An ache pulsed down her throat at the thought of Cade, followed by a spurt of dread. She needed to break up with Phil. He was a kind, decent man, and she couldn’t lead him on any longer. No matter how distasteful the task, she had to tell him the truth.
She pulled her cell phone from her bag and turned it on, glad that the battery still worked. Then she paused. She couldn’t do it this way, not by phone. It wasn’t fair to Phil. She’d be taking the coward’s way out, running from her problems again.
And she wasn’t doing that anymore. She wasn’t that scared, immature girl; she was an adult, and she would face her problems head-on.
Which meant she had to tell Phil in person.
And then she had to decide what to do with her life.
A sharp, heavy longing pressed on her heart. God, she missed Cade. Only a few hours apart and already she couldn’t stand it. She missed his eyes, that rumbling voice, that sexy, confident grin. How could she bear to spend her life without him?
Was there any chance he would forgive her? She’d hurt him so badly and ruined the trust between them. Could she convince him that she’d changed?
She had to try.
Because she really wasn’t that young girl anymore. She’d changed over the years. She’d proven that up on the mountain. She’d forded a river and battled a cougar. She’d hiked miles on a wounded ankle and escaped a raging fire.
And no way was she now slinking out of Montana without fighting for the man she loved.
Just then, her cell phone beeped, and she held it up to the light. A text message had arrived from Phil.
Surprised, she punched the buttons to retrieve the message. Then she blinked. Phil was here in Missoula, waiting at her motel. He’d heard about the fire and had come to find her.
Her astonishment turned to dismay, and then settled into resolve. She hadn’t expected him here, but his arrival couldn’t be better. First, she would meet with him, explain that she didn’t love him and that he deserved a more suitable wife.
Then she’d track down the man she did love and plead for a second chance.
An hour later, she stood in front of Phil’s motel room and balanced her crutches on the faded red carpet. Muted voices from the television seeped through the door, so she knew that he was awake. She knocked, sending a loud rap echoing down the deserted hallway, then winced, hoping she wouldn’t disturb the neighbors. It was after midnight, too late for a social call, but past time to own up to her mistakes.
Seconds later, the security chain rattled, and then the door swung open and Phil stepped into view. His brown eyes blinked behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Jordan?”
“Hi, Phil.” Warmth slid through her chest, along with a strong spurt of fondness, the delight at seeing a friend. There was no nervous anticipation, none of the thrilling jolts she felt whenever she saw Cade.
“Holy cow.” His jaw slack, he opened the door wider. His eyes grew dazed as he scanned from her torn jeans and dirty face to the bandages on her hands. “What happened to you?”
“I got caught in the fire.”
“Oh, man. I was afraid of that. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He stepped forward and opened his arms, then enveloped her in a hug. “Stop,” she protested. “I’ll get you dirty.”
But he squeezed her anyway, surrounding her with his strength. And she realized that it was this friendship, this dependability that she had confused with love. He was a safe and solid man.
Just not the right one for her.
“I came as soon as I heard about the fire,” he said, pulling away. “No one knew where you were, and I was going nuts trying to get news.”
He surveyed her, worry creasing his brow. His khaki slacks were wrinkled, his polo shirt askew. His normally neat hair was mussed, as if he’d tugged each strand from its place.
“I can’t believe this,” he continued. “You look…”
“Filthy, I know.” And like the fire survivor she was, bruised and battered, smeared with ashes and grime. Her matted hair tumbled wildly over her shoulders, and she reeked of smoke and sweat.
“And you’ve got crutches,” he noted, still looking stunned.
“It’s just a sprained ankle. Nothing serious.” She gazed into his familiar face and felt his warmth and concern.
A weight loosened around her heart, and any doubts she might have harbored vanished. And suddenly she felt free, liberated, as if a burden had disappeared from her life.
How could she have thought she loved this man? He was so obviously wrong for her-perfectly nice, and the best of friends, but nothing more than that.
As much as she cared for him, she didn’t feel that spark, that depth of feeling she had for Cade. And after her soul-searching up on that mountain, she refused to settle for anything less. She didn’t want a stale, predictable life any longer. She didn’t want a diet of bland white bread and vanilla ice cream, no matter how comfortable the taste.
She wanted excitement, fireworks, passion.
She wanted Cade, smokejumping career and all.
“Phil, I-” She sighed, knowing that this would be hard. “Listen, we need to talk. But it’s a long story, and I need to shower first. I’ve got a room down the hall.” She nodded in that direction. “Can we meet in an hour to talk?”
“Sure.” He stared at her charred jeans, still looking dazed. Then he snapped his gaze back up. “Are you hungry? We can see if anything’s open and grab something to eat.”
“I’d like that.” A surge of affection warmed her heart. No matter what, Phil had flown out here because he cared. And that’s what she called a good friend. “And Phil?”
He raised his brows, still looking shell-shocked.
“I appreciate that you came to find me.”
“Sure.” He blinked again, and she hobbled away.
Chapter 17
“McKenzie! What are you doing here?”
Trying like hell to forget about Jordan. Cade leaned against a long table in the parachute loft as his smokejumping bro, Trey Campbell, strolled toward him. Not that he’d managed to stop thinking about her yet. That woman had worked herself under his skin, driving her self in so deeply that it hurt him even to breathe.
But no way was he admitting that to Trey. His bro had witnessed the hell he’d suffered the first time Jordan had dumped him, and had spent months trying to help him stay sane. No way could he confess that he’d let her de stroy him again.
The dog trailed Trey into the loft. When he spotted Cade, he wagged his tail and rushed to greet him. Careful not to bump his arm, which was secured in a harness-style sling, Cade squatted to ruffle his fur.
The dog looked different this morning, more civilized. His fur had been washed and brushed, his nails trimmed, and he sported a blue bandanna. And he didn’t stink anymore. “Hey, buddy,” Cade said. “Looks like somebody groomed you.”
“No kidding.” Trey propped his hip against the opposite table. “What did that mutt do, anyhow? Roll in a rotting carcass?”
“Beats me.” Cade gave the dog a final pat and straightened while Trey nodded to the other jumpers in the loft. The master rigger sat at one of the sewing machines below the row of elk heads lining the wall, a blue-and-white parachute spread over his legs. There was a lull in the whir of his sewing machine as he greeted Trey back.
“Yo, Trey,” another rigger called above the blare of country music. “You at the top of the list yet?”
“Getting close,” Trey said. “I should make the second load.”
