Hannah had stared at Kate, hanging twenty feet up in the letdown simulator, as if mesmerized.
Yeah, well, him too. Kate turned into an acrobat when she donned jump gear.
“The first thing you have to keep in your head is that if you’re coming into the trees and you don’t spot an opening, steer toward the smaller ones. And don’t try and grab anything—that’s a great way to break an arm,” Kate had said, dangling in her gear as if she’d just landed in a giant ponderosa.
Jed had stood at the edge of the crowd, sweat trickling down his back, hoping she wouldn’t bring up his brilliant tree landing from so many years ago. Just thinking about it made his leg ache.
“Once you’re hung up, you want to check your chute and see how secure you’re hung. You don’t want to tie off to a chute that will break free halfway down.”
And there it was, the quick glance in his direction. He wanted to raise his hand and suggest that he’d snapped his leg before his stellar letdown that crashed him fifty feet through the branches back to earth. But, well, he couldn’t be sure. Everything after he’d plowed into the black spruce turned fuzzy until he woke up, Kate untangling him from his rigging.
“Also check for loose lines around your neck. You don’t want to strangle yourself the minute you cut yourself free. Once you’re sure you’re free, go ahead and rid yourself of your reserve, then grab up your letdown rope. Take about six feet—leave the rest in your pants pocket. You don’t want to drop it.”
She had her rope out, demonstrating how to wrap the rope through the D rings, then slowly lowered herself to the ground, landing with a soft crunch on the grass.
Showoff. But, okay, not a bit of daredevil in that move, and everyone, with her patient instruction, landed their letdown. Especially Hannah, who might have been a climber in an earlier life.
It could be that Kate had a soft spot for Hannah, too, because while Hannah seemed fearless in the air and while dangling above the ground, she couldn’t seem to nail her PLFs—parachute landing falls. Kate spent an hour during lunch instructing Hannah on her landing rolls in the sawdust pit.
Now, Hannah seemed determined to prove herself as they ran. The runners had passed the first mile marker, Kate now out in the lead with Tucker Newman, the snowboarder from Minnesota. Jed had trained him three years ago, when he’d shown up to join the shots, and had a fondness for the quiet, hard-working kid. He bore high hopes Tucker would make it onto the team.
Kate set a brutal pace—less than eight minutes a mile, in blazing heat, but next week would be with full gear—boots, uniforms—so perhaps this was mercy. Even in Alaska she’d always nailed the workouts, her red hair a beacon for the recruits who hadn’t spent off-season in training.
He probably should forgive himself for passing her, his guilt misplaced. After all, she seemed exactly the person she claimed to be...the best smokejumper he’d ever seen.
At mile two, he drove past the stragglers, shouting out times, then headed up to the front and to the finish line marked by the base entrance. There he climbed out and leaned against his truck.
Kate rounded the corner ten feet behind the leaders—Tucker, and then CJ, the rodeo junkie from eastern Montana.
They surged by him, racing at the end, and Jed clocked the pair in well under twenty-one minutes. Kate flew in at twenty-one minutes, point three seconds.
She stood at the finish line, her hands on her hips, catching her breath as he called out the times.
Her gaze, however, hung on the stragglers—the two preppies out of Chicago, a former linebacker from nearby Kalispell, and Hannah.
Hannah pushed hard, wheezing, her short legs fighting to get her time.
Jed showed Kate the time as Hannah crossed the line, ahead of the final three stragglers.
“She’ll make it,” Kate said and walked away.
“Hey, Boss!” CJ came running up to him, sweat pouring off his temples, down his yellow T-shirt. With a thicker upper body than Tucker, muscles used to swinging a rope and wrestling a steer, he probably had to work twice as hard as Tucker for the same run time. However, with their different backgrounds, the two combined for a lethal pair. “A bunch of us are heading over to Hannah’s place for some BBQ ribs her dad’s been smokin’ all day. Kate said to make sure I invited you.”
Kate said?
Jed glanced at her retreating form now in a light jog toward the jumper standby shack. They’d barely spoken other than conversations about training, and he had only himself to blame.
He could still hear his stupid words ringing in his ears. Please, Kate. Don’t make me regret this. I’m counting on you not to do anything stupid.
Way to win friends. Any goodwill he’d cultivated by inviting her into the training he’d eviscerated with that comment. Evidenced by her follow-up. Don’t worry, Jed. I promise I won’t get anyone hurt.
He’d wounded her, he knew it, but maybe being the bad guy would remind her that she had a responsibility. In a week she had to make the hard choice to send hopefuls like Hannah packing. Making friends with the recruits would only make the final cut more brutal.
“I don’t think so, CJ. But thanks for asking.”
CJ lifted a shoulder. “Kate said you’d say that, too.”
She did, huh?
CJ jogged off, leaving Jed sitting in his truck, stewing.
Which was why, two hours later, Jed found himself showered and sitting outside the mountain home of Hannah Butcher’s parents, owners of the local grocery store. The Butcher’s lived on a ridge overlooking the town in a ranch-style log home with a hanging basket of red geraniums by the green-painted front door and a chainsaw-carved bear holding a welcome sign on the porch.
Jed parked his bike, listening to the music—a Brad Paisley song—spilling out of the backyard, the scent of hickory chips and sweet barbeque turning his stomach in a roil of hunger. Laughter lifted, and he could swear he heard Kate’s—sweet, high, a giggle that belied her tough-as-nails exterior.
Maybe this was—no, for sure this was—a bad idea.
Despite the gnaw of hunger teased by the fragrance of dinner, he didn’t belong here. He wasn’t one of the team, and he shouldn’t forget that.
He climbed back on his bike.
“Jed!”
Kate, of course. He looked up and saw her coming around the end of the house, holding a glass of lemonade, looking cute in a pair of jean cutoff shorts, a green T-shirt that did unforgiveable things to her eyes. She wore her hair in a high ponytail that made her look about sixteen—an age and look he remembered too well.
“I thought I heard your bike. You’re not leaving, are you?”
He lifted a shoulder, and she gave him a look of exasperation.
“I know Conner and the guys aren’t back yet. So what are you going to do? Go home, put in a cardboard pizza, and play Wii?” She ran her finger around the top of her cup, looked away. “Listen. I know we haven’t talked, really, since we got back, but I appreciate you pulling me onto the crew. And I think we have a chance of graduating most of them, right?”
“You’re doing a great job.”
She smiled at this, a light in her eyes, and shoot, but if it didn’t brighten his own darkness. He should give her a compliment more often.
“Come around back. Get to know the recruits. They worship you—”
“I think we should keep it that way.”
She laughed, and it could slay him. “I know you want them to believe you walk on water, but being a little human can’t hurt you.”
“I could say the same for you,” he said. “They think you’re invincible.”
Her smile faltered then, and he frowned, a little unnerved. Of course she thought of herself as invincible, right? Wasn’t that what—
“Yeah, well, everyone’s invincible after they’ve had a taste of Hannah’s father’s baby back ribs. Ray uses this special rub, smokes them for five hours.” She licked her lips, an action that got his attention. Then she hooked her arm around his.
“C’mon. Just a plate of food, and I promise, you don’t have to talk to anyone. You can just perch yourself in the corner, eat a plate of ribs, and glower.” She winked. “You know, be your usual self.”
He gave her a sardonic look but reluctantly gave in and followed her around back.
CJ and Ned sat at one end of the table, their hands gripped, arm wrestling, while Tucker hung out near the speakers, flirting with a couple of girls Jed didn’t recognize. “Smokejumper groupies,” Kate said softly. “Tucker is a hot item.”
No doubt. Along with the preppie boys from Chicago, one slow dancing with Marissa, who’d washed out earlier in the week but had stuck around, it seemed, for other reasons. Another group of jumpers hung out by the smoker, talking with Hannah’s dad.
Ray had logged years as a hotshot before settling down to open Butcher’s Grocery. He now wore oven mitts and an apron as he pulled a tray of ribs from the smoker and brought them over to the picnic table. One of his helpers slid them onto a cutting board and began to separate the ribs with a knife.
Kate tugged Jed’s arm, and he headed over to the action, picking up a paper plate on the way. Homemade baked beans with crunchy bacon, potato salad, pickles, biscuits—he loaded up his plate.
“Jed Ransom—I didn’t realize you were training this bunch.” Ray dished him up a pile of ribs. He wore a baseball cap over his thinning hair, the hint of white in his sideburns, his expression warm. “I thought you’d be out with the hotshot team.”
“A new gig this year. Taking over for Jock.”
As soon as he said it, he saw the man breathe in, swallow hard. Then he glanced at Hannah. Jed followed his view.
She stood holding a baby on her hip, wearing a clean, yellow training shirt and jeans, her blonde hair braided down the nape of her neck. The baby played with her necklace as Hannah talked with her mother, an older version of herself, right down to the blonde hair.
With a start, Jed recognized the baby. “That’s Nutter’s baby?”
“My grandson,” Ray said, his smile dimming. “Gemma isn’t having a good week—we took little Buck for the day—probably the entire weekend.”
Gemma Turnquist, wife of Doug, aka Nutter, one of the hotshots who’d never made it out of Eureka Canyon.
“Doug and she tried for four years to have Bucky.” Grief edged his eyes. “Poor man never met his son.”
And Jed had lost his appetite. He set the plate down, but Ray reached over and picked it back up. “We all died that day, Jed. But we can’t stay dead forever. We’re trying here, and Hannah...” He glanced again at his young, capable, strong daughter. “She’s been dreaming of being a smokejumper ever since Jock came and talked to her fifth-grade class. I could kill him, but it hardly came as a surprise. After all, that’s where I met her mom—on the fire line back in ’63. So what am I going to do? Lay down and forbid her to jump?”
Jed had no words. Ray handed him back the plate. “Just train her well, Jed. And if she passes, then I’ll leave the rest up to God. And her jump boss.” He glanced at Kate. “She’s the spittin’ image of her old man, isn’t she?”
Kate stepped onto the dance floor with a group of rookies, doing a line dance he didn’t recognize. She was grinning, clapping, spinning, her long tan legs moving with the beat. Leading the pack as naturally as if she’d been born the alpha.
“Yeah,” Jed said, his appetite returning. He met Ray’s glance. “I’ll take care of her,” he said, meaning Hannah. Or, rather, all of them.
He settled on a folding chair, balancing his food on his knees as he watched Kate dance, laugh, her eyes shining. CJ came over with a glass of lemonade and mercifully made no comment about Jed’s sudden appearance. Hannah’s mom passed him a homemade chocolate chip cookie, and he added that to his plate, feeling satiated as the night slipped in around them, the wind rustling the poplar and fir, stirring up the piney scent of the backyard retreat.
He could almost forget the fact that in a week half of these recruits might be packing up for home, others donning gear and jumping into the deadliest fires in America.
And with one sharp turn of luck...
No. He was here to make sure luck didn’t have anything to do with it.
Someone turned the music off, and, to his surprise, he spotted Ned—Reuben’s cousin from Minnesota, with his curly, short dark hair, brown eyes, rangy, tall frame—sitting down with a guitar on his knee. He plucked out a mournful tune, then to the encouragement of the audience, lifted his voice in a song penned by some Irish band about Montana smokejumpers. Jed had heard it before and found himself humming along.
A hand on his shoulder startled him, and he looked up to find Kate. “You should play your harmonica,” she said quietly. “They’d like that.”
“I didn’t—”
She reached into her back pocket and pulled out his Hohner, still sheathed in its black case.
“It was in your bike storage compartment. I saw it there when I stole your helmet the other day.”
Oh. He made a face, shook his head, but as Ned finished his song, she stepped forward, and his stomach clenched.
C’mon, Kate. Don’t make a fool out of me.
“You all probably don’t know that our boss, Jed, plays a mean harmonica. More than once he’s serenaded us to sleep in a strike camp.”
Serenaded her, maybe, because he couldn’t remember playing, much, for the ears of others after he’d left Alaska.
“Play us a song, Jed,” she said, turning and holding out the harmonica. He felt the dare in her words, however, lightly spoken.
Shoot, she could make him do things— “Fine.” He got up, swiped the harmonica from her grip, and was rewarded with her victorious smile.
He warmed up with a quick version of “Oh! Susanna,” embellishing with a warble, the sound twangy in the night.
A few of the recruits hummed along, a couple sang.
Kate leaned back against the table, her cup up to her mouth as if to hide her grin.
“What do you want to hear?” he said when he finished, his gaze on her.
“How about ‘On Top of Old Smoky?’” CJ said, and the crowd laughed.
He fitted the harmonica back into place and drew out the song, letting the notes hang in the air like the scent of the hickory, tangy and sweet.
One of Tucker’s fan girls leaned against him, and Tucker draped his arm around her, pulled her close. A couple of the rookies slid down to lean against the house, singing along.
Kate slid onto the table, swinging her legs, humming.
Friendly eyes on him, instead of wary. Eyes that might see past his dark scrutiny to a man who had been in their shoes, who thought about more than just fire. Smiles that suggested respect, if not the adoration they gave Kate.
“One more,” Kate said as he finished. “How about my favorite?”
Her favorite. Oh. A few eyes turned to her, as if curious about the intimacy of the request. Oh, Kate, you had to bring that up.
But the world, for a second, seemed to dim, and then it was only her and him and a song.
He brought the harmonica to his lips again, and the words she’d sung hung in his head as he played the notes, long and languorous, the hymn twining out to turn the crowd solemn.
Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father...
Jock’s favorite song, really. Something that went along with that faith on the fire line that Conner talked about. Jock had sung it so many times his crews knew it by heart.
A few in the audience had started humming along, turning somber as if drawing in the words. Ray picked up the lyrics, started singing in a resonant tenor. “Morning by morning new mercies I see...”
Kate was smiling, her eyes shiny, nodding her head to the beat. Jed’s breath clogged as if it were in his chest.
He re-sheathed the harmonica to rousing applause and got up, waving it away. “Should you cubbies pass next week, you might hear me play again. Maybe.” He couldn’t look at Kate as he walked back to his chair, his heart
thumping.
She had a mean streak to make him pull that song from the past, and now that the last tones had died, the words settled inside him, turned into a burr. He pocketed the harmonica, picked up his lemonade to drain it.
“Thanks—”
He heard Kate beside him and glanced at her. Swallowed. Shrugged. “I gotta get going.”
A crease appeared between her eyebrows, then it cleared, and she stepped back. “Yeah, right. I get it.”
No, actually, she didn’t, but he couldn’t go there. Not without doing something stupid and pulling her away from prying eyes, demanding from her exactly why she’d had to rouse the memory of him waking up in her arms, still cold with shock, the night arching above them. And her singing. Softly. Enough for him to lean into it, yearn for it. To want to believe.
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided—
A song that could still make him marvel at the fact they’d lived, right through until morning, that maybe God had sent a team in to find them, and that yes...He provided.
Except, maybe she did get it, because she turned back to him, her voice low. “You weren’t the only one out there who lost faith that day, Jed. I was hoping maybe we had a second chance to find our way back.”
He had a retort, but she caught his gaze, letting him see a softness in her eyes.
We’ll survive this summer and maybe even become friends.
So that’s what she wanted. To repair the broken places inside. The only difference was, “I never had any faith to begin with.”
Her smile dimmed, and he felt like a jerk. But she’d started it, making him, ever so slightly wonder, even hope, that he could have two worlds—love and duty.
He sloughed her hand from his arm. “Hang out with these cubbies all you want, but don’t think for a second you can really be their friend. This is a tough job, and they have to be a little afraid of you to listen to you on the line. Never forget, it’s up to you to keep them alive.”
Where There's Smoke: inspirational romantic suspense (Montana Fire Book 1) Page 11