Where There's Smoke: inspirational romantic suspense (Montana Fire Book 1) (5 page)

Back then, he had. That picture had been taken just after he’d returned from a tour in Idaho. He distinctly remembered being on his way to the Hotline later that night, hoping to bump into Kate.

“You will, Jed.” Conner walked up to him. Peered at a more recent picture of himself. “Wow, I needed a haircut.”

“You still do.”

“Kate’s not in any of these pictures.”

No, she wasn’t. Thankfully. “Jock didn’t let her jump for his crew.”

“Why not?”

For the same reason Jed couldn’t. “He couldn’t bear it if she got hurt on his watch.”

Conner fell silent. Then, “I think she deserves a chance to prove herself—not that she already hasn’t.”

Jed glanced at the pictures of the last crew—Tommy, Bo, Nutter. Jock’s square-chinned, dirty, handsome face grinned at him from the middle of the group, and a fist squeezed in his chest. He hadn’t expected to miss the guy this much, even ten months later.

The truth was, Kate could jump every bit as well as her father. The problem was that Jed couldn’t think straight with Kate in his radar. He’d nearly gotten them killed trying to prove otherwise.

He walked over to the window, stared out at the tarmac, at the planes.

“Jock was like a father to me. I can hardly breathe thinking about how he died. He was the one who got me into firefighting, taught me everything I know. I can’t believe it’s up to me to fill his shoes.”

He sighed, turned to Conner. “But that’s my job—and if I don’t figure out a way to bring this team—and this town—together by the end of the summer, then Jock Burns’s legacy will die with him.” He shook his head. “And I can’t let anything—even his daughter—stand in the way. This town needs a victory, healing. Peace. And the only way they’re going to have peace is if they know they’re safe.”

Conner sighed. “If she doesn’t train them, who will?”

“Me. I’ve trained jumpers before—in Alaska.”

And this time he’d do it right.

Chapter 3

How Kate had missed the easy, sweetly numbing atmosphere of Friday nights at the Ember Hotline Saloon and Grill.

The redolence of memory embedded the walls, from the greasy tang of bar food—burgers, O-rings, and chili fries—to the twang of the music from the ancient Wurlitzer near the dance floor. Someone had chosen a one-hit wonder.
Lay down that boogie and play that Funky Music till you die…

Pictures of every Jude County hotshot team for the past twenty years hung in eight-by-tens covering every available space on the pine-slabbed walls, along with the tools of the trade—Pulaskis, orange hard hats, and not a few autographs from former Strike Team leaders.

With another fire season simmering just across the horizon, the fresh recruits assembled in groups throughout the room, raucous and looking for a fight with the powers of nature. Meanwhile, veteran hotshots, fresh in from their winter jobs, jammed onto picnic tables shoved in the middle of the room. They drank microbrews, wolfed down Juicy Lucy burgers, and sopped curly fries through the signature Hotline concoction of mayo, chili-sauce, and fresh jalapenos.

Kate sat on a high top at the bar, nursing a malt.

After a week of refresher training, the team of veteran jumpers formed their own motley crew near the dartboard in back. A crew rife with comments on the fate of the rookies.

“Those two skinny kids will be crying for their momma the minute they see a real fire. Ten bucks says they cut and run before the final march,” Pete said, gesturing to a pair of preppy, skinny high school graduates, eyes eager for adventure. Kate had seen the type and agreed. They didn’t have the look.

“How about those yahoos,” Reuben said. “They’re sitting with my cousin Ned from Minnesota.”

Kate spotted Ned easily—younger than Reuben by a few years, he bore the handsome, rangy looks of his cousin, with the dark brown eyes and dark brown curly hair. Of the other two, one wore his dark-as-night hair long, curly, pulled back in a knot and bore the look of someone who knew his way around trouble. Tucker Newman, also from Minnesota, if she remembered the list correctly.

“The tough one—he looks like a snowboarder filling in for the off-season,” Reuben said. “The other—CJ—he’s Montana ranch boy all the way.”

CJ ate his fries, eyes down, wearing a Stetson, his dark blond hair hinting out from the back. His black T-shirt bunched around his biceps, either a bruise or a tattoo peeking out on the upper arm. Yeah, he had rodeo written all over him.

“His uncle Rafe used to ride bulls professionally,” Reuben added, eyeing the bull’s-eye before letting a dart fly.

Gilly Priest came sauntering into the bar and slid on a stool. Their pilot had shed her usual aviator shades and JCWF hat in favor of a black tank and a pair of jeans. Petite and tough, Gilly considered herself part of the team—and rightly so. Enough to keep a cool distance from the guys during her off-hours. Kate noticed, however, Reuben’s eyes trail over her a moment longer than he might for, say, Pete.

Oh, Reuben.
Kate longed to warn him off. Gilly, too, had grown up in Ember and knew better than to fall for smokejumpers. Especially the brooding tough guys who had a story behind their devastating blue eyes.

“I think ‘Bambi’ over there is going to fall asleep in her hamburger,” Gilly said.

Kate followed Gilly’s gesture to one of the few female recruits, curvy, but with enough muscle on her to survive. Maybe. ‘Bambi’s’ head rested on her hand, eyes closed, her other hand wrapped around her half-eaten bison burger. Dressed in clean green pants and a T-shirt, her brown hair pulled back in a braid, the girl looked as if she’d just trekked in after a ten-mile hike with a full pack.

“That’s Hannah Butcher,” Kate said.

“Oh, right,” Gilly said. “Her sister was married to Nutter.”

A moment of silence while everyone settled into comprehension. A local girl picking up the family mantle.

“I remember being that exhausted after my first week in rookie training.” Kate said, taking another sip of her malt.

“I dunno,” Pete said, leaning against the bar. “Jed’s training them like a man possessed. Two workouts every day, spot tests on the classroom lessons, and I swear they’ve run to the border and back. Today they did their first ninety-minute march, full packs. Three bailed after an hour. I don’t know how the rest did—I couldn’t watch.”

She could. In fact, after she’d finished her own workout, showered, and taken a quick stop at Overhead to check out the conditions, she’d driven up to her father’s old Airstream camper, located on a bluff overlooking the fire camp, to watch the fun.

“Five more dropped out by the end,” she said. “And Jed’s not giving second chances.”

“Ouch,” Reuben said from his position by the dartboard. “At this rate, we’ll have a skeleton crew.”

Exactly. Kate knew the brutal pain of lugging one hundred pounds for three miles and didn’t envy the trainees, especially in the extraordinary ninety-degree heat that turned their Montana base into a fry pan.

But she might have doused them with cold water, shoved them into the truck, and given them a second chance instead of handing them their walking papers. If she remembered right, she hadn’t made that first march either.

“I can’t believe bruiser over there didn’t make it,” Conner said, gesturing to a large dark-haired bull of a man in the corner. “He’s a sawyer for the Redding Shots, name’s Gary.” The big man sat alone at a table in the corner, silent, nursing a brew, another glass empty, his chili fries mostly uneaten. He stared vacantly out the window, as if stunned.

Well, Jed did that to a person. Left their head spinning and their hopes decimated.

Blazin’ Kate is the poster child for risk. She’s going to get people hurt trying to prove that she’s just as good as her father.

His words had twisted through her brain all week, from her up-at-dawn eight-mile run through PT with the team. It poked at her through their refresher training on landing rolls, letdowns, suit-up practice, and emergency aircraft techniques. She’d mulled it through even as she hung out in the loft repairing parachutes.

If anyone were trying to prove himself, it was Jed.

“I still don’t understand why Jed got so lathered up when you saved Pete’s life,” Gilly said, turning to Kate. “Pete would have made an ugly smear all over our pretty landing zone.”

“Hey.” But Pete grinned and glanced at Kate. “She’s my hero.”

“You would have done the same thing,” she said. “We got lucky.”

“Anytime you need saving, I’m your man.” Pete winked and walked over to Reuben.

Gilly’s gaze followed him, then landed on Reuben. Oh, well then...

In a second she returned it to Kate and cut her voice low. “So, listen. I know you and I know Jed, and I’ve been thinking about the most recent Great Fight and your assertion that you’re ‘over’ him.” Gilly added finger quotes for emphasis. “And I think you’re not coming clean with your BFF.” She leaned in close, her blue eyes shining. “What aren’t you telling me? After all those years of batting your eyes at Big Jed Ransom, something happened that you’re not telling me, didn’t it?”

And just like that, heat rushed to Kate’s face, betraying her.

Gilly leaned back, mouth agape. “No—”

“Shh. It wasn’t like that. We...nothing happened. Not really.”

“Please. I can’t remember a day when you didn’t pine for Jed Ransom, not since the day he showed up and your daddy decided to make him his protégé.”

“Dad liked him way too much,” Kate said, her mind so easily conjuring up Jed as a lanky, broad-shouldered seventeen-year-old, dark hair combed Elvis style, wide-eyed and eager to make the Jude County hotshot team. He’d shown up on the doorstep of the Airstream, looking for Jock Burns, and when he found him, stuck to him like he wanted to be adopted.

“He was always a little overprotective of you. Poor Jed probably thought he was your brother instead of a hot male in the company of a girl who wanted to give him her heart. Either that or Jock threatened his life if he even looked at you with anything but a protective eye.”

Kate nodded, the memories sweet. “Remember that time he took my dad’s pickup?”

“When Jed tracked us down fifteen miles into the Kootenai? Oh, he was steamed. He’d just come back from some big fire in Alaska, and he acted like you were supposed to be waiting for him. As if.”

Kate offered a weak smile.
As if.
Miraculously, she managed to tame the memories before they surfaced. The feel of Jed’s hand on the small of her back, the other on her cheek, the look in his devastating eyes when his gaze traced her face.

The feel of his mouth brushing her skin.

I never blamed you.

Oh, yes he did.

She took a sip of her malt, let the chill into her bones.

“Well, I think he might regret panicking and accusing you of tainting the rookies with your sense of epic heroism.” Gilly glanced around the room at the tired, despondent recruits. “I think they might need a healthy dose.”

The music changed to the Jackson 5, “I Want You Back.”
Oh baby all I need is one more chance.

“And oh my, look who just walked in.” Gilly nodded toward the door just as Jed stepped inside.

He hadn’t shaved, giving himself over to a smattering of dark whiskers across his chin, but looked freshly showered, his hair shiny and slicked back, wearing a crisp white T-shirt and faded jeans, flip-flops. He shoved his hands into his pockets, his jaw tight as he surveyed the room, apparently friendless.

“Invite him over here,” Gilly said.

“No—”

But her heart went out to him just a smidgen when she saw him slide onto a high-top chair, away from the crowd.

Stay out of my way.

“We nearly died together.”

She didn’t know why—or how—the words slipped out. But seeing him sitting there, his biceps stretching the sleeves of his shirt, looking worn and not a little lonely, she could practically feel him tremble in her arms despite the courage he’d attempted in his voice.
We’re going to live, Kate, I promise.

“What—?” Gilly cut through her memory. “Did you say you nearly
died
together?”

Kate played with the straw in her malt. Nodded. “It was my rookie year, up in Alaska.”

“Oh, I remember. Jock was so angry when you joined the Midnight Sun Jumpers.”

“Little did I know that Jed was on the team.”

Gilly’s eyes widened. “What? Why did you never tell me?”

Kate looked away.

“Oh, Kate.” Gilly slid her hand to touch Kate’s arm. “What happened?”

She didn’t know where to start. Looked at Jed.

He picked at his curly fries. Had barely touched his beer, now sweating on the counter.

We danced. We kissed. And then he nearly died trying to save my life.

“About my fifth jump of the season, we were called in to knock down a fire on the Porcupine River, north of the Yukon. Jed was my jump partner.”

She saw it then, about two acres of flame crawling toward higher land. Their LZ—landing zone—surrounded by tall pines and huge boulders and, of course, the river. The tunnel of smoke to the east, the smell of smoke faint, a hint of danger.