Pure Heat by M. L. Buchman Page A

zoomed in on them and flipped back to standard light. They were digging over the soil along the edges with McLeod fire rakes to unearth any hidden embers.
    Back to infrared, he circled the fire’s perimeter.
    He keyed his radio. “Tower, this is N357SH. Over.”
    â€œGo ahead, 357.”
    â€œTell the ground crew they’ve got a hot spot at…” He read off the GPS coordinates that the system reported. The spot, still pouring out heat easily visible in the infrared, showed far brighter on his screen than the surrounding mountainside. A lot of heat there. He flipped to the normal-light camera. The area appeared to just be another section of the black. Far enough in from the edge that it probably wouldn’t reignite anything, but always better safe than sorry.
    He circled until he saw a couple of the ground crew wander over. On the third whack with the McLeod rake, they had a pretty intense flare-up. Buried embers that had their heat insulated by the overlying layers. Protected that way, the banked fire might have just built and generated more heat until it reached flashover.
    The crew had arrived prepared, dragging an inch-and-a-half line in with them from the small pump feeding off a handy stream. They had the whole area doused and raked over fairly quickly, then moved back to the flanking patrol. He flew over the rest of the site, carefully quartering back and forth, but found nothing else threatening.
    ***
    Steve jumped when Carly rested her hand on his shoulder.
    He’d grown intense and quiet while he worked at flying the drone, like her father had always done. When Hamilton “The Ham” Thomas focused on something, he was worlds away. He often didn’t hear a question, sometimes the first several times.
    â€œNicely done.”
    â€œUh, thanks.” Steve went back to watching the drone’s flight, but Carly didn’t remove her hand.
    She liked the feel of his shoulder, liked the sense of connection. Liked the warmth and strength she could feel beneath the skin, as well. Even the minute moves he made as he shifted a hand across the trackball and clicked in a new command transmitted up his shoulder. Strong muscles, workout muscles, rippled beneath her fingertips. He didn’t have the bulk of some of the smokies, but he wasn’t a lanky and lean geek either. His shoulders fit him.
    She glanced aside at a shadow across the truck’s deck.
    TJ was looking up at her. No joking smile. No tease. A soft smile simply acknowledged where her hand rested. That it rested at all. He knew what a big step it was for her, even if she hadn’t until this instant.
    She pulled her hand back and saw some of the light go out of TJ’s eyes.
    Carly climbed down and wrapped her arms around him, laying her head on his shoulder. She felt him shift one of the crutches to his other hand behind her and then wrap a strong arm around her. Smokie strong, as he’d always been since her first memories of him. He held her tight.
    She closed her eyes as he kissed her on top of the head.
    â€œBaby steps, darling. Baby steps.”
    She nodded against his shoulder, knowing he’d feel the gesture.
    Linc had only been dead for a year. One short year since her fiancé had died in the fire, like her father ten years before, but not like him.
    She’d just have to give herself more time.
    And more distance from Steve Mercer.

Chapter 8
    Steve’s audience had drifted off in the couple hours he’d spent searching the black. At first there’d been a slow but constant stream of observers, watching the black rolling across the screen as the drone crisscrossed the area. They had a ton of questions, but few jokes. That was a good sign; it meant they were interested and a little surprised. Heckling would come later, once they were more comfortable with him and the technology. They were impressed enough to have to think about it.
    He remembered the first time he’d watched the