Ryan entered the training room and right away zeroed in on Tara. The sight of her shiny, red hair delighted him, but he must treat her like everyone else. A twinge of guilt hit recalling the day before. Put it out of your brain. You have a job to do.
He moved to the front of the class with his clipboard. “Good morning, everyone. Listen up—as you know, we have pack tests this morning. After lunch, we’ll post the crew lists. Two buses are waiting outside to take us to the running track. Ready? Let’s go!”
Ryan motioned everyone out the double doors. Gunnar tossed him a stopwatch and they followed everyone out to the buses.
Angela swung into the seat next to Tara near the front of the bus. “Hey, you.”
“Ready for your fitness test?” Tara asked.
Angela sipped coffee from a Styrofoam cup. “Ready, yes. Do I want to do it? No. Didn’t get much sleep.”
“Haven’t talked to you since yesterday in class.” Tara watched people board the bus.
Angela leaned sideways. “Where were you?”
Tara whispered. “I went flying with Ryan into Denali Park.”
“What, like hang-gliding?” Angela practically yelled, choking on her coffee.
Several faces glanced back at them.
Tara laughed and put a finger to her lips. “Shh—don’t want the whole bus to know. Ryan is a small plane pilot. He invited me to go flying. Gunnar was supposed to go but canceled.”
Angela’s eyes bugged. “Wow! So, it was just the two of you—wait a minute, aren’t you afraid of flying?”
“That’s why he invited me. To help me with my fear of flying.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized her reason sounded lame.
“Right. A possum doesn’t play dead and I have a bridge to nowhere to sell you.” Angela smirked.
“We landed on a freaking glacier! It was incredible.” Tara gestured with her hands, still astounded at her magical experience of flying close to Denali Mountain. “There’s just no words.”
“Wow, a glacier. Is that all?”
“Is what all?” Tara knew good and well what Angela wanted to know.
“Thought maybe you’d ravish each other, seeing as how neither of you can take your eyes off the other.”
“Ravish? Give me a break.” Tara pulled back as her face heated. “No! No ravishing. I’m here to fight fire, not for booty call. It was just a plane ride.” If Tara were a certain wooden puppet, her nose would be poking the person sitting in front of her.
Angela gave her a knowing look and leaned in close to Tara’s ear. “Hon, I’ve seen how he looks at you. From what I can tell you have Prince Charming syndrome because he rescued you.”
Tara sputtered. “I do not!” She’ll go to hell for lying. Change the subject, turn the tables. “So, where were you last night? You were gone when I came in.”
“Hanging out with Colorado.” Angela flashed her pearly whites at a brown-eyed, dark bearded guy who entered the bus.
His fire shirt hung open, exposing his Rocky Mountain Hotshots tee, with rolled-up sleeves revealing tatted flames encircling his bulging forearms. He winked and raised his coffee in greeting to Angela, before sinking into a seat three rows behind them.
The door closed and the bus lurched forward.
Tara leaned over and whispered. “You’re playing with fire. If word gets around, you’ll be reputed as only being here to meet men. Just saying…”
She trailed off as a red flag waved in her brain. Who am I to talk? I went flying with our fire training instructor and we kissed on a glacier. Ryan helped her with—aviophonics—or whatever the heck he called it, because she’d be flying to wildfires all around Alaska.
It’s my rationale and I’m sticking to it.
“I told you, that’s why I’m here. Hello,” murmured Angela, teeth gnawing her coffee straw. “Hey, I’m not judging.”
The bus stopped next to the running track. Tara and Angela poured off the bus with the rest of the firefighters. A second bus pulled up and more streamed out.
“Hoo-ee,” said Angela. “It’s hotter than a moose’s butt in a pepper patch.”
Tara chuckled and adjusted her sunglasses. “For this early in the morning, it sure is.”
Angela positioned herself to casually observe the Chena Hotshots as they filed off the bus. Her sultry cat-eat-canary grin twitched the corners of her mouth.
Gunnar strolled up. “Ready to get your packs weighed?”
“You bet,” purred Angela, as she and Tara followed him to a hanging scale, supported by a tall tripod.
Tara gave Gunnar her pack and he weighed it. “Forty-five, you’re good to go.” He handed it back to her.
“Thanks.” She couldn’t wait to see what her new personal best was for her pack test.
Gunnar weighed Angela’s. “Thirty-five, add ten pounds. Here’s a ten-pounder.” He lifted her pack off the scale and set it on the ground, handing the weight to her.
“Thank you, kind sir,” she simpered, her lilt on full throttle.
“You’re welcome. You Southerners are so polite.” Gunnar displayed a toothy grin.
Angela gave him a coy smile. “I’ve heard the same about Norwegians.”
Tara jabbed her with an elbow.
“Ow!” Angela shot her a killer look.
Rego showed up with his pack. “Think you girls can handle this?” He leered at Tara as she threaded her long ponytail braid through the back of her Missoula Ranger District baseball cap.
“Don’t worry, we’re fixin’ to kick some serious tush.” Angela tilted her head to the side and smiled sweetly.
“Is that so, Scarlett? Well don’t hurt yourself, you hear?” Rego winked and ambled off with Hudson.
“Oh, I won’t, sugar,” mumbled Angela. And if looks could truly kill, Rego would be dead in a heartbeat.
Angela pursed her lips. “He doesn’t know squat about women. The other one is so dumb he thinks the Arctic Circle is a racetrack.” She adjusted her black visor to shade her face, letting her dark hair cascade down her back. Then she eased on a pair
