Conquer the Flames E-Book

Ariel Tachna

• Herausgeber: Dreamspinner Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 442

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

Sequel to Outlast the Night Lang Downs: Book Four Thorne Lachlan knows a thing or two about getting himself safely out of a blaze. For years he fought in the world's hot spots, a Commando with the Australian Army. Now, retired, he fights flames for the Royal Fire Service. When a grassfire brings him to Lang Downs, the next sheep station in danger, Thorne meets Ian Duncan and sparks fly that neither man can put out. But both men have ghosts from the past that stand in the way of moving beyond mutual attraction. While Thorne longs for the home he could share with Ian at Lang Downs, he fears his own instability might make him a danger to others. And Ian's always believed that the foster care nightmare he escaped before coming to Lang Downs would make any relationship impossible. Trust doesn't come easily to Thorne or Ian until the fire's aftermath forces them to see past the scars keeping them both from healing.

Leseprobe

ARIEL TACHNA

Contemporary M/M Romance at its Finest

Inherit the Sky

“…a well-crafted, beautiful book that I would recommend to anyone looking for a love story that takes courage.” —Guilty Indulgence

“I enjoyed this excellently researched and written book very much and hope there will be additional stories about all of the characters on and near the Lang Downs sheep station.” —Mrs. Condit

“This story is beautifully, realistically handled.” —Joyfully Jay

Her Two Dads

“…one of the most emotionally rewarding and uplifting love stories that I have read in a long time.” —Dark Diva Reviews

“This is one of the best books I have ever read.”

—Judging the Book by Its Pages

“…a sweet and stirring novel about the power of love and family.”

—Romance Junkies

Seducing C.C.

“…a great comfort read.” —Blackraven Reviews

“…a seductively sexy and romantic story.” —Night Owl Reviews

Once in a Lifetime

“… a coming-of-age story that introduces heart-pounding firsts and nostalgic lasts.” —¡Miraculous!

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

NOVELSBY ARIEL TACHNA

Château d’Eternité

Fallout

Her Two Dads

Inherit the Sky • Chase the Stars • Outlast the Night • Conquer the Flames

The Inventor’s Companion

The Matelot

Once in a Lifetime

Overdrive

Out of the Fire

Seducing C.C.

Stolen Moments

A Summer Place

THE PARTNERSHIPIN BLOOD NOVELS

Alliance in Blood • Covenant in Blood • Conflict in Blood • Reparation in Blood

Perilous Partnership

Reluctant Partnerships

Lycan Partnership

WITH NICKI BENNETT

Checkmate • All For One

Hot Cargo

Under the Skin

WITH MADELEINE URBAN

Sutcliffe Cove

NOVELLASBY ARIEL TACHNA

Healing in His Wings

Rediscovery

Rose Among the Ruins

Why Nileas Loved the Sea

WITH NICKI BENNETT

Something About Harry

Tying the Knot

THE EXPLORING LIMITS SERIES

AVAILABLEAT DREAMSPINNER PRESS

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com

Copyright

Published by

Dreamspinner Press

5032 Capital Circle SWSuite 2, PMB# 279Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886

USA

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Conquer the Flames

© 2013 Ariel Tachna.

Cover Art

© 2013 Anne Cain.   

[email protected]

Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.

All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/.

ISBN: 978-1-62798-321-1

Digital ISBN: 978-1-62798-322-8

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition

September 2013

To Janelle Taylor, who introduced me to romance when I was twelve and reminded me to write the story that calls to me most when we met in Kansas City this year.

One

FIRE licked over his skin, smoke choking him. He tried to flee, but he couldn’t make his arms and legs move. He gasped for breath, trying to reach the source of the screams he could hear. He knew those voices, had known them better than his own, but he couldn’t find them. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. It burned. Oh, it burned.

With a muffled scream, Thorne brought himself out of the nightmare. He scrubbed his hands over his face, his short beard catching on his raw palms. Fuck, he hated fire. With everything the army had beaten out of and into him in his twenty years of service, they hadn’t been able to drive out his hatred of or fascination with fire.

He pushed open the flap of the tent he slept in, trying to decide if the light on the horizon was the dawn or the glow from the grassfires that had broken out all across the tablelands of New South Wales in the past month. He’d shipped out at the first reports, and he’d be here fighting for every inch of ground until the last fire was out or until the fire had taken him too. It would almost be a relief, but he wouldn’t give it the satisfaction.

He snorted at the personification, as if the flames making their way through the outback cared who or what stood in their way. Thorne cared, though, and he’d be damned if he’d let the grassfires win.

CAINE NEIHEISELstared at the new report detailing acres burned, property damaged, and the reporter’s prognosis for the grassfires that raged north of the sheep station. He’d been lucky, he supposed, to have made it seven years at Lang Downs without a serious fire. They were careful every summer, of course, not wanting to risk starting a fire on the station itself, but always before, the winter and spring had been wet enough to carry them through the summer without any serious threat. This season, they weren’t so lucky.

“Staring at the telly won’t change anything.”

“I know.” Caine didn’t look up at the sound of Macklin’s voice. His lover and partner had been on the station for more than thirty years now. He was inured to whatever the outback threw at them. Caine wasn’t nearly as sanguine. “I’m tracking the progress, trying to decide if we should be worried.”

“We should always be worried when fires get out of control, but watching it on the telly isn’t the way to deal with it.”

“So what is?”

“We move the sheep down into the valley,” Macklin said, “and then we build firebreaks all the way around the rim. We’ll lose fences, maybe even the drovers’ huts, but we’ll protect the livestock and the station proper. Fences and huts can be replaced.”

“Okay,” Caine said, standing and reaching for his hat. “Let’s get busy.”

THORNE shoveled dirt on the approaching flames, trying to smother them before they could reach the firebreak behind him, but the wind had picked up that afternoon, whipping the smoldering embers into determined flames that he couldn’t fight with dirt alone. He didn’t stop trying. He’d never given up a fight in his life; he wasn’t going to stop now. He took a step back as the heat became intolerable even with his protective gear. The flames might be winning, but Thorne would make them work for every inch of ground they devoured.

He ignored the shouts around him. Half of them or more were echoes of other battles, a different kind of firefight. They couldn’t be allowed to govern his actions in this fight. People were counting on him. He’d seen a building over the crest of the nearest hill as he’d gone out to meet the fires early that morning, and buildings meant people.

“Lachlan, fall back.”

Thorne nearly ignored the captain of the fire brigade, but while the army hadn’t driven out his visceral reaction to fire, it had driven into him obedience to the chain of command. He withdrew to the firebreak, scattering dirt behind him with a vengeance as he went. “Sir?”

“We’ll hold the break,” Captain Grant said. “I need you to head south to Lang Downs. If we lose this break, we’ll have to fall back onto their land. They need to know what they’re facing, and we need to know what kind of support we can count on from them.”

“Captain,” Thorne protested, “can’t someone else go? I’ll do far more good here than I will talking to some grazier whose only concern will be saving his own skin.”

“That’s why I need you to go,” the captain insisted. “If that’s his only concern, I’ll need your expertise to make sure the fire doesn’t take the whole place and beyond, and if he is willing to help, there’s no one better than you to make sure the station is as ready as it can be and the men there deployed to greatest effect.”

“I need to stay here,” Thorne said.

The captain shook his head. “You want to stay here, but you’re exhausted. You’ve been out here for weeks without a break. Everyone else has taken at least a day’s rest to wash up and get a real meal rather than rations.”

“I’m a Commando, sir,” Thorne reminded him. “A few weeks is nothing. We’re trained to survive months in the harshest conditions imaginable.”

“You were a Commando,” the captain replied. “You’re retired now, remember?”

“Once a Commando, always a Commando, sir,” Thorne said, hiding the flinch at the reminder of his current status. He hadn’t wanted to retire, but his superiors had taken him out of the field, and he couldn’t live with that either. Fighting fires wasn’t the same as fighting in East Timor, Afghanistan, or Iraq, but it was better than a desk job that would kill his soul no matter how it protected his body.

“Then obey your orders, soldier,” the captain said. “With the wind as high as it is, I don’t know how long we can hold this firebreak.”

“Yes, sir.” His superior in the1st Commandos would have ripped him a new one for the sullenness in his answer, but then his superior in the Commandos would never have ordered him to retreat from a battle they could still win.

Thorne tossed the shovel toward one of the other firefighters and trudged back toward his ute. His GPS pulled up a route to Lang Downs, but it took him all the way west to Cowra before heading south, which seemed klicks out of his way. With a muttered curse for spineless superiors and nonsensical orders, he turned the ute south. He’d drive until he found a fence, follow it to a gate, and then follow the station roads from there. He’d reach Lang Downs eventually.

ITFELTstrange to see civilization again after a month of sleeping rough and living in the outback. Thorne followed the gravel road down into the valley, the first place he’d seen in a month that didn’t show the ravages of the hot, dry summer. It wasn’t as lush as he imagined it would be after a wet spring, but it wasn’t the same sere brown or charred black as the parts of the outback he’d been living in. In the center of the valley, a collection of houses and outbuildings nestled together amid a green sward, looking for all the world like the center of its own little universe.

Thorne ignored the pinch in his heart at the sight. This wasn’t just a group of buildings. This was a home. Thorne hadn’t had a home since his had burned down when he was eighteen, taking the lives of his parents and younger brother, but he could still recognize one when he saw it. More than that, he’d spent twenty years in the Commandos defending home. Not his, never his, not since it had burned to the ground while he spent the night with a friend, but the homes of everyone who would have been the victim of the terrorists they stopped, the insurgents they put down, the guerrillas they contained. The station below might not be his home, but it was a home, and Thorne would die before he let the grassfires take it from the men and women who could claim it as their own.

He coasted to a stop and put the ute in park. After climbing out, he took a moment to survey the valley, mentally calculating angles and wind direction and defensibility. The upcoming fight wouldn’t involve bullets and other ammunition, but it would be a fight nonetheless, and the better they defended the valley, the easier it would be to win the battle. The valley walls were steeper at the far end than they were where the road entered. It would make choosing the location of the firebreak simpler and possibly easier to defend, since the drop-off would make it harder for the sparks to catch on fresh tinder. Closer to the road and the entrance to the valley, the slope was gentler, but even then, Thorne saw what he considered a clear line of valley versus tablelands. They would set their defenses there and concentrate the manpower along the gentler slopes, where jumping the firebreak would be more of a concern.

Plans in place, he climbed back in the ute and drove the rest of the way onto the station. As he neared the populated area, two men stepped out to greet him, both wearing battered Akubras and well-worn boots. The resemblance ended there, though. Beneath the hats, one was blond, the other brunet, one as craggy as the hills that surrounded them, the other fresh-faced and clean-shaven. Thorne pulled to a stop in front of them and rolled down the window.

“Can we help you?” the brunet asked, surprising Thorne with his American accent.

“I hope so, mate. I’m looking for the grazier. There’s a grassfire headed this way, and I’m here to help get things ready.”

“We own Lang Downs,” the Yank replied. “Caine Neiheisel, and this is my partner, Macklin Armstrong. And you are?”

“Thorne Lachlan,” Thorne said. “I’m with the Firies who are at the front north of here. The captain sent me to warn you and to start setting up defenses around the population center of the station.”

“How long do we have?” Armstrong asked. Thorne relaxed a little. Armstrong was an Aussie, and one who had the look of a stockman.

“If conditions stay like they are now, maybe forty-eight hours,” Thorne replied. “If the wind dies down, we might get a break and stop it where it is, or slow it enough to buy more time here, but we can’t count on that. By the time we know for sure, it will be too late to build new firebreaks here.”

“We already have our jackaroos bringing the mob down into the valley,” Neiheisel said. “As soon as they return, we have fifty men and all the station’s equipment we can put at your disposal. Uncle Michael built this place from the ground up. I’m not losing it now.”

Thorne let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His chances of successfully protecting the station increased with every pair of willing hands and every bit of cooperation from the station owner. He would have fought tooth and nail to stop the fire even if he’d had to do it alone, but this was far better.

“Good. Where can I pitch my tent? I’ll get my gear out of the way and we can start marking off the areas for the firebreak.”

“You don’t need to pitch a tent,” Neiheisel said. “There’s a perfectly good bed in the guest room in the station house. You can sleep there.”

“That won’t be enough when the rest of the Firies get here,” Thorne warned.

Neiheisel shrugged. “So we’ll find couches or double bunk the kids. Nobody will be sleeping on the ground if I can help it.”

The thought of kids exposed to the fire froze Thorne’s blood in his veins. “Perhaps you should speak to the families with children about evacuating until the fire is under control again. Property damage can be repaired. Children can’t be replaced.”

“We already gave their parents that option,” Armstrong said. “If it comes to it, Carley and Molly will take the kids and head to town, but for now, everyone prefers to stay and help.”

It wasn’t Thorne’s place to argue, but as he parked his ute where Armstrong indicated and grabbed the gear he’d need to begin setting up the valley’s protection, his determination to see them through the upcoming inferno increased even more.

By the time he returned to the station owners, another man had joined them, his horse dancing restlessly beneath him.

“Neil, this is Thorne Lachlan from the Rural Fire Service.” As Caine spoke, Neil swung off his horse and tossed the reins to a passing jackaroo. “He’s been fighting the fires north of here and has come to help us get ready. Thorne, this is Neil Emery, our foreman.”

“Cheers, mate,” Neil said, offering his hand. Thorne shook it, appreciating the firm grip and the calluses that came from hard work. “You can see the smoke on the horizon already. I’ve been waiting for someone to come warn us.”

“You didn’t need the warning,” Thorne said, looking around as sheep spilled over the edge of the tablelands and down into the valley. “Your bosses were already getting ready, but I have some tricks up my sleeve to help keep you safe.”

Neil nodded and turned to Caine. “Tell Molly she has to leave now. Please?”

“She’s your wife,” Caine retorted. “If she won’t listen to you, what makes you think she’ll listen to me?”

“You’re her boss. I’m just her husband.”

Thorne shared an amused look with Armstrong. It had been years since Thorne had been around women much, but he still remembered his father trying fruitlessly to convince his mother of something she didn’t want to do. The thought brought a familiar pang, the grief no less now than it had been twenty years ago, no matter how people said time healed all wounds.

“If it gets that dangerous, we’ll all be leaving,” Caine said with a sharp look at Macklin. “Buildings can be rebuilt, livestock can be replaced. That’s what we have insurance for, if it comes to that.”

“It won’t come to that,” Thorne swore. “I won’t let it.”

BYTHEtime the sun started to set and the bell tolled for dinner, Thorne had developed a healthy respect for the men of Lang Downs. They had taken his suggestions seriously, and Emery had issued orders to ensure those suggestions came to fruition. When the men heard the bell, though, they stopped what they were doing as if someone had given an order and started trooping back down into the valley.

“We’ll finish it tomorrow,” Emery said before Thorne could protest. “It’s getting dark, and Kami’s already pushed dinner back for us. Come on. You should eat too.”

“I have rations in my ute,” Thorne said automatically.

Emery snorted. “Yeah, you try telling the bosses that. Better yet, you try telling Sarah and Kami that. They’d come after you with their ladles, and you’d never win that battle.”

Thorne almost argued. He was a Commando. No ladle-wielding cook was going to get the better of him. It wasn’t worth the conflict, though. He’d be a fool to refuse a home-cooked meal when he could get it. He’d be back to rations before long. “If you say so.”

“I do,” Emery said with a grin. Then he sobered. “One other warning. You’re new to Lang Downs, so you can’t be expected to know about the bosses or anyone else, but we don’t tolerate any homophobic bullshit around here. Caine and Macklin have built a safe place here for themselves and anyone else who needs it, and we don’t tolerate anything that threatens that.”

Thorne looked at Emery without blinking. He wasn’t surprised by the foreman’s revelation concerning the two graziers, but Emery’s defense of his bosses was less expected. Stockmen weren’t known for being open-minded. “The only threat around here is the grassfire,” he said evenly. “Concentrate on that.”

“Good to hear,” Emery replied, and the smile he gave Thorne was far more open than any he’d given the rest of the day, leaving Thorne with the feeling of having survived a gauntlet without even realizing one was in front of him.

CAINE collapsed on the couch in the living room of the main station. He’d gotten used to working hard since moving to Lang Downs. The physical labor required here far outstripped the demands of his former life in Philadelphia, but today had gone beyond even the usual exertions of life on Lang Downs. At Thorne’s insistence, they had started preparing a firebreak around the entire valley, hoping to protect the buildings and livestock sheltered within from the oncoming fires. By the end of the day, they’d turned up a swath of dirt forty feet wide along the entire north side of the valley. They would spend the next day preparing the southern rim of the valley, and then they would go out to meet the fire head-on.

“Did Thorne say how many firefighters were in his brigade?” Caine asked when Macklin joined him a moment later. “It’s one thing to put him in the guest room and tell Kami we have an extra mouth to feed, but if we’ve got a whole brigade on the way, we need to figure out how we’re going to house and feed them.”

“He didn’t say.” Macklin sat down next to Caine and slung his arm around Caine’s shoulders. Caine leaned into the touch, taking comfort where he could. Lang Downs was his life, his livelihood, and his salvation. He’d meant it when he said buildings could be rebuilt, and he would rebuild if it came to that, but the thought of losing the house Uncle Michael and Donald had built with their own hands, the place where their love had been safe and sheltered, felt like sacrilege. It wasn’t worth losing anyone’s life—Uncle Michael would roll in his grave if he thought Caine was endangering the men who worked for him for a house—but if they could keep it from coming to that, Caine would.

The sound of footsteps in the hall drew Caine’s attention back to their guest. He didn’t move away from Macklin—he wouldn’t hide in his own house—but he did brace himself for the possible negative reaction to come. Thorne just nodded at them as he trudged toward the stairs.

“I know you must be exhausted,” Caine said before Thorne could reach the bottom of the steps, “but could you spare a minute or two before you go to bed? I have some logistical questions, and I’d rather ask them tonight so we can make plans as soon as possible.”

Thorne turned back toward them without comment and came to stand next to the armchair.

“Sit,” Caine urged. “You’ll be more comfortable.”

“If I sit, I might not get back up,” Thorne replied ruefully. “I was up at dawn this morning fighting at the fire line and I haven’t stopped since then.”

“I won’t keep you long,” Caine promised. “I just need to know how many people to expect when the rest of the RFS gets here. We need to figure out beds and food for everyone.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Thorne insisted. “We all have tents and bedrolls, and we carry field rations with us. We’re not going to be a drain on your station.”

Next to him, Caine heard Macklin snort, but he ignored his lover’s reaction and focused on the firefighter across from him. “I don’t recall implying you would be a drain on the station. You and your brigade are coming to protect my station. The least I can do is make sure you’re all fed and have a place to sleep. My uncle would come back to haunt me if I did anything less. Now, you didn’t answer my question.”

“There are thirty men in the brigade I left this morning,” Thorne said stiffly. “The captain didn’t tell me if he would be sending everyone here and giving up a section of land to the fires or if he intended to fight all the way back, so I don’t know if everyone will arrive at once or even if anyone will arrive at all. His orders were to make sure Lang Downs was prepared for whatever happened.”

“Then we’ll plan on everyone,” Caine said. “One more question. Lang Downs is an organically certified station. Does the RFS use fire foam?”

“We do,” Thorne said. “We only use class A foam, which is biodegradable. We try not to get it in bodies of water, but it’s safe for soil.”

Biodegradable was a good start, but it didn’t mean it was approved by the organic certification board. It appeared Caine had some research to do. “Could you ask your captain not to use it unless absolutely necessary? Losing the organic certification is preferable to losing the station, but only if there’s no other way.”

“I can ask,” Thorne said, “but I can’t guarantee he’ll listen. Was there anything else?”

Caine felt Macklin bristle at the shortness of the question, but Caine could see the exhaustion on Thorne’s face. “No. Sleep well. We’ll see you at breakfast.”

Thorne trudged up the stairs. When Caine heard the door to the guest room close, he turned to face Macklin. “What do you think?”

“I think we’ll weather this the same way we’ve weathered everything else that’s come our way.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Caine said. “What do you think of our resident firefighter?”

Macklin chuckled. “Still taking in strays?”

Caine flushed. “Maybe. If he needs a home.”

Two

THE sound of gunfire shattered the otherwise perfect spring day. Thorne cursed under his breath. He needed to get back to his squad. Screams followed next, far more damning than the gunfire that accompanied them, and then silence. Thorne tore through the underbrush, his weapon at the ready, determined to cut down anyone in his path. But the jungle had gone silent, and when he reached his comrades, only the bodies of the dead waited for him, their ghostly death masks accusing him silently.

Thorne woke with cold sweat covering his body despite the heat of the room. He stumbled out of bed and across the hall to the bathroom, where he threw up the contents of his stomach. Even after he’d brought everything up, his stomach continue to heave, dry retching that tore at his body while the images of the nightmares tore at his mind.

He thought he’d put this particular nightmare behind him. His commanding officer had ordered him away from the front lines with a wounded comrade on his back to seek medical attention for a soldier who wouldn’t have survived long without help. He’d received a fucking commendation for it, but while he’d been carrying Walker to safety, the rest of his squad had been cut down by enemy fire. Everyone told him one more soldier wouldn’t have made a difference. They had been so outnumbered nothing could have saved them. The shrinks had diagnosed Thorne with survivor’s guilt, which was bullshit, but he’d gone through the required sessions, mouthed all the platitudes, and shipped out the day he was cleared for duty. He, Walker, and their new squad had found the insurgents who had killed Thorne’s squad and put an end to them. He’d taken great pride in being able to retrieve his commander’s stolen dog tags from the rebel who’d desecrated his corpse. He didn’t know if the dog tags would provide any comfort to the grieving widow, but he hoped knowing his killer had faced justice would.

Deciding his stomach was done rebelling, Thorne forced himself to stand up so he could rinse his mouth out and splash cold water on his face. He had dark circles under his eyes, but those never really went away. His beard had filled in enough to need a trim, but he hadn’t expected to be able to do that until he had a roof over his head again instead of a tent—something that wouldn’t happen while the fires still burned—so he hadn’t brought his beard trimmer with him. His black hair had more silver in it than he was used to seeing, but he ignored that. He remembered his father having the same silver strands in his hair and beard by the time he was Thorne’s age. His mother had called it distinguished and said it only made him more handsome. Not that Thorne had anyone in his life who would care if his hair was black or gray, short or long. He had ties in his bag to keep it off his neck and out of his eyes while he was working. That was all that mattered.

Fed up with his own weakness, he flipped the light off and went back to bed. It was still dark outside. He would go back to sleep, with no nightmares this time, and everything would look better in the morning.

He lay back down and pulled the covers up, but as soon as he closed his eyes, images from his nightmares flashed before his eyes again. “Fuck,” he muttered as he turned over and tried to focus on anything other than his memories.

Neiheisel and Armstrong had been quite the revelation. Thorne had spent half his life ignoring his own sexuality, going out with his squad and fucking anything that moved. Most of the time, it had been girls, who had generally been accommodating enough to let him fuck them in the arse so he could ignore the girly bits. Only when he had been far away from base on leave had he dared to find a guy to mess around with, and those times had been few and far between. Caine and Macklin, though, weren’t anything like those furtive fucks or any of the similar hookups he’d had since he’d retired from the military. He’d spent his life in homophobic milieus and hadn’t expected to find anything different when he drove onto Lang Downs that afternoon. Instead, he’d found Caine and Macklin, with all their openness and their jackaroos who defended them and a house they shared where they could sit on the couch together and talk about their day like any other couple. He’d never considered such a possibility. It only made him more determined to protect this place. Few enough safe havens existed. Thorne couldn’t see one destroyed on his watch.

He’d rolled onto his side, trying to get comfortable enough to sleep again, when he heard a noise from down the hall. He froze, every sense on alert as he tried to place the sound. He knew his battle instincts were out of place here, but they had kept him alive for too long to disregard them now. He stretched his senses, listening for any other sign of trouble, and heard it again—a moan followed by a broken-off curse.

Thorne sat up, automatically taking stock of the weapons at his disposal. He no longer had a gun, but he kept a knife on him at all times. He reached for it now, waiting for a signal to act. Then he heard it again, the voice growing clearer and the words more distinct.

“F-f-fuck, Macklin. D-do that again.”

Thorne collapsed back against the mattress, the knife falling from his hand with a clatter. No danger to his hosts, only to his sanity. The noises grew louder, more impassioned and explicit, Macklin’s deeper tones reverberating beneath Caine’s sighs and groans. The bed frame squeaked then, and then again, setting up a rhythm that left Thorne hard and aching.

How long had it been since he’d fucked a willing arse? He couldn’t even remember. He closed his eyes, trying to summon the image of a lover, real or imagined, to pleasure himself, but his mind remained unhelpfully blank. He wrapped his hand around his cock in time to the noises from the next room. When the fires were out, he would go to Melbourne or Sydney to find a club. He’d find a willing arse and take out all the tension he couldn’t release any other way. He spurted as the noise from the next room crescendoed and then fell silent, but the release felt hollow. He wasn’t hard anymore, but he could hardly call it satisfied.

He’d need a shower before breakfast, so he dragged himself out of bed to dig through his bag for clean shorts and his toiletries. He’d shower and then go see what time the day started on the station.

THORNE walked into the canteen to find the room already half full of men and an unfamiliar woman behind the buffet serving the men as they came in.

“Ma’am,” he said politely as he reached her.

“You must be Thorne,” she said. “Kami told me about you last night.” She looked at him critically and put a second scoop of scrambled eggs on his plate. “You look like you’ve missed a few meals, son, but don’t worry. We’ll feed you up in no time.”

“Thank you, Mrs….”

“Lang,” she said, “but everyone calls me Sarah.” She handed him a plate.

“Lang like Lang Downs? I thought Neiheisel owned the place.”

“He and Macklin do,” Mrs. Lang said, “but Caine’s great-uncle took my husband in when he had nowhere else to go.” She glanced back toward the kitchen, where Thorne could see Kami washing dishes. “He changed his name to Lang years ago in tribute to the man who saved so many lives by never turning anyone away, even an aboriginal boy with only the clothes on his back to call his own. Fortunately for all of us, his nephew has followed his example. Coffee’s against the wall, or there’s tea if you prefer that. Anything else you need, you just let me know.”

“Ma’am,” he said again as he took his food and looked around for a table. Her revelation only made him more determined to protect this place and the people who lived on it. It was obviously too special to lose. Emery waved him over, so he joined the foreman, his wife, and several other jackaroos.

“Do you know everyone?” Emery asked when Thorne took his seat with his back to the wall. “I can’t remember who I introduced you to yesterday.”

“Mrs. Emery,” Thorne said with a smile, “and I met…. Simms, was it?” The young man nodded. “But I don’t know the others. Thorne Lachlan, RFS.”

“Jesse Harris, Kyle Jones, and Patrick Thompson,” Emery said. “Patrick’s our head mechanic. Kyle has been here almost as long as I have, and Jesse and Chris showed up at the same time about six years ago. We haven’t been able to get rid of them yet.”

“And you won’t, either,” Emery’s wife scolded. “So stop with the ribbing.”

“Molly’s protective of her ‘brood’,” Emery said. “She won’t let me have any fun.”

“I don’t trust you not to say something stupid in the guise of a joke,” Molly said. “Some things aren’t funny.”

“She lost her sense of humor where certain things were concerned about the same time she found out she was pregnant,” Jesse confided.

That explained Emery’s insistence the day before that his wife leave the station. “What things? I wouldn’t want to end up on her bad side.” He’d watched her bop her husband on the head more than once the night before.

“Anything that might make Chris or me uncomfortable,” Jesse replied. That didn’t help Thorne at all, but before he could ask for clarification, Neil lifted a hand and waved another jackaroo over to them.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Neil teased.

Thorne froze in his seat. He was sure the man coming toward them hadn’t been at dinner the night before. Thorne would have noticed him for sure. Like the other jackaroos, he was lean and weathered, his skin wind-burned and covered in freckles, but something about this man called to Thorne in a way he could not explain. He grabbed his coffee and took a sip to cover his reaction.

“I’m not the last one here,” the newcomer retorted. “I don’t see Sam and Jeremy anywhere.”

Neil moaned at that and clapped his hands over his ears. “Not listening.”

“I’m sure there’s a perfectly innocent reason why they’re late,” the man continued. “I’m sure the noises I heard when I walked past their house weren’t anything like that.”

“Not listening,” Neil repeated. “Not listening, not listening, not listening.”

“I thought you said you wouldn’t put up with comments like that,” Thorne said.

“I won’t,” Neil replied, “but that doesn’t mean I want to think about my brother having sex. That’s not homophobic. That’s self-preservation. Just… no.”

“How many couples are there on Lang Downs?” Thorne asked before he could stop himself.

“Eight,” Neil replied. “Caine and Macklin, Patrick and Carley, Chris and Jesse, Sam and Jeremy, Sarah and Kami, Kyle and Linda, Andrew and Elizabeth, and Molly and me.”

“And you all have houses of your own?”

“Yes,” Neil said, “and so does Ian. Ian, did you meet Thorne last night?”

“No,” the man Thorne was trying not to stare at answered.

“Thorne Lachlan, this is Ian Duncan. Ian, Thorne’s one of the Firies. He’s here to help us prepare for the fires.”

“Cheers, mate,” Ian said, holding out his hand. Thorne took it, ignoring the way the contact sent tingles up his arm. Ian snatched his hand back as if burned, though, so Thorne pushed his interest aside. “So what’s the plan for today?”

“Get the firebreak built on the south side of the valley,” Thorne said.

“Patrick’s going to start outfitting the utes with the water tanks,” Neil added. “Jesse will probably stay and help him. You can work here in the station or you can help with the firebreaks. Did you get the last of the mob brought in last night?”

“I’m not convinced I got all of them,” Ian said, “but I’m not sure it’s the best use of manpower to search for the strays. Not until the valley is secure, anyway. The fires will drive them this way as it is.”

“So what’ll it be, then?” Neil asked. “Firebreaks or prepping the utes?”

“You’ll never let me hear the end of it if I stay and work on the utes,” Ian said, “so firebreaks it is.”

Thorne didn’t pretend to understand the undercurrents between the two men, but all the banter was clearly in good fun. No one else seemed bothered by it, so Thorne resisted the urge to jump to Ian’s defense. He didn’t have the right, not really, and the defense wouldn’t be appreciated.

“Did you boys get enough to eat?”

Thorne started at the sound of Mrs. Lang’s voice. He was halfway out of his seat before he realized he’d begun to react, but he forced himself back into the seat. Mrs. Lang didn’t deserve his anger.

“I’ll take another piece of bacon, if you’ve got any, Sarah,” Ian said. She served him and patted his shoulder as she moved on down the table. She stopped again where Caine and Macklin were sitting.

“Does she mother everyone?” Thorne asked.

“Pretty much,” Neil said. “She didn’t see Macklin for thirty years. She’s been making up for it ever since she got here, and none of us escape it completely.”

“As long as she doesn’t walk up behind me, I’ll live with the mothering,” Thorne said.

BYTHEtime they broke for lunch, they had completed half the southern firebreak, and Thorne had spent the morning trying not to stare at Ian. When all the other jackaroos had stripped off their outer shirts, leaving them only in T-shirts, Ian had left his long-sleeved work shirt on.

“Aren’t you hot?” Thorne asked Ian as they all found a place to sit for lunch.

“Better hot than sunburned,” Ian replied with a shrug. He mopped at his skin with a kerchief he kept around his neck for that very purpose. “I have yet to find a sunblock that can keep me from turning the color of a lobster. It’s long sleeves and a hat or skin cancer.” Ian had a shock of red hair and very pale, freckled skin. Thorne could see how the sun was a serious problem.

“Why stay, then?” Thorne asked. “Why not go somewhere you could work inside?”

“Because Lang Downs is home,” Ian replied simply, and the smile that graced his face as he said it was the most beautiful thing Thorne had seen in years. “I’ve been here since I was twenty, and I’ll stay here until I can’t work any longer.”

“Is that typical?” Thorne asked, since he couldn’t ask the questions he really wanted to. “I had the impression sheep stations were more transient than that.”

“For the seasonal workers, it is,” Ian said, “but every station needs a skeleton crew that stays year-round, and Lang Downs has a very loyal one. Macklin has been here for more than thirty years, Kami for even longer than that. Neil, Kyle, and I all arrived about fifteen years ago. Jesse and Chris have been here for six years, and Sam and Jeremy for five.”

“And Caine?” Thorne asked. “He wasn’t born here.”

“Seven years,” Ian replied. “He came after his uncle died. Caine’s great-uncle founded the station in the 1940s and ran it until he died. It passed to Caine after that.”

Ian mopped at his neck again, and as he donned his hat, Thorne caught sight of a small cut oozing blood. “Did you cut yourself?”

Ian looked at his hand and then wiped it on his jeans. “A couple of days ago. I was working on a chair for Sam and Jeremy’s veranda and the chisel slipped. I must have knocked it while we were working today and not realized it with my gloves on.”

“You should wash it and put some Savlon on it,” Thorne said. “You don’t want it to get infected.”

“It’ll be fine until tonight,” Ian said.

“Emery!” Thorne called. “You got a first-aid kit with you?”

“Yeah, are you hurt?”

“Ian is.”

Neil came over and joined them with the first-aid kit in one hand. “What did you do to yourself, mate?”

“I nicked it in my shop a couple of days ago,” Ian said. “I must have knocked it on a shovel or something today. It’s fine, really.”

“Don’t be a drongo,” Neil said as he pulled out a bandage and antibiotic cream. “Give it here and let’s have a look.”

Ian rolled his eyes but held out his hand without further protest. Thorne grabbed it before Neil could, examining the cut carefully. “It looks shallow and clean. An alcohol swab to make sure and a bandage to keep it that way.”

Neil surrendered the first-aid kit. Thorne ignored the expression on his face. Whatever background Neil had, it didn’t compare to what Thorne had learned from the field medics over the years. He wiped the area clean and patched it up. “Be careful with it for a few days and it’ll be fine.”

“Mate, there’s no such thing on a station like this,” Ian said. “I don’t know what you think we do, but a cut like this is nothing. I don’t need to take it easy,” Ian said, “so back off.”

Thorne let the matter drop when Ian stalked off with Neil not far behind, but he resolved to keep an eye on the cut. The worst scar he had—and he had plenty—was from a minor injury that shouldn’t have been anything… until it got infected and nearly cost him his leg. Even the bullet wound to his shoulder hadn’t required as much recovery time as that infected scratch on his calf.

He ate his sandwich in silence until a kid came and flopped on the ground next to him. “Why are you eating by yourself?”

“Because I don’t know anyone,” he replied honestly. “They’re all friends. I’m just here to help with the firebreaks.”

“Caine always says strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet,” the kid said. With the braces and the short hair beneath the baseball cap, Thorne couldn’t decide if the kid was a boy or a girl, but either way, the openness of the statement took him aback. He didn’t think he’d ever been that at ease with himself, much less when he still had a mouthful of braces. “I’m Laura. What’s your name?”

“Thorne,” he said. “Do you live here on the station?”

“Yeah, my mom came a couple of years ago. I like it here. Everyone’s really nice.”

“You don’t miss having other kids around?”

“Nah,” Laura said. “Teenagers are a pain. I like hanging out with the jackaroos better. They don’t look down on me because I’m a girl who’d rather work outside than do girly things.”

“I can see how that would be frustrating.”

“So what’s your story?” she asked.

“My story?”

“Yeah, everyone who comes to Lang Downs has a story. Neil was a hothead who couldn’t keep a job anywhere else. Chris was bashed and Caine and Macklin took him in. Jeremy beat his brother up for being an arsehole and his brother kicked him off the station. So what’s your story?”

“I don’t have a story. The fire brigade captain sent me to help protect the station. That’s all,” Thorne insisted.

Laura looked at him like he was full of shit, but she was too kind to call him on it. “If you say so. Why do you keep staring at Ian?”

“I’m just checking on him,” Thorne said. “He has a cut on his hand, and I don’t want it to get worse.”

“Ian always has cuts on his hands,” Laura said. “He’s always making something in his workshop. He made the furniture on our veranda and now he’s making us a new coffee table for our living room. It’s going to be beautiful. He lets me watch sometimes.”

“That sounds really interesting,” Thorne said. He looked down at his hands. They bore their share of scars, but always from destruction, never from creation. He wondered what it would be like to create something out of nothing, to pour himself into something good for once rather than into death, even death for a cause.

“Hey, are you all right?” Laura asked, poking at his arm. Thorne didn’t think. He couldn’t. His body reacted without his brain’s permission, the grassy tablelands blurring until he was back in the jungles of East Timor, the pressure against his arm a machete, not a child’s finger. His hand shot out and encircled her wrist, twisting her arm until she cried out in pain.

The sound broke the trance and his vision cleared as he dropped her hand, horror filling him when he realized what he’d done.

“I’m sorry,” he said, scrambling to his feet. “I didn’t mean to….” Nausea rose up in his throat, and he stumbled away behind one of the tractors they were using to build the firebreak. He leaned against the huge tire and lost his lunch. That girl, that sweet, fresh-faced child, was no threat to him. She hadn’t deserved to be attacked that way.

“What the hell, Lachlan?” Neil demanded as he rounded the back of the tractor. He stopped when he saw Thorne bent over, but Thorne could sense him standing there still, waiting for an explanation. When he finally trusted his stomach not to betray him again, he straightened and faced the foreman.

“I was in the Commandos for twenty years,” he said. “I was trained to react instinctively to any threat without even having to think about it. I’ve been out for three months. That training hasn’t worn off. When Laura poked my arm, I had a flashback. I’m sorry. She didn’t deserve what I did. I’ll stay away from her.”

“What sets them off?”

“What?”

“You’re going to be here for a few more days, anyway,” Neil said. “You stopped this time, but if you don’t next time, someone could be seriously hurt. If we know what sets you off, we can avoid it.”

“Don’t walk up behind me and don’t touch me unexpectedly,” Thorne said. “As long as I see things coming, I can assess the threat and deal with it rationally. It’s the things I don’t see coming that set me off.”

“I’ll tell the others, but you owe Laura an explanation yourself.”

Thorne felt bile rise in his throat again at the thought of the sweet girl who had tried to befriend him only to fall victim to his instability. He would apologize and explain because Neil was right that she deserved to hear that from him, but then he would keep his distance. He wouldn’t put her at risk again. His time in East Timor had eliminated age as a mitigating factor in his automatic risk assessment. He’d faced too many child soldiers for Laura’s age to protect her now. He found a canteen and rinsed his mouth out and then went to find Laura.

His stomach rolled again when he saw she was sitting with Ian. They both tensed when he approached, but he stopped well outside touching distance, hoping to reduce the stress on them. “I… don’t do well with unexpected touches,” he said, knowing it was a lame excuse. “When you poked my arm, I had a flashback, and I reacted the way the military trained me to react to threats. That training saved my life more times than I can count, but you didn’t deserve it. I’ll stay away from you from now on. I don’t want you to feel unsafe in your own home.”

Laura looked at him with tear-stained cheeks, but her expression seemed less haunted than when he’d first approached. “What about expected touches?”

Thorne blinked a couple of times. “What?”

“If you know someone is going to touch you, do you still get flashbacks?”

“Not usually,” Thorne replied. “As long as there isn’t a threat, anyway.”

“So if I gave you a hug right now, you’d be okay with that?”

Thorne felt the world tilt on its axis. He’d attacked the child and now she wanted to hug him? “I guess so.”

“Laura, this isn’t a good idea,” Ian said. Thorne didn’t even bristle. He’d already proven how dangerous he could be.

“Look at him, Ian,” Laura said. “He’s more upset about this than I am. He didn’t mean to hurt me, just like I didn’t mean to startle him. It’ll be fine.”

Thorne stood perfectly still when she stood up and closed the distance between them. He kept every muscle under rigid control as she put her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest for a moment and just squeezed. Awkwardly he patted her back a couple of times, not trusting himself to do more, but that seemed to be all she needed. She gave him a bright smile, released him, and bounded off, calling for one of the other jackaroos.

“You don’t deserve her forgiveness.” Ian’s glare cut Thorne as deeply as any knife.

“You think I don’t know that?” Thorne spat. “I’m a cold-blooded killer. That’s what the army trained me to be. And then three months ago, they dumped me back into civilian life. Why do you think I’m out here in the outback? Fewer people to hurt and more of a chance to protect someone, for once. I’ll never get all the blood off my hands, but maybe if I save a few lives now, it’ll erase some of the debt I owe the universe.”

He’d only eaten half his sandwich before Laura had triggered the flashback, but Thorne knew he wouldn’t be able to swallow the rest of it even if he tried. “I’m going back to work. Tell the others to join me when they’re done with lunch.”

Three

“LACHLAN has flashbacks,” Neil said without preamble when he next saw Caine and Macklin. “He says they’re triggered by someone coming up behind him or touching him expectedly. He attacked Laura.”

“Is she hurt?” Caine asked immediately.

“She’ll have a bruise on her wrist, but he stopped before it went beyond that,” Neil said. “He made himself sick when he realized what he’d done.”

“He was a soldier, wasn’t he?” Macklin asked.

“Twenty years with the Commandos, he said.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Caine said. “Maybe we can do something to help.”

“No,” Macklin interrupted. “I’ll talk to him.”

“I don’t need protecting,” Caine protested.

“And he doesn’t need smothering,” Macklin insisted. “He’s already feeling weak and vulnerable. If you go to him with all your kindness and sympathy, he’ll either break completely or lash out at everything and leave. Neither of those helps us. We need his experience with the fires, which means we need him here and functional. I’ll talk to him. You talk to Laura.”