and let Regina know we made it in.”
Before she could disappear, Avery wrapped her arms around her mother’s shoulders and squeezed. “Thank you for letting me come home.”
Her mother sniffed. “Girl, if you make my mascara run, we will both be sorry.”
Avery squeezed her again and then let go. “Now, do I need to be worried about toe rot in my room?”
“Only if you brought it in,” her mother said as she narrowed her eyes. “You bring any rot at all into my place and we will have words.” She waved and then stepped back out on the porch.
Avery was still smiling when she opened the door to her old room. The linens and paint were different. All her awards had been boxed up, but the afternoon light through the window that warmed her favorite spot in the world, the window seat that used to overlook the old oak, was exactly the same.
Her phone rang and she didn’t even pull it out of her purse. She knew who was calling, the only one of her friends who still made the effort. Maria Benton had been one of the lawyers fighting for people who needed them most in Chicago’s Legal Aid. She’d spent the time Avery had volunteered there testing her and encouraging her, and when Robert had been diagnosed, she’d been Avery’s most loyal friend.
And for two years, she’d called and left messages and never once accepted Avery’s excuses for why her return calls were so very few. It hurt to talk to Maria. It hurt to remember that old life.
Today, Avery was going to put off until the day after tomorrow what she couldn’t face today. She was home now. She’d have more energy any day now. That was the day to call Maria. Until then, there was voice mail.
Avery dumped her bags on the floor and sprawled sideways on the queen-size bed. A nap. Then she’d get started on figuring out the rest of her life.
SAM BLACKBURN HAD climbed The Eagle Nest so many times in his life that it had lost some of the thrill. Doing it in the fine mist that Sunday afternoon certainly added a degree of difficulty. Still not enough to satisfy the restless urge that had been plaguing him ever since he’d read about the opening for a spot on the Highland firefighting crew out of Colorado. They tackled the most dangerous wildfires out West.
That was the kind of challenge he needed.
Sam dropped down to sit next to Ash Kingfisher. They’d worked together for years and known each other longer than that. If he tried to start a meaningful conversation with Ash at this point, the man in charge of the Otter Lake Ranger Station might give him a hard push right over the edge.
Ash was a good leader but a terrible conversationalist.
The best thing about the rain was that it meant this trail, one of the most popular hikes in the reserve, was deserted. It wouldn’t do much to alleviate the drought that had started in the spring and lasted all summer, but it was nice to remember that rain was still a possibility.
Sam clenched his hands together to keep from twiddling his thumbs and stared out over the trees. Might as well be at the top of the world on a day like today.
“Out with it.” Ash inhaled deeply, his face completely expressionless.
“I’m going to apply for the wildland firefighting crew opening,” Sam blurted as he stared hard in the opposite direction. If Ash sneered, he’d know the guy had even less faith in his chances than Sam did.
“Might as well.” Ash rolled his shoulders and wiped a drop of rain off his forehead.
Then he stretched out the leg that sometimes gave him trouble and moved his foot from side to side. The climb up the rocky top of the mountain was a challenge for most people. Sam spent more time going up and down trails than he did on flat land, but Ash was in the office now.
“Don’t even think it,” Ash muttered.
“What?” Sam asked. He knew there was no way the guy could read his mind, but Ash missed nothing.
“I’m not slowing down a bit.” Ash turned his head slowly to give him a narrow stare.
“Fine.” Sam nervously chewed on his thumbnail and then yanked his hand away. He wasn’t a kid anymore. When he was growing up, Avery Abernathy would have snorted in disgust and pointed at him like he was a baby if she’d caught him chewing his fingernail. “Bad habit. Nerves. Knew a girl once who did the same thing but would deny it until the end of time.” Nervous babbling. No good. Sam clamped his hands together. “How good are my chances?”
Ash sighed. “Gonna be competitive.”
“All the good jobs are. I had to volunteer here for two years before I even got an interview,” Sam said. “That your only concern?”
Ash squeezed his eyes shut. “Are we about to have a moment?”
Sam huffed out a laugh and called Ash the worst combination of curse words he knew.
“Well, I’d say you’ve got a real problem with authority,” Ash drawled, “but no one is going to deny you’ve got experience, conditioning and training. If it was New Mexico, I’d be worried. You’d get sand in your shorts and run crying to mama, but the mountains will be enough like home.”
“A problem with authority,” Sam said. “That must be why I hang out with you.”
Ash’s slow blink was his only acknowledgment that Sam might have a point.
“If it comes to it, I will make sure my high opinion of you and your dedication to the job are well known,” Ash said as he stood slowly. The rocks were wet but still solid. “That what you brought me all the way up here for?”
He’d thought Ash needed to get out of his cabin. Brooding didn’t even begin to cover what the guy could do with free time, but there was only so much a guy could do. “Yep. That’s it. I wanted to make sure I have your endorsement.”
“What do I know about firefighters? I manage calm, stable reserve rangers. Those guys, the ones who parachute in to put out these fires, they’re crazy.” Ash shook his head. “You should fit right in.”
“They’re the best of the best, taking on the worst wildfires, the ones that can destroy whole forests, not to mention everything else in their path.” Sam turned to start the slow descent down the rock face. “Here, we babysit controlled burns and put out lightning strikes.”
“And save lives and conserve native flora and fauna and history and put your lives on the line by standing too close to the flames when it counts.” Ash grunted. “That ought to be enough danger for any one person for a lifetime. Those fires or these, those forests or these, your job is important,” he said before he drawled, “sweetheart.” His sarcasm had saved them both from one of those touchy-feely moments.
Sam concentrated on making it down to the trail. If he stumbled and fell, he’d never hear the end of it. Well, if he fell over the edge, he’d never hear the beginning of the trash talk, but his funeral would be embarrassing.
“You told your mother yet?” Ash asked as he stepped down next to Sam. They
