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  She stopped and looked around, at the fire, the cliff, then both up and down the river before rolling her eyes at herself. Muttering beneath her breath, she whirled and splashed her way back to him, passing him, ignoring his soft laugh.

  Then, oddly enough, she slowed down and let him pass her. But because this wasn’t a woman to give up the lead, he paused. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” She still splashed along, but was clearly lagging, and still breathing heavily, too heavily he realized now for a woman in incredible athletic shape.

  “What is it?” he pressed.

  “I said nothing.” But she slid her hand into her pocket, and then her other pocket, and then went utterly still. “No.” She slapped her back pockets now, then looked at him, making him realize he’d not really seen her afraid.

  Until now.

  “Lyndie?”

  Again she slapped her pockets, then whirled in a circle, looking around her. Her breathing had gone from ragged to wildly out of control.

  And his heart sank. He moved back to her, grabbed her arm. “What is it? Asthma?”

  “Yes,” she wheezed.

  “Christ.” He looked at her helplessly. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “No need. At least not until now.” She tipped her head back and eyed the slide of rocks they’d just tumbled down. Her chest rose and fell with her shallow little breaths, the clenching of her fist over her shirt telling him how bad it was. “I lost my inhaler.”

  “Where?”

  “Before the fall, I think. On the trail.”

  “Okay.” Finally, something he could do without her beating him to the punch, and he was a man used to the doing. Shrugging out of his pack, he set it on a rock big enough to keep it out of the water. He pulled out a bandana.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Going back for it.”

  “No! Griffin, the fire—”

  “I’m going. God, Lyndie, the smoke must have damn near killed you. Wrap this around your face.”

  Without waiting for her to do it, he came up behind her and placed it around her mouth and nose before tying it at the back of her head. Then he pushed her down to a rock. Surrounded by the swirling water, with the rocks to her back, she’d be safe. “Stay here.”

  “Griffin—”

  “I’ll hurry.” Her breathing was so erratic it terrified him. “Stay as still as you can.”

  “No.” She tried to hold him back. “You’ll be in danger, the flames have moved by now—”

  Hands on his arms, he sat her down again. “Shh. It’ll be okay.” Bending close, he looked into her eyes, hating the way she struggled for every breath. “You’ll be okay,” he said, and when she nodded, he backed away, praying it was the truth.

  * * *

  Lyndie lay back against the rock and studied the fire-ravaged sky as she carefully and painfully drew in each breath, none of which were deep enough to satisfy her lungs.

  He’d gone back. He’d gone straight into the fire.

  For her.

  The thought of him retracing their steps, facing the flames straight on, all because of her, really got to her. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on breathing, one gulp at a time, instead of picturing all the things that could happen to him.

  She had no idea how long she sat, eyes closed, desperately doing her best to survive on the shallow breaths, working even harder not to hear the fire ravishing the woods around her, when two hands closed over her shoulders.

  Gasping, she opened her eyes and locked gazes with Griffin. One eye was a little swollen, probably from their earlier fall, and the cut above it had bled a thin line down the side of his face. She reached out to touch it, but he caught her hand, and put her inhaler into it.

  She stared down at it.

  “Damn it, what are you waiting for?” He lifted it to her mouth. “Use it, you’re practically blue.”

  She used it, staring at him as she did. He didn’t take his hands off her, or his eyes. And only when she’d pulled the inhaler away from her face did he appear to relax slightly.

  “No one has ever done such a thing for me,” she whispered when she could.

  “There’s a first time for everything.”

  She stared at him, fighting the real and frightening urge to cry. She never cried. “Right.”

  He pulled her to her feet, took the inhaler from her hands and put it firmly into her pocket. “Keep track of that, now.”

  “I will.”

  “Let’s move. You okay?”

  “I am now.”

  Griffin eyed her closely, trying to decide for himself whether that was true or not. “We can slow down.”

  “I don’t need you to slow down.”

  “Lyndie, I’m not suggesting you’re weak because you have asthma.”

  “Good, because I’m not.” Again, she started trudging through the water, banked on one side by the rock, the other by burning mountainside.

  “You always get testy when someone tries to help you?”

  She didn’t bother to answer, and Griffin wondered if that was because what she’d said could possibly be true.

  No one ever helped her.

  The thought tugged at him. He came up alongside her, reaching out to take her arm, just to steady her, to try to control her pace a little so that she didn’t have to breathe too hard, but she actually smacked his hand away.

  “Okay,” he said, lifting his hands. “You’ve got it.”

  “Yeah.” She passed him again, slamming her feet down into the river hard enough to be sure to splash him with her every step.

  After at least a quarter of a mile, she finally looked at him. “Thanks,” she said simply.

  And for some reason, he felt like he’d been given a gift.

  * * *

  On the way back, they found some of Sergio’s men on the east side, furiously digging a firebreak, trying to block the flames from racing down the short canyon…and onto another ranch. They were doing a good job, and with Lyndie translating, Griffin showed them how to widen their lines, and how to use the fuses to burn the vegetation between the lines they were digging and the fire, to rob it of fuel.

  By Griffin’s estimate, they had one side of the fire blocked in by the river, another side partially blocked in by the rock. But it still left a lot of retaining to do, and a lot of the fire left to its own devices. He glanced at the tired, wet, dirty, incredible woman at his side. “You hanging in?”

  Her eyes said it all.

  “Right,” he said on a rough laugh. “Don’t ask you how you’re doing. Got it.”

  “Hey, you’re no easier than me to be with, Ace.”

  Didn’t he know it.

  They made their way back to the water trucks, where the men were taking a late food break. Tom had arrived with the tractor, and had taken it, along with a group of men, as far south as the fire raged, clearing fire lines to try to keep the flames from jumping down to town.

  With Lyndie translating, Griffin arranged some of the men around his small handheld screen, showing them how they’d use the river as one firebreak, the rock cliff as another, but that to protect the town, they were going to have to watch the south, unprotected side like a hawk, clearing effective firebreaks that couldn’t be jumped. He sent some of them down to assist Tom, and the rest up to help the eastern efforts to save the ranch in danger.

  Which left only the north tip free, a huge problem, but one they couldn’t yet face without more manpower.

  At dark, with the fire at their backs, and thirty men going at it with all their might, using the tractor, their shovels, the fuses to burn the vegetation between the rock and the river, desperate to keep San Puebla safe, they were forced to call it a day.

  7

  Most of the men dispersed into the darkness. A few would stay behind, near the perimeters of the flames with radios, but little more could be done until daylight.

  Lyndie could see that Griffin didn’t like it as he stood there watching m