Where There's Smoke: inspirational romantic suspense (Montana Fire Book 1) (20 page)

The fist closed over her heart, squeezed.

“Embracing that would take real courage, wouldn’t it, Kate?” His eyes glistened. “And you just don’t have the guts to face
that
kind of risk, do you? A home, a family. And the scariest thing of all—a happy ending.”

And there it was. The rawness of everything he wanted, right there in his eyes—a home, a family. Everything he’d never gotten but after all these years was still holding out hope for.

With her.

The vision reached out, right down to her soul, and shook her.

Yeah, maybe she
was
afraid. Because as much as fire scared her, she understood it, even though it could turn on her.

It was safer to face the dragon she knew than to stand there with her heart in her hands, handing it over for Jed to crush.

Again.

She had no reserve chute for that scenario.

But apparently, he wasn’t finished. “You talk about having faith—you used to have it, Kate. You were the girl who made me look up into the heavens and believe there was Someone looking back. I so envied you. You and your Dad had this faith and courage, and I went over to your place not only to see you but because you and Jock made me believe in God’s protection, His providence. Sheesh—you had me practically convinced. And when you sang after the fire in Alaska, I thought—yeah. God was there. He was watching over us. And then you just walked away. You just turned your back on all of us, including God.”

The words boiled up in her chest, came out in a low hiss. “I didn’t leave God, Jed. He left
me
. I prayed and prayed that you’d live. And it worked—you lived. And then you pushed me away. And Dad—I thought he’d be proud of me. But no—he looked at me and said God wasn’t my parachute. And it’s true, because then...even God left me. Alone. To burn on the hill in Idaho. So yeah, it’s just me, Jed. Just me. Because, guess what—you told me to Get. Out. Of. Your. Life!”

“I lied!” His voice rose, trembling, and beyond him, she saw a few heads turn. But he seemed past caring. “I was freakin’ terrified. We both nearly died, and I couldn’t let that happen again—”

“Well, you were pretty convincing. And what was I supposed to do? You—my dad. Both of the men I—” She cut her words off. “You both wanted me to quit. You both made me
choose
. So I did.”

“And do you blame us?” His eyes blazed. “Of
course
I don’t want you to jump. How insane is it to love someone you know could die? But I do anyway, because I’m not stupid enough to think that I’m going to stop you. And I know that I jump to—but I’m sorry, I can’t get it out of my head that one of these days your chute isn’t going to open, or you’re going to blow into a flare-up, or maybe just get trapped again, and this time, burn to death. And those thoughts can paralyze me. I’m just holding onto the wild, desperate—yeah, okay, faith—that you won’t get hurt. That you’ll be smart out there, and that by some grace that I don’t deserve, you’ll come back to me.”

He looked away then, shook his head. Back to her, his eyes wet. “Except, clearly, I’m lying to myself, because I get it now—you’ll never really belong to me as long as you belong to fire.”

She wiped her cheek and her voice dropped, thin. “You
don’t
get it, Jed. Mom broke him. I heard him crying—my dad
crying
—in his bunk. And I vowed I’d never let someone destroy me like that.”

“So you made smokejumping your god, your lover, your life. And there’s no room in there for me or any future we hoped to have.”

“I didn’t make you any promises, Jed.”

“No, you didn’t. I should have noticed that, but maybe I’m like my dad in that way, because I believe too hard in something that will never happen. You might call that faith, but I call it being a fool.”

He turned, and she thought he was going to walk away. But then he stopped. “And for the record—I could probably come to accept you fighting fire if I knew you could see that you had a very good reason to stay alive.”

She stood, stunned, holding her empty lemonade cup, his words poisoning her to stillness.

He cut through the crowd, managing a stiff smile to a few recruits, then stalked out to the parking lot.

She watched him pull out and leave the party in a cloud of dust and gravel.

Jed sat on an Adirondack chair on the back deck of his house, holding a Coke, tracing the misty trail of the Milky Way, swallowing back the burn in his throat, reliving every single word, every nuance of their fight.

“Jed—listen to me—I love you—I think you know that. But—
”

And now he wanted to pound his fist against something, or better yet, his head, maybe knock free the foolish thought that she might, yes, stay here and build a life—with him.

He knew better. Oh, he knew much, much better.

“Jed—what do you want from me? I’ve never lied to you, never made you think that I could be the girl who would settle down. You see where I live—I’m a rental-house, Airstream-camper, jump-in-my-Jeep-and-drive-to-the-next-great-fire kind of girl.”

He took another drink and winced. He’d turned out
exactly
like his dad. Gambling, throwing faith after something that could never happen.

He heard the front door open, steps across the house, into the kitchen. Then the squeal of the screen door and the deck boards groaning.

Conner settled in on the chair beside him. Unlaced his boots.

Silence.

“How much did you hear?”

“Let’s see. Everything from you blaming Kate for your lack of faith to telling her that she was a fool for doing what she loves. Calling her afraid. And then there was the part where you nearly blew out a tire driving away. Pretty exciting evening, I have to say.”

“You can leave.”

“Mmmhmm. Nope. Because misery loves company.” He leaned back, staring at the sky, toeing off his boots. “And, like you, I just have my empty, lonely trailer to go home to, and I’d rather sit here with you and try and figure out why the women we love don’t want us.”

Oh.

“Although, in your case, I have some idea.”

Jed shot him a look. Conner didn’t spare him a glance.

They fell silent, the sounds of the night weaving around them—the wind across the tall grasses, the scent of lupine and wild roses, and far away the hum of some band at the Hotline, the after-party kicking up for the graduates.

“She loves fire more than me. What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Nothing. Let her do her job. Which, by the way, you’ll have to start doing if you want to be a leader instead of a lovesick boy.”

“Hey—!”

“I didn’t see you tackling Pete when the slurry rained down on us. Just sayin’”

“She could have gotten hurt.”

“Yes. She could have, and yes, you can protect her as a teammate. But you can’t save her from chance—accidents happen on a fire line. It’s unpredictable.”

“Unless you stay one step ahead.”

“It’s going to catch up with you, bro.”

Like it did Jock. Jed sighed. “I know. You only have to be unlucky once. I wish I could get her to see that.”

“You thought that you could win Kate’s heart, make her choose you over smokejumping?”

“No. Or yes. I don’t know. I
do
know that I’m done trying to protect her. I was a fool to think I could change her, show her she doesn’t have to be afraid to—”

“Love you? Because that’s what this is about, isn’t it? Just like her mom, you’re asking her to choose.”

“I’m just trying to protect her from herself.”

“Wow. I knew you thought highly of yourself, but—”

“Seriously, you can leave.”

“Bro, think about it. Let’s say that she does choose you. Is that truly loving her?”

“If it keeps her alive.”

“So love is making someone do what you want?”

“I didn’t ask her to quit!”

“She’s not stupid.”

He closed his eyes. “Fine. Okay. Someday, maybe. But that’s a long way off—”

“You hovering all the way to the bitter end. And tell me how that would work out for the both of you.”

Jed finished off his Coke. Crushed the can. “Okay, Romeo, tell me what to do.”

“Trust me, if I had the answers, I wouldn’t be sitting here on your deck with you. I’d be...” He sighed. “Well, not here.”

Jed glanced at him, saw Conner’s face had hardened into a dark glower.

“But I think love has to do a little bit with faith,” Conner finally said.

“Give it a rest already.”

“Hear me out. Faith that the other person wants to be with you, and that if you let them go a little bit, you leave room for surprises. For that moment when everything you hoped for is realized—and it had nothing to do with you arranging it, or controlling it, or planning it out, but trusting in that magic that happens when we let go and love takes over. That’s faith—leaving room for miracles.”

“I don’t believe in miracles.”

“Well, there’s your problem. You rule out the impossible, and all that’s left is you trying to figure it out. That’s way too much responsibility. You need to give God the chance to show up.”

“And if He doesn’t?”

“I think, if you’re honest, God’s already shown you that He will.”

Jed drummed his fingers on his chair.

“Faith believes that God is on our side, every time, all the time, and that yes, He will show up,” Conner said.

“He might be on your side. But not for guys like me. We gotta work for every break we get.”

“Because you’re not enough?”

Jed lifted a shoulder. “I’m not whining. I’m just stating a truth. I’ve always been in second place. I wasn’t enough for my father to quit gambling, my uncle to quit drinking. Second always to something bigger, something that could destroy them...Yeah, it all adds up to me being nothing to any of them. And that’s the problem.
F
aith assumes that someone is looking out for you and wants the best for you. Faith is the expectation that someone else is reaching back. But if you are always less than, if you’re nothing, then why would anyone want to reach for you? The truth is
y
ou have to believe in God’s love for you if you want to have faith, and there’s just no reason for God to love me.”

And wow, he didn’t realize how much his chest would ache with those words.

Conner shook his head. “You’ve got the same virus Kate has—believing you have to prove yourself to God in order for Him to love you. It’s done been proven, pal. God loves you enough to
already
save you. You just have to believe it, want it, embrace it.”

The acid filled his throat. “God hasn’t shown up in my life since the day He rescued me and Kate from the fire. Believe me, I’ve looked...I’m nothing to Him.”

Jed tossed his Coke can in a perfect arc to the trash bin just outside the deck. It hit and careened off into the grass.

“Jock didn’t think you were nothing—in fact, he thought you were more than enough,” Conner said, getting up to fetch the Coke can. He dropped it in the trash. “Have you ever stopped to wonder why he sent you to Alaska to train Kate all those years ago?”

“Because he wanted me to stop her.”

Conner gave a laugh that conveyed no humor. “Please. He knew her better than you did. Do you think, for one moment, he harbored the serious thought that she’d quit?”

“He asked her to stop jumping.”

“So did you. Did you expect a yes?”

“I—” No...Actually. And that hit him, hard. He drew in a breath. “He just wanted her to know he loved her, that he wanted her to be careful.”

“And if my only daughter was going to do something so dangerous she might die, I’d handpick the person to train her. And if that person was in love with her, all the better to look out for her.”

He winced. “I failed him.”

“Hmmm. I thought you saved her life.”

“She wouldn’t have been there if I hadn’t passed her in the first place.”

Conner came back onto the deck, leaned against the railing, arms akimbo.

“Right.
That
season. But imagine the next season, she’s back, and this time, you’re not around. And maybe she does fine, but you can’t draw a fire line around her, expecting to keep her safe forever. She
is
her father’s daughter. Jock sent the one person to her who loved her as much as he did. That he knew would do the best for her—train her well, watch her back. He had faith in you and in your love for her. And here’s a question for you—even though it didn’t turn out like you’d hoped, even though she walked away from you, have you ever stopped thinking about her? For one day?”

Conner had him there.

“And Jock—he prayed for her, he asked about her. I know that he even sent a booster team in to Idaho to help a couple summers ago—I was on it. So, even though it seemed to her that you two didn’t care, that was the farthest thing from the truth.”

Jed nodded.

“You might consider that our perspective on our circumstances is a poor indicator of the bigger picture. She is not nothing to you. You are not nothing to God.”