I look at my watch, realizing I’m running out of time before he arrives at the feed store. “Okay, what should I wear?”
Jess holds up a sexy corset-looking top in a floral burgundy print. “This one looks so good with your eyes. It makes you one hot mama. Oh, and these jeans,” she says pointing to the flashiest, tightest pair we got. They have embroidery and blingall over the back pockets and look like the kind of pants rodeo queens wear, not wallflowers like me.
“I don’t know. That outfit is a little over the top, especially for a plain Jane like me.”
Jess’s eyes narrow. “You promised me you weren’t going to talk that way anymore. Remember? Girl, you’ve got to own your look and your sensuality. Quit worrying about what others think and focus on what you know and want. This was your favorite outfit yesterday, and I know you’re going to wear the shit out of it today. So, what are you waiting for?”
I clap my hands together, allowing myself to feel the excitement coursing through me. “You’re right. I really did love this outfit, and it made me feel amazing.”
After scrambling into the ensemble and slipping on my best pair of cowgirl boots, Jess lets out a happy sigh of approval and hugs me. “You look fierce and fucking jaw dropping. Have fun and enjoy watching Travis drool. I know he’s going to, hun.”
Chapter Seven
TRAVIS
Kurt’s voice echoes in the room. “It’s all about LACES, and don’t forget it. Lookouts, anchor points, communications, escape routes, and safety zones.” He holds up a new finger each time he lists off an element in the acronym. “There may be times when you need to take shelter in a safety zone, an area that has been cleared of fuel. In my twenty years, have I had to take an escape route? Yeah, a few times. But have I ever had to run from a fire? Never. That said, never say never.”
Fire season is getting ready to gear up, and it’s back to training for the twenty members of the Rough & Ready Hotshots. I’ve heard this speech from Kurt before, but I still focus. Distractions won’t do in a job where one mistake could put you or your fellow Hotshots in danger.
“But not every Hotshot crew is as lucky. We can’t forget the sacrifice of those who have gone before us and not always made it out. We’ve got to learn from their lessons. Fires shift. Sometimes unexpectedly, and if you and your crew get cutoff from your escape route, you can get overrun. That’s whyyou’ve got to communicate, work your fucking asses off, and remember LACES.”
I look around at my fellow Hotshots with a sense of somber pride. Much of the shit we do most people can’t wrap their heads around. Hell, thinking back on some of it, I’m not sure I can, either.
In the early days of a fire, when you and your crew are the first on the scene and resources are scarce, it’s not unheard of to work a thirty-six-hour shift, powered solely by caffeine and fucking determination.
It’s hell on earth, draped in smoke and working harder than you’ve ever worked in your entire life. Maybe you’ve also got to be a little crazy to do it.Who the fuck knows?
But there’s nothing like the camaraderie that develops with your crew while you’re out in the field together. Thinking back on my conversation with Wolfe the other day, I realize just how much I thirst for a sense of belonging.
I guess it’s a natural part of being a foster kid, but maybe it pushed me to pursue Faith more than I should have. I don’t know, but it’s not something to think about now. Instead, I continue taking notes, listening to everything Kurt says.
“Wildfires can burn millions of acres in the blink of an eye, consuming everything in their path. They can travel at speeds of fourteen miles per hour. That’s a four-minute-mile, motherfuckers, so don’t think you’re going to outrun it. You’ve heard me say this before, but it bears repeating. By the time you see fire coming, it’s too fucking late.”
What he’s describing is the worst-case scenario and the cause of one of the worst disasters to ever hit wildland firefighting. People often ask me how you stay motivated, working for days on end without sleep. The answer’s simple. Your tail and those of your buddies are on the line. One miscalculation, one hour of laziness can fuck everybody.
Of course, my work has ruined past relationships. I’ve hadgirls who swore they love me disappear halfway through a fire season because they couldn’t go a week without a call. If only they knew what the Rough & Ready Hotshots were doing to stay alive and keep fire from taking out homes and lives, they’d understand. But you can’t understand it without experiencing it firsthand.
Maybe that’s why I fixated on Faith. Somehow, I got it in my head that she was different. The kind of woman I could count on. And I wish with all my heart it was so. But the more I think about the way she lets the church meddle in her life, the more reservations I have.
I’m a God-fearing man. Stare a wildfire in the face a couple of times, and there’s not a person on the face of this Earth who wouldn’t start praying. But what she’s mixed up in feels like a cult, and the more I think about it, the less I want anything to do with it.
“Alright, you’ve put in a good day of work. Pat yourselves on the back for being the elite of the elite. Go home and get some rest, you bums, and enjoy your days off.”
“Hey, Cartwright, you coming to Stonie’s Five Star with us?” asks Murphy, a smile stretching across his freckled face. He’s got a shock of burgundy hair and green eyes the color of khaki pants.
“Maybe later. I’ve got to go help out a friend for a bit, but I’ll text you.”
Rojas comes up behind me, clapping a hand on my back, “We better see you there, man. I’m counting on it. You’re my wing man, after all.”
I laugh. Talking to my old crew, I realize how much I tamed down off-season for Faith. I’m not sure what I was thinking, considering how things have gone.
But truth be told, I don’t feel like carousing right now. I’m more in a wound-licking stage, especially now that something I used to look forward to feels like torture.Counting down the days and hours to help Faith with her deliveries.
“Jose, you’ll do fine with or without me. Just do that Latin lover thing you do.”
“Nah, bro, ain’t nobody gonna fuck me without you around. Girls take one look at you, and suddenly they’re all over me. It’s like your good luck and charm rub off on me.”
“Maybe my height, too,” I joke, patting him on the head. Rojas is all of five-foot-ten, and me teasing him about his height always gets him red-faced and cussing in Spanish.
