Hard Landing
Rocky Mountain Smokejumpers Book 1
By Ophelia Sexton
Published by Philtata Press
Text copyright 2020 by Ophelia Sexton. All rights reserved.
Cover art by Jacqueline Sweet
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Author's Note
This story takes place about fourteen months after the events in Flame (Bearpaw Ridge Firefighters Book 4). However, don't worry; this is a standalone book, and reading Flame isn't a requirement for enjoying this story.
Although the Colorado-based Rocky Mountain Smokejumpers team is entirely fictional, I've tried to base it as closely as possible on existing smokejumper teams. For those of you who read Flame, which was Thor Swanson's story, after publishing, I realized that hot shots and smokejumpers are different types of wildland firefighters. Oops.
In this story, I've changed the name of the smokejumper team to correct my earlier error.
For a pair of fascinating and engrossing memoirs written by actual smokejumpers, I recommend:
Ramos, Jason A. and Smith, Julian A., Smokejumper: A Memoir by One of America's Most Select Airborne Firefighters (William Morrow, 2015)
Taylor, Murry A., Jumping Fire: A Smokejumper's Memoir of Fighting Wildfire (Harvest Book). (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2000)
The men and women who work as smokejumpers in America's western states are real-life superheroes. This book is dedicated to them, with the utmost gratitude and respect for all that they do and all that they risk.
Excerpt
"Sit. Let me," she ordered.
He lowered himself to the mudroom's bench without protest. "Thanks."
She knelt to untie and loosen his boots. That's when she noticed that his bandage, visible through the hole in the leg of his pants, was stained red. A fresh spear of guilt twisted in her gut.
"I think you overdid it today," she said as she pulled off his boots. She added in a mock-stern voice, "I'm sending you straight to bed, young man."
"Only if you come with me," he said in a low, sexy voice that kindled a slow, hot throb of desire in the place between her legs.
She glanced up and saw that his blue eyes had acquired a definite golden sheen.
Michelle scrambled to her feet. Carl rose with her, all signs of pain gone, and put his hands on her shoulders.
His gaze burned into her, intensifying her need. She fought the urge to wrap her arms around him and press herself against his hard, muscled torso.
She caught her lower lip between her teeth and saw his eyes fasten on her mouth. Quite suddenly, she desperately wanted him to kiss her.
"Thanks again for coming with me. Even though you probably should have remained here and stayed off that leg."
"It was my pleasure." He slowly bent towards her.
She couldn't breathe, couldn't move. Every part of her yearned for the kiss he was about to give her.
Stranger, werewolf, it didn't matter. Michelle wanted him with an intensity that hit her like a freight train. He was in a totally different league than the men she used to date. Or the one she had married.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 – All Hung Up
Chapter 2 – Shot to Hell
Chapter 3 – Naked and Afraid
Chapter 4 – The Wolf in Her Bed
Chapter 5 – Uninvited Guest
Chapter 6 – Striking a Deal
Chapter 7 – Good Enough to Eat
Chapter 8 – Neighborly
Chapter 9 – A Whiff of Bear
Chapter 10 – Delayed Gratification
Chapter 11 – Change of Heart
Chapter 12 – Protective Instincts
Chapter 13 – Tour de Force
Chapter 14 – In Hot Water
Chapter 15 – Unexpected Revelations
Chapter 16 – Necessary Sacrifices
Chapter 17 – Up in Flames
Chapter 18 – Baby, Baby
Chapter 19 – Unbearable Circumstances
Chapter 20 – The Best Defense
Chapter 21 - Aftermath
Epilogue – Home for the Holidays
Books by Ophelia Sexton
Chapter 1
All Hung Up
Rocky Mountain Smokejumpers Base
Near Denver, Colorado
October 7
"So, fire season's almost over?" Dad asked in a deceptively casual tone. "You'll be home for Thanksgiving this year?"
"I can't make any promises," Carl Jensen replied, his fingers tightening around his phone. He'd been hoping to put off this conversation for a while longer.
He forced himself to relax his grip. Fragile electronics were no match for a wolf shifter's strength. "Weather's still dry, and the season has been getting longer every year." He steeled himself for the next part of this conversation. "Just wanted to let you know that I was planning to sign up again next year."
A long pause as his parents digested this news. Uh-oh. Not good.
"When your mom and I gave you permission to become a smokejumper in the Lower 48, we thought it would be for one summer, maybe two. It's been six years, son. You haven't gotten it out of your system by now?"
"I don't understand why you're so in love with that crazy job," Mom added. She wasn't actually on the line, but she didn't need to be, not with her keen shifter hearing. "Jumping out of airplanes? Into forest fires? I worry about you so much, my love."
"Plus, you're nearly thirty," Dad chimed in, right on cue. "You need to find a mate and settle down. People are starting to talk. They're wondering whether we've kicked you out of the pack or something. You don't want anyone thinking that you're a lone wolf."
And here we go again. This is what, the hundredth time he's brought that up?
Kara LaTrans, one of Carl's longtime teammates, shot him a sympathetic look as she strode by. Her personal gear bag, or PG bag as it was known, was slung over one tanned shoulder, and her sun-streaked brown ponytail swung jauntily.
The ready room at the smokejumper base was noisy, with lots of joking, laughter, and conversation as his fellow smokejumpers inspected their gear and packed their chutes and PG bags.
Even this tumult wasn't enough to ensure any real privacy on a team composed mostly of shifters. So it was common courtesy to pretend that they weren't all eavesdropping. But Kara was a coyote shifter, and her kind didn't play by the rules.
Carl took a deep breath. As a wolf shifter, it went against his nature to defy his pack's alpha pair. "Dad, Mom, I'm not ready to settle down. And this is my career, and I love it."
As expected, Dad didn't take the news well. His voice dropped to a growl. "You promised you would come home after this fire season."
Carl felt like dying inside every time he contemplated moving to a city and working at his pack's various businesses. "Angie and Cindy are doing fine on their own in Anchorage. I'm pretty sure they don't want or need their baby brother poking his nose into things."
"Your father and I could order you to come home," Mom said.
Shit, thought Carl. He wasn't stupid enough to actually say that out loud, though.
But his silence apparently communicated his reaction perfectly.
Mom's tone softened. "And you wouldn't necessarily have to work with your sisters at Jensen Wholesale Meats. There's always the ranch. Your father and I have been talking about retiring in a fe
w years. We would be happy to show you the ropes."
Give up smokejumping to spend the rest of my life babysitting a bunch of cows? Carl squeezed his eyes shut.
Sure, working on the Jensen Ranch, located near Palmer, several hours' drive northeast of Anchorage, sounded way better than a job in the pack's refrigerated warehouse in downtown Anchorage. But…
"One more season," he said, firmly.
Silence.
Finally, Dad spoke. His quiet tone that brooked no disagreement, "Son, it's time to move home. We've found a mate for you, and we want to make the introductions at Thanksgiving."
A mate! Carl's gut clenched.
Arranged matings were a long-standing tradition for the Alaskan wolf shifter packs. He wasn't opposed to the idea of having a mate and a family…someday. Just not yet.
Carl liked and respected women, and he hadn't exactly spent his twenties deprived of female company, but all of his relationships so far had been casual, in the vein of "friends with benefits" and one-night stands. Nothing serious.
Smokejumping, with its extended absences during fire season, was hell on any kind of committed relationship, so he hadn't even tried.
Carl knew he shouldn't be surprised by this announcement. His thirtieth birthday was on the horizon, and his pack's patience had finally run out with his choice of career.
He swallowed hard. Because dodging his parents' wishes was one thing. But defying a direct order from his alphas was another thing entirely. Am I willing to defy them and take the chance that they'll kick me out of the pack?
Lone wolves usually didn't fare well on their own, and becoming one was the fate that every wolf shifter feared.
Besides, he loved his family and packmates. He didn't want to leave them.
But he loved being a smokejumper too. And his team, the Rocky Mountain Smokejumpers, had become his second family, his brothers and sisters in the toughest, most rewarding job on the planet.
"Well?" Mom asked after the silence had grown uncomfortable.
Carl thought fast. "I'll try my best to make it home for Thanksgiving."
It might be easier to argue my case for another year of smokejumping in person.
"Son, I know you love jumping out of airplanes and all those other crazy stunts you firefighters pull, and your mother and I are really proud of you," Dad began.
Carl braced himself for the inevitable "but." His dad didn't disappoint him. "But we're both getting older, and we'd love to have one of our own flesh and blood running the ranch."
"Your sisters are doing a great job with the meat wholesale and export business in Anchorage," his mother chimed in, countering Carl's half-formed objection before he could even voice it. "Their work provides a market for our ranch's products. It wouldn't make sense to pull them away now."
His father delivered the final twist of the knife in a gentle, almost humble tone. "We could really use your help, son."
A surge of protectiveness rose within Carl's soul at this plea for help from his parents. They need me.
It almost swamped his resolution to hang on for another season of smokejumping here in Colorado.
But before Carl could reply, an air horn blasted sharply nearby.
He felt the familiar spike of adrenaline, mingled with relief at the excuse to end this uncomfortable conversation.
Whenever that horn sounded, a smokejumper had a two-minute deadline to suit up in his or her protective jump gear equipment.
"Six-jumper load!" boomed Pete Brinkley. He was an experienced smokejumper in his forties, with salt-and-pepper hair. He was one of only two Ordinaries working on the team and was a former Marine who served as the smokejumper base's manager and operations coordinator.
"Duty calls, I've gotta go," Carl said, somewhat unnecessarily, as he began sprinting in the direction of the suit-up racks lined up in rows inside the base's cavernous main building. "Love you guys. Bye!"
"Be safe, son," Dad said gruffly.
"See you at Thanksgiving!" Mom called. "Love you!"
Carl ended the call and tucked his phone securely away as his booted feet pounded the concrete floor. Another few steps brought him to the place where his padded Kevlar jumpsuit with its high collar hung alongside the other jumpers' gear.
He slipped his arms into his jumpsuit's sleeves, sat down, and swiftly zipped up the legs. His pockets bulged with various important items, including a long "letdown" rope coiled in his right leg pocket and a parachute already attached to the back of his suit. He stood, fastened his harness straps, and pulled a packed reserve chute off a nearby shelf.
Then he grabbed his helmet with its metal-mesh faceplate and his gloves and hustled over to where his fellow smokejumper Felicia Concolor stood.
The tall, tawny-haired cougar shifter was number ten on today's jump list, so she was serving as a spotter, performing a safety check of each of her fellow jumpers' gear as soon as they finished suiting up.
All the smokejumpers took turns working as spotters, looking out for each other. It was one of the many things that made his jumper team feel like a pack to Carl.
After receiving Felicia's thumbs-up, Carl sprinted outside, along with the five other jumpers on today's jump list.
All of the smokejumpers at the base rotated through this list, which was displayed on a huge magnetic whiteboard behind the operations desk. The names at the top of the list were assigned to the next available jump.
Upon returning from this assignment, Carl's nameplate, along with the nameplates of everyone deploying with him today, would rotate to the bottom of the list and work their way back up again.
He emerged from the base into bright autumn sunlight and ran out to the tarmac, heading for the rumbling roar of an airplane engine.
A Dornier 228, the smaller of the base's two planes, stood waiting on the runway with pilot Darren Shelby's profile visible through the cockpit window.
Carl was number two on the jump list today. He fell into place behind jaguar shifter Steve Lopez, climbed on board, and sat next to him. The next three jumpers seated themselves on the plane's benches in jump list order.
Finally, the sixth jumper, Mike Nakano, stepped into the cabin.
“All on board, all aboard!” yelled the spotter on today's fire call, bear shifter Thor Swanson.
He was another of the team's most experienced smokejumpers. It would be his job today to locate the best landing site for Carl and the other five jumpers and to assess the conditions around the jump site.
While Carl and his jump mates had been suiting up, Darren and his copilot Christopher Aquila, an eagle shifter, had already completed their preflight checks.
Eight minutes after the siren sounded, the plane rolled toward the runway and throttled up, and the smokejumpers were airborne.
The jumpers sat on a long bench that ran down one side of the plane's cabin. The rest of the cabin was filled with the long cardboard cargo boxes that held their tools and supplies, everything from MREs and drinking water to sleeping bags and chainsaws.
Once the team had all jumped and landed safely, the plane would descend to a lower altitude and make a few more passes over the designated landing area. At that time, Thor would toss out the boxes, which had each been fitted with parachutes, aiming for the designated jump site.
Carl tried to clear his thoughts of the recent conversation with his parents and center himself for whatever lay ahead on this particular mission.
But he couldn't help wondering who his parents had chosen as his mate-to-be, and what arguments he could use at Thanksgiving to convince them to let him sign on for one more season with the Rocky Mountain Smokejumpers…
"Hey, Howler." Kara, who was third on today's jump list, nudged Carl with her elbow.
The sound of his nickname jolted him back to the here-and-now.
"Yeah, Joker?" He turned to face her and noticed that Mike, aka "Grumpy Bear," was sitting out of jump order and on Kara's other side. Again.
For her part, she seemed oblivious
to Mike's telltale protectiveness.
Mike was a big, quiet Japanese-American bear shifter who had been a college football player. Carl often wondered if Mike, whose grumpy exterior hid deep shyness, even realized what was going on.
And with a coyote shifter, of all things! Dude's in for a bumpy ride, Carl thought.
He shuddered to imagine what kind of hell she might put Mike through if she ever figured out that her teammate had a giant crush on her.
Carl liked Kara—hell, everyone at the base liked the tall, bubbly coyote shifter—but she had a wicked sense of humor and was notorious for her practical jokes.
Hard Landing Page 1
