He thought she looked beautiful, gloriously, eerily so—and was forced to admit she’d probably been right. He was, under it all, a romantic.

He dumped his gear, felt his back and shoulders weep with relief before they cramped like angry fists.

No Box to crawl into this time, he mused as he popped his tent. Then like the others, he dropped down by the campfire and ate like the starving. The cargo drop included more MREs, water, more tools, more hose and, God bless some thoughtful soul, a carton of apples, another of chocolate bars.

He ate his MRE, two apples, a candy bar—and stuffed another in his PG bag. The vague nausea that had plagued him on the hike to camp receded as his body refueled.

He rose, walked over to tap Rowan on the shoulder. “Can I talk to you a minute?”

She stood up, obviously punchy and distracted, and followed him away from the campfire, into the shadows.

“What’s the problem? I’ve got to hit the rack. We’re going to be—”

He just yanked her in, covered her mouth with his and feasted on her as he had on the food. Exhaustion became an easier fatigue as he fueled himself with her. The twinges in his back, his arms, his legs gave way to the curls of lust low in the belly.

She took back in equal measure, gripping his hips, his hair, pressing that amazing body against him, diving straight into those deep, greedy kisses.

And that, he thought, was what made it so damn good.

When he drew back he left his hands on her shoulders, studied her face.

“Is that all you have to say?” she demanded.

“I’d say more, but the rest of the conversation requires more privacy. Anyway, that should hold you for the night.”

Humor danced into her eyes. “Hold me?”

“The crew boss works harder than anybody, to my way of thinking. So, I wanted to give you a little something more to take to bed.”

“That’s very considerate of you.”

“No problem.” He watched her eyes shift from amused to puzzled as he tipped down, brushed a kiss on her sooty brow. “’Night, boss.”

“You’re a puzzle, Gulliver.”

“Maybe, but not that hard to solve. See you in the morning.”

He went to his tent, crawled in. He barely managed to get his boots off before he went under. But he went under with a smile on his face.

8

Rowan’s mental alarm dragged her out of sleep just before five A.M. She lay where she was, eyes closed, taking inventory. A world of aches, a lot of stiffness and a gut-deep hunger, but nothing major or unexpected. She rolled out of her sleeping bag and, in the dark, stretched out her sore muscles. She let herself fantasize about a hot shower, an ice-cold Coke, a plate heaped with one of Marg’s all-in omelets.

Then she crawled out of her tent to face reality.

The camp slept on—and could, she calculated, for about an hour more. To the west the fire painted the sky grimy red. A waiting light, she thought. Waiting for the day’s battle.

Well, they’d be ready for it.

She rinsed the dry from her mouth with water, spat it out, then used the glow of the campfire to grab some food. She ate, washing down the rations with instant coffee she despised but needed while reviewing her maps. The quiet wouldn’t last long, so she used it to strategize her tasks, directions, organizing teams and tools.

She radioed base for a status report, a weather forecast, scribbling notes, quick-drawing operational maps.

By first light, she’d organized her tools, restocked her PG bag, bolted another sandwich and an apple. Alert, energized, ready, she gathered in her small pocket of alone time.

She watched the forest come to life around the sleeping camp. Like something out of a fairy tale, the shadows of a small herd of elk slipped through morning mists veiling the trees like wisps of smoke. The shimmer of the rising sun haloed the ridge to the east, spreading its melting gold. The shine of it trickled down the tree line, flickering its glint on the stream, brushing the green of the valley below.

Birds sang their morning song, while overhead in that wakening sky a hawk soared, already on the hunt.

This, she thought, was just one more reason she did what she did, despite the risks, the pain, the hunger. There was, to her mind, nothing more magical or more intensely real than dawn in the wilderness.

She’d fight beyond exhaustion alongside the best men and women she knew to protect it.

When Cards rolled out of his tent, she smiled. He looked like a bear who’d spent his hibernation rolling in soot. With his hair standing up in grungy spikes, his eyes glazed with fatigue, he grunted at her before stumbling off for a little privacy to relieve his bladder.

The camp began to stir. More grunts and rustles, more dazed and glassy eyes as smoke jumpers grabbed food and coffee. Gull climbed out, his face shadowed by soot and scruff. But his eyes were alert, she noted, and glinted at her briefly before he wandered off into the trees.

“Wind’s already picking up.” Gibbons came to stand beside her, gulped coffee.

“Yeah.” She looked toward the smoke columns climbing the sky. Orange and gold flared through the red now. Like the sky, the magic, the camp, the dragon woke. “We’re not going to get any help from the weather gods today. Wind’s variable, fifteen to twenty, conditions remain dry with the temps spiking past eighty. She’ll eat that up.”

Rowan pulled out her hand-drawn maps. “We held her flank along here, but we lost ground at our water source, and when she crowned, she swept straight across this way. The hotshots hit that, kicked her back to about here, but she turned on them, about midnight, and then had to RTO,” she added, speaking of reverse tool order, “and retreat back to this line.”

“Was anybody hurt?”

“Minor burns, bumps and bruises. Nobody had to be evaced.” She glanced over her shoulder as Gull walked up. “They’re camped here.” She unfolded the main map to show Gibbons. “I’m thinking if we can pump water on the head from about here, and lay line along this sector, intersect the low point of the hotshot line, then cross. We’ll head up while they work over. We could box her in. It’s a hell of a climb, but we’d smother her tail, block her left flank, then meet up with the pump team and cut off her head.”

Gibbons nodded. “We’re going to have to hold this line here.” He jabbed a finger at the map. “If she gets through that, she could sweep up behind. Then it’s the line team that’s boxed in.”