Page 52 of Into the Fire

That thought woke me up the rest of the way. I lay there until Boone woke. He grunted, “Good morning,” and immediately headed for the bathroom.

Water ran, and the toilet flushed. Then he came back and tugged on yesterday’s jeans and flannel. I sat on the edge of his bed, getting dressed too.

The sex hadn’t scared me, and wanting him didn’t scare me either. I’d been wanting him so long that it was part of my existence.

The morning after terrified me. I followed Boone to the kitchen, and he started the coffeemaker.

I looked around the kitchen in the daylight. He’d already placed two mugs on the counter. I saw two plates in the drying rack.

“Eggs?” he asked. “And I’m leaving at seven, so decide if you’re following me down or leaving ahead of me.”

“Eggs,” I said.

Boone put his skillet on the stove and broke two eggs into it.

I glanced toward the living room. “Love Will Tear Us Apart” still hung crooked on the wall.

I wondered how long it had been that way, and then I wondered why I wanted to straighten it.

Chapter thirteen

Boone

Dante brought coffee in a travel mug he’d bought in Kessler. I smelled it when he took the lid off to drink.

“That’s not coffee.”

“It is.”

“It’s a milkshake that got too close to the coffeemaker.”

“You drank Dutch’s cabin coffee.” He put the lid back on. “You took two swallows to prove a point. You don’t get to judge standards anymore.”

I drove us back to Dutch’s cabin. Past Thompson Falls, the highway was empty, with early sunlight slanting across the road.

I had pictures from our first trip on my phone and Nash’s account in memory. Under Dutch’s notes and pencil marks was the same Carson Ridge incident map I’d known for five years.

I could have pulled up the pictures, but I wanted the map in front of me now that I knew where everybody had been standing.

Dante leaned his shoulder against the door, watching the country go by. “I filed Marty’s form,” he said.

I looked over.

“The shorter one. Yesterday, after gear checks.” He drank his coffee. “I’m extended through the middle of October. Scheduling has it. Regional has it. Marty says the bunkhouse paperwork rolls over on its own.”

“You cleared it with—”

“Cleared it with Helena, filed and entered. Marty walked it through while I stood there. He said it was the easiest thing he’d done all week and I should tell you that.”

I focused on the road.

He counted off the reasons while still looking at the trees.

“Late season’s still good for jumps. You’re short an experienced man once Teller rotates out.” He paused. “And Carson Ridge is unfinished.”

It was all true and sensible. There was one reason absent, and I didn’t push for it.

I could put his exit out of my mind until October.