Feisty Firefighters Bundle

“Sounds good.” The rigger finished packing a chute and pushed it down the long table toward Cade.

Cade reached around a spare iron and glue gun, and picked it up. He checked the size, then strode over and stuffed it into the green cubicle along the wall with the other mediums. With fires popping up all over, they needed to keep the shelves stocked.

Which was why he’d rationalized coming back to work today. At this time of year, they needed all the help they could get. Unfortunately, no matter how busy he stayed, he couldn’t keep his mind off Jordan.

“I thought you were supposed to take it easy for a while,” Trey said.

“Hell, this is easy.” He slouched back against the table. “Not much else I can do with a broken collarbone and two cracked ribs.”

“Except stay in bed?”

“Right.” And no way was he doing that. Every time he closed his eyes, those damned memories flashed through his brain, of Jordan’s smile, her silky skin, that amazing sex in the cave.

So, after a sleepless night spent battling the need to see her, he’d given up and headed to the base. He knew he’d go crazy if he didn’t find something to distract him.

“So what happened up on that mountain?” Trey persisted, crossing his arms.

“Nothing much.” Cade kept his expression neutral. “We found the dog, the fire blew up, they flew us out.”

“Uh-huh.” Trey’s shrewd eyes narrowed. “And that’s why you bolted out of that hospital before I could get back to pick you up?”

“I didn’t bolt.” Not exactly. He scowled. “Hell, you saw what I looked like. I probably smelled worse than the dog. I just wanted to shower and eat.”

And get away from Jordan before he did something foolish, like begging her to love him again.

“Uh-huh,” Trey repeated, his smirk indicating he wasn’t fooled.

Damning Trey for being too perceptive, Cade strode from the loft into the inspection tower, the dog cheerfully tagging his heels. He muttered a greeting to the loft foreman, who was staring up at a red-and-white reserve chute hanging from the ceiling, then pushed his way past the looping shroud lines and anti-inversion netting dangling off the blue-and-white mains.

He glanced down to make sure the dog stayed with him and mentally sighed. Okay, so maybe Trey was right. He had fled the hospital. He hadn’t trusted himself around Jordan. He knew if he gave her the chance, she’d worm her way back into his soul and capture his heart.

Hell, who was he fooling? She already had.

But at least he’d had the sense to control the damage this time. He’d gotten away before he lost all common sense and begged her to stay.

So why wasn’t he relieved? He should be glad he’d escaped that danger.

He braced himself, expecting to feel the rush of anger, the sense of betrayal she always evoked, but he couldn’t conjure it up this time. His rage had dwindled during the night, mellowing into something new.

Guilt.

Guilt that she’d suffered that miscarriage and he hadn’t been there to help. Remorse that he hadn’t eased the pain or kept her safe.

Not that he’d had much chance. She hadn’t even told him she was pregnant. Still, he’d been her husband. He should have been at her side.

His gut knotted, his emotions slugging hard through his chest, he strode into the ready room and glanced around. His gaze landed on the jump list posted by the dispatch desk, and he automatically started to scan it. He’d traveled halfway through the second column before he caught himself. The green magnetic tag bearing his name had been scuttled off to the side, where it would stay for the rest of the season. He had to get used to that fact.

And find some other way to keep his mind off Jordan.

Several jumpers milled around the ready room, repacking their personal gear bags and checking their equipment. Keeping a close watch on the dog in case the siren blew, Cade wandered to his locker and looked in. His jumpsuit jacket hung on one hook, his helmet and pants on another. He made a mental note to thank Trey for returning his gear.

Even if he wouldn’t need it until next spring.

“Hey, Cade.” The rookie he’d saved knelt nearby, stuffing a can of baked beans into his PG bag. The kid stood, stuck his bag beneath the shelf in the narrow locker, then strolled over to Cade. “Sorry about your shoulder. I heard it’s messed up pretty bad.”

“The bone’s just cracked. Nothing major.” It was a hell of a way to end the season, but at least the injury would heal.

Grimacing, the kid rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, thanks again, man. For pushing me out of the way, I mean.”

“No problem.”

“I still can’t believe I froze like that.”

Cade shrugged his uninjured shoulder. “Don’t sweat it. We all make mistakes.” Sometimes the same one twice.

“I guess so.” The rookie motioned toward the far wall. “But maybe next time, I’ll remember the sign.”

Cade glanced back at the bright yellow sign posted near the jump list. It warned in big black letters that Stupid Hurts.

His lips twisted. Stupid hurt, all right. Even knowing better, he’d let Jordan trample his heart.

“Well, anyway,” the rookie continued. “I owe you, man. Big-time.”

“Just buy me a drink next time you’re back this way.”

“It’s a deal.” The rookie grinned, his smile wide in his cleanly shaved face, and Cade noticed how young he looked, hardly over twenty.

Which made him suddenly feel old.

Just then the siren blared, ending their conversation, and they both turned toward the operations desk. Cade felt the familiar surge of adrenaline, followed by a swift jab of disappointment. His name wasn’t on that list.

The siren faded, and the operations foreman grabbed the mike. “We have a twelve-person jump request to the Bob Marshall Wilderness,” he announced. He turned to the jump list on the wall beside him. “Jumpers will be Susan Jennings, Jim Seibert, Rick Crossley…”

“Got to go!” The rookie darted to his locker, yanked out his Kevlar jump pants and rammed his legs inside.

The foreman finished reading the list, and people streamed into the ready room, instantly engulfing it in controlled commotion. Those not leaving began helping the jumpers suit up. Others snapped on parachutes and handed off gear. Everyone worked as a team to get the jumpers on the plane and off to the fire with lightning speed.

Feeling useless and in the way with his bum arm, Cade called the dog and moved outside to the ramp. He strolled past the shelves stocked with para cargo-climbing spurs and trauma kits, freeze-dried food and cubes of water-then leaned against a crate in the shade to watch the action. One by one, the jumpers staggered out of the ready room to the waiting Twin Otter, barely staying upright under the weight of their equipment.

A minute later, Trey wandered out and joined him in the shade. The Otter’s engine whined as the pilot prepared for takeoff. The spotter stood outside the door performing last-minute safety checks before the jumpers climbed on board. Cade felt the excitement in the air, the anticipation, and wished to hell he could get on that plane.

“Where are you on the list?” he asked Trey.

“About ten down now. I should make the next load.”

“Lucky man.” Cade sucked in a breath of jet fumes and blew it out.

“Yeah. This is turning into a great season for overtime pay.” He shot Cade an apologetic smile. “Hell of a time to get injured.”

“Yeah.” It was, but the risks were part of the job.

Trey tilted his head. “You planning on keeping the dog?”

Cade turned slightly to glance at the mutt, who was nosing around the trash can in the corner. And he remembered how Jordan had protected that dog, carrying him through the river and across the fire, even defying