“Look at this.” Tara laughed, sunk to her thighs, sifting her hands through thousands of cones.
Silva reached in and pulled her out of the ocean of spruce cones. Next, he pulled Angela out and set to work brushing cones off the women.
“Thanks, Jon. I’ll get the front,” Tara smiled at him, brushing the few remaining cones off herself.
Silva grinned. “I don’t mind.”
Ryan tensed and his neck hairs raised. He’d seen Silva in action in prior years, charming women on and off the job. Silva skirted the fine line between flirting and friendly assistance.
“That’s the biggest cache I’ve ever seen,” laughed Silva, focused on Tara. “Those squirrels worked a ton of overtime.”
Ryan stood by, unamused. The crew had worked hard, and he understood their need to release tension. But hadn't he covered ash pit hazards in class? “Let’s revisit the hazards of squirrel caches.” He picked up a stick and moved slowly around the cache.
“During mop-up at a fire near McGrath, a guy fell in a smoldering squirrel cache. It burst into flame and burned two-thirds of his body. I fished him out and did all I could, but he died later in a hospital.” Ryan tossed the stick in the cache. “Stay out of smoldering caches and tree pits.”
He rested his gaze on Tara. “Keep your ground radar on when walking through fires.”
Once everyone reached their vehicles, they stowed their hand tools, talking and laughing after completing refresher training. People clambered into the crew van.
Silva’s attention to Tara bothered Ryan more than he cared to admit. He wanted to talk to her before everyone scattered to go fight fire. Maybe ask her to dinner. He tossed his tools in the back of the van and stuffed his hardhat and sunglasses in his day pack.
“Waters, can we talk a minute?”
“Sure.” Tara strolled up to Ryan, smiling, her hair in its usual messy ponytail. Any trace of rancor from before had vanished. She seemed like herself again.
He tried to think of a way to finesse asking her out. Talk to her about safety. “Do you remember my talk about squirrel caches in class?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Don’t make a habit of playing in them.” He worked to keep himself on the level while scanning his brain for a segue to Want to go out with me?
“We stumbled into it. Didn’t do it on purpose.” She gave him a funny look.
He rubbed his forehead. “Don’t ever do it on a fire.” Tell her, O’Connor.
“I won’t.” Her face softened. “Ryan, I’m so sorry about your friend. It must have been awful. But why do I sense there’s more here than pulling a buddy from a squirrel cache?”
Damn it. He’d never had difficulty talking to women, but for some reason his mouth wouldn't form the right words. Images played of Silva plying spruce cones off her. “Safety is priority, you know that.”
She bristled. “I know about wildfire safety.”
I want you to go out with me. Say it, dumb shit. Instead, he stared at her, vexed. “But I’m not so sure about your decision-making.” Where the hell did that come from? You’re making it worse.
“So, it’s my decision-making abilities you’re concerned about?” She scowled at him.
This was evolving into something he hadn’t intended. “A few days ago, I advised you to get counseling. We think we can handle people dying on our watch. Not always."
“Why do you keep bugging me about it?” A wild look crossed her face.
“Because your boss asked me to—” he blurted. Oh shit, I blew it.
Her face looked as though he’d gutted her. “Oh. Now I get it,” she said quietly. “The only reason you were nice to me was because Jim Dolan told you to keep your eye on me. That’s what he talked to you about on the Copper Peak Fire, wasn’t it? Watch out for poor, little Tara. Like I’m some helpless, damaged person.” Her face flushed.
“No, that’s not it at all—”
She cut him off. “You smokejumpers are no different from the rest of us. I know jumpers. I planned to marry one. You’re the demi-gods of firefighting, so you demand perfection from the rest of us.”
“Perfection?” He strained for calm and rubbed his forehead. “I’ve seen what happens when people make bad decisions. You saw how fast the fire devil destroyed life and property on the Copper Peak Fire. Perfection is irrelevant. When I talk safety, yes, you should listen.”
“I do listen. I make good decisions. I’ve got this.” She spoke with a firm tone.
“You say that a lot.” He folded his arms. “Have you always been this difficult?”
“Yes!” she snapped. “As a woman I’m forever proving myself. So I must work twice as hard. It gets old, always having to prove I can do the job. But you know what?” She pointed a finger at him. “I suck it up because I love firefighting.”
He put his hands on his hips. “Not once have I asked you to prove yourself. You own that one.”
“You keep saying I need counseling. Are you doubting my mental capabilities as a firefighter? Yes, someone died on my watch. It was tough, but I’m dealing.”
It was time that he told her.
Now, how to form the words. He spoke slowly. “Several years ago the Santa Ana winds blew up a fire in Southern California. It ran before we could stop it. Our hotshot crew had to listen to the horrific screams of five people trapped in a house. We couldn’t get them out.” He paused to look away and his brow furrowed.
He turned back to her. “An entire family burned to death—three kids, two parents and—” He looked away to compose himself. “Not a fucking day goes by where that doesn’t weigh on me.”
His words hung in the air like whale spray.
Tara stood looking stunned. “Did you—did you get counseling?”
“Yes.” He hesitated then looked back at her. “But I didn't stick with it. I should have. Most of my crew quit after that.” He stopped, staring off into the woods. Tell
