to him and admitting the truth.

“That’s not an answer.” Despite his youth, he was annoyingly smart.

Becca stepped sideways, toward the makeshift parking area. “It shouldn’t matter to you who the biological father was. I’m raising this baby alone.”

He shifted his stance, but kept his dark gaze on her. “Every baby needs a father.”

“Not this baby.” Becca lifted her chin. From what she knew of Aiden—his sleeping around, his wild behavior—she suspected he didn’t really want to know if his sperm had helped create the little one inside her. If she told him, it would only weigh on his conscience, if not now, then later, when he got older. And she didn’t want to open her door one day ten years from now to find Aiden demanding things like visitation and partial custody.

Instead of being relieved as she’d thought he’d be, Aiden grabbed her by the shoulders, tugging her forward until her face was near his. “Who fathered your baby?”

“None of your business. And even if it was, I wouldn’t want anything from you.” Becca’s knees crumpled and she would have fallen if Aiden hadn’t turned his grip from cruel to supportive.

“Too late.” His voice crackled with anger. “You took something from me in Vegas—a choice. And now I have a different choice to make, don’t I?”

SPIDER SANK AGAINST a sturdy spruce as he watched Becca walk back to camp. She moved slowly across the uneven ground as if she were afraid to fall.

Damn her.

Oh, she hadn’t come out and admitted the baby was his. In fact, she’d gone out of her way to give him an out, to let him think what he wanted, as if he were the kind of guy who wouldn’t step up when something like this happened.

He’d decided long ago that he’d never have kids. His father, a career Hot Shot, had been the worst excuse for a dad ever known to man.

His mother, perhaps recognizing too late that Randy Rodas was poor parenting material and that she was no better, had left Spider with his grandmother one fire season and never been seen or heard from since. At first, Randy sometimes made it home for a brief visit around Christmas, leaving as quickly and unexpectedly as he’d come. And then there’d been nothing but a card with a twenty-dollar bill to validate that Spider had a dad. It was the revelation that his father had been spending his holidays and winters with his other families—other kids that he obviously loved more—that had sent Spider into a tailspin in Vegas.

He’d have to do the right thing, whatever that was. Only the right thing looked pretty damn unpleasant at the moment. He could just see coming to Becca’s house to pick up the kid on a Sunday. She’d be cold, looking down that finely chiseled nose of hers as if he weren’t good enough for her or their kid. And the kid would look at him as if he were a stranger.

Double damn.

The one time he’d trusted a woman with birth control—an older woman who should have known better—he’d fathered a child. If his dad was any indication, he’d make a horrible father.

History had a sick way of repeating itself.

“THAT WENT WELL,” Becca mumbled to herself as she sank onto her cot. At least Aiden hadn’t demanded parental rights. He was too busy recovering from the double whammy discovery that he wasn’t an adulterer and that he might be responsible for Becca’s pregnancy.

“What went well?” Julia lifted her head out of her sleeping bag and opened puffy eyes.

“The day. Don’t you think?” Becca covered quickly, inwardly ruing the fact that she had to share a small tent on this assignment. At this stage of her pregnancy, she was uncomfortable all night long, tossing and turning. With Julia in the cot next to her, Becca’s burps, stomach gurgles and worse had to be controlled or embarrassingly revealed.

After her confrontation with Aiden, Becca’s stomach had twisted into knots. Add the baby bouncing on top of that and she wasn’t going to be the quietest roommate in camp tonight.

“Do you really think the fire’s going to jump the highway?” Julia asked in a voice less sleepy than her eyes indicated.

It was comments like this that gave away Julia’s love of their work, that gave Becca hope for Julia’s goals and her own.

“If the winds shift the way they usually do this time of year and we don’t get more help, yes.” There’d be no stopping the fire’s rampage down the mountainside and through a narrow valley a few miles east of their camp.

“I think you’re wrong,” Julia said, then added, “But you’re never wrong.” There was a trace of bitterness in Julia’s voice that nearly smothered Becca’s hope for the Boise job completely.

So, her assistant disagreed with Becca’s assessment. Julia had rarely hiked these woods, rarely got her hands dirty in the field, touching the dry earth, snapping the spruce and pine needles, filling her nose with the parched air, seeing in her mind’s eye how ready it was to burn or fight for life.

If Becca’s assistant spent half as much time studying the maps of the area, local history and weather updates as she did on her makeup, she’d do fine. She had the credentials for the work. She had the interest. She just lacked the drive. And for that, Becca would push Julia until she reached her potential.

The fire business was tough. You either knuckled down or stepped down. People’s lives were at stake. The firefighters and people who lived in the area were all at risk. There was little room for error.

At the memory of her parents standing at her brother’s grave, familiar frustration churned in Becca’s belly. Her mother had never been the same after Jason had died while fighting a wildland fire. Becca hadn’t even decided on an area of study in college until he’d been killed. His death had inspired her to try and save others.

“I’d rather be wrong and prevent someone’s death, than ignore the signs. A man can’t outrun a ninety-mile-an-hour, eighty-foot wall of flame on a flat course, much less a seventy-five-percent grade.” The frustration of the Boise job being just out of reach combined with the shattering revelation of Aiden recognizing her pushed Becca over the edge. “Or maybe you like to gamble your ego against the life of someone you know,” she snapped, immediately regretting her harsh words, but reluctant to take them back.

Without a word, Julia rolled over, leaving Becca with the sour feeling of her assistant’s resentment.

Well, Becca couldn’t please everyone. Least of all Aiden. But she wouldn’t give up—not on this fire, not on Julia, and not on her plans for a safe, independent future.

Aiden had been angry over the idea that she’d made him into something he wasn’t. Becca hated to admit it was a bit of a relief to know he was a choosy womanizer.

She’d left him at the edge of the forest without giving him a chance to say that he wanted nothing to do with her baby. From what she knew of him, he wouldn’t relish his role as a father. He was young, far younger than she was. Not just in years, because he had to be about thirty, but in the way he behaved.

Running down the mountain in his boxers. Becca scoffed. High-school hijinx, that’s what it was.

Aiden Rodas a father?

No, Becca comforted herself as she struggled to unlace her boots, leaning around her belly. Aiden wasn’t ready to be a father. He was a typical, carefree bachelor, predictable in his desire to remain responsibility free. He’d accept her wish to raise the baby on her own, and she’d continue with her plans.

At least, she hoped that’s how it all happened.

“HEY, SON.” ROADHOUSE FELL into step with Aiden at the edge of camp, dodging a man carrying two chainsaws. Darkness didn’t bring much calm to base camp. There were still people everywhere.

“Don’t call me that.” Aiden scowled, almost making Roadhouse regret that he’d even attempted to talk to his son.

“Won’t,” Roadhouse mumbled, but he kept his legs moving in step with Aiden’s, ignoring the ache in his knees.

“If it’s money you want, I don’t have anything larger than a ten on me.” Aiden walked faster.

Roadhouse wished he could turn back the clock, wished that he’d never asked Aiden for money years ago.

“I don’t need any money. I was just wondering…” What happened to you today? But Roadhouse couldn’t ask that. Aiden would bite his head off if he tried to get too personal. Instead, he said, “Heard you saw a bit of action today.”

“Too much,” Aiden replied almost under his breath, making Roadhouse wonder what was wrong. Hot Shots lived to fight fires. They never complained about seeing too much action. No. Something wasn’t right.

The crew Roadhouse served on had been lucky enough to battle the fire up close these past few shifts. If more Hot Shot crews were assigned to the Flathead fire, the non-DoF crews were going to be assigned mop-up work—cold trailing burned-over areas to make sure it didn’t flare to life again.

A fire could dance through the treetops and leave the forest floor relatively unscathed, or race along the ground, singeing the lower tree branches. In either case, a tree root or trunk could smolder for days before deciding to give the fire a second chance at life. Mop up was tedious, boring, necessary work, but seemed to be in Roadhouse’s future.

It took Roadhouse about twenty paces to work up enough saliva to ask, “Something bothering you?”

“Wouldn’t tell you if there was. You gave up that right a long time ago, starting with my first birthday.” Aiden didn’t look at Roadhouse. In fact, he looked away, to the orange glow of the fire on the horizon. “Haven’t seen you at a birthday since.”

“Suppose I did give somethin’ up,” Roadhouse admitted, half under his breath. When Maria had left, her mother had taken over the daily duty of raising Aiden and had been adamant that Roadhouse not undermine her authority or spoil his son on his sporadic visits. He’d never gotten along with his mother-in-law to begin with. After Maria had left, things had become unbearable, until Roadhouse had stopped visiting Aiden altogether. Yet, he never stopped thinking about his firstborn.

If asked, he’d admit he didn’t know how to be a good dad. But he’d always thought fondly of his kids—even wrote them letters.

He just never sent them.

He wanted his parental rights back. Forget that Aiden was thirty, Roadhouse wanted to be a part of his life. Ever since his mother-in-law had died, he’d made an effort to be on teams that operated in or near Idaho. He’d told Aiden about his other two children in Vegas, hoping the truth would bring them closer, only to have Aiden seem to resent him even more. Still, he wouldn’t give up.

But he could tell by the set of Aiden’s expression that now wasn’t the time for bonding, so he let Aiden walk away, back into camp, alone with his thoughts.

Roadhouse headed to the rise where he’d talked to Sirus earlier. He squatted on the ground beneath the generators, heedless of the noise created by the machinery. From this point, he could see the various areas where fire crews were bedded down for the night and the tents off to the right of the IC and base-camp staff tents. Behind him was a harsh medley of sound—the washers and dryers chugging away in the laundry trailer, metal grinding on metal as Pulaskis, chain-saws and shovels were sharpened for another day of work—battling to be heard over the hum of generators.

Rummaging in his pack, Roadhouse pulled out a plastic bag stuffed with dog-eared letters. Carefully, he sorted through the envelopes until he found one in particular, pulling it out as gently as if it were a precious piece of antique glass. He withdrew the folded paper from the envelope and started reading the scrawled handwriting slowly, as if every word weren’t already etched in his memory.

Aiden,

We saved a family from the fire today. Their little boy had dark eyes, like yours. It made me wonder how you’re doing. Are you behaving for Abuelita? Are you riding the red bike I got you for Christmas? If you were here, I’d ask you to play catch. I’d show you off to my friends and then tuck you into a sleeping bag under the stars. The stars are so close up here at night that you can almost touch them. If you were here, things would be different.

He’d scribbled “Love, Dad” as illegibly as he could beneath the brief missive. It was the way he signed all of his letters, as if he weren’t sure he deserved the title or the right to express the sentiment after all the mistakes he’d made.

Ignoring the ache in his knees that had become as painful as the emptiness in his heart, Roadhouse continued to stare at the paper and dwell on the lost opportunities of his youth. He’d never thought he’d end up like this—alone, having nearly outlived his usefulness and with no place to go. He doubted he’d be able to pass the stringent physical exams next year. The time had come to retire.

Too soon.

Someone laughed across the compound. Roadhouse looked up in time to see Aiden take off his boots and slide into his sleeping bag on the ground. Weather permitting, Hot Shots slept out under the stars. Tents took time to pack and space to transport, not to mention they were stifling in the heat. Roadhouse tilted his gaze up to the sky, where only a few stars peeked through the blanket of smoke.

He’d seen Aiden walking with the pregnant Fire Behavior Analyst. It was unlikely that Aiden saw any action from the woman. But he had been with her. And now he was upset.

Looking down on base camp, Roadhouse wondered what that might mean.

A flicker of hope ignited in his chest.

“COME ON, QUEEN, LET’S SEE what you’ve got,” Spider challenged his new charge as they clawed a hand line out of the mountainside the next afternoon, trying not to think about his meeting with Becca the night before.

The Silver Bend Hot Shots had been ordered to build a firebreak on the safer western boundary of the fire, this time with the aid of two other Hot Shot crews. Once it was done, they’d burn the area from their line to the advancing fire, halting its progress in this direction. “Or are you a little princess with nothing left to give?”

Victoria hacked at the ground with her Pulaski with a fervor that would leave her running on empty in another twenty minutes. The heat and unyielding ground would take the steam out of her arms quickly.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got enough juice to clear a path to that ridge,” Victoria assured him, although her voice lacked the conviction to inspire confidence.

“We’ll see.” Spider glanced over to the ridge. Smoke rose in deceptive puffs, as if the fire were gasping its last breath. Spider wasn’t fooled. Becca was just as deceptive, and every time he thought of her carrying his child, he had the same sense of doom he felt when working on this fire.

The blaze was stalled a half mile to the north. Spider knew it was just teasing them, waiting for the right moment to roar back to life. In which case, Spider and his team, including Victoria, had to be ready to make for safe ground.

Where was the safe ground with Becca?

Victoria was at the front of a group of five Silver Bend Hot Shots hacking away on the bushes and tree roots in their path. The ridge was still a good hundred yards ahead of them, beyond a thick stand of pine trees. Leading the team, Chainsaw cut trees out of their way while Golden kept lookout. Behind them, five of the crew dug away what was left of the roots and brush with shovels, and five raked the debris with McCloeds, a compact, sturdy rake. Logan brought up the rear, raking any missed debris out of the way.

They operated efficiently when everyone pulled their weight. Spider was going to make sure Victoria understood this, otherwise she’d have to quit.

“Don’t let him beat you, Queenie,” someone encouraged from the back of the line.

Eyeing the group, Spider walked uphill until he stood next to Golden.

“If this is your new way of keeping their spirits up…man.” Golden shook his head, and then continued quietly. “Don’t break her. We need her. I don’t want to get classified ‘ineffective’ because we can’t field a full crew, and be sent home early. This is my last shot at overtime this season, and I don’t want to come home without a full wallet. Lighten up.”

Under the burden of his discovery about Becca, Spider found it impossible to be upbeat. He didn’t want to be a father. He wasn’t the fatherly type. Being a father meant the end of…of…the life he loved. More than anything, he wanted to hear Becca say that the baby she was carrying wasn’t his. And if she said otherwise…well, he’d do what had to be done, whatever that was. He just wasn’t ready to think about that yet.

He looked over to where Victoria worked. Keeping her and the others on the crew safe was what was important. Distractions, like the possibility of fatherhood and deceitful, beautiful women, had no place out here. “I don’t want Victoria to snap either. She’ll either bend or break. If she can’t cut it, so be it. I’m not going to go easy on her.”

“I never took you for such an ass.” Golden had a way of staring at you that made you want to confess all your secrets and sins.

“Yeah.” Spider forced a grin on his face and kept his sins to himself. “You just thought I was an everyday, ordinary ass. But I’m not going to let her slide just because the season’s nearly over and I’m not going to let her assume her performance is acceptable. You know out here that one screw up multiplies until the entire team is at risk.”

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