“He just did. As of zero nine hundred the day after tomorrow, I’m out of here.”
“Alaska. The last wild place. A friend in dispatch said a load of calendar-worthy Alaskan smokejumpers worked this fire. And I do mean calendar worthy, Tara.” She laughed.
Tara flashed back to the one she met today. Nope. Forget it.
“You know how I feel about smokejumpers, after Travis. Dad warned me about dating them, but I didn’t listen. Then again, he didn’t want me working in fire. Didn’t listen to that either.” She huffed out air.
“Travis was a douche, but not all of them are. The one who helped you today sounds like an okay guy.”
Something stabbed Tara’s chest. “I wasn't nice to him. I was pissed and embarrassed he had to help me. It’s awful seeing someone die. And I just sat on the ground like an idiot…” She choked on her words.
Katy hugged her. “You did the best you could. Go to Alaska, take lots of bug dope, and don’t get eaten by a Griz when you go pee.” She ambled to her tent and grinned at Tara. “Because as we all know, that’s when the bears show up.” She laughed again.
“Right. See you in a couple months, Katy.” She crawled inside her tent, her head pounding.
She coaxed her sleeping bag from the nylon sack and shook it, letting it float to the tent floor. Sitting on her bag, she tugged off her boots and socks. Her back muscles tingled, and her joints ached. She wished for someone with strong thumbs to knead her sore shoulders. The strong hands that had gripped her after today’s nightmare would do the trick. Thank God the Alaskan smokejumper showed up. If their paths ever cross again, she’ll remember to thank him for helping her.
Her insides knotted at the way she had treated Ryan O’Connor after saving the day. She shouldn’t be cynical about smokejumpers. They trained hard and worked harder. But after Travis’ chronic disloyalties, she’d sworn off every blasted one.
She chuckled at the one good thing about going to the Great Alone, as poet Robert Service had referred to Alaska—she could distance herself from Travis. His voice on the radio today had ignited fresh pain. She berated herself for her weakness—she was powerless to extinguish the ache in her heart. At least she wouldn’t hear his voice from the middle of the godforsaken tundra.
“Alaska. Oh God…” she groaned, squeezing the bridge of her nose with thumb and forefinger. All she wanted was to belong, to have family again. When Dad and Jim worked on the Lolo Hotshots—the Delta Force of firefighting—everyone celebrated holidays and birthdays together, like a close-knit family. How could she get on the hotshots from middle-of-nowhere Alaska?
This wouldn’t help her move on from losing Dad. Failing him would haunt her the rest of her life no matter where she went. Working in a desolate wilderness wouldn’t help on that score.
Two thoughts plagued her as she drifted to sleep. Never again would anyone on her watch die in a fire.
And never again would she fall for another smokejumper. I always get burned.
Chapter 2
The Boeing 737 swung side to side and bucked upward. From his middle seat in the exit row, Ryan O’Connor repositioned his baseball cap and glanced around his seatmate to peer out the window at orange air and red sun. Yep, fire season had officially kicked in. Even after seeing spectacular country in the Lower Forty-eight fighting fire, he always appreciated coming home to the Alaska Smokejumper Base in Fairbanks.
The flight between Anchorage and Fairbanks wasn’t usually this rough. It must be a strong thunderstorm. While others figuratively peeled their stomachs off the overhead panels, Ryan stayed relaxed. He’d grown accustomed to planes bouncing in wind-driven wildfires as he prepared to jump out of them.
He first noticed the tall redhead in the airport lounge in Missoula and he’d lucked out getting the seat next to hers. The leggy, blue-jeaned beauty kept her face toward the window. But there was nothing to see but smoky, orange sky.
A scent wafted from her. Eucalyptus. Smelled good, compared to the smoke he’d inhaled jumping the nasty blaze outside of Butte. Eucalyptus reminded him of his native state of California. He loved the aroma, but it was one of the worst tree fuels to fight in a wildfire.
The jet dropped. One hand flew to her chest and the other grabbed his thigh. Hot damn.
“Sorry. Not a fan of turbulence.” She yanked her hand from his leg as if she’d touched a hot stove. Blushing, her head pressed back against the seat.
He knew that voice.
“No worries,” he said, wheels spinning. “This airline hasn’t left a plane up here yet.” He longed for more turbulence. Maybe she’d land in his lap next time.
Then it hit him like a planeload of retardant. This was the firefighter he’d pulled back from the flame front in Montana.
The one Jim Dolan asked him to watch out for, as a favor. Jim didn’t say much other than he'd reassigned her to AFS on a sixty-day detail due to ‘some personal shit.’ And mentioned something about making sure she got counseling. With all the chaos that day, Ryan amazed himself he’d remembered their ten second conversation.
He’d been hiking to join his Fairbanks crew when he came upon the terror-stricken firefighter sitting in the path of a running flame front. His EMT brain recognized her paralysis as trauma and he’d had less than a nanosecond to get her out of there. He’d dropped his gear to run and grab the woman from behind and drag her into the burnt black, away from the flames. Tara. She said her name was Tara.
This presented an awkwardness he hadn’t banked on. He flipped open his instructor training manual and pretended to read. He needed time to figure a way to finesse the situation.
So far she appeared oblivious of who he was. If
