her, and felt the difference in the hold immediately.
From their weight and movement, several rocks loosened, both above and behind him, and hundreds of little pebbles pelted them, falling to the ground below.
Lyndie took a hit on her shoulder and winced, just as he took a heavy hit on his chest. “Lyndie—” He reached for her, but before he connected, she let out a little off, and lost her hold.
He snagged her by the wrist, barely. “Don’t move.” His other hand clung to a rock he could feel was about to give way, and his heart slammed against his ribs. “Lyndie, listen to me,” he said urgently, eyeing the more gradual slope beneath them on this side of the rock. Thank God. “I’m going to let go of you.”
She choked out a response that he didn’t catch.
Probably a good thing.
“It’s okay,” he said as calmly as he could. “There’s more sand here, and more of a slope than a sheer drop. You’ll slide,” he said into her wide eyes.
At the last fire he’d fought, in that hellish event that he relived every night, he’d looked into Greg’s eyes and yelled “run.” Griffin had, and it hadn’t been until it’d been far too late that he’d realized Greg had momentarily frozen in shock. A terminal mistake.
No freezing, and no hysterics for this woman, she simply braced herself and let out a tight nod.
But he couldn’t let go, he just couldn’t do it. He looked into her amazing green eyes for a long moment, longer than he should have, and she jerked her head again, impatiently this time.
He got the message—she knew what she had to do, she trusted what he’d decided they had to do.
She did trust him. Hell of a time to realize the burden of that. One last time, he looked into her eyes.
And then let go of her.
He let go of his own perilous hold, as well, following her down, desperately trying to make sure he didn’t kick or fall into her.
Dirt went up his nose. He heard her cry out as he hit his hip on a rock. A branch raked across his face.
And still he slid.
He could smell the smoke, it choked the air out of his lungs. More dirt deposited itself in every part of his body. He could feel the heat in the ground, but it was the sound of a sudden and viciously hot wind that got him as they slid, because behind it came the ominous crackling of the actual flames.
They were sliding to the west of where they’d climbed up, and by the sound and feel of it, right into the fire.
“Lyndie!” he yelled, but he heard nothing but his own whoosh of air as it left his lungs.
And he figured he knew right then.
In all the fires he’d worked on, he hadn’t died.
All through last year when he was so grief stricken, he hadn’t died, not even when he’d wanted to.
And yet now, out in the middle of nowhere, with only an oddly thorny, oddly irresistible woman at his side, he was going to.
6
L yndie’s graceless slide was broken by a nice bush. Unfortunately her weight was no match for said nice bush, and she plowed right through it, fell through the air again, bashing her knee, and also her ribs, and what seemed like a lifetime later, landed with a splash.
With a gasping breath—an extremely tight gasping breath because her lungs had tightened and dried like a Shrinky Dink—she sat in a running river, the body of which was maybe thirty feet wide and currently swirling up to her belly button. Behind her was the sharp, craggy rock and sand they’d just slid down.
On the other side of the river, blowing straight at her along with the harsh wind, was a wall of fire. Mesmerized, horrified, she stared at it.
Then, from behind her came a splash. She jerked out of her shock to remember Griffin had fallen, too, and had landed a few feet away.
Turning in the water, she set her eyes on the only steady point in a crazy, dangerous world.
“Lyndie.” As drenched and dirty in his Nomex flame-resistant clothing as he was, he came to his knees, then hauled her up to hers, as well, his expression
From their weight and movement, several rocks loosened, both above and behind him, and hundreds of little pebbles pelted them, falling to the ground below.
Lyndie took a hit on her shoulder and winced, just as he took a heavy hit on his chest. “Lyndie—” He reached for her, but before he connected, she let out a little off, and lost her hold.
He snagged her by the wrist, barely. “Don’t move.” His other hand clung to a rock he could feel was about to give way, and his heart slammed against his ribs. “Lyndie, listen to me,” he said urgently, eyeing the more gradual slope beneath them on this side of the rock. Thank God. “I’m going to let go of you.”
She choked out a response that he didn’t catch.
Probably a good thing.
“It’s okay,” he said as calmly as he could. “There’s more sand here, and more of a slope than a sheer drop. You’ll slide,” he said into her wide eyes.
At the last fire he’d fought, in that hellish event that he relived every night, he’d looked into Greg’s eyes and yelled “run.” Griffin had, and it hadn’t been until it’d been far too late that he’d realized Greg had momentarily frozen in shock. A terminal mistake.
No freezing, and no hysterics for this woman, she simply braced herself and let out a tight nod.
But he couldn’t let go, he just couldn’t do it. He looked into her amazing green eyes for a long moment, longer than he should have, and she jerked her head again, impatiently this time.
He got the message—she knew what she had to do, she trusted what he’d decided they had to do.
She did trust him. Hell of a time to realize the burden of that. One last time, he looked into her eyes.
And then let go of her.
He let go of his own perilous hold, as well, following her down, desperately trying to make sure he didn’t kick or fall into her.
Dirt went up his nose. He heard her cry out as he hit his hip on a rock. A branch raked across his face.
And still he slid.
He could smell the smoke, it choked the air out of his lungs. More dirt deposited itself in every part of his body. He could feel the heat in the ground, but it was the sound of a sudden and viciously hot wind that got him as they slid, because behind it came the ominous crackling of the actual flames.
They were sliding to the west of where they’d climbed up, and by the sound and feel of it, right into the fire.
“Lyndie!” he yelled, but he heard nothing but his own whoosh of air as it left his lungs.
And he figured he knew right then.
In all the fires he’d worked on, he hadn’t died.
All through last year when he was so grief stricken, he hadn’t died, not even when he’d wanted to.
And yet now, out in the middle of nowhere, with only an oddly thorny, oddly irresistible woman at his side, he was going to.
6
L yndie’s graceless slide was broken by a nice bush. Unfortunately her weight was no match for said nice bush, and she plowed right through it, fell through the air again, bashing her knee, and also her ribs, and what seemed like a lifetime later, landed with a splash.
With a gasping breath—an extremely tight gasping breath because her lungs had tightened and dried like a Shrinky Dink—she sat in a running river, the body of which was maybe thirty feet wide and currently swirling up to her belly button. Behind her was the sharp, craggy rock and sand they’d just slid down.
On the other side of the river, blowing straight at her along with the harsh wind, was a wall of fire. Mesmerized, horrified, she stared at it.
Then, from behind her came a splash. She jerked out of her shock to remember Griffin had fallen, too, and had landed a few feet away.
Turning in the water, she set her eyes on the only steady point in a crazy, dangerous world.
“Lyndie.” As drenched and dirty in his Nomex flame-resistant clothing as he was, he came to his knees, then hauled her up to hers, as well, his expression
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