Where There's Smoke: inspirational romantic suspense (Montana Fire Book 1) (3 page)

Look who was a little panicked. Interesting.

Kate couldn’t help it. “Hey, Jed.”

His blue eyes narrowed. Then, as quiet as smoke, he leaned forward and whispered in her ear, the heat of his breath on her skin. “You just don’t know when to quit, do you?”

Actually...

He kept his voice low, however, for her ears only. “Well, I do. Kate Burns...pack your bags. You’re fired.”

Jed just needed a breath. A moment to get somewhere to press his hand to his chest, move his heart back into place, restart it.

To erase from his brain the sight of the woman he loved cutting away her parachute and free-falling to save a man twice her size.

Dumb, stupid, amazing luck—Kate lived on it. But one day her faith in luck, or God, or whatever propelled her to live life on the cusp of death, would run out. And he couldn’t bear to watch.

“You can’t fire me!” Her voice chased him down, and he didn’t have to turn around to see her expression. Her gray-green eyes on fire, her dark red hair pulled back in a lush ponytail, the jumpsuit effectively hiding her curves, along with the muscle cultivated from years of jumping out of airplanes, fighting fires. Tough, brave and currently angry enough to take him apart, right here, in front of the entire town of Ember.

Don’t react.
Not with the congregation—widows, children, his fellow hotshots and jumpers—still within earshot, on hand to remember the seven smokejumpers who’d lost their lives precisely because of this kind of irresponsible, rash bravado.

The kind of bravado that Kate embodied. Clearly, it ran in the family, from Jock right down into the veins of his redheaded, hotshot daughter. No one but Jed had any idea the trouble she could cause.

The crowd parted for him as if he might be combustible.

“You can’t fire me for saving Pete’s life! That’s crazy!”

Clearly ignoring his blatant hint that he didn’t want to discuss it, she was catching up fast, even while dragging her parachute and gear. Despite the fact that she couldn’t be more than one-hundred-twenty pounds soaking wet, she possessed grit that made packing out eighty-five pounds for miles through charred and desolate forest seem like a stroll through the park.

How he would love to round on her and tell her exactly what kind of
crazy
she embodied. But that would hardly win him any friends, not after her spectacular save.

What Ember didn’t know was that kind of bravado could be infectious—especially for recruits—and suddenly he’d have a mess of impulsive alpha-jumpers trying to prove themselves up to Kate’s standards.

And die trying.

Hadn’t they all suffered enough?

“Jed!” He felt a hard tug on his arm. “Don’t walk away from me!”

Fine. He stopped short so that she nearly slammed into him. But she righted herself, still quick on her feet, and stared up at him.
Bring it
, her expression said.

Oh no. Kate still possessed the power to undo him, to sweep away coherent thought, and for a second, staring down at her, a buried memory flashed. The smell of her—pine, smoke, the rush of the sky, her own scent seeping into him. The feel of her body shaking, her head buried next to his as they fought for their lives under a fire shelter. For one terrifying day, somewhere back in time on an Alaskan mountainside, they’d belonged together.

Breathe.
“Not here,” he managed, hating the tremble in his voice.

“You’re not the boss—oh, I forgot. Jed Ransom, fire god, ruler of hotshots and jumpers alike, supreme commander of smoke, fire, and ash.” She made a mock bow and his jaw tightened. “The world bows to your divine will.”

“Nice, Kate,” he growled, real low. “Thanks for that.” He shook his head. “But for your information, I
am
the new jump boss, in charge of training the recruits, and no, I’m not firing you for saving Pete—of course not. But let’s not pretend that you both living through that
wasn’t
ridiculous luck. The last thing our recruits need is the idea that they’re invincible. Accidents happen when jumping, and especially now this crew has to be twice as careful. And you take too many risks.”

He looked around at their audience, now tactfully dispersing, but he couldn’t miss the sight of Gemma Turnquist holding her six-month-old son, the one who’d never meet his father. Or Alyssa North, still wearing her engagement ring. He’d finally thrown away the invitation to her October wedding. Or Patrick Browning, their A/P aircraft mechanic, still hollow after the loss of his son, Tom.

The next crew of smokejumpers and hotshots had to be smarter, stronger, faster, and better prepared than any other team in the history of the Jude County Wildland Firefighters.

He whirled away from her and lengthened his strides across the compound toward Overhead, the air-conditioned headquarters. He just needed to get inside, back to his world of topography maps, satellite images, computer-generated fire scenarios, and shift boards.

A world he could chart, plan, organize, and control.

A world that didn’t include Kate Burns unraveling him in front of the entire town.

As usual, Kate wouldn’t take no for an answer. She scrambled up next to him, walking double time. “Wait one doggone minute. Are you saying I’m a
bad influence
?”

“That’s
exactly
what I’m saying.”

“Some might say that I’m exactly the influence you need. Someone who can think under pressure, who isn’t afraid to—”

“Risk her life over and over? Do something completely cracked?”
Oh, stop talking
. He ground his jaw and willed himself to keep his mouth shut.

“If that’s what it takes.”

I’m doing my best here, Jock.
“Not on my watch. Somebody has to keep you from fulfilling your death wish. Like father, like daughter.”

Her mouth opened, and he winced. He hadn’t quite meant it that way, but he might still be reeling just a little from her appearance in the sky. Or back in his life.

He could have used an earlier heads-up from Miles, however. More than a
by-the-way, I hired Jock’s daughter to train the recruits,
a comment made just before the incident commander spoke at the dedication ceremony.

Over my dead body.
Jed might have even spoken those words aloud.

Now Kate glared at him. “I’m not going to slap you, out of respect for Dad, who, for some inane reason, considered you a son.” She shook her head, her expression carrying so much sting in it she might as well have slapped him. And he deserved that, probably, for reasons beyond his rude comment.

He struggled to school his voice. “You know I loved your dad. But Jock lived way too long on borrowed time.”

“One mistake shouldn’t define your entire legacy—you should know that better than anyone.”

He sucked in a breath, and she raised an eyebrow, clearly referring to their last explosive argument, still vivid after seven years.

“This is not about Jock’s death. This is about healing and the future of the Jude County smokejumpers.”

“But you haven’t jumped for—”

“I remember the last time I jumped, Kate.”

Her face reddened. Yes, they both knew—and clearly had done a lousy job of forgetting.

“Besides, I thought you were in Boise, working in the Fire Command center. Fire Behavior Analyst, right?”

Just a flash of surprise crossed her face.

Yes, he’d kept track of her, too. And shoot, maybe he shouldn’t have revealed that tidbit of information. “I don’t need you here, trying to prove something,” he continued before she could grab onto his words. “Like maybe your dad was wrong about you?”

That flushed all the nice out of her, and her voice turned razor-edged. “I’m here for the same reason you are. To make sure my father’s legacy doesn’t die with those men on the mountain.” Kate’s glare burned into him, the dare back in her eyes. “Besides, you need me. With the drought and the lack of snow cover this winter, this just might be the hottest summer Montana’s seen in fifty years. You’ll need every man—and woman—you can get to keep the state from going up in flames.”

She had him there, and she probably knew it. With Montana tinder-dry, Overhead bristled at every thunderhead, jumping every time lightning struck in nearby Glacier National Park, the Bob Reserve, the Swan Range, or their very own Kootenai National Forest right outside their back door. They’d called in the contingency of veteran hotshots and a handful of smokejumpers a month earlier than usual, had the fleet of Twin Otters and Air tankers tuned up and airworthy.

“Fine. Yes, I do need you—but I don’t want you anywhere near my recruits. And as for joining the team—well, just do your job and stay out of my way.”

She rolled her eyes. “And here we go again.” She glanced at his hands, the deformed flesh. “You still blame me.”

He drew in a breath, held it. “I never blamed you,” he said quietly.

Her mouth tightened, and even he could hear the echo of their fight.

“This—we are a mistake— Stay away from me, Kate.”

Then, as if she could read his mind, she raised her helmet. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Jed Ransom. Not this time. I promise, by the end of the summer, you’ll be
begging
me to stay.”

Then she turned and strode away, toward the memorial and the throng of fans.

He just stood there fearing she might be right.

Kate wanted to throw a small party for the taxpayers of Jude County who had invested in the private shower area for the female hotshots. Few of them as there were, and despite working just as hard, they still couldn’t be one of the guys.

She stood in the stall, still shaking, her stomach freshly emptied. Now, with her hands braced against the wall, the water hot on her skin, she closed her eyes and tried not to relive every terrifying second of her free fall to Pete.

Oh, what had she been thinking?

She sank down under the water before her knees buckled and leaned her head back, letting the spray hit her face, her shoulders, drowning out the sudden hiccups of breath.

You take too many risks
.

How many times had she heard that echo thrumming through her? And to see Jed’s face—she’d scared them both, clearly. He was nearly white, and when he’d rounded on her outside Overhead, his eyes wide, trembling, his voice so lethal it could slice through her like a blade—it brought her right back to that moment.

Standing paralyzed as a wall of flame roared toward her.

Now, the rush of it all converged, blew apart, and she pressed her hands over her mouth before any sobs leaked out.

After her altercation with Jed, she’d barely made it to the bathroom, leaving her jump gear in the locker room. After throwing up, she raced for the shower, hoping a towel might magically appear by the time she emerged. Which might be never if she didn’t get herself under control. She let herself sob into her hands because—well, she couldn’t fall apart in front of her crew, right?

Somebody has to keep you from fulfilling your death wish. Like father, like daughter.

She really wanted to hurt Jed for that comment. Except maybe it hurt him as much to say it—after all, he had loved Jock like a father, right? He’d been just as decimated by Jock’s anger back when they’d nearly died in Alaska.

I never blamed you.

Hardly—he completely, utterly blamed her for everything, from his broken ankle to their near death in the shelter, to the long cold night in the woods, to her father nearly taking him apart, piece by piece.

If he hadn’t blamed her, things might have turned out much differently.

She might have been able to patch things up, come home.

Instead, it had been Jed who managed to repair the rift and return to Ember, working across the hall from Jock for the last seven years.

Kate straightened up, feeling hollow, and turned off the shower. Peeked out past the curtain, and miracles! A towel fairy had hung a clean white towel just outside the shower. She grabbed it, towel-dried her hair, and wrapped the towel around her.

Gilly sat on the bench outside the shower stall, unlacing her boots. “I missed the show, Supergirl,” she said. “Although apparently it wasn’t as fun as the guys made it sound.” She offered a sympathetic smile.