Wildfire

He breaks the kiss to study her face. Her hair is a halo on the mattress beneath them. She pulls him back down, her tongue demanding, her body melting into his. Her fingers grip his hair, in a desperate attempt to pull him closer, she wants him in a way she has never felt before.

He strips off her T-shirt and then kisses her again, so much gentler than she demands. He repeats this process, kissing and stripping, until the last item of her string bikini is discarded on the floor. His hands and eyes roam her skin in exploration, and by the time his naked weight lies utop her own, she is whimpering, and wriggling, and begging. Nose to nose, eyes locked, he enters her, slowly inch by delicious inch, by the time he is buried to the hilt, her legs have wrapped around him, her back has arched off the bed, her breasts crushed against his chest. He controls the pace, as he gazes down at her, the slow and steady rhythm maddening her, his primal need steeped in desire, a promise of real connection delivered. As her world falls away the last thing she hears is the whispers of her name.

Chapter 5

She is wrapped in the warmth of his arms, curled into his body. His heart beats a steady rhythm into the ear utop his chest.

'Close your eyes.'

'I don't think I can.'

He drops a kiss to each eyelid,

'You can sleep now Dorothy, the only wildfire coming tonight is you.'

She wakes to the dawn light of a new day, and an empty bed. Wrapping herself in the white sheet she sits up, she sees him on the deck, a small bed of coals under an antique claw foot bath. He catches her movement and he comes to her, a visual delight, he moves with a grace belied from the farm hardened lines of his male form. He ducks over her, dropping his soft lips to hers.

'Good morning beautiful girl.' He drags the rough cotton down her body, his kisses following the sheet as the curves of her are revealed. She sighs at his touch, and when he buries his face between her thighs it is as though her pleasure is drawn by the rising sun itself.

Chapter 6

Stretched out in the tepid water, her hair draping over one end, she inhales the lavender of the bath salts, her eyes closed, the sun on her skin, she has transported herself to another place. Another time. To the manifestation of the fantasy that is normality.

'Fuck, even your toes are sexy,' she opens her eyes to see him standing over her, the lopsided grin in place. 'Here's your coffee, it might be cold, the view was slightly distracting.'

She sips the coffee, as he climbs in behind her, squeezing water onto her back from a sponge. The timber of his voice as he speaks echos through her embedding itself deep in the marrow. He takes the empty mug from her, placing it on the deck, and she rolls onto her front, her arms wrapped around his neck, her toes stroking the hard line of his shins.

Her breath deepens and she rises to join their bodies as one. The water runs down her, as she slides, sinking with a sigh until fully mounted. Her shape is small against the vast mountain ranges surrounding them on all sides. The sun now higher in the sky reveals smoke billowing from the hidden faces, the fire now racing the uphill slopes, to the ridge lines.

'Hey, you look at me.' His command breaks her train of thought, the sight of him under her, the dark disheveled hair, the spread of his shoulders, tapering down to the narrow waist, and the hard v marking the spot their bodies meet. She loses herself to him, taking what she desires, giving herself into the madness of primal lust.

Chapter 7

'Put this on.'

'You have got to be kidding it's 100 degrees.'

He shakes the woollen jumper at her, 'Put it on and don't take it off until I tell you you can.'

The radio squarks in the background, as she shrugs it on, the charcoal wool itches her skin. He drops a ski buff around her neck,

'If the smoke comes, wet this and cover your mouth and nose.' He looks down at her bare legs, 'We'll go past your place, you need jeans and boots.'

The airconditioning of the truck is on full, yet she still sits in a light sweat. From the winter outfit, or from fear she is not sure. They pull into the football ground, the fire command centre, as a helicopter takes off from the field.

She stands outside the truck, the frantic energy of all the moving parts rushing by her, she stands paralysed amidst it all. His hands find their way to hers, 'You are safe here. The fire won't come into town.'

'You can't know that.'

He pauses for the roar of a low flying water bomber to pass overhead. 'Look around, it's all open fields. Fire needs fuel to burn, it won't reach you here. And if it tries there are three hundred firefighters between you and it.'

He leads her inside the open plan multifunction space, past the different uniformed men grouped around laptops and maps, to the canteen.

'John, you're with me.' Tears fill her eyes at the sight of her little brother. She throws her arms around him.

'Are you going out again?''

'The wind has pushed it over the ridge Dot, we're just going to go and head it off. One last push and it will be all done.'

John's arm is around her shoulders, 'Get you hands off my sister,' he spits the words rather than speaks them.

His arm stays firm, as they stand off.

'Nate, stand down.' Dot says with a hard look.

'You're kidding me.'

'Nate you know me. I won't hurt her.'

'I guarantee you won't.'

The hard look passes between them.

'I'm a big girl Nate.'

She turns so she is in his arms, standing on her toes she plants a kiss.

'We have to go.'

'Look out for each other,' Dot warns them both, as she watches their departing figures. John catches the glass door, before stepping through, he turns and drops her a wink.

Chapter 8

She watches from the canteen pass as the line of little red trucks depart, sick with the dread of the fight that lays ahead of them.

There is no one left to feed, she cleans down the bench tops, the same steel she had polished continuously for the last 30 minutes.

'I'm just going to go and grab a couple of documents from home.'

'Ok, take my car,' Margie passes her a set of keys. 'Do you want me to come with?'

'No, I'll just be a minute.'

'Ten minutes and then I'll be sending Sam out.'

Dot nods, her house is only a block away, she could walk, but knows Margie will fulfil her promise to send the police captain if she is gone too long.

The house is cool as she enters it, locked up against the heat outside. She flicks on lights as she goes, pushing back the darkness from the curtains drawn in a feeble attempt at protection from ember attack. She dumps armfuls of clean linen on the floor, as she reaches to the back of the cupboard, dragging out an old box.

She lifts the lid, the long forgotten memories of childhood flood back. She digs amongst the concert stubs, and birthday cards, near the bottom she pulls out the envelope she came for. The business card sized notes tumble out, she spreads them out, like playing cards in a childhood game.

She picks up one written in a plain hand.

I see you Dot. Don't worry not in a stalker way. But I see you. I see you reading quietly amongst the noise in the Quad. I see you with a crinkled forehead as you solve the problems in front of you. I see the smile that lights your face when your brother makes a pass. I see all of this and so much more. I know you don't see me. I wait patiently for the day you do. When you look up from that book to tell me what you are reading. When you share the knowledge you have just learnt. When you turn that smile at me. I wish you the happiest of Valentine's Day Dot, for this one, and the rest, until you see me, and I can make you mine.

Chapter 9

The hum of the air conditioner as it struggles against the evening heat is the only sound in the sports complex. Dot sits huddled over her phone, her eyes fixed on the slow rotation of the snow cam, mounted high on the summit to broadcast the mountain conditions. It captures the green valleys, the clear blue sky. The chair lifts, now devoid of the gondolas, tucked away for the summer. It is the image copied across marketing material of the idicic year round playground of the high country. The postcard melts into a horror movie, as the camera continues its journey, ignorant of the terror it captures. Mid frame sits the large building, housing lift ticket sales, and ski hire. In the foreground a line of bright red trucks, dwarf the figures in yellow suits. They stand in the car park, facing off mother nature's worst fury. A column of smoke, a quarter mile wide silently finds its path through the blue sky. The camera feeds no sound, but it needs not. She knows the sound of fire. The orange savagery that has crested the ridge. Towering over the three story lodge, now painted pink with fire retardant. A firestorm, creating its own weather. The sound of a freight train bearing down on them, punctuated only by the cracking thuds of falling timbers. And then they are gone, slid away, replaced once more with the jarring beauty of the mountain range. She is transfixed to the screen, the psychological damage she is self inflicting she will carry with her. Each 360 degree sweep of the camera another set of images burned forever in her mind, the innocence in which she views the world as devastated as the forest.

Even when the little window is replaced with the logo of the ski resort, she continues to stare. The horror and fear too great to bear, her emotions a calm numbness. She can hear someone crying, still she sits, moving only a thumb every minute or so to catch the screensaver. Through the tornado of activity around her, the yelling, the radio calls, she remains in place. Her face devoid of emotion, hold blank eyes.

Chapter 10

Night has fallen as she stands on the far corner of the bleachers. Alone, she has lifted the neck of the wooden jumper around her face and nose. The air is clear for the first time is a week, belying the danger that is bearing down upon her small town. From up here she can see the fire trucks as they return, filing into the place of last resort. The mountain is lost, the small army of red and yellow has fallen back, in preparation for the last stand. She inhales his scent, as she watches each truck as they come home. Reading the white numbers painted on the roof, checking them twice or three times to make sure she hasn't misread them. The convoy begins to thin, still she waits for truck 52.

'You should come inside. I'll make you a coffee.' She won't turn to look at him. She desperately hopes the police captain is here as a friend. But she knows him well enough to understand he has better things to do than to re-caffeinate her.

The road is dark, devoid of the headlights of returning trucks.

'We lost radio contact with them.'

Once beloved for their fun and adventure, the mountains now form an oppressive ring. The fire path glows red, like lava it has dripped down the south face, running fast down high lines, slower through the greener valleys.

'They were the last truck of the convoy.'

The glow so bright it has erased the stars.

'You should come inside Dot.'

Finally his footsteps echo off the metal stairs of the bleachers. Alone she wraps her arms around her body, fighting off a personal chill that cuts through the eighty degree night.

The moon is full as it travels its well worn path, indifferent to the turmoil of the usually sleepy village below it. Tired even though she hasn't slept, not hungry even though she hasn't eaten, she stands at her post. Hating the fear of loss, holding onto the hope of what she had.

She squints at the mid distance, not sure if her eyes are playing tricks. She follows the movement as it comes closer. Headlights perhaps, too small to be that of a fire truck. Headlights of a small truck. Painted white. She follows it as it turns into the sports precinct. The floodlights from the baseball field catch the lift company logo painted on the hood. She holds her breath as the pickup passes back into the darkness. As it pulls into the car park, she catches the yellow jackets, huddled together in the back of the truck.

She clangs two steps at a time down between the metal bench seats, she stumbles on the grass as she races across the white painted lines. They are spilling out of the cargo bed, as she closes the distance.

'Nate!' She knows the cut of his figure, he turns, and wraps her into his arms.

She lets out a sob as she feels his presence behind her. Pulling out of her brother's arms she spins around, taking him in. The yellow of his pants dulled several shades darker. The red suspenders, over the navy singlet, even in the darkest part of the night the lines of his stomach are visible. His face is smeared with blackened ash. Achingly beautiful, he stands before her real. Here.

Crashing into his arms, he smells of smoke, and sweat. She buries her face, pressing her body to his, her arms gripping him, still not close enough. Warmth envelops her with his embrace and the tears begin to fall.

He holds her through her shudders, strong, steady, patient.

The dark sky mirrors her actions and as the rain begins to fall, her tears are washed away.

'I love you Dot,' he says softly, and more surprising than the words themselves is the feeling blooming in her chest. As if this truth was the last piece of a puzzle she didn't know she was trying to solve. He reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a red rose.

'This was growing where it had no business to be. It's for your renewal.' His dark hair now stuck to his face from the rain.

She dissolved under the heat of his gaze.

'Take off the jumper,' the darkness of his voice anchors her to the moment.

She lifts it over her head, and he growls his approval.

'Let's get you home, I want you in my bed.'

She can't help the grin that breaks across her face.

'But first, on this August night,' he hands her the rose,

'Will you be my Valentine?'