Where There's Smoke: inspirational romantic suspense (Montana Fire Book 1) (22 page)

“This is it, gents—and ladies.”

Jed nodded at his team, his gaze landing on Hannah and Kate, leaning against the table in the back of the room where the maps of the Kootenai National Forest denoted the latest fire call, a flare up in Powder Canyon. He’d spent the better part of the last fifteen minutes mapping out the area, comparing the terrain with the Doppler, the infrared geo-satellite images, and the latest weather reports.

“This is the one we’ve been training for. We’re dropping into ten acres of heavy black spruce, one-hundred percent active and rolling through a canyon toward an RV park, a resort, and not a few fishing lodges. Air Attack will be supporting us with at least one Air Tanker. We’ll roll one load of jumpers, the second will stand by.”

Jed scanned his clipboard, debating just a moment before he focused on the list. He read off Kate’s name without inflection, right after his.

Some habits he couldn’t break.

“Second load, wait for my order.” Jed tucked the clipboard back on the duty wall, next to the roster, the hours logged, along with the names and status of the hotshots. He told Miles to put the shots on standby for possible mop-up, if not deployment for attack. But with the route into the fire at least two hours by camp road, the jumpers had a better chance of cutting off the fire before it got out of hand.

“Wheels up in fifteen,” he said, and the crew dispersed. He caught Conner by the arm. “Bring your drone,” he said. “This is a good fire to give it a try.”

“Good idea, Boss.”

Conner’s newest invention—a fire drone—could fly over the fire and, in the right conditions, measure fuels, wind speed, and fire behavior, give them more eyes, a better battle strategy.

Twenty minutes later, Gilly lifted them off, and Jed positioned himself with his map, binoculars, and radio in the front of the plane, next to Cliff O’Dell, again spotting for them. The sun hung in the sky, blotted by a few bulbous, angry gray clouds, more bluster than potency. He leaned back, tried not to glance at Kate, thinking through his plan of fire attack.

She’d shown up for roll call this morning as if they hadn’t had a spinout yesterday—all smiles,
Yes, Sir
s and
Right Away, Boss
, and it had him unbalanced.

He’d expected ire, a cold shoulder, and, at the very least, a bucking of his leadership when he didn’t move her up to squad boss for the jump.

Instead, she sat in the back of the plane next to Hannah, shouting into her ear, although her words didn’t carry to his position. Hannah laughed, Kate smiled, and it turned the knife in his chest.

You never had her, not really. But you might, if you make room for miracles.

Jed looked out the window at the blanket of black spruce, lodgepole pine, and the rolling mountains and canyons, the glacier rivulets that scarred the land. The hum of the prop wash filled his ears.

A tap on his arm and Cliff pointed into the canyon to a deep, gray-blue wall of frothy smoke, rolling over itself as it bubbled up from tongues of flame. Jed guesstimated the flame lengths at maybe twenty to thirty feet at the head, making a run toward a river at the base of a canyon.

The plane offered him a decent view of the ten acres, the way the fire settled into a crevice at the bottom of the canyon along a seasonal creek bed to the east, rising from the cauldron to lick up the edges toward a towering western ridge. A hiking trail ran across the top edge of the ridge, a feeble but possible fire break if they couldn’t get the blaze to calm down before it climbed the mountain.

By the way the wind was blowing down the canyon, away from the ridge, it seemed the smarter attack was on the eastern side, to lay down retardant against the dry creek bed. They could use it as a boundary, snuff out any spurs, and drive the fire toward the river. Jed made a mental note to suggest it to Air Attack.

“Hold on to your reserves!” Cliff yelled and opened the jump door. He had already clipped into the overhead line and now stuck his head into the slipstream, searching for a jump site.

Cliff ducked his head back in. “You’ve got your work cut out for you!” he shouted to Jed. “If you can stop it along the riverbed, you have a chance of containing it in the canyon. Keep an eye on the winds. This fire is creating its own weather.” He leaned back out and dropped streamers, watching as two got sucked into the blackened smoke.

The plane jostled against the turbulent wind currents, a product of flying through the boiling ash. Cliff dropped two more streamers and watched as they landed in a clearing to the north of the canyon. He shouted to Jed, showed him the landing zone, and Jed nodded. About a hundred yards from the fire, it felt a little close for comfort, especially with the wind driving against them. But it seemed the cleanest drop spot available.

Jed gave a quick glance at his team—Riley and Hannah appeared a little white-faced. CJ, however, grinned, as did Conner and Pete. Pete reminded him, sometimes, of Kate—too eager to jump, to fly into the flames.

Tucker, for all his bravado, seemed grim faced.

Jed gave them a thumbs-up, sat down in the door, and waited for the tap. The flames bubbled up below him, and not for the first time he wondered just why he thought it might be a good idea to jump into what seemed like a boiling cauldron of fire for a living.

He’d had a good job as a crew boss for the Hotshots. Perhaps he’d taken the smokejumping position because he, too, had something to prove. Like today—keeping his crew safe.

Cliff tapped his shoulder and Jed launched. The exhilaration hit him, a gasp, tugging at his breath. Then the jerk, and his chute deployed, filled, and he floated.

The smoke found his nose as he grabbed his toggles, steered clear of the fire, over a stand of towering spruce, and into the open.

He landed hard, rolled, and popped up just in time to see CJ on his tail, landing in a graceful roll, used to hitting the dirt from his bull riding days. Behind him floated Conner, then Riley.

Jed removed his gear, shucked off his jumpsuit, and looked up to see Pete, then Tucker, who overshot the drop, nearly hit a tree, and managed to land dangerously close to the edge of the blaze. He came running, dragging up his chute.

Then Hannah, floating down as if she had wings. Her landing, however, had him wincing, one eye closed, and he met Conner’s grimace.

Of course Kate landed with a grace that shamed them all. He radioed up to Gilly and she came around, Cliff dropping out their gear.

The fire packs and five-gallon container of water drifted from the heavens.

Jed spread the map out, gestured his team in. “Once Pete and CJ unpack the cargo, we’ll fortify the tail, then spread out along the flanks.” In his head, he’d already made a plan, and now distributed the assignments without a glance at Conner.
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.

“Kate, I need you and Hannah to hustle up along the ridge on lookout. We’ll head up the left flank and call in a drop along the riverbed, try and put down the fire along the eastern flank.”

He expected an argument, even a rolling of the eyes at his decision to send Kate into the safer area, but she simply began stepping out of her jumpsuit, arranging her personal gear bag. He handed her a radio. “Conner and I will stay here at the tail, make sure it stays tamed, and see if we can get his toy working. Keep a weather eye on the fire and call in any wind shifts.”

For the first time since she’d arrived, Kate met his eyes. “No problem, Boss.”

No problem?

“Be careful.” He couldn’t help it.

She nodded, offered him the barest grin. “Always. C’mon, Hannah.”

Always
?

He watched her bug out, almost at a jog, her Pulaski over her shoulder, Hannah on her tail.

No, really, be careful.
He barely suppressed the urge to run after her.

The rest of their gear had landed around the zone, and he confirmed it on the radio, said good-bye to Gilly. “Stand by for the second crew.”

Conner had unpacked his drone, started assembling the remote airplane, about two feet long with a detachable wing assembly. Jed stood over him. “How does this thing work?”

Conner picked it up, turned it over. “This camera will record the heat index and wind speeds and give us a look at the fire.” He pointed to his iPad mini. “It’ll display the results here.”

Pete appeared, a chainsaw over his shoulder, on his way to the left flank. “Who’s my swamper?”

“CJ, Riley, and Tucker will work on the scratch lines. The wind is with us—let’s dig out a line and start a burnout to the tail—the black will keep it from blowing back. Conner, get that thing up, and then report what you see. Guys—on me, we need to shore up the tail.”

The team dug into the fifty feet of scratch line at the tail, on the far edge of their jump zone. Behind them, the fire snapped and popped, a spruce occasionally torching deep in the body of the fire, black smoke boiling up in an angry black finger. The air simmered with the stench of burning resin.

Conner’s drone lifted off over the fire, and Jed couldn’t help but watch over Conner’s shoulder the close-up, aerial view of the blaze. Mostly black smoke, but Conner’s iPad came alive with readings.

Jed lifted his binoculars to see if he could spot Kate on the ridge, but a quick scan revealed nothing.

He didn’t want to pray, but the urge welled inside him. Desperation more than faith in God to keep Kate safe.

But he’d sent her clear of the fire, to watch. He’d pay for it later but didn’t care.

“Air Attack, this is Ransom. Come in.”

“Ransom, this is Air Attack.” Neil “Beck” Beckett, piloting the OV-10 Bronco, a guide plane for the Lockheed Hercules 130, their biggest tanker.

“How far out is our load of mud?”

“Standby, Ransom.”

Longest ten seconds of his life as he waited. “The fire is in sight. I’ll run a practice run, then send the tanker in along the creek bed. We’ve got three loads—we’ll drop them all then send in for more if we need them.”

Jed watched as Beck dove in along the canyon, tracing a route for the big tanker.

A few minutes later the C-130 feathered in a load of orange along the eastern flank.

Steam rose to combine with the gray-black clouds.

Beck came back on the line. “It looks like the fire’s about a half mile from the river. You might need a couple full loads.”

No doubt.

“We’ll circle around and give you another drop.”

“Roger that.”

The plane disappeared in the smoke.

“Burns, Ransom.” Kate’s voice over the walkie.

“Ransom, Burns. Go ahead.”

“We’re on top of the ridge, about a half mile from the head. Flame lengths are about thirty feet, and the fire’s eating away toward the river. But the wind is shifting, Jed. I can feel the air tremble. My gut is that the head is about to blow up.”

“Get higher,” he said to Conner. “See if you can give me a decent picture.” He peered at the screen as the drone rose, but smoke obscured the view.

Conner pointed to the wind chart. “Like Gilly said, it’s making its own weather. The wind is shifting.”

Jed toggled the radio. “Can you head back, Kate?”

“I think that’s a negative. The fire is climbing up the ridge. But it’s slow—and if we can get a tanker in here, it’ll put down.”

No panic in her voice, but he stepped back, lifted his binoculars again, scanned the ridge. “Get out your mirror—I want to see where you are.”

“Roger that.”

To the east, the tanker sprayed another load along the smoking fire.

“Pete, I hope you’re down there, reinforcing that drop.”

“Roger that, Boss,” Pete said. “She’s whimpering, but we’re on it.”

Jed was still scanning the horizon with his glass. There—a wink of light, and he found her.

“Got you, Kate.” But before she could answer, smoke obscured his vision.

And then he felt it.

As if a hand rolled in, taking the form of a cloud, shifting the air around him. In a breath that scattered embers and flame into the black around him, it swept across the canyon from the east, picking up speed, curling in a wave up the ridge.

Driving the fire right toward Kate.

“Kate! Get out of there! The wind has shifted. The fire is headed right for you.”

Silence.

“Kate?”

“Roger that. We’re heading over the ridge and down to the river.”

Yes. Good thinking, Kate.

He searched for them again, then turned to Conner. “Find them.”

Chapter 10

No need to scare Hannah.

Or herself.

Because Kate could handle this. She’d been following her instincts for the past twenty minutes, across the ridge, an eye on the fire, calculating the distance to the river below, keeping her voice low and calm as embers shot over their heads from the flames chewing up the ridge some two hundred yards below.

They had plenty of time before the fire roared up the ridge.

However, the safety of the river seemed ominously far away. She’d felt it in her gut, the hunger of the fire as she’d climbed the backside of the ridge. With the dark, brooding thunderclouds overhead, she recognized fire weather in the making, the kind that created a storm, sent a blaze flooding through a forest at a mile a minute.