Tara and Ryan stood next to the track, watching the last of the testers cross the finish line.
He turned to her. “That was generous of you to stop and help.”
“I couldn’t just leave her there.” She gazed off in the direction of the disappearing golf cart.
“Tara.”
She snapped her gaze to him. “Yeah?” She wished her heart wasn’t palpitating. Were they going to keep ignoring The Kiss? Obviously, they had to at work. She wanted to talk to him privately after work, but he always seemed busy.
“You need to resume your test, either from here or start with the next group. Your choice.” Ryan was good at acting like nothing had happened between them.
She couldn’t figure him out. He might be one of those guys who drifted from woman to woman without emotional attachment. She’d seen her share. But he'd kissed her like his plane was going down. And she’d kissed him back like she’d been in it. That had to mean something.
“I’ll start with the next group.” She lifted her pack to her shoulders and stepped around him.
“Wait a second,” Ryan called after her.
She stopped and turned. “Yes?”
He waved her toward him. “I’ll carry your pack. Give it here.”
“You have Angela’s. I can carry my own pack to the start line.”
He slung Angela’s pack over one shoulder like it contained balsa wood. “I’m not saying you aren’t strong enough. But it wouldn’t hurt for you to have the same equal advantage the second time around.”
“Thanks, but I’m not concerned.” She headed to the start line. Geez, guys and their protective instincts. She couldn’t help but smile at Ryan’s polite offer, despite his ignoring yesterday’s heat on the glacier.
“Wait.”
She turned around again. “What is it?” Maybe he’ll talk about yesterday. Yeah right. My hair will turn gray in a rocker before that happens.
He hesitated. “Never mind. Go on ahead.”
“Okay.” Things had become officially awkward. She adjusted the weight on her back and continued to the start, keenly aware Ryan followed a short distance behind. Why couldn’t she have met him off the job somewhere, like in a bar in Belize or on a ski trip to Bridger?
“Pace yourself, people. Good luck.” Ryan strolled over to join a group of test monitors.
Tara reached the start point and a wild impulse struck her. She glanced around to see if anyone paid attention. Satisfied no one was, she eyed the pile of weights near the scale. Plucking two ten-pound weights from a stack, she tossed them in her pack. She hoisted the heavy pack to her shoulders and secured it.
It was a risky, over-achiever move, and had everything to do with proving herself. She knew how hard it would be to come in under forty-five minutes with sixty-five pounds, but she’d done it before under an hour. Completing her test under forty-five minutes should not be a problem.
Besides, Rego’s assertion that women couldn’t hack it irritated her more than she let on. I’ll show these Alaskans how we do things down south.
All Ryan had tried to do was help Tara so she’d be fresh to retake her fitness test. She offered help to others but couldn’t seem to accept it herself. He couldn’t afford to show favoritism or any attraction; not in this testosterone-saturated environment. He shouldn’t have kissed her yesterday. He kicked himself for the millionth time. What a total dork move.
He weighed Angela’s pack. Fifty-five pounds. Had she added a ten-pound weight by accident or had someone else done it? No one would deliberately do that, would they? He shook the idea from his head.
The second group poised at the start line. “Five, four, three, two, begin.” Ryan hollered, clicking his stopwatch. Tara strode forward with a steady, brisk pace and disappeared into the middle of the pack. The monitors would take it from here. He settled in to wait.
Before long, the first group of hotshot crews approached the finish, as expected. Someone pulled ahead of the group. He did a double take—Tara Waters had beat them all to the finish line.
“Thirty-eight and thirty,” shouted a monitor, clicking his stopwatch. “Good job.”
“Thirty-nine,” the monitor called out to the first of the hotshots, thirty seconds behind Tara.
Ryan watched other finishers but secretly focused on Tara. Thank God for polarized sunglasses.
Drenched in sweat, she walked off the track to remove her pack.
Intuitively, he lurched to help her and remembered where it got him the last time he’d offered. She may not need physical help, but he understood the importance of supporting her capabilities on the job. Especially after the line of duty death she had experienced on the Montana fire. He knew all too well how important that was.
Tara undid the straps and let her pack slide from her shoulders to the grass. She bent, hands braced on her knees, panting hard. Her hair fell in a loose, messy knot to one shoulder.
He tried not to stare as she lifted her water bottle and sucked down half, then poured the rest on her head. Water streamed down her flushed cheeks, saturating her already drenched T-shirt.
Holy shit. Watching her swallow in a wet T-shirt caused a hot tidal wave to slosh over him, a sensation he couldn’t afford to indulge in right now. He blew out air, drumming fingertips on his thigh. Keep the professional neutrality pasted on out here. Don’t gape at her, idiot.
He turned away to monitor other testers, but an invisible force took hold of his head and rotated it back in her direction.
Grinning ear to ear, Tara lifted her pack and passed it to Reed Cameron, the weigh-in monitor, who had taken over for Gunnar.
Reed hung it on the scale and high-fived her.
She took two weights from her pack and dropped them on the ground. She sighted Ryan and flashed him a euphoric smile with a celebratory thumbs-up, obviously pleased with herself.
He responded with a thumbs-up. Yes. He was very much impressed. But remember your job.
Ryan collected the finish times from test monitors and
