He motioned her to go ahead of him, inhaling eucalyptus as he followed behind her. I had my hands on this woman. Granted, not in a desirable way, but the fresh thought stirred his insides.
Once inside the terminal he fell into step beside her. “First time in Fairbanks?”
“Yes, but wish I could have seen the mountains as we flew in.”
“The smoke comes and goes. It’ll clear eventually.” He took out his cell phone and tapped a text. His phone chimed a notification. “AFS runs shuttles between Fort Wainwright and the airport during fire season. Mel is on his way. He’s our shuttle guy.”
Ryan led her toward baggage claim, and he noted her sidelong glances as she walked alongside him.
“Are you originally from Alaska?” she asked.
“Nope. California transplant.”
“Forest Service?”
“No, BLM. Fire is organized differently here. We have six state and federal agencies under one coordination unit.”
“How’s Alaska’s fire situation?” She pulled out her cell and powered it on.
He checked the updated situation report on his phone. “Forty-nine thousand lightning strikes in the last four days. It’s only the first of June, so it will be an action-packed fire season.”
Her chin dropped. “No way. That seems excessive.”
“Alaska’s a big place.” He stopped walking and held his phone out to her.
“Incredible.” Her phone vibrated and she pulled it from her back pocket.
His eyes darted sideways to her phone screen, catching a text from someone named Katy:
Howz Alaska? Any hot guyz up there?
Hot guys? Is she in the market for one? He blinked and resumed walking, forcing his eyes straight ahead.
Smokejumpers rarely had time for anything but fire during a busy season. He’d do what Jim Dolan asked—keep an eye on Tara Waters this week in his training class and hook her up with counseling. After that, he’d be back on jump status, fighting fire.
As they reached baggage claim and waited for the conveyor belt to move, he knew one thing for certain: His training class was about to become a whole lot more interesting.
Chapter 3
Tara didn’t have an opinion about Alaska. The smoke was so thick flying in, she had missed out on the dazzling scenery everyone raved about. And that turbulent flight…her friends had always razzed her about her fear of flying because she would rather face a wall of flame than stuff herself in a metal tube hurtling through the air.
But O’Connor was spot on. The plane had landed safely.
She stood next to him at baggage claim, pretending to study her phone. She’d shared a flight to Fairbanks with the person who’d dragged her insubordinate ass away from the Copper Peak Fire. The freakiness of being on the same flight and sitting next to him nuked her brain.
No words could describe it. Mortified. No, embarrassed. Worse. Humiliated for failing to save a life and not self-rescuing. She was grateful he’d helped her, but she wanted him to know she wasn’t helpless. She’d worked hard to build her reputation in fire and didn’t want to be thought of as weak.
She felt compelled to explain. “Listen, the reason I—"
An obnoxious buzzer cut her off and rubber flaps separated at the baggage opening, spitting bags onto the serpentine conveyor belt. O’Connor obviously hadn’t heard her as he moved to claim his pack.
Bad timing. She’d explain later. As she waited for her pack to appear, her phone notified her of another text from Katy:
Saw Travis at Beer & Billiards after Copper Peak. Told him you were fighting fire in Alaska. He said you’ll like it up there.
Tara texted back:
Tell McGuire smokejumpers in Alaska are HOT, on and off the fire and I’ve already met one. Make him think I’ve moved on. Don’t say why I’m reassigned here.
The conveyor delivered her pack and she lifted it to her shoulder, shoving aside her annoyance at Katy’s mention of her ex.
O’Connor grabbed his pack and lifted his baseball cap, revealing sun tinged, brown hair. Combing his medium-length locks back repeatedly with his fingers, he looked to be taming an outgrown cut.
“Our ride is here.” He motioned to the doors leading out to ground transportation.
She was ogling him and her skin heated. From the moment she had recognized him, she was knocked back. This was how he normally looked? A feast for the eyes. Angular, tanned face; muscled and taller than most. The standard unisex garb of hardhat, blackened yellows, and green Nomex pants, plus layers of grime and sweat made everyone look alike on the fireline. What a difference a shower made.
The doors swung open and a warm, smoky breeze blew tendrils from Tara’s face. Her hair stunk less from smoke, after several shampoos and rubbing in a few drops of eucalyptus essential oil. The stuff seemed to work.
O’Connor called out to a short, cowboy skinny guy with a long gray mullet, topped with a Linsey Helicopters baseball cap. “Melbourne, my man, good to see you.”
Mel stood grinning next to the white box van with an open rear door. “Dances-With-Smoke, how was the Lower Forty-eight?” He high-fived O’Connor and rolled his toothpick to the other side of his mustache.
“Still burning. Zombie ordered me back for refresher training.” Ryan let Mel toss his packs in the van.
“Bosses. Can’t live with ‘em…” Mel grinned. “…can’t stand ‘em. Where’s your jump crew?”
“They took a later flight. I found this stray instead.” He flashed a smile at Tara that warmed her as she stood next to the van, a pack slung on each shoulder.
Mel straightened and motioned at Tara’s pack. “Forest Service brat?”
“Sure am.” Tara eyed the BLM logo on the driver’s side door, a blue and green triangle of a tranquil mountain scene with a stream running through it. Strange not to see the familiar yellow and green Forest Service conifer logo.
“This is
