Light My Fire: A Loveswept Classic Romance Read online

  “What’s your name?” he asked abruptly, suddenly needing to know.

  Her brows raised in surprise, but she said, “Jenna.”

  He tested the rock against his strength, then with a mighty groan and a healthy string of swear words that he tried to keep under his breath, he pulled himself up, dragging his lower body out of the raging flow of water. He rolled to his stomach and grabbed another rock and pulled again. His shoulder screamed, but he didn’t stop until his feet were above flood level. He rolled carefully onto his back, thankful finally to be on relatively smooth surface. He let the rain pound him for a moment, then turned his head slightly and opened his eyes.

  She was sitting several feet away, one hand rubbing her outstretched leg. She’d been staring at him and made no attempt now to pretend otherwise.

  He reached out his hand. “T. J. Delahaye. Interesting to meet you.”

  No smile. No handshake.

  He let his hand drop along with any further attempt at friendly chatter. “This doesn’t look like it’s going to let up. We need to find some shelter.” He angled a glance to the sky. “At least the thunder and lightning stopped.”

  He shifted his gaze in time to catch her slight involuntary shudder. His fearless damsel, afraid of thunderstorms? That could explain her behavior. Some people vented fear as anger, especially when the source of their fear was inescapable.

  He could have shared his feelings on thunder and lightning, but he doubted she’d appreciate his insights into storms or into her. “How well do you know this area?” he asked instead.

  “Up there?” She nodded toward the trail they’d both descended from. “Pretty well. Down here? Not very.”

  At least she was answering him. “Not from around here?”

  “Are you?” she asked by way of response.

  “No. I had family up in the north part of the state, Clackamas County area, but they’re all gone now. This is my first time back in Oregon in almost twenty years.” He’d been surprised by the strong sense of homecoming he’d felt, but he didn’t share that with her.

  She made no comment and didn’t offer up any information about herself. T.J. stifled a sigh, not sure why he was even trying. He needed to get them somewhere safe and out of the elements, a place where he could more thoroughly assess the situation. They didn’t have to be pals to work together as partners in their own rescue, but a little friendly cooperation wouldn’t have hurt.

  “I’ve hiked out here for the last several weeks, but until now I’ve managed to stay on the top part of the mountain.” He smiled despite her scowl. “I don’t know this area well at all. But there has to be shelter somewhere. The problem is getting us to it.”

  She nodded to the water, which had already risen to his feet. “I think we need to get out of this ravine first.”

  T.J. eyed the area he’d vacated, which was now under water. It had been an unusually dry summer followed by an even drier and warmer fall. There had been much discussion at Paradise about the horrendous forest fires of the past season, which had claimed hundreds of thousands of acres in Jackson and Klamath counties, all the way into northern California.

  The fires were out now, but the dry ground couldn’t absorb heavy downpours swiftly enough, which meant flash flooding. As the front moved farther in, the storm would eventually abate to a steady rain that would feed the earth instead of pummel it. Even with the cooler air the storm had brought, the unusually warm late-October weather made it tolerable for them. He was only chilled to the bone instead of frozen solid.

  “Can you pull yourself up to the top?” he asked. “It might take me a bit longer, but I can manage.” For the first time he noticed the heavy string diagonally crossing her chest. He looked across the ravine at the steep incline they’d both tumbled down. There were spots of white, gray, and dark blue clinging in unrecognizable lumps to some of the larger rocks. Her clothes.

  He thought of the bra he’d found on the tree what now seemed like days ago. “What kind of backpack are you carrying anyway?”

  She followed his gaze, and he watched as she noted her belongings strewn across the mountainside, far out of reach now with a wall of water between them. If the loss bothered her, she didn’t let on. Her expression was flat when she turned back to him. She didn’t acknowledge the sack slung on her back in any way, but merely said, “Not a very good one, apparently.”

  She was a tough one. And there was definitely something more motivating her oddly detached anger than fear. Given his size, he’d worry that she was concerned about her safety. In his current condition, however, that wasn’t really an issue. And she hadn’t seemed the least bit afraid of him when she was sprawled all over him, nor had she exhibited any sort of relief when she’d crawled away. She was a capable, controlled person, clearly not intimidated by her predicament or by him.

  He also couldn’t ignore the fact that she’d been out hiking off trail on a rugged mountainside with her clothes her only possessions.

  What was wrong with this picture? What was wrong with him for spending time he didn’t have wondering about it?

  T.J. shoved the puzzle aside. Getting them out of there was—had to be—his focus. His only focus.

  THREE

  Jenna scrabbled around for another secure handhold, trying not to send too many more rocks tumbling down on T.J.’s head. Not that caring for him was her responsibility. He’d chosen to stay on the trail, to try that foolhardy rescue attempt. She’d told him to go find shelter, go find help. Qualified help. Now they were both stuck. And she didn’t like it, not one tiny bit.

  Tiny. Now there was a word that no one would use to describe anything about her erstwhile rescuer, she thought, grimacing as the next handhold dug into her already scraped palm. The man was a giant. At six-foot-two herself, she felt she was in a perfect position to judge.

  She put all she had into her upper body, dragging her leg as carefully as she could. Reaching for another rock hold, she winced as a sharp edge caught a raw area, but focused on the pain rather than remembering how it felt to be stretched out all over his huge hard body and discovering there was still man to spare.

  She peered up and let out a long sigh. Only another yard or two, and she’d be at the top. She glanced down past her shoulder to see if Delahaye was following her. He’d only managed to move out of the water by about three or four feet. Jenna hardened herself to the tight ball centered in her chest. She was having a hard enough time taking care of herself. She couldn’t worry about him.

  But she couldn’t ignore the mental picture she had of him right after he’d pulled himself from the water. Despite wide, even features, thick lashes surrounding warm blue eyes, and a mouth that seemed permanently curved upward in a teasing smile, he hadn’t looked so good. His skin had been pale and he’d been banged up pretty good.

  Not your problem, Jenna. Still, she waited until he’d grabbed another rock and pulled before looking away.

  “You almost there?” he called out.

  His voice was considerably rougher, even deeper than hers, she thought dryly. “Another foot,” she shouted.

  With one last good pull, she dragged herself up onto flat ground. She took a moment to catch her breath, then scooted sideways and turned to see what progress he was making. He’d gotten another yard maybe. Not good.

  Muttering to herself, she rolled to a sitting position and gently massaged her leg. Her wet jeans felt like sandpaper on her grafted skin. She pulled her hand away, scraped the straggles of wet hair from her face and neck, and scanned the area.

  There was another ridge just north of where she sat, but the dense forestation made it hard to tell how far up it was or what terrain fell in between.

  A sharp grunt followed by a scraping sound brought her head back around. She looked down and swore. The rock he’d grabbed for support had popped loose, sending him sliding back down, losing about half the distance he’d gained. She eyed the still-rising water. By her estimate it had been less than fifteen minutes s
ince he’d tumbled to the bottom of the ravine and no more than a half hour since it had started raining. The water was deepening rapidly, meaning one or more nearby feeder streams was flooding, adding to the flow at a considerably faster pace.

  She had to get him out of there. Dammit, she hadn’t asked for his interference. She watched him reach for a fresh handhold. The man was no quitter.

  And neither are you.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she grumbled, already scooting across the ground and reaching for the longest branch she could find. And look where that got me, she added silently.

  “Here!” She had to shout to be heard over both the rain and the rushing water. He looked up, and she shoved the branch over the edge, angling the end toward him. It would provide an easy handhold. She scooted as far back from the edge as she could and still keep the branch level with the decline, then began digging in hard with her good foot. Thank heavens she’d only taken off one boot.

  The first tug took her right to the edge. “Hold up!” He was going to take her right back down there with him. They’d both drown. She hadn’t come this far to die. And she’d be damned if she’d let Delahaye add himself to her list of guilty sins. Her burden was quite heavy enough already, thank you.

  He’d let go of the branch and was trying to use the rocks again, but the continued rain had loosened even the bigger ones. “Hold on,” she called, and pointed to the heavy branch. “Hold on, but don’t move for a minute.” She wasn’t sure he heard all of it, but he grabbed the wood and didn’t tug. She wasted no time in ripping the laundry bag over her head. Thank God for nylon cord. The rain made it a bit slick, but she picked at the knot and managed to get it undone. She dared a peek over the edge.

  The water was halfway up his knees.

  She moved faster, looping one end quickly around the few broken limbs of the branch she had at her end, then scooting back to tie it around the tree. It wasn’t quite long enough! She tore into the bag, finally dumping what was left on the ground. She rooted around in the meager remains but couldn’t find what she needed. Damn.

  She looked at the tree and had another idea. She hated it, but there was no time for anything else. She grabbed a sodden sweatshirt, slid around behind the slender but sturdy trunk and straddled it, then reached around on either side and grabbed the loop end of the rope. She just made it.

  Man, this was not going to be fun. She wedged the sweatshirt between her face and the trunk, then yelled, “Climb!”

  She felt a tentative tug. No way was that moving him. “I’m anchored to a tree,” she shouted. “Climb, climb!”

  An instant later she was one with the tree. Her shoulder muscles screamed, the back of her wrists rubbed raw where she’d wrapped the cord over them. She dug in with her good foot to try to alleviate the strain and keep the bark from penetrating the shirt and permanently embedding itself into her body.

  Do it, do it, do it.

  Her back started to cramp. Just when she thought she couldn’t last another second, the pressure suddenly stopped, flinging her backward with the release. A loud groan escaped her clenched teeth when her backward motion pulled the branch tight up to the tree, yanking once again on her wrists.

  Her first thought was he’d let go and fallen, but then she heard a heavy groan, followed by the dull thud and ground vibration of his body collapsing nearby.

  “You okay?” His gravelly voice barely reached her.

  Peachy, she thought, slowly uncurling her hands from their cramped grip on the nylon cord. The scrapes from her earlier tumbles had rubbed open, and she turned them palm up to allow the rain to cleanse them. She whistled in a breath on the slight sting, then slowly curled and extended her fingers.

  “My hands are a little cramped is all. I’m fine.”

  She heard him grunt and looked around the tree. He was less than a yard away, on his stomach. She saw him try to push himself upright.

  “Don’t move,” she said. “Lie there and rest. It’s no big deal.”

  He grunted as he pushed once again, then slumped back to the ground, though she imagined it was more from necessity than from obedience to her command.

  “You’re an amazing woman, Jenna,” he said, the words muffled against the wet ground. “Ornery as hell, but amazing.”

  “Yeah, well, that and a quarter will get me a cup of coffee.”

  He lifted his head. “That saved my life.” His hair was plastered over his forehead and eyebrows, but his sharp gaze pierced through the clinging tendrils.

  She should ignore him and concentrate on her own problems, like getting the hell out of there. But she heard herself say, “Which thing would that be? My being ornery or amazing?”

  He stared at her for a second, then his mouth kicked up, pushing dimples into the pale, wet skin on either side. “Both.”

  The man was a lunatic. Only a lunatic would smile at such a time. It was an uncomfortable conclusion to reach, since she felt the tug on the corners of her own mouth.

  She looked down at her hands. Since when did she care what others thought of her? Most especially men?

  Jenna King, Amazon Queen. How many times had she heard those words? Over the years the jeer had taken on more adult overtones, from fellow workers and friends alike. Once an Amazon, always an Amazon. Jenna didn’t fool herself on that score. She’d always felt like an outcast.

  She ignored her realization that respect, admiration, and even awe hadn’t made her feel any more a real part of the group. She wasn’t normal. She’d always been on the fringe. And that was how she liked it. At least as a figure of respect they let her have her peace. Deep into her thoughts, she never heard him move.

  “What the hell did you do to your hands?”

  She jumped, wincing at the flare of pain in her ankle, then glared at him. “I chewed them up a little playing human pulley.”

  He was sprawled on his side next to her, wedged up on one elbow. For the first time she got a really good idea of just how big he was. And he thought she was amazing. The man was a monstrosity of muscle wrapped in ragged flannel and denim. Even bone-dry and buck naked he’d blow out a normal set of scales. He was easily half a foot over six feet, with shoulders an ox would envy and legs almost as big as the tree trunk her own were presently wrapped around. That brought an instant mental image that had her snapping her gaze back to his.

  His eyes were a bright, little-boy blue, and his damn dimples were winking at her again. “I eat all my vegetables.”

  She imagined an entire salad bar would be a light snack for this man. She was stranded with Paul Bunyan.

  He nudged himself forward until his head was near her knee. He nodded to her hands. “Let me see?” He was propped on his left arm, but he slid that hand over, palm up and open.

  She looked at his right arm, which lay curled against his side. “Your shoulder?”

  “Old injury revisited,” he said dismissively. “Let me look at your hands.” His eyes widened, then narrowed on hers. “They’re bleeding.”

  “They’re just scraped up.”

  “What in the hell did you do?” he asked once again. The guilt and remorse she saw in his eyes were familiar to her. It didn’t soften her toward him in the least.

  “I saved your soaking wet butt the only way I knew how.”

  “Why didn’t you tie the cord to the branch?”

  “Gee, why didn’t I think of that?” He was lucky she didn’t smack him with it. “It was a few inches short. I didn’t have anything useful left to extend it with other than my arms.”

  He looked at the scattered remnants of clothes, then reached behind him and tugged something from his pocket. He let it drop in front of him. “I guess I should have given this back earlier. Would have come in handy.”

  Her bra. The man had been carrying her bra around in his back pocket? “It’s not your size anyway.”

  “I found it on the trail. Or should I say off the trail. You know, you shouldn’t—”

  “You’re alive, don’t lec
ture me, okay? If you’d gone for help when I’d asked you to—oh, forget it. No use in crying over it now.” She snatched up her bra and tossed it toward the bag.

  “I’m sorry, Jenna.” He waited. The pull of silence worked, and she finally looked at him. “I’m sorry about not going for help. I’m sorry you hurt yourself that way to save me. Thank you isn’t enough.”

  Distinctly uncomfortable, she turned her attention to untangling her body from the tree. “Don’t thank me. I didn’t have to save your life. I wasn’t responsible for the mess you got yourself in. I happened to be the only one here at the time.”

  “I couldn’t leave you on the side of the hill, especially with the lightning—”

  She turned on him. “I’m fully capable of taking care of myself.”

  “I can see that.” She wanted to smack the smile off his face. “Now, at any rate,” he added. “But then you were a huddled vulnerable-looking lump, and I couldn’t walk away and leave you there.”

  She smoothed the scowl from her features. Damn the man for getting to her. But a “vulnerable-looking lump”? Oh how her crew would howl over that one. It shouldn’t hurt, but it did.

  “We both made mistakes,” she stated evenly. “I’d say we’re both paying for them. Let’s worry about what to do next, okay?”

  “We’re not going to do anything much until this rain stops.” He motioned toward the denser stand of pines about ten yards away. “I don’t think either one of us is going to die from our injuries, but we could both use some rest and some time to figure out what our next move should be. If we can get ourselves over to those trees, that would provide some shelter and get us away from the ravine.”

  She didn’t bother to point out that if the water rose far enough to swell over the ravine, they’d have to be a hell of lot farther away than ten yards to do any good.

  “Let’s do it.” She scooted back from the tree. The effects of playing human pulley sang up her back and thighs, and she let slip one or two expletives.