“Sounds more like a goal.” Tara gave her wry smile.
“There’s a reason why Ryan helped you on that fire. And that you wound up sitting next to him on the plane. Not to mention he became your training instructor.” Angela stood and moved to her bed. She fluffed her pillow. “If you ask me, it’s good, old-fashioned destiny.”
Tara snorted. “No. Just coincidence.” She thought of Jim Dolan’s comment about signs.
Angela yawned, her drawl in overdrive. “Time for shuteye. Morning comes early up here.” She crawled into bed and pulled up the covers.
“Morning is all night up here. So bizarre.” Tara yawned.
“Go to sleep, Montana. Dream about unicorns farting rainbows.” Angela turned off the lamp.
“It’s hard for me to talk about things, but I feel I can trust you. Thanks.”
“Not a problem. Now get some sleep.”
“Good night.” Tara rolled onto her back, listening to the soothing hum of the fan. She tugged the bandana over her eyes to and rolled to her side, rubbing the faded neckerchief with her fingertips.
If she had only stayed home the night of the house fire. Dad died and she lived, only because she planned to have sex with her fiancé for his thirty-second birthday. And he cheated on her anyway. Rack up an A-plus for failure.
A lone tear slid from under her bandana and made a slow journey across her cheek.
Chapter 6
“There’s an exam at the end of class today on the U.S. Forest Service, Ten Standard Firefighting Orders and Eighteen Watch-out Situations,” announced Ryan on the second day of training. “If you don’t know them, you’d better start memorizing.”
A groan circulated the room.
Ryan raised his clipboard. “Hey, these are agency requirements, not mine. Know these, they’ll save your life. Next we’ll cover mop-up.” He lectured about the importance of mopping up fires to make sure hot spots were out and emphasized the dangers of slipping into smoldering ash pits and squirrel caches, known to injure firefighters.
His voice grew raspy and he glimpsed his watch. “Time for a break. Be back in fifteen.”
As people rose and shuffled out the door, Ryan took a can of Coke from his day pack and snapped it open.
Gunnar sauntered over. “Hey. Are we still on for flying into Denali Park tomorrow after class?”
Ryan slurped. “Yep. I called Reeves and reserved the Cessna.”
“I’ll pay for the fuel since you’re doing this for me.” Gunnar plucked the Coke from Ryan’s hand, took a healthy drink, and burped. “Don’t worry. I’ve had all my shots.” He handed it back.
Ryan studied it and grimaced. “Thanks for leaving me your swill.”
Tara and Angela ambled toward the break room. Caffeine was in order. People filed in for their beverage of choice and wandered out again.
“Can you recite your Ten Standard Firefighting Orders and Eighteen Watch-out Situations?” A fit, petite woman with short, blonde hair strolled in, hands in pockets. “Liz Skowran, Reno.” She extended a hand.
Tara shook it. “Pleased to meet you. Tara Waters.”
“I need a Coke to stay awake.” Angela yawned, feeding coins into a pop machine. “I loathe exams. Wish I could get out of taking it.” She smiled at two guys seated at a nearby table.
“Women wriggle out of requirements all the time,” said the bald guy with a Bronx accent. He sounded out of place this far north.
“Yeah, they always expect preferential treatment,” said the guy next to him.
Tara took in the dark-haired guy with the goatee. He wasn’t bad looking, but the way he fixed his amber eyes on her made her uneasy. She shifted her gaze to the older-looking bald guy. “Don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Nick Rego.” He rolled a toothpick around with his tongue. His rolled-up shirt sleeves revealed prominent Marine tattoos encircling his forearms.
Tara turned to the dark-haired guy with the goatee and pleasant smile. “And you are?”
His glinting eyes roved her top to bottom. “Mike Hudson.”
Something about him prickled her skin. She focused on Rego. “So, Rego and Hudson, seriously?” Tara smiled while stirring her coffee.
“Yeah. Seriously.” Rego gave her an unblinking stare. “Scientific fact. Women aren’t built for the stamina or endurance to fight fire.” He swept a brown-eyed gaze over Tara, then surveyed Liz.
Liz folded her arms. “What rock have you guys been living under for the last fifty years?”
Tara had been down this road. “Care to cite your scientific reference? FYI, I pull my weight on every fire I work. I can certainly handle a fitness test of walking three miles with a forty-five-pound pack under qualifying time.”
“Good for you.” Rego sported a mouth full of straight teeth.
“Fitness tests aren’t a problem for us,” interjected Angela. She lifted her chin, looking down at the men.
Rego turned his attention to the curvaceous brunette. “We’ll see day after tomorrow in the pack test.” He leaned his chair back on two legs. “Won’t we?”
“You think we can’t hack it?” Tara looked him in the eye.
“Didn’t say that,” said Rego. “Just said women aren’t built for the stamina or endurance to fight fire. Where I come from, women are protected. They aren’t the protectors.”
Tara finished her coffee and flipped the cup expertly into the trash. “Where I come from women do the protecting as much as, if not more than, men. What do you think a single mom does, or any woman with kids? So, Harvey Weinstein, we’ve moved on from patronizing women in the workplace.”
Rego lifted dark, bushy eyebrows. “I’m not patronizing anyone. How many people have you saved in a fire?”
Tara froze. Why would he ask that? Did someone tell him about her? Did Ryan?
Angela sensed Tara’s hesitation and swooped in. “Okay, how many have you saved?”
Rego narrowed his eyes. “My fair share, honey, believe me.”
“I’m not your honey, sugar. Ya’ll are aware you can be fired for sexist comments.” Angela poured on the Southern and bobbled her head like a cobra.
“Not a sexist comment, Miss Scarlett.
