Free Firestorm by Lisa T. Bergren Page A

Logan McCabe did not owe her a thing. So why was she so disappointed?
    Reyne spent the rest of the morning reading firefighters’ detailed reports and studying her figures. Much of her job entailed helping the interagency command center study satellite reports and deploy the appropriate troops to fight fires as they occurred. On most days, when there were few fires, she studied old data, charts, film, or footage to try and make sense of certain fire behavior.
    That’s what she was doing today. Studying old data, trying to develop new firefighting strategies. Or that’s what she was trying to do anyway. Every minute sound seemed to distract her. Then she realized that she was listening so hard for the facsimile machine to begin transmitting that she could almost hear the blood pulsating in her ears.
    Finally, three hours later, the quiet ring sang out, and the machinebegan to print. She sighed and then rose to wait beside the machine, laughing as she reached shaking hands to grab the paper it spit out. She felt lightheaded, delirious.
What is happening to me?
    She scanned Logan’s words and doodle, giggling as soon as she saw them.
    REYNE: THE PICTURE IS OF YOU AND ME HAVING DINNER FRIDAY NIGHT. STOP LAUGHING AT IT. I SAID STOP IT. I’M A SMOKEJUMPER, NOT AN ARTIST. ANYWAY, I WAS THINKING THAT WHEN I GOT HOME I’D TAKE MY COLLEAGUE OUT FOR A BUSINESS DINNER TO TALK OVER OUR PROJECT. I KNOW A GREAT PLACE JUST OUTSIDE OF ELK HORN. DO YOU THINK THAT WOULD BE TOO FORWARD OF ME? PLEASE ADVISE. LOVE, LOGAN .
    P.S. IT’S SO HOT HERE THAT IF THERE WAS A WAX MUSEUM, JOHN WAYNE WOULD BE THE SIZE OF MICKEY ROONEY. IT’S SO HOT HERE THAT THE FRUIT OF THE LOOM LABEL’S GRAPES HAVE TURNED TO RAISINS .
    Reyne giggled, but her mind was still back on his closing:
Love, Logan. Love, Logan. Stop it, Reyne! It means nothing!
But her heart pounded, and she was glad that no one was around to see the silly grin on her face.
    What is this, Father? I feel your urging, but I am so scared. I don’t want to lose someone I care about again. Not ever
.
    She sobered as she pictured Logan fighting fire this summer. Pictured him facing the dragon and the dragon winning.
    “No,” she said aloud. “No, Father. I can only do this if you protecthim.” Her voice changed from anger to pleading. “Please take care of him, Father. I can’t handle it. If I do this—if I risk my heart, I can’t handle losing it. I swear I can’t.”
    Reyne sighed when no answer, no reassurance came to her. She stared outside for what seemed hours, just thinking and playing out different scenarios in her head. “Life is a risk, Oldre,” she told herself. “Nothing risked, nothing gained.”
    Then she sat down at her computer and typed out a message to Logan:
    Logan, it would indeed be wise to spend time with your colleague. You never know what could transpire when two people talk about fire. See you Friday at six.
    P.S. My computers tell me it’s only eighty-four degrees there. Stop your whining.
    But as she faxed it through, all that ran through her head was that she was playing with fire—and there seemed to be no way to stop herself.

C HAPTER N INE
    R eyne paced inside her cottage, anxiously waiting for the clock to tick past 5:55. She actually crossed over to the digital display at one point and tapped it, wondering if it was stuck, then checked her kitchen clock, which assured her that it was right on time. At 5:59 she spotted him on the highway from Elk Horn and watched as he turned onto the dirt road that led to her home.
    Her heart skipped a beat, and she swallowed hard. “Get ahold of yourself, Reyne,” she muttered, wondering how Logan McCabe had managed to get under her skin so quickly. She positioned herself by a window where she could watch his approach without being seen.
    He pulled into her driveway and hopped out. To Reyne, he seemed even more handsome than before. Long, sturdy legs were encased in narrow jeans. He wore an off-white Henley under