Read Online Expectant Father by Melinda Curtis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Melinda Curtis
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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. “Ormaybe 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.
“H EY, SON .” R OADHOUSE 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
“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. “Ormaybe 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.
“H EY, SON .” R OADHOUSE 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
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