Page 24 of Light My Fire

“Hey, Skye,” Tucker said, trying to get up.

Instead, she crouched in front of them, her eyes flickering briefly to Stevie before returning to Tucker. “I was thinking… I just sat up on that hill all day. I’m not tired at all. Not like you guys. I’ll stand watch tonight, let you get some sleep.”

“Skye—”

“Tucker, listen. I want to do my part here. And if you don’t want me on the line, then let me at least keep watch. Firefighting rule number five, right?”

Tucker sighed. “Post lookouts when there is possible danger.Fine.”

“I’m going to hike up to the ridge, get a view of the fire, and I’ll radio you should anything change.” She stood and glanced again at Stevie. At their hands, still touching back-to-back.

A tiny smile tweaked her face. Then she turned and headed off into the semidarkness of the Alaskan midnight.

Stevie watched Tucker as he followed Skye’s steps. “She’s right. Let her do something.”

“I know. It’s just that she reminds me of someone I once knew.”

“Your sister?”

“Girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend.”

Oh. Which meant—what? Did he have feelings for Skye?

It didn’t matter, really. “You always follow the rules?”

He glanced at her. “Yep.”

That’s right. She remembered his words at the Midnight Sun.Life is a little easier when you follow the rules.

She drew her hand away from his, zipped up her jacket. “I forgot how cold it gets at night here.”

He was looking at her, frowning. Then, “I have a sleeping bag and a tarp. I don’t need both—”

“No, Tucker. Besides, I won’t be sleeping.”

“Then at least you should be warm.” He pushed himself to his feet, and she winced a little as he limped over to a metal container from which they’d retrieved their dinners, more water, and other supplies. He dug out a sleeping bag and a reflective blanket.

He returned, dropping the bag in her lap before he hunkered down beside her. And shoot, but she liked his warmth next to her, acutely aware of the chill that shuddered through her when he had left to fetch the bag.

Oh, Stevie, what are you doing?

Tucker wrapped the blanket around his shoulders, grabbed his pack, and rolled over onto his side, his head on the pack. He stared at her with those dark, seeing eyes. “You going to sit up all night?”

And keep an eye on Eugene? You bet. She just nodded. But she unzipped the bag and pulled it over her legs and chest, to her shoulders.

After all, Eugene seemed dead to the world just six feet away.

But she still sat up, her back to the rock. She met her father’s gaze across the darkness, and he offered the smallest of smiles. It washed tears into her eyes, and she tightened her jaw. This would have to be enough.

She leaned her head back, staring at the beauty of the aurora borealis against the fire light.

Tucker’s hand snaked out from his blanket and touched hers. Squeezed.

And for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why, but she squeezed back.

Four

The dream came most often in strike camp, with the scent of fire in his nose and his aching bones dissolving into the piney loam of the forest, his skin salty with grime, his tongue thick and dry. Tucker blamed the exhaustion, the drop of adrenaline that came from the aftermath of the fight.

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