Paradise Peak (New Americana 5)

She pointed to several wood beams in front of her. “A few of those boards need to come out. Some are rotten and a couple are cracked. I’ll remove the nails, pass the boards to you, and you’ll toss them over the edge. Once we finish that, I’ll need you to pass me the new boards—they’re stacked on the ground by the stable—and I’ll nail those in. Then, we’ll drill some sheet metal. Sound doable?”

“Yeah.” He eased closer to her side and began lifting the beam she’d just loosened. “I’d be happy to take over if you get tired at some point.”

She set her hammer aside and lifted the beam with him. “I don’t tire easily.”

He glanced at her arms as she lifted the hefty beam with ease, noted the sturdy stance of her legs and the stubborn light in her eyes. “I don’t imagine you do.”

Travis hefted the beam out of her hands, lifted it over his shoulder, and tossed it on the ground by the stable. Hannah’s gaze drifted over his upper body once more; then she returned to the beam in front of her, fixed the hammer claw over another nail, and tugged.

And so it went. Over the next two hours, they hit a steady rhythm. Hannah picked out the rotten beams, yanked out the nails, and Travis tossed them into the steadily growing pile. The nails squeaked as they were pried from the weak wood, the beams creaked when Travis shifted his weight to a new position, and loud thuds sounded each time he tossed a board.

When they hit the worst section of the roof, Travis straddled two beams a foot below Hannah, watched her movements closely, and made sure he never positioned his feet on the same boards as she did. The wood was weak; it could hold her, but not him, too.

The mist gradually lifted as they scaled the roof, the sun rose higher above the mountain ridge, and soon, the familiar scent of smoke descended on the ranch.

Travis glanced up as Hannah tugged at another nail and eyed the gray streak of smoke above a mountain in the distance. The same one he’d noticed yesterday morning when he’d arrived at Paradise Peak. “That smoke . . . What’s it coming from?”

Hannah stopped yanking at the nail, raised her head, and studied the plume of smoke. “Wildfire.” She dragged her forearm across her brow as she stared. “We get them from time to time. It’s been warmer than usual the last two winters. We’ve had a drought, and a storm came through four days ago—no rain, but plenty of lightning, which started the fire. That doesn’t usually happen till spring.”

“Are they trying to put it out?”

“In a way.” She returned her attention to the nail and tugged it free. “The fire’s weak and in an isolated part of the park. They say it’s contained and nothing to worry about.”

Her hands shook as she gripped the rotten board and pulled. Travis eyed the pink flush in her cheeks and tight set of her soft mouth. “But you’re worried?”

She jerked the board loose and passed it to him. “I’m concerned. After four days, who wouldn’t be?”

He took the board and heaved it over his shoulder onto the pile below. Hannah gripped a beam, her boots exploring carefully behind her for a foothold on the next board. Travis moved his feet to lower beams, making way for her as she repositioned herself and attacked the next damaged board.

“How long will they let it burn before they take more aggressive measures?” he asked.

“Not long. There’s heavy rain in the forecast for tomorrow afternoon. If they keep it contained until then, it’ll be doused.” She removed the last nail from the board, slipped it in a small bag at her waist with the others, and lifted the board. “Wildfires aren’t all bad; they help healthy growth of the woodland, and some wildlife benefits from them. But despite that”—she passed the board to him—“I still don’t like them.”

“I don’t blame you.” He turned, tossed the beam, and watched it hit the pile twelve feet below, scattering a few boards in its wake. “What will they do if it doesn’t rai—”

A sharp crack split the air, the board beneath one of Travis’s feet gave way, and he caught the flash of an auburn ponytail slipping by in his peripheral vision.

He fell onto the exposed beams, wrapping his right arm around one to secure his position, and his left arm shot out, his gloved hand grasping blindly at the soft material of a shirt, the smooth skin of a forearm, then curled tightly around Hannah’s small wrist as she fell through the gap between two beams. Her weight swung to one side, stretching his muscles to the point of pain, but he held on.

She dangled, her legs swaying several feet above the sharp edges of stall walls and twelve feet above the hard ground below. Her free arm flailed, hand outstretched, for a grip on the roof, on the wall, on anything.

Travis looked down, his eyes meeting Hannah’s wide, panicked ones. Her mouth opened, her chest lifted and fell on swift breaths, but she didn’t make a sound. No scream—not even a plea for help.

Despite the tearing pain in his shoulder and the fear spiking through him at the thought of not being able to pull her back up, he kept his tone calm and said the only words his constricted throat could manage. “Hold on.”

* * *

Hannah threw her free arm out, straining to reach the wood beams above her head. She slipped a quarter of an inch out of Travis’s tight grip, the glove on her hand rolling further up her wrist. His low words barely cut through the pounding echo of her startled heart.

Hold on.

“To what?”

The beams above her were out of reach and the stable wall was too far away to swing over to for a foothold. She searched his eyes, the dark depths blank and unreadable.

Oh, God. This emotionless stranger’s grip on her wrist was the only thing preventing her from plummeting to hard earth. She looked down and her legs kicked as silent terror rippled through her at the thought.

“To me.”