by Tawna Fenske
“You must have been at one of our shows?” he asked.
“At the Boyton Ballroom the other night,” she said. “It was a great set.”
“Thanks.” He grinned at Grady. “I’m guessing this is the reason we had to play ‘Smokey the Bear’?”
Grady grunted. “Something like that.”
Willa moved forward to survey his work. “Can I ask what you’re doing?”
“Sure.” Ryan spread his arms wide. “This is where we lay out all the chutes and pack them. Gotta have a minimum of three years of service to work this job.”
“We use Ram Airs here,” Grady put in. “The square chute you see hanging up there. Most of us are trained on rounds, too, though.”
Willa fingered the ropes, marveling at their thickness. “Is there an advantage to one over the other?”
Grady shrugged. “You can steer better with the square chute, but there’s a steep learning curve. Takes a lot of practice.”
“The army uses the rounds,” Ryan offered. “More forgiving.”
“You’ll find advocates for both,” he said. “Come on, I’ll show you where we do repairs.”
Grady’s voice held a note of excitement she hadn’t expected. He was passionate about his work; that was obvious.
“I should warn you up front that I might get called out,” he said as he led her down a concrete hallway toward a room giving off an odd buzz. “They had some lightning strikes up in Northern Washington, so we’re on standby to fly.”
“Got it,” she said. “I made sure lunch is portable, just in case.”
“Thanks.”
The buzzing got louder as they approached the room, and Grady led her inside. What in the world?
Grady turned to smile at her. “This is where the magic happens.”
Willa surveyed the room in awe. Sewing machines, at least two dozen of them, lined the room in tidy rows. It looked like her high school home ec room, except all the machines were manned by grown men. Muscular, rugged men, a few of them with a faint sheen of sweat glistening on their bare chests.
One of them looked up and nodded at her. “Ma’am.” He looked at Grady. “Air-conditioning’s busted again.”
“Figures.”
Grady turned to smile at her, and Willa realized her mouth was hanging open. She closed it, still too stunned to find words. “Knitting,” she managed at last. “When I made that crack about playing music instead of knitting…”
“Yep.” He grinned. “This is what I meant. Welcome to the largest sewing circle on the West Coast.”
“What on Earth?”
“If you want to be a good smokejumper, you pride yourself on stitch quality,” he said. “Bobby McKillop over there is a senior rigger, and Pete Jensen is a master rigger.”
A guy with arms the size of tree trunks saluted, then went back to sewing. Willa watched, dumbfounded. “These are parachutes?”
“Chutes, harnesses, belts, jump suits—you name it,” Grady said. “You know how I mentioned we’re all control freaks?”
“Yes, but I didn’t realize this is what you meant.”
Grady grinned and ran his fingers over the fabric dangling from the ceiling. “Our lives depend on all that stuff, so we make damn sure every stitch is perfect.”
“I had no idea.”
“Most people don’t,” he said. “I’m sure there’s stuff that goes on behind the scenes in your life that no one would ever guess at.”
“Right.” Willa nodded, reminding herself he was talking about work. Not her personal life, which was where more of the unknowns lurked. “This is the last thing in the world I pictured when you said you were a smokejumper.”
“We’re full of surprises.” Grady smiled and took her hand. “Come on, I’ll show you where we keep the gear.”
He led her into another room, this one stacked high with shelves teeming with boxes. Hundreds of them, thousands, maybe.
“These are the packs we carry.”
She turned to see him hoisting one off the floor.
“We jump first, and then these get tossed out afterward on cargo chutes,” he explained. “We carry our own gear in the field.”
“What’s in it?”
“That’s a two-manner,” he said. “It’s enough to keep two firefighters alive for two to three days. You’ve got tools, food, water, climbing gear, things like that. And we’ve gotta be able to hike a dozen or so miles with it, since that’s often what it takes to get out to a road. To the pickup point.”
“Who picks you up?” she asked. “A plane or…?”
“Usually volunteers,” he said. “Drivers will get called out to the nearest town, wherever that happens to be, and we’ll have to hike to get to them.”
Willa tried lifting the pack. “Whoa.” It was heavy. She could barely get it off the ground. No wonder Grady’s shoulders were so strong.
“That one’s about a hundred and ten pounds,” he said. “There’s a heavier one with a chain saw.”
“A chain saw?”
“For clearing brush. With smokejumping, it’s all about the initial attack. The idea is to knock the fire out while it’s still small.”
Willa shook her head, amazed by everything that went into his job. She hadn’t had a clue. “So how does this work exactly?” she asked. “You get a call there’s a fire, and then you go?”
“Or smoke,” he said. “Sometimes not even that. Sometimes we get a call that there’s been a lightning storm in Nevada or Montana or somewhere like that, and it’s our job to go fly around looking for strikes.”
“Like smoke curling up from the forest—that sort of thing?”
“Yep,” he said. “The precursor to fires, rather than a big, raging gobbler.”
“Gobbler?”
“Gobbler or gob—that’s what we call the big fires,” he said. “We’re after the small ones. The smoldering bits in the remotest places that we’re trying to keep from turning into big fires.”
No wonder Grady grimaced at the mention of thunderstorms. “Is it usually lightning strikes that cause them?”
“That’s common, but we see some human-caused fires, too.”
“Wow, Smokey.” She patted his abs, lingering a little longer than necessary as she smiled up at him. “You’re kind of a badass.”
He grinned, that mischievous, delicious grin that sent tingles running up and down her arms. And to other parts.
“Want to see how fast I can get my clothes on?”
Willa laughed. “Is this where I’m supposed to say I’m more interested in seeing how fast you can take them off?”
Grady smiled back. “Depends on which would impress you more.”
Electricity crackled between them, their own private lightning storm with much more risk of collateral damage. Willa took a step back.
“I take it you have to suit up fast when a call comes in?”
Grady watched her face, clearly sensing a shift. “Yep. Come on, I’ll show you the speed racks.”
He led her into a room with rows and rows of garment hooks. “We need to be able to get our gear on in two minutes or less,” he said. “Kneepads, ankle braces, leg straps, the whole nine yards.”
She fingered the edge of a sleeve, marveling at the weight of it. “Because the pack’s not heavy enough?”
He laughed and shrugged into it while keeping it on the hook. All part of the strategy, she guessed. “There’s Kevlar in here,” he said. “Protection from tree branches. That’s one of the biggest risks out in the field.”
Willa tried to picture it. Grady jumping out of a plane. Grady with those spiky things on his feet as he clambered down from a treetop. Grady in a blazing forest with a chain saw, making sure the fire couldn’t spread.
She wasn’t sure that’s how it all worked in real life, but her mental pictur
e was scary enough. “You said your dad used to jump?”
“Yeah, but he retired.” Something dark passed over Grady’s face. “Probably stayed in a little too long. It was hell on his body those last few years, but he didn’t really have a backup plan.”
Willa nodded, remembering Grady’s own comments about needing a plan for himself. “Sounds rough.”
He shrugged. “It’s part of the life.”
“So what’s are your ideas for after? For getting out earlier than your dad, I mean. Are there other jobs that interest you?”
Grady’s face hardened, but he kept smiling. It was the strangest expression. “Maybe stripping.” He rubbed a hand over his forehead, which seemed like a nervous gesture. “Those guys at Boyton seemed to be killing it that night.”
Willa studied his face. “You don’t like worrying about the future.”
He shrugged. “You’re right, stripping’s no good. Maybe I’ll be an astronaut?”
Message received. The subject was off limits. “All right.” Willa cleared her throat. “So your brothers—you said a couple are smokejumpers?”
“Yeah, and one Hotshot.” His whole body seemed to relax. “Those are the ground crew guys.”
“Your dad must be proud of you.”
“We’re pretty tight,” he said. “My whole family. But especially the ones who fight fires. We’re all really close.”
“I’d like to meet them.”
He gave her an odd look, and she realized what she’d just said. Right. The two-date rule meant she didn’t have a lot of meet-the-family moments.
“I’m sure they’re good smokejumpers,” she said. “Maybe I’ll see them around.”
Lame. Super lame, but Grady didn’t react.
“Jake’s out on a fire in California right now,” he said. “And Paul has the next couple of days off.”
There was an intensity in his eyes that made Willa take a step back. What was she doing here? She hadn’t meant to make this feel like a budding relationship, and it definitely wasn’t a date. So what was it?
She stepped back again, pasting a smile on her face. “We should go have that lunch now, you think?”
Grady nodded. “Sure thing.” He shrugged out of the suit and offered her his arm. “Thanks again for bringing food.”
They made their way down the hall in silence as Willa glanced at her watch. She’d been gone only forty-five minutes, but already it felt like ages she’d been away from work. She’d have to make an excuse to leave soon.
“It’s nothing too fancy,” Willa said as she started to unpack the cooler. “Roll-up sandwiches with turkey and avocado. I’ve got apple slices here, too.”
“This looks amazing.” Grady grabbed a chocolate chip cookie and took a bite. “Life’s short; eat dessert first.”
Willa fought the urge to grimace. “My father used to say that,” she said. “Still does sometimes.”
“I think I’d like your dad.”
She said nothing, just focused on unpacking the cooler. But she could feel her shoulders tensing. “There’s enough here if you want to share with the other guys,” she said. “I made some extra sandwiches for—”
Waaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!
The siren was louder than anything Willa had ever heard, filling her eardrums and prickling the hair on her arms. She looked at Grady, who was stuffing a sandwich in his mouth as fast as he could.
“Gotta go,” he said around a mouthful.
Boots thundered down the hallway behind him, and Willa picked up snippets of words.
Northern Idaho.
Lightning strikes.
Hurry up, asshole.
Grady dug fast through the cooler, grabbing cookies and apple slices and even an extra sandwich in a baggie. He finished chewing and tucked the food in the crook of his arm. “I’ll be set for the ride if I can fit all this in my jump suit.”
“Be careful out there.”
He smiled and pulled her into his arms. “I always am.”
The kiss was quick, but Willa’s toes curled anyway, and the rest of her screamed for more.
But Grady was already backing away. “I’ll call if I can,” he shouted, jogging toward the hall. “Or text.”
Willa rested a hand on the cooler and watched Grady surge into the rushing mob. “Good luck,” she shouted. “Stay safe.”
In the distance, she heard men shouting. Somewhere outside, a plane engine roared to life.
“I can walk you out.”
Willa turned to see Ryan from the rigging room. “You’re not going?”
“Nah,” he said. “I’m not on the jump list till tomorrow.”
She began packing the cooler, surprised to discover her hands had gone wobbly. “Want a sandwich?”
His eyes lit up. “Thanks!”
He unwrapped it and dove in while Willa finished packing the cooler. “Kind of a crazy life, huh?” she said, making idle conversation.
Ryan nodded around a mouthful of turkey and avocado. “It’s rough on relationships,” he said.
“Oh, we’re not in a relationship,” she said. “Grady and me, we’re just…”
What the hell were they? She didn’t have an answer, but Ryan didn’t wait for one.
“Midsummer gets especially hard,” he said. “It’s hit-or-miss whether you see each other at all. Most of the girls I’ve dated get sick of it after a season.”
Willa digested the information and did her best to look like she didn’t care. “Sounds like an okay arrangement for me,” she said. “I don’t have room in my life for a guy who’s hanging around all the time, distracting me from my work.”
“Won’t have to worry about that with a smokejumper.” He reached for a cookie. “We’re never around. Not even when you want us to be.”
“Good.”
Wasn’t it?
Yes, of course it was. This was exactly what Willa wanted. A date or two for fun, some amusing banter, good sex—okay, great sex—and no attachments. This was what she’d been built for. Exactly the kind of relationship she needed.
“It’s not a relationship,” she said again, as much for her own benefit as his.
“Whatever you say.” Ryan grinned as he stuffed the rest of a sandwich in his mouth, clearly not believing her at all.
Chapter Seven
Grady trudged out of the forest and leaned his Pulaski against a tree. Peeling his jump suit collar off his face, he glanced over his shoulder to see Tony setting his chain saw on a stump.
“I’m thinking it’s a Spam and Ritz kinda night,” Grady said. “You?”
Tony took a long drink from his canteen and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a smear of soot across his cheek. He looked like Grady felt—filthy, exhausted, but satisfied by a job well done.
“Saw some huckleberries down by the creek,” Tony said. “Remember that Spam with huckleberry glaze that Jones made that time?”
Bobby McKillop staggered out of the woods behind Tony, limping a little on his left leg. He’d had a rough landing when they arrived two days ago after his tuck-and-roll took him right over a pointed rock none of them had seen. The jump suit had protected him from the worst of it, but Grady could guess the guy was sporting some badass bruises.
“I’m starving,” he growled, dumping a full canteen of water over his head. “Whose turn to cook?”
“Abrams,” Tony said as the young transfer from Montana joined them and dropped his combi at the edge of the campsite.
“What?” Ethan Abrams unzipped his jump suit and sat down on a boulder to take off his boots. “I’ve got kitchen duty, yeah?”
“Yep.” Grady dug into his pack and pulled out a battered pot.
The rest of the guys produced the other necessities—a spatula, half a pack of crackers, a pouch of powdered Gatorade to mix with wat
er.
With meal prep underway, Grady got to work washing up as best he could, using water from the nearby creek to scrub soot and dirt off his hands.
They’d spent forty-eight hours clearing trees and ground cover, eliminating fuel to starve out the fire. It was a small blaze, barely an acre, so they’d gotten it under control without too much drama. No high winds, no sketchy cliffs, no charging grizzly bears fleeing the smoke. They’d have to mop up in the morning, but for now they could rest.
“Who’s got fuel?” Ethan asked as he fiddled with his one-burner stove.
“Yo.” Tony threw him a can while everyone else busted out their tin camp plates.
Grady’s stomach growled as he started shucking layers of clothes. He glanced up at the sky, admiring the pink and red streaks arcing through the clouds and clawing at the edges of the sun. The light was fading fast, but what a show. Forest fires did a lot of damage, but they made for killer sunsets.
“Everyone check your sleeping bags for snakes,” Bobby called tiredly as he shook his out and laid it on the ground. “Buchanan was working the Tusk fire out near Whitefish last week. Said he found a baby rattler curled up right inside.”
“Shit,” Grady muttered, shaking out his own bag before claiming a flat spot a ways back from the others. Not that he didn’t love his teammates, but a childhood surrounded by nine siblings all sharing rooms had left him with a fondness for sleeping solo.
Except that night with Willa. That was a switch.
His brain flashed on an image of her curled naked against him, her golden-brown hair tickling his nose. She’d felt so soft in his arms, so warm and lush.
“I’m gonna sleep hard tonight.” Tony collapsed onto his sleeping bag across the camp, boots still on his feet. Grady glanced up to see his teammate checking his phone.
“You have service?” Grady asked.
Seemed like a less nosy question than “Did you hear from Kayla,” though he kinda wondered about that. He wasn’t in the habit of quizzing buddies about their love lives, but Willa’s comment about her friend’s fondness for Tony had him curious.