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

by Susan May Warren

  With the crackling of smoke and fire, the wind carried his voice downhill.

  “Hey, Boss!” Reuben’s voice turned him, and his breath caught on the site of a destroyed, blackened shelter, held in Reuben’s gloved hand. “I found it lying against a snag.”

  Below him, he heard Conner stifle a word.

  No! Jed scrabbled up the ridge, nearly on his hands and knees. “Reuben, get that saw up here!”

  Jed slipped, slammed his knee against a rock, but found his footing and hit the ridge at a run.

  The tree lay blackened, still sizzling, refusing to die under the bloody wash of retardant. It hadn’t fallen directly on the hole; instead it lay just along the lip, the bushy arms arching over the top, as if protecting it from the sparks and embers, the heavy blaze of a rolling fire.

  In a way, the tree had acted as a barrier to the greater fireball. He grabbed at the branches, chopped them away, the trunk barring him from climbing over, or under, moving around it. But, he could plainly see the other shelter, crumbled, burned, but intact.

  And unmoving.

  “Kate! We’re here!” He motioned to Reuben as he laid into the tree with his Pulaski. Branches broke, but not enough for him to launch himself through its bushy grasp.

  “Step back, Boss!” Reuben fired up his chainsaw with a growl, and Jed fell back long enough for Rube to divide the trunk in two pieces—then more. Jed didn’t wait as he threw them out of the way and used his Pulaski to push through the final, charred branches.

  He leaped down into the enclave.

  Oh—his breath wavered, his hands shaking as he reached out to the shelter. Please—

  He peeled it back.

  Kate lay halfway on Hannah, her legs locked around her, arm against her neck, her face turned to the ground. Hannah lay beneath her, her trousers charred, her shirt pocked with cinder burns.

  “Kate!

  Then, as his breath caught, she lifted her head. Eyes watering, her bandanna pulled up over her nose, blackened with smoke, she stared at him.

  He was in the hole in a second, reaching for her.

  She pushed herself up, her hands shaking. “You—you came. You’re—”

  “Here.” He caught her hand. “I’m here.”

  His knees threatened to buckle as he reached for her, trying not to cry. “I thought you were dead.” Even as he said it, he scanned her body. She looked intact, if not grimy, her face streaked with dirt and soot.

  “I’m okay. I think I’m okay—”

  But he couldn’t wait. Just grabbed her up, pulling her to himself, holding on.

  His entire body shook, and she crumpled against him, her head buried in his chest.

  Shuddering.

  And then, because he couldn’t stay in this grave for a second longer, he picked her up in his arms, dropping his Pulaski and carrying her out of the hole. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Conner drop in behind him to attend to Hannah.

  And then, it was all Kate as he set her on the ground on the blackened ridge top. He knelt next to her, whipping his bandanna from his neck, wiping her face, her neck. “I tried to call you—”

  “I heard you.” She pulled off her gloves, reached up to touch his cheek. “You hummed a song to me.”

  “I did more than that, Kate.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “I prayed. I begged. I had nothing but hope and—”

  “The tree. It came down, and then the retardant followed.” She nodded, as if piecing it together. “They couldn’t find us, could they?”

  “No. The smoke blackened the entire ridge.”

  “And the tree—they followed the flames.”

  He nodded. Swallowed. “I...when I saw that ridge go up, I thought—oh, Kate.” Yep, he was going to be sick. He turned away, leaned his head to the ground, fighting the urge.

  She was beside him, her hand on his back. “I lived—we lived. Shh.”

  He managed to pull it together without making a fool of himself—although maybe he was long past that—and turned back to her, his heart still a fist pounding his chest.

  She stood there, grime on her face, her eyes bloodshot, her nose runny, her hair in sweaty tangles, and he knew he’d never seen anyone more beautiful. “You. Are, Brilliant.”

  “Huh?”

  “The crevice—that was brilliant.” He cradled her face in his hands. “You’re brilliant. And terrifying. And I’m so in love with you I don’t care. I want it all.”

  Because, yeah, it hit him. That was exactly his Kate. Brilliant. Terrifying. And that made him stretch out his hand to something that might keep him sane—faith. Clearly God loved her, because really, she had a crazy kind of luck.

  The kind of crazy—divine—luck that a guy needed if he were to love her. “I love you so much, it consumes me, and I go a little crazy with it, but—it also makes me want to be the guy who shows up in your life, with a Pulaski and, yeah, maybe a prayer. Because loving you requires me to have faith, and that’s a good thing.”

  She smiled then, soft, long. “Really?”

  “That, or I’ll slowly lose my mind.” He lifted a shoulder.

  And right there, in front of the entire team now putting out spot fires and sawing apart the snag, she kissed him. Curled her hand around his neck and pulled his mouth to hers in a kiss that could probably leave blisters.

  She smelled of smoke, tasted of sweat, and trembled a little with the lingering fear of the fire, but, as he wrapped his arms around her, he heard her words.

  I want you, Jed.

  Him. Not fire.

  And in his arms, her kiss turned unexpectedly ardent, the residue, perhaps, of too much adrenaline.

  Not that he minded. So he pulled her close but slowed them down because, yeah, they had a fire to put out. Or at least bank.

  Especially with Reuben, Conner, and the rest of his team looking on.

  But really, he didn’t care. Because that’s how it was to love Blazin’ Kate Burns. Risk, not recklessness. And, hand-in-hand, jumping with a cry of faith straight into the fire.

  Epilogue

  Are you sure this is what you want?

  Miles’s voice echoed in Kate’s head as she sat at her picnic table overlooking the base. The Twin Otter airplane with its red stripes gleamed under the early morning sun, now gilding the tarmac with gold and the red-flamed hues of morning.

  Cars had started to arrive on base, hotshots reporting for roll call, even on a Sunday during fire season.

  She wouldn’t be reporting. Not anymore. Yes, this is what I want.

  Telling Jed, however—she didn’t exactly know how to approach that.

  She took another sip of coffee, only slightly wincing at the pull of new skin still healing on her forearms. Second degree burns—not enough for grafts, but it had sidelined her long enough to get her head around the fire, the churning emotions.

  The idea that she had a choice.

  Overhead the sky appeared cloudless, but the hint of heat slithered in with the morning air, slipping down into the valley of Ember with the scent of pine and aspen.

  Across the way, Jed’s house sat dark—she guessed he must still be deployed on a booster trip to help with mop-up on a fire south of Spokane. He’d called from his spike camp, finding a rare pocket of reception, and it unnerved her how she leaned into his voice, the sweet baritone of it sliding under her skin to linger even after the call.

  Yes, this might be the bravest thing she’d ever done.

  The sound of the motor, thundering up behind the camper, made her turn, and by the time she’d swung her leg over the bench and gotten up, Jed had parked and was heading up her walk.

  She met him at the edge of the deck.

  The sight of Jed Ransom, striding toward her with a smile, eagerness in his eyes, never failed to spark heat inside her, and now the sense that this amazing man, all six-foot-two of him, with his wide shoulders, muscled arms, the overwhelming power of his love, belonged to her—

  Maybe it didn’t take as much courage as sh
e thought.

  He wore a pair of jeans, a blue T-shirt, and his flip-flops, his dark hair glistening from a recent shower. He hadn’t shaved, however—five days of growth on his chin showed flecks of gold and copper. And he smelled—well, not quite like he might be on fire, but the smoky scent still embedded his skin, mingling with the lathering of soap.

  But his gaze fell on her and, yes, where there was smoke...

  “Babe,” he said simply and caught her up in his arms. She wrapped hers around his neck and melted into his kiss, any lingering fear dissolving in the certainty of his touch.

  He set her down on the porch steps, softened his kiss, then cupped her face in his hands, meeting her eyes, smiling. His thumbs caressed her cheek, leaving little eddies of tingle all the way through her body. “Ready for breakfast?”

  Huh?

  He let her go then and turned back to the bike, parked behind the camper. In a moment, he returned with a container. “Jock and I had a tradition. Every Sunday, if we were home, he’d make us flapjacks.”

  He opened the container.

  A stack of fresh pancakes lay inside, still steaming.

  “You cook?” Kate asked.

  “One of us has to,” he said, winking. “I even brought syrup.” He produced a bottle in his other hand.

  “Wow,” Kate said. She ducked into the camper, grabbing forks and two plates.

  Jed was sitting at the table when she returned. He dished her up a stack, she added syrup, and they ate in amiable silence.

  “Is this Dad’s recipe? Because I taste nutmeg.”

  Jed nodded.

  “You know, it was the only thing he could make, right? We lived on frozen pizza and boxed macaroni and cheese most of the time.”

  “Sometimes he’d invite the rookies over, feed them flapjacks until they burst,” Jed said. “And then he’d invite them to church.”

  She laughed. “Sounds like Dad.”

  But Jed’s face had sobered. “I was thinking it might be time for me to take him up on that offer.”

  She put down her fork. Glanced past him, toward town, to the white spire of the Ember Community Church bell tower. “Really?”

  “Eat up. Then put something on besides pajamas.”

  She changed into a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt that didn’t have a logo on it, then tied her hair back, and returned to find Jed standing by his bike, holding a helmet. “I’m driving.”

  “Of course you are.” She got on behind him, wrapping her arms around that tight, washboard waist.

  It felt so natural to hold onto him, nudging herself close as they drove down to Ember, motoring along the side streets, past the Hotline, now dark and recuperating, the grocery store—closed on Sundays—the Spotfire Diner, packed with breakfasters. “When did you guys get in?”

  “Last night, real late,” Jed said. “I was going to come by, but...well, I’m finding it harder to listen to Jock’s voice in my head. Trying to be on my best behavior.”

  She kissed his neck. “You’re a good man, Jed Ransom.”

  His hand went to hers, clasped around his waist, and squeezed.

  They pulled up to the church parking lot—packed this Sunday with pickups and 4x4s, although many of the locals simply walked. A hymn peeled out of the windows of the old white building. Wide steps led straight into the sanctuary—around back, they’d added a Sunday school wing and offices.

  She scuffed her foot on her initials in the bottom step. He noticed it and smiled. “You can take the lady out of the church, but you can’t take the church out of the lady.”

  Maybe. She hoped so. But she paused as she stood at the entrance.

  Her dad’s memory permeated this place—sitting next to him in the pew after her mother left was the only solid, sane thing she could hold onto. That and the fire camp. The congregation sat, the hymn finished, and she recognized so many of them, including Gilly and her row of brothers, her sister, still lined up on the left side, near the front.

  Jed took her hand, led her into the sanctuary, and she glanced at him.

  Since when was he eager to step into the Lord’s embrace? Except, maybe he was doing the brave thing, too.

  She squeezed his hand as they looked for an open pew, hoping to sneak in as Pastor John Priest—yes, she always laughed at that irony of Gilly’s dad being the town clergy—took the pulpit.

  But as they headed for a space near the back on the right, she knew it wouldn’t work.

  A ripple of surprise, turned heads, and then Pastor John blew their cover. “We see you, Kate Burns—and you, too, Jed, trying to sit in the back. But there’s a perfectly good space up in front, in the pew your father loved. Where he could hear my sermon and make faces at me when he disagreed.”

  A ripple of laughter.

  Kate had stilled, not looking at Jed. But he shrugged and pulled her up to the front, leading the way into the pew.

  “Before you sit, Kate—and Jed—we’re so glad you’re here. I think we’d all like to thank you for what you did.”

  What they did? But applause lit up the room, and she stared at the crowd, nonplussed. “I didn’t—”

  And then she spied Ray and Ellen Butcher heading down the aisle, Gemma Turnquist leading the way. Hannah behind them, her leg still wrapped—her own second-degree burns putting a stall on her smokejumping, for now.

  She grinned at Kate, smiled. And, apparently, she’d been talking, because Gemma leaned over the front pew and pulled Kate close. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  Ray clasped Jed’s hand, clamped him on the shoulder. Nodded. Then he turned to Kate. “You are your father’s daughter,” he said and hugged her.

  She sat, a little dazed for the rest of the sermon, her hand locked into Jed’s.

  Her father’s daughter.

  Yes, she was. She couldn’t help a smile. No, this wouldn’t take any courage at all.

  Jed had sat through the service without once wanting to bolt. Even let the sermon settle into him, his fingers woven into Kate’s grip, the sunshine streaming through the arched, stained-glass windows.

  This, exactly this, was how he planned on surviving this summer and every one after this. Because it came to him during the last deployment, as he’d sat in strike camp, fighting to get a signal to just hear her voice, that it didn’t matter if Kate jumped or not.

  She took his heart with her into every decision she made, risky or not. And if he wanted to love her well, he’d have to go all in. Jump into this life beside her, come what may, clinging to her hand and believing…well, believing that God would keep showing up, through every fire, and beyond.

  They rose for the final hymn, and he found himself humming along, a familiar song to even him.

  Amazing grace! How sweet the sound...

  He hadn’t thought much about grace, but believing in that, too, was part of the hold on faith. Grace for today, for tomorrow...

  “Through many dangers, toils, and snares, I have already come...”

  Kate sang beside him as if she’d never missed a Sunday, her voice robust, resonant, and he looked down at her, caught a hint of a smile.

  Her eyes were closed, her face raised to the heavens.

  I’m trusting her to you, Jed.

  The voice shook him, sliding through his bones, wrapping around his chest. Jock. Jed could almost feel the man’s presence beside him, his hand heavy on his shoulder. Jed had the crazy urge to look for him and even glanced toward the empty space beside him.

  Nothing, of course, but the heat of the sunlight gilding the wooden pew in the stained-glass shades of red, amber, gold. Firelight.

  “’Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far, And grace will lead me home.”

  Yeah, maybe Jock Burns was here, because a curl of warmth—peace, maybe—breathed through Jed.

  Kate now opened her eyes, looked up at him, grinning as he sang the final verse.

  Maybe God loving him wasn’t such a crazy gamble.

  They glad-handed their way out of ch
urch, ending with John Priest. “For a second, seeing you in Jock’s pew, I had a glimpse of him, so many years ago. You do him proud, Jed.” He winked then gathered Kate in a hug.

  Whispered something in her ear, to which she blushed. Really?

  But she wouldn’t give it away as she walked over to the bike. “I have to show you something,” she said, pulling on her helmet. “Can I drive?”

  “If I get to hold on,” he said quietly, a little husk to his voice.

  She gave him a look, added to the blush, but climbed on and waited for him to sit behind her. He settled his hands on her hips as she pulled out of the parking lot.

  With luck, today would be theirs—no fire, no callout, nothing but the blue sky arching overhead, the mountains, glorious and beckoning on the horizon. They’d drink lemonade on the deck, watch the wind stir the stars as twilight dropped around them.

  He’d try and decide if it was too soon to ask her to marry him.

  She was headed back toward her place, along the fire-base road, but instead of turning left, to the ridge, she kept going, deeper into the land.

  Her grandfather’s property. Once upon a time, they’d run cattle on the rolling hills. To his knowledge, the land had gone wild, untended since the old man died nearly twenty years ago.

  They passed dilapidated fencing, old hay barns, and finally pulled up to the small two-story farm house with a sagging front porch and a large dormer window off the front. White paint peeled in curls from the clapboard siding, and plywood nailed over the windows swelled with rain and weather.

  Behind the house, a once-white barn sagged, half the roof fallen in, an old International tractor rusting in the front paddock.

  Kate pulled up, cut the motor.

  He pulled off his helmet. “What are we doing here?”

  She worked her helmet off, shook out her beautiful dark-red hair. “I have something to tell you.” She held the bike, and he got off. Then she followed and set her helmet on the seat. Headed for the front porch.

  “Kate—that’s—well, be careful.”

  She turned around, grinning. “Seriously?”

  He lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “Reflex.”