“He’s on our crew,” whispered Angela, staring at the tall, attractive, and obviously ripped firefighter who had just boarded. “I noticed him the first day of training.”
“Down, girl,” breathed Tara, smirking.
A bulky guy with neck tats and a black bun filled the aisle, with ‘Tupa’ scrawled on his shirt. He swung into two seats. Tara figured he could lift their van single-handed. Two more guys filed in and Tara did a double take: identical twins. A guy with a long, blonde ponytail followed, and another with round wire-rimmed glasses. Tara chuckled. They should be called Motley Crew instead of Aurora Crew.
Ryan hopped in, claiming his usual shotgun seat. A sharp twinge poked Tara’s chest.
“O’Connor is working with Aurora Crew today,” remarked Liz.
“Looks that way.” Tara crossed her legs, jiggling her foot.
“What do you have against Mr. Gourmet Eye Candy?” asked Liz out the side of her mouth.
“Angela leaned toward Tara. “You’re acting like Ryan is a beetle-headed horn beast.” To Liz, she whispered, “Ol’ Montana here thinks he’s a tall drink of water. Just not today.”
“He is,” murmured Liz. “I could lap-dance him all day for free. But that’s my other seasonal job.”
Tara grimaced. “The problem with stunning guys is, they attract women like honeybees to sunflowers. I learned the hard way when my ex followed several honeybees back to their hives.”
Liz nodded. “Sometimes it’s hard to land a guy who’ll stay faithful.”
“Well, I’ll ya, Gunnar is so hot he makes my teeth sweat.” Angela waved her hand like a fan.
All three of them laughed. Tara silently thanked her friend for changing up the conversation.
Gunnar climbed into the driver’s seat and drove the van out of Fort Wainwright, heading for the surrounding forested hills. Drifting wildfire smoke disappeared. The sun lightened dark, skinny spruce and brightened the pale, peeling bark of birch trees in the boreal forest.
“Liz, what’s your other seasonal job?” asked Angela.
“I dance at a gentlemen’s club in Reno.”
Angela choked, sipping her water. “You’re a stripper?”
Liz nodded. “Exotic dancer.”
“Hence the lap-dance comment,” laughed Tara.
“Do you dance on a pole?” Angela’s face lit up.
“It’s a great workout. You should try it sometime,” said Liz.
Angela seemed to consider it. “Maybe I will.”
Tara snorted. “I'd pay money. Let’s find Angie a smooth birch tree to practice on.”
Liz laughed. “That could be arranged.”
The van turned off the highway onto a bumpy, dirt road bisecting a stand of dense, scraggly spruce. Gunnar pulled into the Moose Creek campground and parked.
“Okay, Aurora Crew, let’s go.” Ryan exited the van.
“Don’t forget bug dope.” Liz loaded her palms with repellent and rubbed it onto her skin. She offered some to Angela.
Angela waved it away. “Thanks, but I have skeeter spray. Here.” Angela passed a miniature spray bottle to Tara. Mosquitoes buzzed their ears as they exited the van.
A pale green AFS truck pulled up, loaded with equipment. Mel hopped out and unloaded tools. He must not be flying helicopters today, thought Tara.
Ryan lowered the tailgate and jumped in the back.
“Here’s your tools, folks. Grab a Pulaski. It’s yours for the season. Sawyers, grab a chainsaw.” Mel dispensed tools to each of the crew, his mullet poking out from under his hardhat.
Angela held up her Pulaski. “I call it Jekyll and Hyde because it has two heads. The grub-hoe side is Hyde, and the axe end is Jekyll.” She stroked its long, fiberglass handle.
“Way to fondle your fire tool, Divina,” deadpanned Tara, cracking her gum.
“Not touching that one with a ten-foot pole.” Liz grinned.
“Not while you’re twisted around it,” Angela shot back.
Liz cracked her gum and nodded approval. “Carolina, you’re fast on the uptake.”
“I’m just warmin’ up, y’all.” Angela winked, thickening her drawl.
“Listen up,” said Ryan. “First we’ll dig a fireline in that clearing next to the campground.” He motioned his head at it and jumped from the truck bed, graceful as a gazelle. “Spread out, ten feet apart. Remove fuel by chopping the vegetation and scraping down to mineral soil. Taiga forests are a bugger to dig with tussocks and thick layers of duff, lichen, and mosses.”
Ryan and Gunnar demonstrated, swinging their Pulaskis with the hoe-end out and then downward, to peel back the thick vegetation.
“Practice and then we’ll time you.” Gunnar strode off along the crew line.
“I’ll bet Ryan and Gunnar are good jump partners,” commented Angela.
Tara swung her Pulaski. “Of course, they are. Never come between a pair of jump partners. They’re connected at the hip.”
“Wouldn’t it be hard jumping from planes like that?” deadpanned Liz, swinging her tool.
“Jump partners will do anything for each other. My ex wouldn’t meet me in person so I could break up with him. Instead, he had his jump partner do it.” Tara swung and chopped.
“What a chicken shit.” Liz wrinkled her nose.
Tara stopped swinging to scowl at her. “I know, right? My ex jumped from planes to battle raging fires, but he didn’t have the guts to face me after I called him out for cheating.” She swung with such force that chunks of vegetation sailed through the air and plunked off of Liz’s boots.
“He sounds like a nutless weasel.” Angela grimaced.
Ryan called out to the crew. “Aurora Crew, you’re being timed. Dig a hundred-foot line. Go!” He clicked his stopwatch.
“Wow, what a douche.” Liz hacked at her section of line. “Not Ryan. Your ex, the nutless weasel.”
Angela chopped the ground. “What did you do when your ex’s jump partner showed up to meet with you?”
“I told him to tell Travis I broke off our engagement and threw his ring into the Clark Fork River.” Tara swung even harder.
“No way!” Liz shot her a crazed look. “A perfectly good diamond?”
“Actually, I didn’t. But I wanted to. Instead, I burned his letters and dumped the ashes in an envelope with the ring and mailed it to him.” Tara was winded from swinging so hard.
Angela and Liz exchanged glances as Tara torpedoed grass and weeds in every direction. Her section of fireline was the first to be cleared.
“Hey Liz, we can kick back while Tara
