Ryan narrowed his eyes. “Sly dog. You never mentioned you fired your guns, Gunns.” He grinned at the cardboard milk pint as he opened it.
“We were busy saving Bettles if you recall. When a guy fights fire he can’t be thinking about women.” Gunnar stuffed a forkful of potato in his mouth.
“S’pose not.” But Ryan had. And afterward, he had the most incredible, erotic dream about Tara, and had awakened with a hard ache in his groin.
Gunnar scowled at him. “You know you want to ask her out. Do it. If you don’t, you’ll regret it and I’ll have to listen to your whiny ass next time we jump fire.”
“I’ll take it under advisement.” Ryan dropped his napkin on his plate. He stood and picked up his tray.
“You planned to go fishing. Or are you going to go…fishing?” Gunnar twirled a pretend reel.
“Have to bait the hook first.” Ryan winked at his jump partner and headed out the door.
Chapter 21
Tara relaxed on her bunk, scrolling through her phone, a towel wrapped around her after showering. Even a barracks bed felt good after sleeping on a canvas cot for several weeks. “I love these photos you texted with Ryan and Gunnar and the wolf pups.” She stared at Ryan’s photo. He was grungy, like the first time she met him, holding a gray pup—the sexiest photo she’d ever seen, except for the one of him posing on the glacier.
Angela turned from the mirror, hairbrush in hand. “Check out the local news sites.”
Tara scrolled local news and a headline appeared with Ryan’s photo: FIREFIGHTERS SAVE WOLF PUPS. “Oh my God, Ryan’s on NBC and CNN. Angie, did you see this?” She held the phone out to her.
“Adorable wolf pups, huh? Not to mention the hot cutie holding them. Gunnar texted. He's coming over and we’re going out.” She wrapped dark tresses around a curling iron.
“Gunnar’s here? That means—"
“Good deduction, Sherlock. Yes, Ryan is here. And he’ll be alone in his room, hint-hint. You need to talk to him.”
“I don’t know if he’ll want to see me.”
Angela gave her an eyeroll. “Remember when I said next time you see him to mend your fences? Well, this is your ‘next time’. Get fixed up. Help yourself to whatever I have. And put on your face.”
Tara shrugged. “I don't have makeup.”
Angela finished applying mascara, stuffed it in her makeup bag and zipped it closed. She tossed the bag at Tara.
“Now you do.” Angela looked in the mirror and turned her face to each side. “There. Now I don’t look like a wild-assed mountain woman.”
A loud knock startled Tara. She sprang from the bed and scurried into the bathroom, clutching the towel around her.
“Hold on a minute, Gunnar!” Angela called out. She stuck her nose in the crack of the bathroom door. “Don’t expect me back tonight.” She pointed a finger. “And get yourself over to Ryan. If you blow this, I’ll throw a dying duck fit as we say back in Duck.”
“Quack quack,” deadpanned Tara, crossing her eyes at the finger in her face.
“Your duck imitation needs work.”
“Divina, you’d make a good drill sergeant.”
“I was a lifeguard. Same thing.” Angela smirked and withdrew her finger. “Toodle-oo! I’m out of here,” she sing-songed, slamming the door behind her.
Tara stepped out from the bathroom. She stood for a long moment, staring at the ever-present mosquitoes flirting with the window glass.
Ryan’s here.
The thought of him being nearby sped adrenalin through her. Was he at the Jump Shack or in the barracks? She snatched her wristwatch from the nightstand and her fingers trembled with excitement as she fumbled the clasp.
Tara paced the room, considering the hazard of falling for a guy most women swooned over. Smokejumpers were chick magnets; their sexy allure was irresistible. She’d seen it time and again. Hell, she fell for it herself but lost to the competition.
Do I really want this? Only way to find out is to go see him.
Spotting her camera on the dresser, she picked it up and powered it on. Up popped the photo of her and Ryan kissing on the glacier. Jim Dolan’s words played in her mind: Pay attention to signs when they present themselves.
Tara slid hangers back and forth in the tiny closet. Sure enough, Angela owned alarmingly sexy threads. She found a form-fitting, low-cut blouse buttoned down the middle; sea green, to match her eyes.
She wriggled into her black tank top, the one edged in lace that she wore the night she bumped into Ryan in the hallway. She put Angela’s blouse over it, jacket style.
The irony wasn’t lost on her. Her fire world was a balancing act. She worked hard to blend in with her mostly male co-workers on the job, but she refused to surrender her femininity. She had always taken pride in maintaining this tricky balance.
Tara tugged on her jeans and spotted a pair of Angela’s sandals. A little tight, but not enough to matter. She moved to the mirror above the bathroom sink and lightly applied mascara, shadow, and lip gloss. Staring at her reflection, doubt crept in. What if Ryan wants nothing to do with me? What if I knock on his door and he’s with someone? Biting her lip, she deliberated.
The loud, abrupt knock on the door made her jump. After peeling herself from the ceiling, she remembered Liz suggesting they go for pizza.
She swung the door open. “Hey Liz…” She trailed off, staring in disbelief.
Ryan stood smiling at her with his baby blues.
A shock wave swept Tara like a tsunami, in addition to her personal magnitude ten earthquake.
They both talked at once, then stopped, laughing.
“You go first.” Ryan’s big-hearted smile spared no dimples.
Tara relaxed into a wide smile. “You’re back from Bettles.”
“How’d you know I was in Bettles?”
“Radio chatter.”
“You’re back from Chinook.”
“How’d you know we were back?”
“Gunnar chatter.”
She laughed. “Yeah, he and Angela have been texting. Want to come in?” She swung the door wide, hoping he wouldn’t notice her heart smacking her
