“Not exactly how I planned to spend my last few free nights before boot camp,” Ace complained.
“Quit your grumbling,” Miranda said. “You’ve been itching to jump out of an airplane for weeks now.”
Ace’s mouth turned up into a quick smile as he winked at Laurel. “The thrill of it is second only to sex.”
“She wouldn’t know,” Miranda said with a laugh.
Laurel shot a murderous look at her cousin. “Hey!”
“I only meant that you’re afraid of heights.” Miranda responded innocently before she ticked off on her fingers. “And planes. And elevators. And caves.”
Ace stood up, his brown eyes twinkling as he effortlessly hefted the backpack over his shoulder. “I’m happy to be your guide into any of the thrills you’d like to experience, Laurel. I promise you’ll enjoy the ride. I haven’t had any complaints yet.”
Miranda made a gagging sound. Laurel shook her head with a smile. Ace Clark was tall, dark, and charming. And from what she’d overheard in the ladies room at The Drop Zone, he was telling the truth about women having no complaints. He just wasn’t that guy. Laurel looked at most of the smokejumpers as the band of brothers she’d never had. She’d grown up with many of them and was related to a few more. The thought of ending her sexual drought with any one of them was ridiculous.
“Clark!” Sam Gaskill’s voice boomed through the cavernous building, startling Laurel. “The drill commences at thirteen hundred.”
With one exception.
Laurel glanced toward the back corner of the building to see Sam standing at his office door. Her breathing became less steady at the sight of him. He was wearing another pair of well-worn jeans, a long-sleeved, gray T-shirt with an army insignia emblazoned across his muscled chest and a hard look that had Ace muttering a “yes sir” before heading out past the reception desk and into the ready room.
“You’re flying to Glacier?” Laurel whispered to her cousin. The entrance to Glacier National Park was only thirty miles from the station. She’d just assumed Miranda would be driving the crew in one of the two vans the forest service used to pick up the smokejumpers after they’d hiked out of a fire zone.
“Captain wants a practice run,” Miranda replied. “I think he wants to assess if anyone in the crew might make a good spotter.” The spotter’s job was to identify a safe area for the smokejumpers to land. After Russ Edwards’ accident, fingers had been pointed at the spotter’s reliability to accurately gauge the wind and the conditions that accompanied a safe jump. He’d retired immediately, taking a job as a high school shop teacher.
Both women’s eyes drifted to the loft above. Hanging from the railing was a red, white, and blue parachute with Edwards’ name stitched along the bottom, along with the numeral one and an asterisk. The jagged rip in the chute had been sewn up, too. The makeshift memorial was a sobering reminder to all who entered the building that lives were on the line every time a crew went out.
“I should get going,” Miranda said solemnly. Though she hadn’t been the pilot on the jump that cost Russ his life, Laurel knew her cousin still felt the loss of the captain as deeply as the rest of the smokejumpers.
Laurel quickly reached over and pulled her best friend in for a hug. “Be careful, okay.”
Miranda scoffed. “I’m the best pilot they’ve got. I haven’t dropped one of these idiots yet. And like Ace says, I haven’t had any complaints either.” She gave Laurel a saucy wave before following Ace toward the ready room.
Laurel stood in the now empty reception area, watching the dust motes dance in the midday sunlight that was streaming through the high windows. She told herself she should head to Starbucks and use her free lunch hour to cram in some studying for the CPA exam. But her eyes kept darting back to the open office door Sam had disappeared into.
She impatiently blew out a breath as her mind seemed to be fighting some internal war. Sam had obviously seen her. Even more exasperating, he’d overheard the conversation she’d had with Miranda and Ace. Laurel was embarrassed by their astonishing make-out session in the barn the other night, not to mention the way she’d given herself over to him without question. Each evening, she’d forced herself to remain in her apartment, listening—while her body practically vibrated with desire—as he came to the barn, presumably to check on Tabitha. Some nights he stayed for a few minutes, but the previous evening he’d hung out in the barn for an agonizing half hour.
Laurel wondered if he’d been waiting for her. Did he think she was that easy? That she’d fall into his arms a second time? Her face burned in humiliation because the message she’d given him that night was yes, she was that easy. Once again her impulsiveness had gotten the better of her.
She needed to clear things up with Sam if he was going to keep his horse at Whispering Breeze. Laurel needed to let him know that their close encounter of the lips was just an aberration. Because no matter how strong the sexual attraction, if she was going to bring someone into her life—into her son’s life—it wouldn’t be a man who risked his neck on a daily basis. Not this time.
Laurel hesitated outside Sam’s office, watching as he performed the same task Ace had moments before—meticulously combing through the gear in his backpack. With his head bent and his jaw set, his long fingers rummaged through the contents as he appeared to be silently checking things off a list. She knew smokejumpers had to survive for forty-eight to seventy-two hours in the wilderness on each mission. The contents of a smokejumper’s pack were essential to his or her survival when fighting a fire.
Her eyes drifted over her shoulder to Russ’ solitary parachute. Sam was about to do what Russ had done—leap out of an airplane with nothing but the hope his jump cord wouldn’t malfunction. Or that an errant wind wouldn’t catch him and toss his defenseless body into the jagged limb of a tree.
A shiver of apprehension rocked through Laurel as she forced her gaze back into the office where it collided with Sam’s own hard stare. He’d finished with his backpack. Now he waited silently with his hip propped against his desk and his arms crossed over his chest. This time Laurel’s shiver was brought on by the hungry look in his eyes.
“Hi,” she said feebly.
A terse nod and a quirk of an eyebrow were all she got in response.
“Umm, Miranda says you’re going out on a jump?”
He nodded again. His arrogant silence was really beginning to get on Laurel’s nerves.
“Well, were you even going to let someone know?” she demanded.
There was a painful pause before he finally spoke. “Someone being who exactly?”
Laurel huffed in annoyance. “Someone being Tabitha, perhaps?”
A corner of his mouth turned up at the idiocy of her words, and that made Laurel even more annoyed.
“What’s she going to think when you don’t show up tonight, hmm?”
A slow grin spread across his face, revealing a mesmerizing dimple on the right side of his mouth. The potency of his unexpected smile had Laurel reaching for the doorframe to keep her balance.
“I mean, you should let one of us know when you leave so if something should happen to Tabitha. . .well, we’d. . .” Her voice trailed off when he gently wrapped his fingers around her wrist and tugged her further into the office. Before she could react, the door was closed and her back was pressed against it while his mouth laid claim to hers.
He kissed her slowly this time, as though he was taking her as a prize for some victory. Laurel wanted to be offended, but the feel of his tongue sliding suggestively against hers had rendered any arguments mute. Her fingers had somehow found their way into his short, wavy hair, surprisingly soft between her fingertips. His hands slid underneath her cotton sweater where he let his palms skim over her skin, leaving a trail of arousing heat in their wake.
“Say what you really came here to say, Laurel,” he murmured against her lips. “Admit that you wanted me to come upstairs and finish what we started the other night.”
&nbs
p; “Did not!” Laurel’s protest might have sounded more convincing had her hands not been exploring Sam’s ass.
He grinned again. This time it had a bit of a ruthless edge to it, making Laurel’s insides somersault. Her body quickly made a liar out of her when Sam took possession of her lips one more time. She was sure he could feel the wild jolt within her as his mouth crushed hers. Her hips rolled restlessly at his, and she all but conceded defeat.
“It doesn’t matter what I want.” She practically wailed when his lips cruised to the spot near her ear that always made her knees buckle. “We can’t do this.”
“Mmm,” he murmured against her skin. “I have to go on a jump in forty minutes. The rest is going to have to wait until I get back.”
Laurel tapped her head against the back of the door in the hope of knocking some sense into her woozy brain. “No. That’s why we can’t do this. Now or ever.”
His face was hard again as he pulled away and Laurel’s body screamed at her in protest. She pressed her palms to the cool wood of the door to keep from digging her fingers into his T-shirt and pulling his body back against hers.
“That’s what I came to tell you,” she whispered.
“Do you ever say what you really mean?”
She hated that he had a point. “I have a little problem with impulsive behavior. But I’m working on it.”
“And what, I’m too impulsive for you?” he drawled, angrily. “Or not impulsive enough?”
Laurel pointed to the jump pack sitting ominously in the corner of the room. “Too risky. Your job is too risky, which makes you too risky.”
There was a brief flash of anguish in his eyes before he shuttered them behind the hard mask he’d likely perfected in the army. Laurel felt a spasm of guilt for having brought him any pain. But she had two hearts to protect—hers and Tyson’s.
“Yeah,” he said stoically. “It seems I’m destined to attract women who feel that way.” He reached behind her and pulled open the door. “We should be back on Friday sometime. Tell Tabitha not to worry.”
Laurel started for the reception area before turning back to Sam. “Be careful out there,” she couldn’t help saying.
His only acknowledgement was a stiff nod. Feeling a bit like a cold-hearted bitch, Laurel spun around and nearly careened into Jacqui Edwards, Russ Edwards’ widow. She was headed toward Sam’s office, Vin Kingston riding shotgun at her side.
Jacqui was the last person Laurel expected to see at the base. She’d been a fixture around the place for years, having worked the reception desk and as the file clerk. But just days after Russ had been laid to rest Jacqui took off without a word to anyone. Not that she and Laurel were particularly close. Still, Laurel liked the younger woman and her heart ached for her loss. Seeing the pain still so transparent in Jacqui’s big brown eyes validated the decision she’d just made with Sam. Laurel couldn’t expose her heart to the potential loss.
She gave the petite woman a warm smile. “Hey, Jacqui. I didn’t know you were back.” She gestured at Jacqui’s dark hair, once long but now cut in a stylish pixie that framed her face and made her cheek bones look model worthy. “Great hair. That suits you.”
“Thanks. I just got back, literally a few hours ago.” Jacqui touched her hair, taking a slight step toward Vin.
Both Jacqui and Vin had been through the ringer these past few months. Laurel was glad the young widow had someone helping her navigate the mourning process. Her thoughts flew to Sam. Who had helped him grieve? Surely he’d had more than a prize quarter horse to lean on?
“Vin,” Sam said, interrupting her errant thoughts.
Laurel quickly reminded herself that she wasn’t thinking of Sam that way. She couldn’t.
She looked on as Vin introduced Jacqui to Sam, noting the proprietary way Vin stood beside Russ’s widow. Despite the fact Vin was one of the very best men Laurel knew, she still hoped Jacqui had enough sense to protect her ravaged heart and not fall for a smokejumper twice.
“I wasn’t expecting you to come in on your way from the airport,” Sam said. “Unless… Were you just here to see…?” His gaze flicked to Russ’s parachute and Laurel’s heart squeezed.
“No. I thought we could talk about, um, my job,” Jacqui replied.
Sam didn’t bother to hide his relief. “That’d be great because things are a mess. I need to get someone in here pronto.”
Ignoring Laurel, Sam ushered Jacqui into his office. Laurel tried not to let her disappointment show as she gave Vin a quick wave and made her way out of the station.
*
The twin-engine Sherpa flew a smooth circle over the million acres of Glacier National Park. Sam had asked Miranda to stretch their flight out so he could assess the terrain. The day was clear and bright and, being new to the region, Sam wanted to commit as much of the park to memory as he could. Topography maps and the Internet were great tools, but if a fire or search and rescue came up, Sam needed to use his own mental images to be able to quickly formulate an initial assessment for headquarters without having to rely on others.
He glanced through the metal grate of his face mask across the aisle of the plane at the three smokejumpers on the bench facing him. Seven of the station’s permanent team members were on board the plane, all looking relaxed in their helmets and jumpsuits despite the fact that each one knew this drill was an assessment of some kind. Since arriving in Montana, Sam had taken the initiative to spend time individually with each person on the year-round staff—whether it was on the base or in The Drop Zone. Or, in the case of Molly Rivers—one of the two female smokejumpers who worked for the forest service full-time—it was at the Laundromat on Sunday afternoon.
Sam liked what he saw in all the crew stationed at the base. They were a dedicated lot who trained every day to keep their bodies in peak physical shape. Based on his conversations with each one, he felt all of them were mentally tough enough to handle the grind of a long fire season. Even the guy sitting next to him.
Ace Clark stretched out his long legs, crossing his boots at the ankles. “Rumor has it Jacqui Edwards was in the station earlier,” he said casually. The others on board looked up from their phones to listen in.
“She was. We can all breathe a sigh of relief because she’s coming back to work,” Sam announced. “I won’t need to demote one of you to file clerk.”
Molly, sitting on the other side of Ace, let out a relieved sigh. “Thank goodness.”
“Yeah, we really missed her around the base,” Garrett Broxson said from across the aisle.
“More like you missed the cowboy cookies she used to bring in,” Jessica Mendez teased.
“Hey, don’t tell my wife, but Jacqui makes a mean cookie,” Broxson said with a grin.
“Six miles from the jump spot,” Miranda radioed from the cockpit. The crew immediately sobered up, stowing their phones into the padded pocket sewn into their Kevlar jumpsuits before adjusting their helmets and sunglasses on their heads.
Sam watched as Doster Cohen searched the area with binoculars, looking for an adequate landing area. Practicing to be a spotter without having to worry about a raging fire overtaking the smokejumpers before they landed was a little like learning how to parallel park beside an empty curb. But Cohen had military experience at the job, and a conversation with his former CO revealed he was extremely efficient at the skill. That was enough for Sam to give him a shot. When Miranda began to descend and circle the Lake McDonald Valley, Cohen tossed several streamers out from the jump door. These would help him to determine the wind’s speed and direction. Cohen watched the path of the streamers for a moment or two and then radioed instructions to Miranda in the cockpit.
The Sherpa banked right as it circled around the jump zone a second time, dropping to a cruising altitude of fifteen hundred feet. Cohen gave the cabin a thumbs up and Sam got to his feet. “Buddy up,” he instructed the crew. “Clark, you’re with me.”
Somebody behind them muttered a good-natured “teacher’s pet�
�� at Clark as the group moved in a single-file line toward the jump door. Since they weren’t worried about putting out a fire, Sam had selected a relatively easy landing area in the valley near Lake McDonald. They were splitting duty with the national park service, clearing some of the trails within Glacier. Sam’s team had been given the area around the lake.
He glanced out the jump door to the green meadows dotted with yellow daffodils below. While recreational skydivers jumped from heights of over twelve thousand feet, smokejumpers typically jumped much shorter distances, allowing them to land into a more compact target zone. There was a world of difference between a serene sixty-second free-fall to earth and the ten-second hurtle to the ground smokejumpers experienced.
Sam checked to make sure his static line was secured to the aircraft. For smokejumpers, the static line functioned essentially as a ripcord; once he exited the plane, Sam would have a few seconds of slack before the static line pulled the parachute from its pack. In the unlikely event the parachute didn’t deploy, Sam would have another second to manually operate his reserve parachute. He mouthed the same silent refrain he uttered before every jump, praying he wouldn’t break his ass or anything else when he kissed the ground.
Cohen tapped him on the shoulder and Sam reflexively stepped out of the plane. Two seconds later, his parachute inflated behind him with a jerk. The sheet got air but not enough to slow his descent that much. He pulled his feet and knees together, careful to keep his legs slightly bent as the ground rose up to meet him. Smokejumpers were trained to hit the ground by tucking their body into a ball and rolling—technically referred to as a parachute landing fall. When perfectly executed, they first touched the ground with the balls of their feet, tucking and rolling in the direction of the landing while absorbing the gravity of the fall with their calves, thighs, hips, and the sides of their back. The elapsed time for the full maneuver was barely a second.
Smolder (Firefighters of Montana Book 1) Page 5
