Page 255 of Her Reluctant Hero
Chapter Twelve
Peyton couldn’t sleep. The hard mattress was softer than the ground, the scratchy sheets more comfortable than her smelly sleeping bag. She’d showered, had the AC on and still tossed and turned.
Without being asked, Gabe got them two rooms, adjoining. He probably wished her back in Chicago, probably regretted inviting her to help Doug. She wished she shared his regret.
She hadn’t been alone in days, not easy since she was used to being alone ninety percent of the time. She may have forgotten how.
Her thoughts were too loud, Gabe’s words echoing. Bad enough she had those ideas about herself without hearing them from a man she admired.
The TV didn’t drown out the swirling thoughts as her mind whipped through the events of the past few days with dizzying speed, only to land on one bit over and over.
Gabe.
God, she missed him, his calm reassuring presence, his sharp mind, his warm body. After only a few days, the man saw things in her she had forgotten about herself, saw strengths in her she didn’t recognize. While at first she’d wanted to impress him, she learned he didn’t need to be impressed. Yes, he wanted her to do a good job on the line, but he was pretty damn accepting of her mistakes. In the short time she’d known him, he made her feel better about herself than anyone ever had.
He’d seen her stripped bare—of defenses and everything else—and he still accepted her.
So why was she lying here playing victim? She’d decided that she was taking charge of her life. Easier said than done, especially when it came to how another person made her feel, but she would make him see her side.
She was rising from the bed with the intention of heading to his room when the news about the fire came on.
“Gabe!” Peyton pounded at his door, not caring about the hour, about the annoyed shouts from the rooms surrounding theirs. “Gabe!”
He pulled the door open, the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder. She saw the tears on his cheeks before he turned away. She entered the room, closing the door behind her.
“Who is it?” she asked.
He indicated the phone and mouthed, “Jen.”
She’d meant who died. Had the four dead Hot Shots been Bear Claws? Someone they’d celebrated with last night? But he’d given his attention back to the phone. She leaned against the dresser, all her attention on him, not caring that eavesdropping was rude.
“No, Peyton just came in. I know, there’s nothing we can do tonight.” Frustration colored his voice. “We’ll go to the base first thing in the morning, get back there as soon as we can. No, wait for me. I want to do it. I need to do it.” He glanced over at Peyton. “Yeah, you too. Try to get some sleep. Good night.” He hung up the phone, stared at it. “Doug’s been charged with the murder of the Hot Shots who died out there,” he said over his shoulder, his hand still on the phone, like he was using it to brace himself. “Four counts of manslaughter. They picked him back up at the fire camp.”
“Jesus.” She dropped to the edge of the bed, her legs weak.
“Yeah, and if that’s not bad enough—”
“It’s someone you know.” Peyton forced the words past numb lips.
Dan had lost friends in the line of duty, and had had a similar reaction. It had been hard comforting him, trying to absorb his pain, but this was harder, because while she’d never thought Dan would fall, now she understood Gabe was not invulnerable to the same fate.
Gabe dragged his hands over his face, not looking at her. “Yeah.”
“Not from your crew.”
“No. Friends.”
“And you want to bring them back.”
He did turn to her then, his eyes dark and hot with pain. “I need to.”
She didn’t understand his desire, but she wasn’t going to argue with him, not now. She covered his hand with hers, not sure if he wanted the contact. She did. “What can I do?”
He pulled away and reached for the keys to the truck. “You can hope a liquor store is still open.”
None were, but they were able to pick up a couple of six-packs at the grocery store. Gabe twisted off the cap of the first bottle before he closed the motel room door behind him, had half of it drained before Peyton fished her first bottle out of the bag.
She sat on the bed, cross-legged, no longer concerned about keeping him at arm’s length. “Tell me about them.”
