“Oh hon, I sleep like the dead. Rosie mentioned you’re from Montana. I asked her about you. Hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind. It’s reassuring to know your bunkmate isn’t a serial killer.” She turned toward Angela and grinned. “I’m from the Lolo Forest, Missoula. You?”
“North Carolina. A friend lured me up here, bragging about the hot guys in Alaska.” Angela shoved her hands in her pants pockets.
Tara laughed. “Well, are they?”
Angela leaned her flawlessly made-up face toward her. “Sweetie pie, if I have to tell you, I reckon we need to talk.”
“Oh, trust me, I’m an expert on hot guys in wildland firefighting.” Tara watched a helicopter hovering to land across the tarmac. “What did you do before this?”
“Beach lifeguard at Duck, an island off North Carolina. Got tired of fending off drunks and pulling snotty-nosed brats out of the ocean.” Her voice was melodic and relaxed.
“You're a long way from home.”
“My biological alarm jingled, so reckoned it was time to do something about it.” Angela dipped her chin and smiled at a group of guys trooping past. One turned around to flirt with Angela and his buddy jabbed him.
Tara chuckled. “What are you, an old lady of twenty? And you chose to dangle your hook from the Alaska firefighting pier?”
“I’m a teensy bit older than twenty, hon,” Angela lifted a brow and giggled. “So, what do you think of our taller-than-life instructors so far? That Ryan is a mouth waterer. And the Norwegian has sumptuous, wolf-like peepers.”
“Wolf-like?” Tara laughed, watching a small plane take off on a nearby runway. “They certainly have altitude, that’s for sure. At least six-three. Six-four is the max allowed for smokejumpers. They both know their stuff. Then again, they’re smokejumpers.” She said it as if she tasted something bad.
“You say it as if it were a plague.”
“It is for me. I’ve sworn off that segment of the male population. Long story.”
“Aren’t they all? Nothing leaves my vault once it goes in. My personal code.” Angela gave her a reassuring grin.
“Okay. Here’s the condensed version. My ex-fiancé is a Missoula smokejumper, a Zulie. While we were engaged, he hooked up with a female jumper in McCall, Idaho, a dispatcher in West Yellowstone, and a hotshot firefighter in Bozeman.”
“Your fiancé four-timed you?” Angela’s eyes grew big. “Love triangles are bad enough, but yours sounds like a wreck-tangle.”
Tara snorted. “Before Travis, there was another jumper. Two months in, I bumped into his wife at a party. You might say I’m gun shy when it comes to smokejumpers. They’re off my to do list.”
Angela swung toward her. “You shouldn’t assume every smokejumper is that way. These Alaskan ones are nice.”
“Dating people from work never ends well.” Tara shook her head. “Fire and romance don’t mix. Most relationships wind up in flames. Pun intended.”
“Sometimes a girl just wants a little heat with her fire.” Angela’s coy expression reminded Tara of a smug cat with a mouse tail dangling from its mouth.
She thought of her ex sleeping around. “If you troll for romance at work, be careful of being burned. People lose their jobs and hearts when things go south. I’ve seen it a dozen times. I’d rather have everyone’s respect than get laid.”
Angela let out a dreamy sigh. “We’ll see what the fire season brings.”
Tara squinted at hazy shadows of mountains in the distance. “Hey, the smoke is clearing. Still haven’t seen Denali though.”
“Oh hon, when Denali is out, you’ll know it. She’s a woman who rules the roost, plays hard to get, and shows up when you least expect her.” Angela moved ahead, swaying her hips in her olive-green fire pants. She pushed the mess hall door open.
“I’m starving.” Tara followed her shapely bunkmate up the center aisle separating two sections of tables and benches. Her much shorter bunkmate possessed a self-assured composure Tara liked.
Tara chose a spinach salad and a tunafish sandwich, while Angela loaded her plate with a cheeseburger and fries. They sat down and chatted in between bites with Angela punctuating Tara’s story tidbits with melodious giggles. Tara was relieved to get along so well with her bunkmate.
After lunch, the women left the mess hall and Tara waved Angela to go ahead without her. “I have to make a call.” She pulled out her cell and tapped Jim Dolan’s number. While waiting for him to answer, she scanned the horizon for the elusive Denali. Still playing hard to get.
“Hello?”
“Hi Jim, it’s Tara.”
“Hey, how’s Alaska?”
Tara took a breath. “Saw a job announcement for a slot on the Lolo Hotshot Crew.” She steeled herself to keep an even tone. “Can you please recommend me for this position? I’ll email my application.”
A sigh on the other end. “You just got up there.”
“It feels wrong being here. Why are you so reluctant to help me?”
After a moment of silence, he said, “I am helping you. This is the best thing for you right now. Aren’t they treating you well up there?”
“They’re treating me fine.”
“Open your mind and open your heart. Give it a chance. We’ll talk in a few weeks. Bye, Tara.” He ended the call.
“No!” Tara glared at the phone in her hand. The best thing? Give it a chance? It’s my life! I call my own shots. I decide what is good for me.
She jammed the cell in her pocket. People stared as they moved past.
Thanks for abandoning me, Dad. And screw you, Travis, for breaking my heart. She had lost her family and her sense of belonging. She wanted them back. Instead, she was left with an aching loneliness she despised.
She fought tears on her way back to class and lifted her chin in defiance. No more tears will she waste on Travis. Not a single one.
The afternoon passed quickly, and when training ended for the day, Tara hurried to the barracks to put on her running gear. She always felt better after a hard run.
