Tara swallowed a laugh. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan to pollinate. I’m here to fight fire.” She stifled a yawn. Sleep. She wanted sleep.
“Good. Keep your eyes on the flames and not the other pretty scenery. You’ll do fine. Breakfast in the mess hall starting zero five hundred. Training is in the AFS building on the other end. Here’s a map.” Rosie handed it to her along with her room key.
“Thanks, appreciate it.” Tara hoisted her packs and trudged to the second floor. She found her room in the long, darkened hallway and unlocked it.
The paneled door swung open, revealing a dark-haired woman dozing in a twin bed. Another twin bed hugged a white wall, with neatly folded sheets and blankets on the mattress. An oscillating fan hummed, circulating air around the small room.
Tara gently closed the door. Though a tan shade covered the window, Alaska’s all-night twilight lit the room enough to move around. She riffled through her pack for toothpaste and toothbrush and squeezed into the tiny bathroom. Too tired to plait her long hair into a single braid, she left it in a messy bun.
Tiptoeing to her bunk, she tripped on a book, splayed on dark linoleum. She squinted at the title: Vixens of Lust. Glancing at the softly snoring, blanketed lump, she figured this woman should be fun, judging by her reading choice.
She pulled out her phone to set her alarm. Dang it, dead battery. Too tired to search for an outlet, she’ll hear her bunkmate get up in the morning. She made the bed and flopped down, drifting off, dreaming of orange skies and blue-eyed, denim-clad firefighters; smoke-dancing and weaving around her.
And Dad. She always dreamed about Dad—reaching out in the flames.
Chapter 4
Ryan stood at the front of the training room, clipboard in hand, intent on not gawping at the out-of-breath, copper-haired woman framed in the double doorway. Sure enough, Tara Waters had landed in his Fire Refresher Training class.
Yessiree, there is a God.
He delighted in her obvious surprise to find he was her training instructor. Her chest rose and fell like a tide under a steroid moon. Usually latecomers bothered him, but not now, as he watched her blow wild red strands from her face.
“Welcome. Take a seat,” he said casually.
“Sorry I’m late,” she mumbled to the largely male room of sixty trainees. She beelined for a seat in a corner. Subtle stares followed her as she plunked down and slid her daypack to the floor. Her waist-long hair sprawled around her green Lolo Forest T-shirt like a spidery cape.
Gunnar Alexanderson, Ryan’s jump partner and co-instructor, cleared his throat and eyeballed him a hot woman alert. No female escaped Gunnar’s scrutiny. And by the looks of it, no other male’s notice either. Ryan knew where that might lead. Suddenly, he felt big-brother protective.
“Empty seat up front.” Ryan motioned with his clipboard.
“I’m good here, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.”
He moved to the front of the room. “Good morning. I’m Ryan O’Connor, your Fire Refresher Training instructor for the week.” He gestured at the brawny, blonde skyscraper standing next to him. “This is Gunnar Alexanderson, my co-conspirator. He’ll give you an introduction while I pass these around.”
Ryan moved through the room, distributing the Alaska Handy Dandy Firefighting Field Guides. He held one out to Tara. “Easier to stay awake in the front.”
She took it with a double take. “Handy Dandy? Catchy title.” Her gaze settled on his chest.
He tucked his chin and looked down at his tee, with Alaska Smokejumpers and a parachute splayed across his chest.
Vivid pools of green strayed to his, with a slight furrow between her brows. “And you’re also the training instructor.”
He couldn’t tell whether she was surprised or annoyed.
“Five bonus points.” A corner of his mouth went up and he strode back to the front.
When he turned, Tara was on her way to the seat he’d suggested.
“You’re right. Easier to stay awake up here,” she stage-whispered.
“Sure.” He feigned indifference, but it took considerable effort. When he’d agreed to keep an eye on Tara for Jim Dolan, he hadn’t counted on her being a raving beauty under all that soot and grime. He remembered those emerald eyes and how she had risked her life to save another. His neck hairs prickled as she moved closer.
She slid into a chair next to the dark-haired woman Gunnar had already described to Ryan as the “Southern Beauty.”
Ryan leaned on the side of a desk, fixing his observation anywhere but on the redhead in his proximity.
As Gunnar swaggered to center stage, Ryan resisted smirking. After years of working together, he was used to Gunnar dipping into his reservoir of charm with his unmistakable, Norwegian accent.
“Good morning,” said Gunnar, flashing his signature grin at the roomful of trainees. “Some of you are from the Lower Forty-eight states, and others are seasoned AFS firefighters returning for another season. While you’ve all had basic fire training, AFS requires a one-week refresher specific to Alaska’s unique conditions…”
Gunnar lectured for an hour. When he finished, Ryan lifted off the table and moved to the center. “My firefighting expertise is from incident commanding and jumping a fair amount of fires. Fire behavior and terrain up here differ from the Lower Forty-eight. Alaska is the largest, least populated state with a thousand ways to kill you if you aren’t careful. She’s a ruthless beauty and unforgiving if you make mistakes. One thing to remember when fighting fire in Alaska: Expect the unexpected. Firefighting up here is not for the faint-hearted.”
As Ryan continued, he avoided looking at Tara. But the harder he tried not to, the more he noticed the tilt of her head and how she cupped her chin. She had an unblinking hold on him. When he did look her way, she’d snap her gaze down to her notebook.
“Everything you
