Fire in the Hole Read online

  Fire in the Hole

  A Romantic Comedy

  By

  MK Stein

  This is a work of fiction. While several parts of this story were inspired by actual events, names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Except Jackson Hole, Wyoming. That’s totally real and you should definitely go there if you ever get the chance.

  Copyright ©2019 MK Stein Kindle Edition, License Notes All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be used in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means – except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews - without written permission from the author. In other words, don’t copy my stuff, write your own.

  Content advisory: This book contains hot monkey sex and is intended for mature readers only.

  Cover design by Luutske Powlesland

  [email protected]

  Dedication:

  This book is dedicated to my brother. Thank you for getting married so I could finally write my book.

  Acknowledgements:

  This book would not be possible without the help of many people.

  Sharon Cramer, the day I read THE EXECUTION was a turning point in my life. Who knew that emailing an author about how much I loved her book would one day result in giving me the courage to write my own? To steal from “The Golden Girls,” thank you for being a friend. I love you.

  The Daytona Beach Writing Group who helped me grow from the sad sack that I was the day I first walked in, to the confident person I am now, you guys are great.

  My betas, Luutske and Craig. I don’t know where I’d be without you. I’m so lucky to have found you.

  Finally, to my family, who read the first draft and told me it was great when it really sucked. Bless your hearts for the boost in confidence. Next time tell me the truth. I can handle it. Really, I can.

  There are more people I’m sure I need to thank, so those I forgot, thank you. You’re the best!

  Contents

  Fire in the Hole

  Dedication:

  Acknowledgements:

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Part 2

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Part 3

  Chapter 38

  Epilogue

  Author’s Notes

  Author Bio:

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  “What do you mean my, ‘luggage is in San Francisco?’” Sydney Shaw held the phone so tight she lost the circulation in her fingers. “That does me no good when I’m in Wyoming. I’m here for a wedding, and my dress is in that luggage.”

  I should’ve known my luck would run out at some point.

  The start of the trip to her brother’s wedding had been perfect. When she’d left the airport in Orlando, Florida, Sydney was glad to leave the sticky humidity of late June and looked forward to the drier climate of Jackson Hole, Wyoming.

  She’d chatted up the sweet gate agent, and when Sydney informed him of the reason for her trip, he said, “Well, for weight and balance purposes, Miss Shaw, I need to move some passengers around. You don’t mind sitting in first class, do you?” He gave her a wink.

  Although Jackson Hole had an airport, she flew into Idaho Falls Regional Airport where her brother, Dean, made the ninety-minute car ride to pick her up. When she arrived, Sydney followed the signs toward baggage claim and looked for Dean. She needed to answer the call of nature something fierce, but her desire to see her brother outweighed a trip to the ladies’ room.

  Just as she reached the baggage carousel, the luggage started to come out. Everyone mobbed in to retrieve one black bag after another, but she held back a minute. Sydney didn’t think anyone would mistake her bright pink suitcase with daisies all over it for theirs.

  She checked her watch and scanned the small crowd for Dean, a little disappointed her usually punctual brother hadn’t shown up yet. Sydney saw two bored, tuxedo-clad limo drivers, who held neatly marked signs for their passengers.

  Sydney chuckled. Who’d need a limo in Idaho Falls at 10:00 p.m.?

  A tall, well-built man stood next to the limo drivers. Unlike their tuxedos, he donned beige cargo shorts, a polo shirt and flip flops. A ripped ball cap covered his wavy, sandy brown hair. Her dorky brother stood, poised like the limo drivers and held up a paper napkin with “SYDN” in big letters, the “ey” scrunched at the end. He’d printed “shaw” underneath in all lower case. The letters still oozed from the fresh ketchup he’d used to write them in.

  She put her face in her hands and tried not to giggle as several people passing by gave him a double take. She lost the battle and started to laugh, a genuine, infectious laugh. Pretty soon, Dean discarded the napkin, licked the ketchup off his fingers and walked toward her. She ran to him and was greeted with a bear hug. A few passengers stared, but most were more focused on retrieving their own items from baggage claim.

  “What’s up, Booger?” he joked, using his childhood nickname for her, which elicited a scowl from Sydney. He rubbed his hand through her long curly brown hair as she stood on her tiptoes. Being much taller than her, he rested his chin on the top of her head.

  “Gross. You better not have gotten that in my hair.” She wrinkled her nose and yanked at a few loose strands and took a whiff. “Yuck. Is that ketchup.” She pulled back from his hug. “You,” she said, and poked a finger into his abs when they separated, “are not right in the head.”

  “Took you twenty-seven years to figure that out?”

  She stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes, the same sapphire blue as her brother’s. No matter how old they got, she loved teasing her older brother. It made her the happiest she’d been in a long time.

  In spite of their happy reunion, her pink, daisy luggage would to put a damper on the event. While everyone else gathered their belongings and made their way out of the airport, it appeared Sydney’s suitcase was missing.

  She sidled up to the counter as the airline worker tried to track down her luggage.

  “Sometimes I just hate to fly,” she said to Dean. “It didn’t seem so bad when we were younger.”

  “I don’t know,” Dean shrugged. “Maybe it’s because Mom packed for us whenever we went on vacation.”

  “If we forgot something back then, either we didn’t know it, or Mom and Dad bought whatever we needed. Now, I’ve got to pack all my clothes and makeup and hope I don’t forget anything. Let’s not forget the lovely airport security and their full-body pat downs.” She batted her lashes.

  “Eh, you can’t help the way you look,” Dean quipped. “Eat more fried chicken, and maybe they won’t be so handsy,” he teased, wiggling his fingers in front of her face.

  “I see. So, then I won’t be able to fit into the tiny se
ats they have on airplanes nowadays. It’s like airlines cram as many people as possible into their sardine cans they call planes. I always seem to get stuck in the middle seat between a woman who bathes in ten gallons of perfume with three screaming lap babies and the creepy old guy who smoked six packs of unfiltered cigarettes before he got on the plane.”

  She pantomimed someone smoking. “He tries to cough up a lung and ‘accidentally’ bumps into my boobs and hits on me the whole flight, while talking about his immense wealth acquired from his used car business.”

  Dean laughed. “Wow, Sis, tell me how you really feel.”

  “Um, sorry ma’am.” The baggage agent hung up the phone. “I hate to add another mark in your ‘I Hate to Fly’ column, but it looks like your bag didn’t make it on this flight, and it was the last one this evening. There’s nothing more we can do tonight, but it should arrive on the first flight tomorrow. We can send it to the Jackson Hole airport for your convenient pick-up. I’d say thanks for flying with us, but …”

  Sydney flashed a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, thanks.”

  ∞∞∞

  In all the confusion of seeing Dean and her missing luggage, Sydney realized she never went to the bathroom at the airport. The drive from Idaho Falls to Dean’s house in Jackson was a good hour and a half of deserted roadway and Sydney thought her bladder might explode any minute.

  “Uh, hey, Bro? You think any place is open that might have a bathroom?” She tried to keep the desperation out of her voice.

  “You kidding? It’s ten-something at night, and we just passed a sign that said ‘This is Nowhere. Welcome to it.’” He laughed at his own joke. “I highly doubt anything is open, much less a place with a bathroom. Wanna see if we can find a farm with some kindly Amish folk that might let you use their outhouse?”

  She chuckled. “Well, then, I suggest you pull over unless you want your car to smell like pee for the rest of the ride. I can’t hold it any longer.”

  “Seriously?” He glanced at her. “You’re serious.”

  When she hollered at him to pull over, he edged his Subaru Outback to the side of the road. They stopped in a desolate area, lit only by the crescent moon.

  Sydney couldn’t see anything at all, not that she cared. She jumped out of the car, fumbled with the zipper of her shorts and barely got them down in time to lean back against the closed door. She sighed as she began to relieve herself. The cool night air caused goose bumps on her bare flesh and the deafening silence was a sharp contrast to the cacophony of sounds that surrounded her at home.

  “Geez, are you done yet?” Dean passed a tissue through the open window. As she tried to stand, her legs protested, and she lost her balance. Sydney stumbled and reached behind for the door and missed. Her legs still bent, with her shorts and panties around her ankles, she lurched forward and tumbled down the incline, through weeds, small rocks and sticks.

  “Ugh,” she blurted when she stopped rolling, looked up and saw stars, real or imagined and tried to catch her breath.

  Dean’s laughter echoed all around.

  “Stop laughing, you idiot. Help me. You sound like a demented hyena.”

  “I’m not even going to ask if you’re decent. Oh, crap.” Dean lost his footing and slid down the embankment. “That was the funniest thing I ever saw, and it was too dark to see it.” He reached the bottom. “Where are you? Are you okay?”

  “Here. I think I rolled over my pee.” She groaned, then realized the humor of the situation.

  Dean made his way to her, but before he helped her up, Sydney said, “Turn around.”

  “Yeah, like I can really see anything.” He laughed but did as she requested. “Seriously, are you all right?”

  Sydney brushed herself off as best she could and straightened her clothes, having left all her dignity on top of the hill. “I’m going to dig rocks out of places I’d rather not talk about for a few days. Other than that, yeah, I’m okay.”

  They made their way up the hill and went back to the car. “Uh, do you have a towel or something? I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to sit on your seat unprotected.”

  They broke into another fit of hysterics as Dean rummaged through the car until he found an old T-shirt. Sydney imagined what she must have looked like rolling down the hill with her legs akimbo, shorts around her ankles, her hair flying in all directions. She picked a few leaves from her hair and halfway home fished a small rock out of her bra. I’m never going to live this one down.

  ∞∞∞

  When Sydney traveled, no matter what, she knew there were certain things a girl couldn’t live without. Sunglasses, birth control pills, gum and lip gloss were always kept in her purse, but clothes and toiletries went in her checked luggage. The cute little outfit she wore on the plane had been trashed from her tumble down “One Pee Hill.”

  Bleary-eyed and on her second cup of morning coffee, she sat at Dean’s kitchen table in one of his old “Fire in the Hole” T-shirts that she’d worn to bed last night. It’d been a souvenir from the annual Jackson Hole Fourth of July celebration.

  She recalled it started with a pancake breakfast at the town square, where a 10K race was held, a fantastic parade, band music, and of course, all-day parties. These events lead up to the infamous “Fire in the Hole” grand firework finale, displayed on Snow King Mountain.

  Dean had been a closet pyro as far back as Sydney could remember. After he moved to Jackson and found out about the show, he volunteered to help, and Sydney flew out every year to join in the festivities.

  Her mind snapped into focus as she white-knuckled her cellphone in an attempt to track down her suitcase, which somehow ended up in San Francisco. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” the airline employee said. “I don’t know how it happened, but your bag didn’t come in this morning. Hold on a sec …”

  Sydney heard something rustle in the background, as if he put the phone down on a desk and shuffled through some papers. She felt her blood pressure rise. It seemed only an act of God would get her pink, daisy luggage back.

  How is it possible to lose a bag in an airport like Idaho Falls?

  More rustling … then Sydney heard, “Hey, Vinnie, you know that bag that went to San Francisco? I got the lady on the phone. She’s gettin’ married in two days, and her wedding dress is in there. Let’s hunt it down ASAP.”

  Huh?

  He brought the phone back to his mouth. “We’re doing everything we can to get you that dress, lady. We got a flight early tomorrow, and we’ll try to get your luggage on it, okay? Don’t worry. You’ll get your bag.”

  When she heard him ask Vinnie about the “wedding” dress, she was confused, but if it helped get her suitcase back sooner, she’d play along that she was the bride.

  “Okay, thanks. I know it’s Wyoming,” she said, “but I can’t very well get married in jeans.” She gave him her brother’s address, thanked him again and hung up.

  Dean’s house was a charming two-bedroom ranch with a big kitchen, huge porch and beautiful back yard on a cul-de-sac. Typically, Sydney stayed in the spare room when she visited. At the moment, she wanted to flop down on the bed and cry, but she probably couldn’t have found it on a triple dog dare. Dean’s fiancée, Jessica Martin, declared the room off limits this trip around as it had been currently dubbed “wedding central.” For now, the pull-out couch in the living room doubled as her bed.

  After the phone call regarding her MIA luggage, Sydney went into full meltdown mode. She stomped into the master bedroom, stood in front of the bed and collapsed onto it. While kicking her feet in frustration, she screamed into the pillow about the incompetent fools at the airport. Sometimes she taught thirteen-year-olds, sometimes she felt like a thirteen-year-old.

  “Are you done yet? Look, flopping yourself on my bed like a tasered criminal is not helping the situation,” Jessica said. “I hate to say it, but …”

  Sydney waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, she yelled, “But what?”

  Jessi
ca stood up and started dancing. “We’re going shopping, we’re going shopping.” She took Sydney’s hands and pulled her up from the bed. “Alexa, play Dancing Queen!”

  Despite her earlier mood, it was impossible to not be happy around Jessica. She effervesced goodness. On a happiness scale of one to ten, she was a thirty-seven and her enthusiasm was contagious.

  Dean had told his sister that was what he first noticed about Jessica. “Then her boobs, then her hair. In that order,” he always joked.

  Where Sydney’s hair was thick, dark brown and naturally curly, Jessica’s was straight, silky and highlighted to almost blonde. She wore it just below her shoulders and always had her nails painted and makeup on. I think she rolls out of bed pretty.

  Sydney was normally a happy, upbeat, glass-half-full person, too. A requirement, she insisted, to get through a day of teaching middle-school math, coach cheerleading and overseeing the drama department. Lately, life had flown by so fast, it felt good to let go of some of the tension and dance around the room with Jessica.

  This trip is about having fun at my brother’s wedding. Why did my stupid suitcase have to go and screw things up? She stopped dancing.

  “What’s wrong? Why’d you stop?” Jessica asked.

  “Um, I can’t shop in my brother’s T-shirt, Jess.” Sydney looked down at her bare toes. “Alexa, off.” Once again, she felt dejected.

  “I’ve got a cute shirt that’s too small. It’ll fit you perfectly.”

  Sydney looked down at her small chest, then cocked her head at her future sister-in-law.

  “I don’t mean like that,” Jessica laughed. She was bigger than Sydney in most regards. Two inches taller, about ten pounds heavier and two cup sizes larger. “Okay, maybe a little, but it’s still going to look great on you. You can wear a pair of my shorts with a belt and if you leave the shirt untucked, no one will know the shorts are a little too big. Your shoes are fine.” She clapped her hands together. “Problem solved. Now, go get in the shower, I’m pretty sure I still see a leaf or two in your hair.” She pushed Sydney toward the bathroom. “Smell pretty and find your smile!”