Hell, it smelled incredible.
Victoria stood and watched while McBride took a bite. “And?”
McBride chewed, surprise and appreciation on his face. “This is just like Lou Malnati’s pizza back home.”
Victoria smiled. “I’ll be seeing you here again.”
McBride nodded, taking another bite. “You damned well better believe it.”
Chapter 6
Brandon watchedhis chainsaw bite its way through another lodgepole pine, sweat dripping down his face and the back of his neck, his throat parched, radio traffic buzzing in his earpiece. He gave the tree a shove, sent it toppling to bare earth, then stepped back and took a deep drink of water. The dozer crew had arrived a few minutes ago and was starting a run, stripping away anything that could burn and leaving a wide swath of bare soil.
That’s how he felt—stripped bare.
He’d known that Libby would freak out if he told her how he felt, and he’d done it anyway. What the fuck had he been thinking? If he’d kept his mouth shut, he’d be looking forward to seeing her when he got off his shift tomorrow rather than wondering whether he’d just torched their relationship.
To hell with that.
He couldn’t keep pretending that she didn’t mean anything more to him than a good time. He loved her. If he’d had his way, they would move in together, maybe talk about getting married, but that was too conventional for her. Did she truly think he’d turn into a sexist man-baby the moment their relationship got serious?
No, that wasn’t it.
She was afraid. She’d never talked about her past relationships, but clearly, someone had hurt her, belittled her, left her feeling used and abandoned.
Brandon would love to punch the son of a bitch in the face.
Or maybe she doesn’t love you the way you love her.
The thought shot through him, left desolation in his chest.
He closed his eyes, drew in a breath. He shouldn’t be thinking about this, not here, not now. He had a job to do. He shouldered his pack, picked up his chainsaw and moved down the line, stepping out of the way as the dozer passed.
A hand landed on his shoulder.
Hawke stood there, sweat and soot on his face. “Time for a lunch break, Silver.”
“Thanks, chief.” Brandon stepped off the line, walked with his chainsaw back toward the brush truck where the other members of his shift were already eating.
Brandon wasn’t given to hero worship, but he would have followed Hawke into hell if Hawke had asked him to. True, the man drove his crews hard, but he never asked anything of them he wasn’t willing to do himself. Most of all, he put their safety first. His standing up to that limp-dick idiot Robertson today was just one example of the way he fought for his firefighters and for the people of Scarlet.
Brandon went to sit with the others, took off his gloves, and reached with sweaty hands into his backpack. Then in his earpiece, someone started singing “Baby Love.” Whoever it was couldn’t hold a tune to save his life—and didn’t know the lyrics.
“Good God! Talk about ruining my appetite.”
“Who the hell is that?”
“I think it’s Diaz.”
Brandon clicked his hand mic a few times, trying to let whoever it was know that their piss-poor singing was going out over the radio.
Then Hawke’s voice cut in. “Hey, whoever is auditioning for the Supremes—your hand mic is stuck.”
Diaz’s voice came back. “Sorry!”
Howls of laughter.
Yeah, the crew would be giving Diaz a hard time about that for a while.