Читать книгу Expectant Father - Melinda Curtis - Страница 10

“I’D LIKE A WORD WITH YOU.” Stepping into her path, Aiden gripped Becca’s arm when she came out of the Fire Behavior tent nearly an hour later. Without waiting for her assent, he pulled her away from the main camp and into the shadows of the night.

Panic shivered through Becca’s system, making her knees like jelly.

He knew. What was she going to do?

Her throat closed up. She placed one hand over her belly, over the baby who she’d hoped wouldn’t have to suffer an emotional tug-of-war. This close to him, she could smell the soap he’d used. It reminded her of his body pressed against hers, all hard planes and wiry muscle.

When he didn’t say anything, Becca fought back her panic. They were beyond the parking area now, beyond where anyone else was. The portable lamps mounted on twenty-foot poles cast light beyond the camp’s borders into the woods. Maybe he didn’t know.

Then why was he dragging her away?

“If you want to talk about the fire today, I’ll need my notepad.” The pounding from the cut in her temple that had finally receded to a dull ache resurfaced with a vengeance.

“You’re not going to want to take notes on anything I have to say.” Aiden kept on marching as they entered the edge of the forest. He wore a fresh pair of fire-resistant, forest-green Nomex pants and a Nomex yellow button-down shirt, while she was still in her sweaty, smelly shorts and bloodstained T-shirt, covered only with a worn, red fleece vest.

They moved past pungent, fresh bear scat. Becca shivered, her gaze alternately darting from the ground, looking for bear tracks, and into the shadows, looking for bear. Grizzlies were common in this part of the country and had discovered base camp early, testing the patience and locks of the caterers. There was no food allowed in tents or base-camp packs on this fire, but that regulation hadn’t kept the bears away.

“If you’ve got to talk to me, just say it here.” She struggled to keep her voice even. Between the bear and Aiden, she was trembling.

With a sound of disgust, Aiden released Becca and stepped away. “I’ve been trying for the past two hours to figure out why you did it.”

Still panting for breath, Becca struggled to formulate an answer. Going to bed with Aiden, a stranger, to get pregnant had seemed logical at the time, but now? Staring into his dark, angry eyes, it seemed incredibly foolish.

He circled her. “You must have thought I was stupid. Did I look like an easy mark? That older woman, younger man thing?”

Mutely, Becca shook her head. He’d been perfect up until the point she’d discovered he was a Hot Shot. His team logo—a tree centered on an orange flame—had been permanently etched in Becca’s mind when she’d seen it on a T-shirt on his bathroom floor.

Becca continued to watch him, flooded with feelings of shame, but she would not share this baby with a stranger. She would not stand by and let some man treat her child like a piece of property to be divided, as was happening with her nephew. Nor would she sink to fighting over her child, making them an emotional wreck.

“Why’d you do it? Why’d you make me into a cheater?” He leaned in closer. “Did you have a little spat with your husband? Was he cheating on you? You didn’t even tell me to give me a choice.”

“Hu-husband?”

“Did you know you were pregnant when we slept together?” He was pacing around her. “You must have known because you said you had the birth control covered. I don’t sleep around with married women, lady, especially a pregnant one. You’ve made me something I so did not want to be. Man, this sucks.”

Never much good at lying, Becca’s mouth was still hanging open when Aiden halted his tirade.

“Well?” he prompted.

“You thought I was married?”

He scowled. “Not then. But when I saw you here—pregnant as a house—what was I supposed to think?”

“Uh…” It finally registered in Becca’s tired, stressed-out brain. He thought she’d been cheating on her husband. He didn’t know she didn’t have a husband. He didn’t suspect the baby was his.

A nervous, relieved laugh escaped before she could stop herself.

“Wait a minute.” He peered at her in the gathering darkness. Then he snatched up her left hand. “You’re not wearing a ring.”

Becca pulled her fingers back. “I’m not married.” It was too late for that. While she’d been focusing on her career, her friends and siblings had been getting married, and having babies. She’d just played a little catch-up and skipped a step or two—dating, engagement, marriage. At thirty-eight, she couldn’t wait for Mr. Right.

“But if you’re not married, whose baby is that?” He pointed at the baby nestled in her belly as if it were repugnant to him.

“It’s mine.” Not Aiden’s. She wrapped her arms around her belly as if she could prevent him taking the baby from her.

Under the orange, fire-lit sky, Becca watched the wheels turn in Aiden’s mind.

“Tell me that baby isn’t mine,” he demanded slowly in a voice shaking with anger.

“This baby is mine,” Becca repeated, staunchly walking the line between lying to him and admitting the truth.

“That’s not an answer.” Despite his youth, he was annoyingly smart.

Becca stepped sideways, toward the makeshift parking area. “It shouldn’t matter to you who the biological father was. I’m raising this baby alone.”

He shifted his stance, but kept his dark gaze on her. “Every baby needs a father.”

“Not this baby.” Becca lifted her chin. From what she knew of Aiden—his sleeping around, his wild behavior—she suspected he didn’t really want to know if his sperm had helped create the little one inside her. If she told him, it would only weigh on his conscience, if not now, then later, when he got older. And she didn’t want to open her door one day ten years from now to find Aiden demanding things like visitation and partial custody.

Instead of being relieved as she’d thought he’d be, Aiden grabbed her by the shoulders, tugging her forward until her face was near his. “Who fathered your baby?”

“None of your business. And even if it was, I wouldn’t want anything from you.” Becca’s knees crumpled and she would have fallen if Aiden hadn’t turned his grip from cruel to supportive.

“Too late.” His voice crackled with anger. “You took something from me in Vegas—a choice. And now I have a different choice to make, don’t I?”

SPIDER SANK AGAINST a sturdy spruce as he watched Becca walk back to camp. She moved slowly across the uneven ground as if she were afraid to fall.

Damn her.

Oh, she hadn’t come out and admitted the baby was his. In fact, she’d gone out of her way to give him an out, to let him think what he wanted, as if he were the kind of guy who wouldn’t step up when something like this happened.

He’d decided long ago that he’d never have kids. His father, a career Hot Shot, had been the worst excuse for a dad ever known to man.

His mother, perhaps recognizing too late that Randy Rodas was poor parenting material and that she was no better, had left Spider with his grandmother one fire season and never been seen or heard from since. At first, Randy sometimes made it home for a brief visit around Christmas, leaving as quickly and unexpectedly as he’d come. And then there’d been nothing but a card with a twenty-dollar bill to validate that Spider had a dad. It was the revelation that his father had been spending his holidays and winters with his other families—other kids that he obviously loved more—that had sent Spider into a tailspin in Vegas.

He’d have to do the right thing, whatever that was. Only the right thing looked pretty damn unpleasant at the moment. He could just see coming to Becca’s house to pick up the kid on a Sunday. She’d be cold, looking down that finely chiseled nose of hers as if he weren’t good enough for her or their kid. And the kid would look at him as if he were a stranger.

Double damn.

The one time he’d trusted a woman with birth control—an older woman who should have known better—he’d fathered a child. If his dad was any indication, he’d make a horrible father.

History had a sick way of repeating itself.

“THAT WENT WELL,” Becca mumbled to herself as she sank onto her cot. At least Aiden hadn’t demanded parental rights. He was too busy recovering from the double whammy discovery that he wasn’t an adulterer and that he might be responsible for Becca’s pregnancy.

“What went well?” Julia lifted her head out of her sleeping bag and opened puffy eyes.

“The day. Don’t you think?” Becca covered quickly, inwardly ruing the fact that she had to share a small tent on this assignment. At this stage of her pregnancy, she was uncomfortable all night long, tossing and turning. With Julia in the cot next to her, Becca’s burps, stomach gurgles and worse had to be controlled or embarrassingly revealed.

After her confrontation with Aiden, Becca’s stomach had twisted into knots. Add the baby bouncing on top of that and she wasn’t going to be the quietest roommate in camp tonight.

“Do you really think the fire’s going to jump the highway?” Julia asked in a voice less sleepy than her eyes indicated.

It was comments like this that gave away Julia’s love of their work, that gave Becca hope for Julia’s goals and her own.

“If the winds shift the way they usually do this time of year and we don’t get more help, yes.” There’d be no stopping the fire’s rampage down the mountainside and through a narrow valley a few miles east of their camp.

“I think you’re wrong,” Julia said, then added, “But you’re never wrong.” There was a trace of bitterness in Julia’s voice that nearly smothered Becca’s hope for the Boise job completely.

So, her assistant disagreed with Becca’s assessment. Julia had rarely hiked these woods, rarely got her hands dirty in the field, touching the dry earth, snapping the spruce and pine needles, filling her nose with the parched air, seeing in her mind’s eye how ready it was to burn or fight for life.

If Becca’s assistant spent half as much time studying the maps of the area, local history and weather updates as she did on her makeup, she’d do fine. She had the credentials for the work. She had the interest. She just lacked the drive. And for that, Becca would push Julia until she reached her potential.

The fire business was tough. You either knuckled down or stepped down. People’s lives were at stake. The firefighters and people who lived in the area were all at risk. There was little room for error.

At the memory of her parents standing at her brother’s grave, familiar frustration churned in Becca’s belly. Her mother had never been the same after Jason had died while fighting a wildland fire. Becca hadn’t even decided on an area of study in college until he’d been killed. His death had inspired her to try and save others.

“I’d rather be wrong and prevent someone’s death, than ignore the signs. A man can’t outrun a ninety-mile-an-hour, eighty-foot wall of flame on a flat course, much less a seventy-five-percent grade.” The frustration of the Boise job being just out of reach combined with the shattering revelation of Aiden recognizing her pushed Becca over the edge. “Or maybe you like to gamble your ego against the life of someone you know,” she snapped, immediately regretting her harsh words, but reluctant to take them back.

Without a word, Julia rolled over, leaving Becca with the sour feeling of her assistant’s resentment.

Well, Becca couldn’t please everyone. Least of all Aiden. But she wouldn’t give up—not on this fire, not on Julia, and not on her plans for a safe, independent future.

Aiden had been angry over the idea that she’d made him into something he wasn’t. Becca hated to admit it was a bit of a relief to know he was a choosy womanizer.

She’d left him at the edge of the forest without giving him a chance to say that he wanted nothing to do with her baby. From what she knew of him, he wouldn’t relish his role as a father. He was young, far younger than she was. Not just in years, because he had to be about thirty, but in the way he behaved.

Running down the mountain in his boxers. Becca scoffed. High-school hijinx, that’s what it was.

Aiden Rodas a father?

No, Becca comforted herself as she struggled to unlace her boots, leaning around her belly. Aiden wasn’t ready to be a father. He was a typical, carefree bachelor, predictable in his desire to remain responsibility free. He’d accept her wish to raise the baby on her own, and she’d continue with her plans.

At least, she hoped that’s how it all happened.

“HEY, SON.” ROADHOUSE FELL into step with Aiden at the edge of camp, dodging a man carrying two chainsaws. Darkness didn’t bring much calm to base camp. There were still people everywhere.

“Don’t call me that.” Aiden scowled, almost making Roadhouse regret that he’d even attempted to talk to his son.

“Won’t,” Roadhouse mumbled, but he kept his legs moving in step with Aiden’s, ignoring the ache in his knees.

“If it’s money you want, I don’t have anything larger than a ten on me.” Aiden walked faster.

Roadhouse wished he could turn back the clock, wished that he’d never asked Aiden for money years ago.

“I don’t need any money. I was just wondering…” What happened to you today? But Roadhouse couldn’t ask that. Aiden would bite his head off if he tried to get too personal. Instead, he said, “Heard you saw a bit of action today.”

“Too much,” Aiden replied almost under his breath, making Roadhouse wonder what was wrong. Hot Shots lived to fight fires. They never complained about seeing too much action. No. Something wasn’t right.

The crew Roadhouse served on had been lucky enough to battle the fire up close these past few shifts. If more Hot Shot crews were assigned to the Flathead fire, the non-DoF crews were going to be assigned mop-up work—cold trailing burned-over areas to make sure it didn’t flare to life again.

A fire could dance through the treetops and leave the forest floor relatively unscathed, or race along the ground, singeing the lower tree branches. In either case, a tree root or trunk could smolder for days before deciding to give the fire a second chance at life. Mop up was tedious, boring, necessary work, but seemed to be in Roadhouse’s future.

It took Roadhouse about twenty paces to work up enough saliva to ask, “Something bothering you?”

“Wouldn’t tell you if there was. You gave up that right a long time ago, starting with my first birthday.” Aiden didn’t look at Roadhouse. In fact, he looked away, to the orange glow of the fire on the horizon. “Haven’t seen you at a birthday since.”

“Suppose I did give somethin’ up,” Roadhouse admitted, half under his breath. When Maria had left, her mother had taken over the daily duty of raising Aiden and had been adamant that Roadhouse not undermine her authority or spoil his son on his sporadic visits. He’d never gotten along with his mother-in-law to begin with. After Maria had left, things had become unbearable, until Roadhouse had stopped visiting Aiden altogether. Yet, he never stopped thinking about his firstborn.

If asked, he’d admit he didn’t know how to be a good dad. But he’d always thought fondly of his kids—even wrote them letters.

He just never sent them.

He wanted his parental rights back. Forget that Aiden was thirty, Roadhouse wanted to be a part of his life. Ever since his mother-in-law had died, he’d made an effort to be on teams that operated in or near Idaho. He’d told Aiden about his other two children in Vegas, hoping the truth would bring them closer, only to have Aiden seem to resent him even more. Still, he wouldn’t give up.

But he could tell by the set of Aiden’s expression that now wasn’t the time for bonding, so he let Aiden walk away, back into camp, alone with his thoughts.

Roadhouse headed to the rise where he’d talked to Sirus earlier. He squatted on the ground beneath the generators, heedless of the noise created by the machinery. From this point, he could see the various areas where fire crews were bedded down for the night and the tents off to the right of the IC and base-camp staff tents. Behind him was a harsh medley of sound—the washers and dryers chugging away in the laundry trailer, metal grinding on metal as Pulaskis, chain-saws and shovels were sharpened for another day of work—battling to be heard over the hum of generators.

Rummaging in his pack, Roadhouse pulled out a plastic bag stuffed with dog-eared letters. Carefully, he sorted through the envelopes until he found one in particular, pulling it out as gently as if it were a precious piece of antique glass. He withdrew the folded paper from the envelope and started reading the scrawled handwriting slowly, as if every word weren’t already etched in his memory.

Aiden,

We saved a family from the fire today. Their little boy had dark eyes, like yours. It made me wonder how you’re doing. Are you behaving for Abuelita? Are you riding the red bike I got you for Christmas? If you were here, I’d ask you to play catch. I’d show you off to my friends and then tuck you into a sleeping bag under the stars. The stars are so close up here at night that you can almost touch them. If you were here, things would be different.

He’d scribbled “Love, Dad” as illegibly as he could beneath the brief missive. It was the way he signed all of his letters, as if he weren’t sure he deserved the title or the right to express the sentiment after all the mistakes he’d made.

Ignoring the ache in his knees that had become as painful as the emptiness in his heart, Roadhouse continued to stare at the paper and dwell on the lost opportunities of his youth. He’d never thought he’d end up like this—alone, having nearly outlived his usefulness and with no place to go. He doubted he’d be able to pass the stringent physical exams next year. The time had come to retire.

Too soon.

Someone laughed across the compound. Roadhouse looked up in time to see Aiden take off his boots and slide into his sleeping bag on the ground. Weather permitting, Hot Shots slept out under the stars. Tents took time to pack and space to transport, not to mention they were stifling in the heat. Roadhouse tilted his gaze up to the sky, where only a few stars peeked through the blanket of smoke.

He’d seen Aiden walking with the pregnant Fire Behavior Analyst. It was unlikely that Aiden saw any action from the woman. But he had been with her. And now he was upset.

Looking down on base camp, Roadhouse wondered what that might mean.

A flicker of hope ignited in his chest.

“COME ON, QUEEN, LET’S SEE what you’ve got,” Spider challenged his new charge as they clawed a hand line out of the mountainside the next afternoon, trying not to think about his meeting with Becca the night before.

The Silver Bend Hot Shots had been ordered to build a firebreak on the safer western boundary of the fire, this time with the aid of two other Hot Shot crews. Once it was done, they’d burn the area from their line to the advancing fire, halting its progress in this direction. “Or are you a little princess with nothing left to give?”

Victoria hacked at the ground with her Pulaski with a fervor that would leave her running on empty in another twenty minutes. The heat and unyielding ground would take the steam out of her arms quickly.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve got enough juice to clear a path to that ridge,” Victoria assured him, although her voice lacked the conviction to inspire confidence.

“We’ll see.” Spider glanced over to the ridge. Smoke rose in deceptive puffs, as if the fire were gasping its last breath. Spider wasn’t fooled. Becca was just as deceptive, and every time he thought of her carrying his child, he had the same sense of doom he felt when working on this fire.

The blaze was stalled a half mile to the north. Spider knew it was just teasing them, waiting for the right moment to roar back to life. In which case, Spider and his team, including Victoria, had to be ready to make for safe ground.

Where was the safe ground with Becca?

Victoria was at the front of a group of five Silver Bend Hot Shots hacking away on the bushes and tree roots in their path. The ridge was still a good hundred yards ahead of them, beyond a thick stand of pine trees. Leading the team, Chainsaw cut trees out of their way while Golden kept lookout. Behind them, five of the crew dug away what was left of the roots and brush with shovels, and five raked the debris with McCloeds, a compact, sturdy rake. Logan brought up the rear, raking any missed debris out of the way.

They operated efficiently when everyone pulled their weight. Spider was going to make sure Victoria understood this, otherwise she’d have to quit.

“Don’t let him beat you, Queenie,” someone encouraged from the back of the line.

Eyeing the group, Spider walked uphill until he stood next to Golden.

“If this is your new way of keeping their spirits up…man.” Golden shook his head, and then continued quietly. “Don’t break her. We need her. I don’t want to get classified ‘ineffective’ because we can’t field a full crew, and be sent home early. This is my last shot at overtime this season, and I don’t want to come home without a full wallet. Lighten up.”

Under the burden of his discovery about Becca, Spider found it impossible to be upbeat. He didn’t want to be a father. He wasn’t the fatherly type. Being a father meant the end of…of…the life he loved. More than anything, he wanted to hear Becca say that the baby she was carrying wasn’t his. And if she said otherwise…well, he’d do what had to be done, whatever that was. He just wasn’t ready to think about that yet.

He looked over to where Victoria worked. Keeping her and the others on the crew safe was what was important. Distractions, like the possibility of fatherhood and deceitful, beautiful women, had no place out here. “I don’t want Victoria to snap either. She’ll either bend or break. If she can’t cut it, so be it. I’m not going to go easy on her.”

“I never took you for such an ass.” Golden had a way of staring at you that made you want to confess all your secrets and sins.

“Yeah.” Spider forced a grin on his face and kept his sins to himself. “You just thought I was an everyday, ordinary ass. But I’m not going to let her slide just because the season’s nearly over and I’m not going to let her assume her performance is acceptable. You know out here that one screw up multiplies until the entire team is at risk.”