But this woman wouldn’t know, didn’t need to know, his entire history.
He drew in a calming breath, then answered succinctly. “Ash.”
“Ash?” Maura repeated inanely.
“Short for Ashton. It’s an old family name.” He didn’t offer his last name, and he knew Maura had to be wondering why. It was firefighter etiquette, especially when crews were being called in from all over the nation, to lead off with your full name, where you hailed from, how long you’d been firefighting and how long on this particular fire. It gave you a sense of your own time and place in the life of the fire.
But he had an aversion to volunteering too much information, developed over ten years of hard lessons. Brutal lessons.
Still, he found himself muttering, “Been a volunteer firefighter for the past five years, mostly in Montana and Idaho. This is my first week on this fire.”
He grabbed his T-shirt and rose to his feet. “I’ll go soak this in water again and bathe the doe’s burns as best I can. There’s not much else we can do.”
If Maura was puzzled by the abrupt change of subject, she didn’t show it. She bit her lower lip in thought, which only made her look ten times more earnest—and naive—than she already did. And ten times as irresistible.
He couldn’t believe she was old enough to have graduated college, much less have been in the Forest Service long enough to work a couple of big fires. She barely came up to his shoulder, and with that schoolgirlish braid of red hair trailing over her shoulder and those innocent blue eyes, he’d have guessed her age closer to sixteen than twenty-something.
Except for when she stretched behind her for her helmet and one had a glimpse of the curve of a full, womanly breast and nipped-in waist.
She set the helmet so its headlamp shed better light onto the doe’s injuries. “I’ll take the first turn at bathing her burns, if you like. If we keep it up through the night, it’ll ease her discomfort until we can get her proper veterinary care, don’t you think?”
Ash simply stared at her. She had to know the animal wouldn’t make it to morning. He wasn’t going to clarify the point, however, not when Maura was looking up at him with her big blue eyes as if he could turn the world on its axis.
“Why not, I guess,” Ash said, curbing the cynicism in his voice. “Let me take first crack at it, though, while you set up camp in the chamber where we left our gear.”
She smiled, and it was like the sun breaking over the horizon. “Thanks, Ash.”
She disappeared down the passage while Ash soaked and resoaked the T-shirt, being careful not to touch the doe’s burns with it as he ran water over them. Her breathing did seem less labored, but that might be because she was barely clinging to life. He gave her another drink of water and tried to coax the fawn into taking one and failed.
Of course, ministering to the downtrodden and discouraged was Maura’s specialty. That and her seemingly unrelenting optimism.
Ash sat back on his heels. Optimism. Now there was a word he’d long forgotten the meaning of. And a state of mind he hadn’t been able to revive in himself since…well, since forever, it seemed.
But today he’d experienced the whiff of a remembrance, like a familiar scent from childhood drifting on the wind, of a time when he hadn’t been skeptical of every hope that lifted its wings being dashed to pieces when it inevitably fell to earth. A time when every small taste of sweetness didn’t come with a castor-oil dose of bitterness. A time when he wasn’t constantly wary, could be open with his heart and know how to keep another’s heart in trust.
And he supposed he had Maura to thank for that— or should he curse her instead? Because she had only underscored how difficult, if not hopeless, was his journey toward redemption. Toward regaining such trust, in others as well as in himself.
With a shake of his head, Ash roused himself from his contemplation. Well, he only had to make it through the night with Maura and her hopefulness. And kindness. And honesty. And tantalizing appeal. He could keep her at a distance until the morning. Then, with any luck, he could say goodbye and return to reality.
Placing his hands on his thighs, Ash hauled himself to his feet and went to see how he could help her.
Maura glanced around as Ash entered the chamber, where she’d made inroads to getting organized for the night.
His gray eyes turned abruptly stormy as they took in the results of her efforts.
“What the hell is this?” he asked.
“I discovered the space blanket in your fire pack,” she explained. “I laid it out next to the one I had, you know, so we could share our b-body heat.” She couldn’t believe she was stammering and blushing like a girl. “It’ll help us keep warm.”
“Really,” Ash said in that one-word commentary she was coming to learn had a lot of different meanings. Such as right now, with how he’d slipped his fire shirt back on but hadn’t buttoned it, as if oblivious to the cool temperature in the cave. He was also back to being remote, it seemed, and she wondered why.
“I also have a bunch of water purification tabs in case we need to go that route,” she prattled on almost nervously, “but with a combined total of four bottles of water, we should be good for a few days, if needed. And we both have compasses, duct tape and first aid kits, as well as some pretty complete rations.”
She spread her hands, indicating the food she’d assembled on their space blankets. “Your three power bars along with my MRE,” she said, referring to the ready-made meals that were available for firefighters to take with them when it seemed likely they might not make it back to fire camp that night.
“An MRE, huh?” He picked up the retort pouch the meal had come in and scrutinized it as if it were vermin. “‘Hearty Beef Stew.’ The problem is, it could say chicken or pasta or veggie delight on here, and it wouldn’t matter. It all has the taste and texture of corrugated cardboard.”
“How on earth did you get to be such a sourpuss!” she finally burst out, half teasing, half serious. “I think we can count ourselves lucky to have any kind of nourishment at all. And that we’re in here, relatively safe and sound, instead of being the ones getting eaten alive by that fire out there!”
He looked at her strangely for a long moment, then shrugged. “You’re right. Let’s eat.”
They settled into their spare meal, Maura sitting cross-legged across from Ash, who was doing the same. After her previous nausea, she was surprised to find herself as hungry as a bear, and it was difficult not to bolt her food. The MRE had come with a helping of apple crisp, and despite Ash’s dearth of expectations, the dessert tasted as close to ambrosia as Maura could imagine.
Ash ate methodically and without enthusiasm, as if in the past he had indeed had to eat corrugated cardboard and like it. She couldn’t help but be curious about his history, but she had a feeling they weren’t going to pass the evening chummily sharing their life stories. Although it would be nice to know his last name, for crying out loud.
She was about to ask when he said, “It’s true, you know.”
“What is?” Maura asked.
“That
