Feel the Fire (Hotshots) Page 3

“Just because I was a theater nerd at sixteen doesn’t mean I stayed one.” Luis gave him a defiant stare. “And you know I did the fire explorers, same as you. Wasn’t only in it to be your sidekick.”

  “Point taken.” And honestly, Tucker was guilty of that assumption—he’d been the one to sign up for shadowing the local volunteer fire department, part of their high school outreach program. Back then, Luis had been more interested in the allure of fireworks and bonfires, not putting out fires. “And as to your question, my brother runs the ranch with Dad now. They don’t need me underfoot.”

  That was the understatement of the fucking century, a chasm he had no interest in exploring with Luis.

  Luis’s eyes narrowed like he was about to ask a follow-up question, but then he shook his head. “So, leaving the past where it belongs, tell me how you envision my role here. I take it Adams is my supervisor, not you?”

  “You’re right. But I’m in charge of a lot these days.” He tried to make sure his tone wasn’t too defensive, not liking at all the look of relief on Luis’s face. “The fire behavior specialist role is under Adams in terms of management. He wants me to bring you up to speed, but you’ll report to him, not me. I’ll tell you right now, though, that he’s getting close to retirement and I’ve been taking more and more of the burn boss duties, especially when it comes to the controlled burns. We’ve got one coming up that I’ve been working point on, and Garrick’s been helping me.”

  “Not interested in upsetting your fiefdom.” Luis leaned back in his chair. His tone might be this side of bored, but he radiated the sort of take-charge persona that didn’t always function well in a team environment.

  Their last group project had been decades prior. Tucker seriously didn’t have any clue about who this stranger was in front of him, what he liked, who he was with, what his work personality was, and wasn’t likely to find out as Luis hardly seemed eager to make friends.

  Showing impatience with Tucker’s ruminating, Luis made a little gesture with his hand. “Go on.”

  “I’m also the main liaison with the interagency crews when there’s an emergency or an ongoing situation like what we’ve got going this summer with all the spot fires.”

  “Tell me more about those. My boss said you’re investigating the possibility of arson. That’s one of my specialties. I wrote my graduate thesis on the different fire spread patterns with deliberate burns, particularly looking at behavior that’s indicative of arson.”

  “You’ve got a graduate degree?” Tucker shouldn’t be surprised—this was a specialist role after all, but he was still having trouble reconciling this clearly professional, competent man with the academic-hating boy he’d once known.

  “You need my full résumé? I worked on a city crew first, then took an opportunity for wildfire work. An injury to my back forced me back to school, and I was thinking of becoming a fire investigator, but the forest service found me and I’ve been at this a few years now. Paid my dues with big fires and small operations alike. Apparently, our bosses think I can be of assistance here.” More of that hard, defiant stare.

  And honestly, Tucker probably deserved it as he wasn’t exactly acting professional here himself. “I’m sure you can. I’ll share what we’re working with in terms of the spot fires and the damage they’ve caused. Avoiding significant spread has kept the smoke-jumping base busy along with ground crews too.”

  “You were always hard-charging to be a smoke jumper yourself.” A small smile played with the edges of Luis’s mouth, like maybe he too was remembering their time as fire explorers, the sunny dreams of an adrenaline-packed job and life together Tucker had confessed to him alone. “What changed?”

  “Kids.” Much as Luis might not like the mention of them, they were central to everything Tucker had done with his life since their arrival. “I needed a stable year-round job with benefits. I did some years on engine and hotshot crews early on, but I pretty quickly realized that the boys needed me around more than I needed that tryout.”

  “Ah.” Luis’s eyes went predictably distant at mention of the twins. “Too bad. I’ve worked with them some over the years. You would have made a good jumper.”

  Tucker wasn’t sure whether that was praise or a subtle dig, but he nodded all the same. “Just wasn’t how life worked out.”

  “Yeah.” Nodding thoughtfully, Luis exhaled hard. And wasn’t that a good motto for this whole divide between them, the decades of no contact, the past that once was and the future that might have been. Just wasn’t how life worked out.

  He wouldn’t trade his boys for anything, not even that murky future he’d once wanted with all his heart, the one where he’d be a smoke jumper and Luis would be in school, and they’d make a little life for themselves under warm, blue California skies. He might not regret how life had worked out, but he was sorry for the hurt he’d caused them both, and still wasn’t exactly sure how or when to apologize. More dwelling in the past seemed like a terrible idea, and he really didn’t need coworkers overhearing an argument, but the urge to try to make things right was there nonetheless.

  “I’m—”

  “Knock, knock,” Christine called before opening Tucker’s door. “Fred said Luis can use Marjorie’s office while she’s on leave. I’m going to go in and clear the desk for you now.”

  And the good news just kept on coming. Marjorie, a pleasant woman out with the arrival of her first kid, occupied the office right next to Tucker’s. Nice that Fred had found something other than a cube for Luis, but man, he didn’t need more reasons to run into Luis.

  “Thank you.” Luis gave her a nod and tight smile, and Tucker did the same, because there wasn’t really an alternative.

  “You were saying?” Luis asked as she left again.

  “Nothing. Just that I’ll get all the documentation on the fires together so you can look that over, maybe you’ll see something with fresh eyes that the rest of us missed.”

  Whatever else he’d been about to say could wait for better timing. Or maybe never, because it wasn’t like anything he could say now would make a lick of difference in how Luis saw him. Them being friends again, that was probably never going to happen, so he might as well put his head down, focus on work and work alone, and simply try to survive the next few weeks best as he could.

  Chapter Three

  Even by lunchtime, Luis still didn’t know what he wanted. Or expected. He hadn’t expected Tucker working for the forest service, that was for damn sure. And now that working together was apparently a requirement, Luis didn’t know what came next. They were both defensive and prickly, and even fetching his French press and coffee from the car hadn’t been enough to settle him down. Let’s admit neither of us really knows who the other is right now. Tucker wasn’t wrong. Luis had no freaking clue who the other man was—a devoted dad judging by his office decor, a competent worker given how his coworkers all sang his praises and how organized his process seemed to be. He’d turned Luis loose to get settled in his borrowed office, which smelled like lavender. However, like Tucker’s, it had a sliver of a high window, which Luis cracked to get a little air circulating.

  He gave the absent Marjorie’s spider plant some water and carefully set her nesting doll figurines aside to make room for the few things he’d brought with him—laptop, some field equipment and gear like his boots and hard hat, and his favorite coffee mug, a stainless steel tumbler that kept his titanium-strength brew at the perfect temperature. All in all, it was a single trip out to the car for his things, followed by a meeting with Adams about some specific responsibilities.

  Then Adams had headed to a lunch meeting, leaving Luis with a strange wobble in his stomach as he made his way back here to his office. Outside his window, people headed to the parking lot while others mingled in the hallway on their way to the break room, chatty clumps of twos and threes. It was fine. He’d been the new guy before. He’d figure somet
hing out, and this weird feeling could go fuck itself.

  “Hey, new kid!” The boy with the floppy hair and big ears poked Luis’s shoulder as their class lined up for lunch, making Luis brace for trouble.

  “It’s Luis. Not kid. And what do you want?” He gave the boy his best don’t-mess-with-me stare, the one he’d learned from his big brothers.

  “Miss Martin said to ask if you brought a lunch or if you need a hot lunch. Hot lunch kids get in the other line.”

  “Brought one.” Luis held up his box, which had dueling space fighters on the front. His mom had insisted on packing him food for his first day in this strange school. He still didn’t know why they’d had to buy a house here, in this tiny school district. His dad’s new job was bad enough, but Luis didn’t care how big the yard was or how nice the basement playroom was. Nothing made up for this stupid school with the kids—including this one—all looking at him like he had green hair or a third eye. You’d think they never got anyone new around here. And even the teachers were nothing like his old school. He’d loved his old teacher so much, but Miss Martin was old and smelled funny.

  “Cool.” The boy—Travis? Trevor? Something with a T, whatever. Too many new names that morning. But the boy continued his appraisal of Luis, his eyes lingering on his new sneakers. “Follow me. You can sit with me.”

  “You don’t have to sit with me just because the teacher said,” Luis protested even as he let the kid lead him to the lunchroom.

  “She didn’t say to sit with you.” Frowning, the boy’s tone shifted to one more defensive, making Luis regret his sharpness. “I’m tired of sitting alone with the girls, that’s all. The other boys in our class this year are stupid. And my mom sent salami. Again. No one ever wants to trade with me anymore. But I figured...maybe you like salami?” His smile, both hopeful and more than a little bashful, did something to Luis’s insides, made him need to smile back.

  “I don’t mind salami.”

  “Good. And I’m Tucker.” He led Luis to a table filled with chatting girls, pulling out a battered blue lunch bag with a seam that had been repaired, possibly more than once. That smile came out again, soft and shy as he pointed at Luis’s lunch box. “You like that movie?”

  “Yup.”

  “Me too.”

  And there he’d sat the rest of that year and the one after that too, eating Tucker’s sandwiches for him, introducing him to Mami’s preferred brands of snack cakes and chips, and listening to Tucker’s opinions on popular movie franchises and video games and the wisdom of listening to older brothers. Now here he was, years later, the new guy all over again. But nowhere near as desperate to fit in and not nearly as susceptible to puppy-dog looks from freckle-faced boys.

  And no more time for wallowing in memories, either. He ate his lunch at his desk, a prepackaged protein box. It wasn’t that he was antisocial, but he was still figuring out the lay of the land here, the particular office politics that every place had. That and he hadn’t particularly wanted to run into Tucker in the break room. Which might make him a coward, but so be it.

  “Hey. Adams wanted me to bring you this.” Tucker stuck his head into Luis’s office. Apparently thinking about him was enough to conjure him up. “Oops. Sorry to interrupt your lunch.”

  “It’s no bother,” Luis lied.

  “Is that all you have?” Tucker set a thick folder on the corner of Luis’s desk. “That reminds me of the little snack boxes the boys loved when they were small. If you’re still hungry—”

  “I’m not.” Luis hated how curt he sounded, so he forced himself to try for a lighter tone. Tucker was trying. So could he. “And it’s aged cheese, an egg, some nuts, and chorizo. Not exactly kid food.”

  “You always did like spicy meat...” Tucker trailed off and rubbed his jaw, apparently realizing a little too late how that sounded. “Sorry. Never mind. But I’ve got extra snacks in my office if you get hungry. Accidentally grabbed some of Wade’s chili chips a couple of days ago.”

  “I’m too old to be eating food you don’t like.” Despite himself, Luis smiled as decades sped past. Somehow he knew without asking that Tucker was thinking about that first meeting too and all the many lunches that followed. “But congrats on having a kid with bolder taste buds than you.”

  “I think it’s payback from the universe. He even likes those cinnamon candies you were always addicted to, the ones that burn my tongue. And he adds hot sauce to everything. Walker and I had to ban him from cooking, which was possibly his objective.” Tucker gave a crooked grin, one that invited Luis to smile back, and damn if some rogue muscle in his chest didn’t flutter. He had no business being flattered that Tucker remembered his candy preferences. And Tucker’s smile had always been appealing, but now, coupled with rugged adult looks, it was nothing short of devastating, and Luis had to look away. The worst thing wasn’t having to work with Tucker. No, the absolute worst thing would be getting any sort of attraction to the person he was now.

  He had to be smart here. And that meant letting Tucker explain the file he’d brought with a minimum of sneaking more glances at him. The papers included photographs and evidence from some older area fires that weren’t yet digitally archived, along with instructions for how to reach the records on the office server of the more recent fires that were still under investigation.

  “Tomorrow I’m supposed to take you out to the field—show you the site for the next controlled burn as well as one of the suspected arson spot fires.”

  “Sounds good.” And it did—not the spending hours together, but getting out of the office was always his favorite part of the job, and he always felt like he did his best work hands-on rather than merely crunching data in front of a screen. Which was what loomed after Tucker retreated to his own office, slow-moving hours of reviewing records and getting up to speed on various projects, becoming more familiar with their procedures and ways of doing things.

  At least he had his favorite music playing in his headphones, an indie band he’d been lucky enough to see live a few months back, and he didn’t need to see Tucker again until they were packing up at the end of the day, encountering him in the hallway with a leather messenger bag on one shoulder, another reminder of how far he’d come from the kid who’d been inseparable from his hand-me-down backpack with graphics from their favorite movie franchise.

  “Heading out?” Tucker’s gaze swept over Luis, a cursory examination, but still one that made Luis both want to stand taller and to glance away.

  “Yup.”

  “You...uh...find a place to stay okay?” Tucker shifted his weight from foot to foot.

  “Yeah. Newer extended-stay hotel out by the highway. It’s got a little kitchenette at least so I can handle some of my meals.” He added that last bit in case Tucker was about to issue some sort of guilt-induced invitation. But he also purposefully didn’t mention the cat—didn’t need to invite opinions on the merits of traveling with a pet.

  “Good. Good.” A muscle worked in Tucker’s jaw and an awkward silence stretched out between them. “Uh...see you tomorrow?”

  “Bright and early.” Luis dug deep for a cheerful tone. It was a day in the field. Might be with Tucker, but he’d survived worse. Surely he could make it a single day in close quarters with the last guy he’d wanted to see.

  However, back at the hotel, heating up a packet of rice while Blaze ignored the new treats he’d bought her, his resolve wavered. Why did adult Tucker have to be so darn attractive? And by all counts, a decent person? A decent single person, his traitorous brain added. That little detail did not matter. Divorced did not equal out, even in his most optimistic of imaginings, and for all he knew, Tucker had some pretty rebound cowgirl on the string.

  That. He had to keep reminding himself that he didn’t know this Tucker at all, didn’t know how he spent his time, what he valued, what he hoped and feared. And that wasn’t likely to change. The
ir friendship was buried two decades deep. No sense in unearthing it, even if such a thing was possible. And he had no business being sad about that either because chances were high that Tucker was having no such similar pangs. No, the best he could hope for was making it through these weeks with his emotions firmly in check and his psyche unscathed.

  * * *

  “Is this all there is?”

  It took Tucker a minute to take in Wade’s expectant expression and to realize he meant dinner, not whatever existential crisis Tucker’s brain was mired in. His head was cluttered with so many stray thoughts that he’d had a hard time keeping track of little details like it was Wednesday, and he’d arrived at Heidi’s with only a few minutes to spare before their family dinner tradition.

  “It’s two pounds of pasta. Surely you can make do.” Isaac carried the last of the food to the table. As usual, Heidi’s husband had cooked enough for an army, no matter what Wade thought, and his steaming bowls of rotini coated with some sort of creamy from-scratch sauce and seasoned roast vegetables were far more gourmet than what Tucker usually offered up when they repeated this ritual most Sunday nights. The meals had started as a way of easing the custody split transitions on the boys, a tangible way to show them that they were all still family even if they had separate houses, but over the years they’d evolved into something more, part command appearance and part beloved ritual.

  “The start of football means I’m hungry all the time.” Wade took his seat at the large oval table adjacent to the open kitchen. The house had been built in the same year as Tucker’s own smaller house down the street, and the great room was similar but more expansive here. However, Heidi and Isaac favored chunky, dark wood furniture and colorful dishes whereas his own setup was more utilitarian.

  “No, that’s you every day.” Walker slid into the seat next to Wade, matching grin and equally damp short hair. They’d arrived minutes after Tucker, full of stories of football practice and with twin gigantic appetites.