“Be back at one sharp,” Gunnar called out, as people rose and filed out.
When the room emptied, Ryan tossed his clipboard on a table and sat, blowing out air.
“S’matter, Ryno?” jabbed Gunnar, hands on hips. “This gig too much for you? Should I tell Zombie you’re wimping out?”
“Having a tough time concentrating,” admitted Ryan.
“You’re enthralled by the stunning beauties in this year’s trainee harvest. Could prove difficult for your rule of not dating co-workers.”
Ryan straightened. “Enthralled. That’s a big word for you. Did that hurt?”
“My mastery of English is better than the average American’s.” Gunnar scratched his nose with his little finger.
“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. Your proficiency in English is only to impress and seduce American women.” Ryan gave him a dour look.
Gunnar had no rules about dating coworkers—mostly because he never stuck with anyone long enough to cause any hassles. He attracted women like magnetic North, especially when they learned he’d been an Olympic downhill skier for Norway and a smokejumper in Alaska.
“There’s an old Norwegian saying—if it works, don’t fuck with it,” said Gunnar.
“Hate to break it to you, but Americans came up with that one.”
“And Norskes perfected it. Let’s go eat.”
Ryan cocked a brow. “Go ahead, be there in a few.” His attention was elsewhere. On her.
“Okay. I’ll eat your share.” Gunnar shot him a look and left for lunch.
He sat back and folded his arms on his chest. Remember my unwritten rule: Never get involved with women at work. When he’d dated a firefighter on his California crew and their relationship had gone south, crew morale went south right along with it, as people chose sides. Infighting had spread like a runaway fire.
But Tara Waters? He liked her dry wit and there was no denying her beauty. Something else excited him yet made him apprehensive—her fearlessness. A double-edged sword that often proved hazardous for firefighters. It had nearly killed Tara on the Copper Peak Fire. He knew all too well how snap decisions on a dangerous fire can get firefighters killed.
Tara’s competence and integrity were a breath of fresh air. He wanted to know her better. He wouldn’t be working with her after this week’s training. She’d be assigned to a crew, and he’d be back on Zombie’s jump list.
Smokejumpers trained to be procedural and take charge. I need to devise an Incident Action Plan to date Tara. Same as I do when I incident command a fire.
“I will IAP the shit out of this,” he said to himself. Proud of his idea, he grabbed his trusty clipboard, flipped a page on his tablet and set to work.
Incident Action Plan (IAP)
1. Objective: Date Tara Waters.
2. Strategy: After training ends, ask Tara out. Otherwise, I may not see her the rest of fire season.
3. Immediate Priorities: Training firefighters new to Alaska. Keep an eye on Tara Waters this first week as Jim Dolan requested.
4. Organize Resources: After training, she’ll be with an emergency firefighting crew and I’ll be jumping fire and no longer working together.
5. Coordinate Activity: A) Follow unwritten rule, do nothing. B) Bend my rule, ask her for a future date. C) Screw it, date her now.
6. Ensure Safety: The usual protection (if I get that far).
7. Risks/Stakes: A) Pushing thirty-one. B) May be a one-time opportunity.
Formulating a plan for his dating strategy appeased him. He leaned back with pursed lips and assessed his options, tapping his pen on the tablet. Option 5-B seemed doable and could work as a moralistic compromise.
He tore the sheet off the tablet, folded it into his pocket, and headed for the mess hall, where he still had time to wolf down a sandwich and a few pints of milk.
And if he couldn’t measure up to Tara’s standards, he’d implement Plan B:
Fly by the seat of his Nomex.
Chapter 5
Tara’s stomach gurgled, informing her she was more than ready for lunch. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday, on the plane. Yawning, she followed everyone out of the building.
The brunette she’d been sitting next to crooked a scarlet, polished finger at her. “Walk to lunch with me,” she politely demanded in a Southern drawl.
Tara smiled at her. “Sounds good. I’m Tara Waters.”
“I know. I’m Angela Divina. Tickled to pieces.” She held out a manicured hand and Tara shook it.
On her way out the door, Tara stopped and squinted at a Forest Service job announcement for the Lolo Hotshot Crew, posted on a bulletin board. She was tempted to yank it off, but instead made a face at it and followed Angela out the door.
Angela waited for her to catch up. “Is your name Tara because you’re Irish or because your mother’s favorite author was Margaret Mitchell?”
“My mother was into Celtic mythology. She used to tell me Tara was a place where kings met, and people sang about heroes. What about you? Is Angela Divina Southern-Italian?”
“Southern-Sicilian.” Angela kicked a small rock, skittering it along the asphalt.
“Ah. So, if I piss you off, you’ll have me whacked?” Tara brushed her fingertips across her throat in a Godfather imitation.
Angela stroked her chin with the back of her fingers. “Nothing personal, just business. And I’m Southern, so I’d be polite about it.”
As the two women laughed and chatted on their way to the mess hall, Tara observed the impressive layout of the Alaska Fire Service. The smokejumper base was a modest one-story building with a light blue roof and ALASKA SMOKEJUMPERS, written in large, white letters along the ridge of the rooftop. They breezed past a large tan building, the AFS Fire Cache Warehouse. The tarmac behind the buildings led to air taxiways and runways connecting the rest of the Army base.
“Sorry I didn’t wake you this morning. Wasn't sure you'd be in refresher training.” Angela’s soft Southern lilt sounded like she was fielding questions in a beauty pageant.
“No worries. Sorry
