Seeing Red

by Jill Shalvis

“I’ll take that in writing,” he said, just as the nurse pushed her out and slid the curtain shut in her face.

  “I love that woman ridiculously,” she heard him say to the doctor, and her entire heart just tipped on its side. She turned and saw her mother waiting, her hand in Kenny’s. Next to her stood Tina. Chloe and the twins had shown up, too, and they had their arms around their mom, Chloe chomping on a big wad of bubble gum, Diana clutching a magazine, Madeline with her head on her mom’s shoulder.

  The whole gang. The whole family.

  Rallying for one of their own.

  As she moved toward them, Summer realized they’d all stiffened, their faces drawn with fright and concern. And she realized she had tears streaming down her face and that she must look like a complete wreck. “It’s okay,” she said. “He woke up.”

  They let out a collective sigh. Everyone hugged, and then Summer took her mom’s hands. “I’m going to stick around for a while. What do you think?”

  Camille cupped her face. “I think I could get used to that.”

  “Me too,” Summer said, and turned when the nurse stuck her head out of Joe’s cubicle.

  “Mrs. Walker? We need you back in here. He won’t cooperate unless he can see you.”

  Indeed Joe was arguing with another nurse over something, and just the sound of his voice made her heart sigh. She could get used to that too, she decided. Very used to that, and moved to stand at his side. “Problem?”

  “Tell me again,” he demanded and gripped her hand tight. “I want to make sure I wasn’t dreaming.”

  Her heart melted. “I love you.”

  He sighed and relaxed, and let out a smile. “So it was real.”

  “As real as it gets,” she promised and sat at his side.

  Epilogue

  Six Months Later…

  Summer sat on the beach not too far from the pier, sipping from a strawberry shake. Her diamond ring twinkled in the sun. She’d had it for months and she still couldn’t stop looking at it. “Trade,” she said, and took back her frozen yogurt from Joe.

  Ashes sat at their feet, perfectly alert, watching every “trade” with careful, hopeful eyes.

  Joe shook his head. “She’s worse than having a kid. Can you imagine?”

  Though she knew he truly couldn’t imagine having a child, their child, she could. The past six months had been heaven on earth for her. She’d begun her own expedition company, all of her treks right here in Southern California, and it fulfilled her like nothing else had.

  Except this man. He fulfilled her. He fulfilled her heart and soul, and she was ready to do as she’d promised him six months ago in the hospital. She wanted to be his wife. She wanted him in her bed every night, and her biggest secret…she wanted his children.

  “Red?” With a finger to her chin, he tipped her face up, concern creasing those eyes she loved so much. “What are you thinking about?”

  “I can imagine having a kid,” she whispered. “Your kid, with your beautiful eyes, and kind, huge heart, with your passion and strength and love of life. I can imagine it, Joe, because you’d make the best dad in the world.”

  His eyes slid to her belly, which while not exactly flat, did not have a baby in it. “I’m not pregnant,” she said quickly. “I’m just saying.”

  He stared at her, his shake forgotten. “Red—”

  “I know.” She managed to smile past the lump in her throat. “You aren’t interested. It’s okay.”

  “It is? Are you sure?”

  She took his hand. “Kids I can live without. What I can’t live without, Joe, is you.”

  His eyes went suspiciously bright and he brought her hand to his mouth, kissing her palm. “You humble me right to the core. You know that? And the truth is, kids might be a part of this adventure I shouldn’t miss.”

  Her heart was going to burst right out of her chest. “Joe.”

  Leaning in, he nipped at her jaw, her ear. “In fact…” he murmured.

  Her pulse raced, her eyes drifted closed. “Let’s begin practicing?”

  “I thought you’d never ask…”

  About the Author

  New York Times bestselling author Jill Shalvis has written over four dozen romance novels, including her acclaimed sexy contemporary series set in Lucky Harbor. The RITA Award–winner and 3-time National Readers Choice Award–winner makes her home in a small town in the Sierras. You can find Jill’s award-winning books wherever romances are sold and visit her website for a complete book list and daily blog detailing her city-girl-living-in-the-mountains adventures.

  You can learn more at:

  JillShalvis.com

  Twitter @jillshalvis

  Facebook.com/jillshalvis

  Raised as an army brat, bush pilot Lyndie Anderson has always been independent—and alone. Yet when her cargo is a drop-dead gorgeous fireman, Lyndie suddenly feels a burning desire—one that may ground her for the first time in her life.

  Please see the next page for an excerpt from White Heat.

  Chapter 1

  To Lyndie Anderson, nothing beat being in the cockpit. With the wind beneath her wings and her Cessna’s tank full to the brim, the rest of the world fell away and ceased to exist.

  Not that the world noticed. She could fall off the planet itself and not a ripple would be felt.

  She liked it that way.

  No ties, her grandfather had always told her. Ties held one down. Ties hampered a person’s freedom.

  Lyndie wouldn’t know if that was true or not, as the last of her own personal ties—her grandfather, a staunch lifer in the military—was gone now.

  Kick ass.

  That had been his motto, his mantra. He’d taught it to her on her first day of kindergarten, when she’d stood before her military elementary school, quaking in her boots.

  He’d loved nothing more than to have her repeat it back to him. At five years old, she’d stared out of the corner of her eye at the school, where she could see other little girls dressed in their pretty dresses and shiny shoes and ribbons. They all danced their way through the front door with nary a look back at their misty-gazed mothers, while the camouflage-clad Lyndie had suddenly wanted to cling to the man no one else had ever dared to cling to.

  “Kick ass,” she’d repeated to him softly.

  “What?” Her grandfather had curved a hand around his ear and frowned. “Can’t hear that pansy whisper. Speak up, girl.”

  “Kick ass, sir!” She’d lifted her chin and saluted, aware of the mothers looking her way, no doubt horrified at the rough and tough–looking little girl with the nasty language.

  Her own social status had been cemented that long-ago day, but her grandfather had tossed his head back and roared with gruff laughter, as if it had been their own private joke.

  And it had been. She’d lost her parents two years before that in a car accident, and by kindergarten her memory of them had faded. Few had dared interfere with her grandfather, and as a result, there hadn’t been much softness in her childhood. That had been fine with Lyndie, who wouldn’t have recognized softness anyway.

  They’d moved from base to base, and after her grandfather had whipped each of those bases into shape, they’d take off for the next. She couldn’t remember how many schools she’d attended, having lost track at the count of fifteen before graduating and gravitating toward a similar nomadic lifestyle as a pilot for hire. But she could remember how many different planes she’d flown. She could remember each and every one of them, with her grandfather riding shotgun, teaching her everything he knew.

  Those planes had been her real home, and over the years she’d honed her skills, flying whatever she could get her hands on and loving it. When her grandfather died and his nest egg had come to her, she’d upgraded her old beater Cessna 172 to a six-seater 206, which some liked to say was nothing but a big old station wagon with wings.

  She loved her Station Air as she fondly referred to it. The big thing sure came in handy. Now, at twenty-ei
ght, she worked for an international charity organization out of San Diego called Hope International. She was paid to fly volunteering experts into regions desperate for their aid. Doctors, dentists, engineers, financial experts…she’d flown so many she’d lost track.

  She was flying one such expert now, a U.S. forest firefighter this time, to a small but remote wildland fire in the Barranca del Cobre, an area in northwestern Mexico.

  Thanks to her job, she’d spent a lot of time in this particular mountainous region. Surprisingly enough, she’d fallen for the wide, open, undiscovered beauty, and had made it her mission to fly south as often as possible, ensuring that each and every one of the myriad of hidden villages received dental and health care, or whatever they needed. Not a small job.

  But right now one of her favorites, an especially isolated village named San Puebla, needed help with a slash-and-burn ranch fire. Due to limited water sources and remoteness, the flames had escaped control. Compounding the problem was the severity of the drought this year, and the fact that wildfires had become a nationwide crisis.

  More than seventy Mexicans had lost their lives in this season alone in the deployment of airplanes, helicopters, and firefighters. In southeastern Mexico, 250 Mexican firefighters currently were hard at work, along with 550 military personnel and 2,400 volunteers, all battling the out of control fires still burning. Guatemala and Honduras were threatened by similar situations. The San Puebla fire was considered insignificant in comparison.

  No doubt, they desperately needed help. She had some of that help on its way. The man in her Cessna had been a firefighter in South Carolina, and had the skills necessary to organize a big crew.

  And a big crew was needed. Just a few days ago the fire had been at twenty acres, but it’d escalated since, blooming over three hundred acres now, threatening the village.

  “Kick ass,” she said to herself, with a grim smile for the man who was no longer around to see her do exactly that.

  “We almost there?”

  This from her passenger. Firefighter Griffin Moore had gotten on board casually enough, without a glance at her, though she’d glanced at him. She always glanced at a good-looking man; it was a sheer feminine reaction of healthy hormones.

  But in the last few moments, since the change in altitude from San Diego as they climbed over the Barranca del Cobre, sailing through majestic peaks dangerous and remote enough to swallow them up if they wanted to, he’d begun to exhibit signs of nerves.

  “We’re about sixty miles out,” she said of the just over five-hundred-mile flight.

  “Bumpy ride.”

  His voice was low, gravelly. As if he didn’t use it often. And since he spoke to the window, she wasn’t clear on whether he was making an idle observation or complaining.

  At least he hadn’t hit on her. It happened, and every time it did, it both surprised and amused her. Most of the time she was so wrapped up in her work she actually forgot she was female. But then some guy, usually a gorgeous one—she’d never understood why the better-looking ones always turned out to be jerks—figured her for a captive audience. Not that she had anything against men in general. Actually, she enjoyed men very much, she just liked to do her own picking. And she was picky.

  Bottom line, her life was flying. And unlike Sam, her boss at Hope International—a man who appreciated the finer, more delicate dance of getting women into his bed—she didn’t consider the experts she flew prospective lovers.

  When a passenger wouldn’t take no for an answer, she had no problem explaining the basics. One, she was a black belt. And two, she wasn’t afraid to open the passenger door—in the middle of a flight—to assist an annoying passenger off the plane.

  That threat alone usually warded off any further advances.

  But this man hadn’t so much as spared her a glance. He hadn’t even spoken until now. “There’s always turbulence right here,” she explained, trying to be a good hostess. “And to tell you the truth, it’s going to get a little worse.”

  He lost his tan.

  “Need a bag?” Damn it, she’d just cleaned out the back yesterday. “Let me know.”

  Oh, now he looked at her. Right at her with icy blue eyes and a voice turned hardened steel. Except for a sensual mouth, the rest of his face might have been carved from stone. “I’m not going to be sick in your plane.”

  How many times had she heard that from some cocky expert, usually a know-it-all surgeon pressed into doing charity work by his hospital, only to spend the rest of the day cleaning up the back of her plane?

  Once again, she eyeballed her forest firefighter, who was dressed in the dark green Nomex pants of his profession, with a darker green T-shirt tucked in. Broad shoulders and long legs, both of which made fitting into the compact seats a challenge. Light brown hair clipped short. His big hands gripped the armrests. Not good. Not good at all. “You sure you’re okay?”

  He had a quietly sober face, expression unyielding, gaze unflinchingly direct. “Just get me there.”

  A charmer. But since she never bothered to be charming either, that didn’t bother her. She looked away from him and glanced down at the alpine crests lined with a green ribbon of conifers and small, hidden rivers as far as the eyes could see. Glorious, and a small part of her heart—not usually tied to any land—squeezed.

  It squeezed even more when she got over the next peak. Off in the distance, marring the stark blue sky, grew a cloud of smoke that was so much bigger and more threatening than she’d imagined, her throat closed up.

  This guy better be good at his job, she thought, and looked him over once again, this time assessing for strength and character. She already knew he hated to fly, which seemed odd. “I’m taking it you’re not a smoke jumper.”

  He had his face plastered to the window, clearly trying to get a better view of the fire, impossible to do with the smoke impeding their visibility. “I didn’t drop out of planes, no.”

  Didn’t. Past tense. Odd…“A hotshot, then?”

  “Yes.”

  So he battled his fires from the ground, in fiery, unfathomable conditions requiring strength and stamina, facing mayhem and death at every turn. Still…“You knew you’d have to fly here, right? Maybe you should keep your volunteering closer to home if you don’t like to get on a plane.”

  “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” His knuckles were white on the armrests. He shifted in the seat and bumped his knees. He was a pretty big guy. Rather mouthwatering, too, if she was being honest, and she usually was. There was a suppleness to all that lean muscle—and a good bit of pure power. It was obvious that physical labor was a part of his lifestyle, weak stomach or not. Interesting.

  Taking her eyes off him, she simultaneously turned the control wheel and applied rudder pressure for an eastward banking turn.

  He let out a low oath.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “I could fly this thing upside down and backward and still get us there.”

  If possible, his grip on the armrest tightened.

  “Really,” she said. “This is just a barely more challenging approach than most because of the quick change in altitude, but I’ve done it so many times I could—”

  “Yeah. Fly it upside down and backward. Got it.”

  A smart-ass too. That bothered her even less than the lack of charm, but because he’d gone an interesting shade of green, she wanted to keep him talking instead of puking. “You do this often? Volunteer?”

  “No.”

  “Yeah, I hear a firefighter’s schedule can be pretty hectic. Twenty-four hour shifts, right?”

  He lifted a shoulder.

  “Well, I hope you’re braced for that because you’re going to hit the ground running down there. There are people in danger of losing everything. And believe me, they don’t have much to begin with.”

  With another noncommittal grunt, Griffin pressed closer to the window so she could no longer see even his profile, but she had no problem getting the message.

&
nbsp; Conversation over.

  Fine. She’d only been trying to help him forget to lose his lunch in her clean plane. Instead, she’d concentrate now on getting them there. Time was of the essence this time around. Beneath them lay Copper Canyon, a breathtaking network of more than twenty canyons covering 20,000 square miles. Four times the size of the Grand Canyon, the place was a natural wonder. Lost in there, in the foothills of the Sierra Madre Occidental, lay San Puebla. The village had once been a miner’s jackpot but was now too remote and isolated for anything or anyone but the most rugged of ranchers. The thought of them losing what little they had frightened her. She could only hope this man had what it would take to direct the crew, who would likely be a bunch of ranchers and a few military laborers sent in by train, all with little to no fire training.

  She dipped the plane into a low valley, her breath catching at the vast beauty of the forest, the undiscovered creeks and rivers. The deep gorges and canyons and high vistas were some of the most amazing in the world, unarguably among the most rugged and secluded.

  Above her, the sky spread glorious blue for as far as the eye could see—except for the ominous cloud billowing up from the ground. A cloud that began to threaten her visibility as she came in close.

  Nearly there now, she stole another peak at her stoic passenger, over six feet of pure heartache. “You okay?”

  He took his gaze off the window to send a baleful stare her way.

  Right. He still didn’t want to talk.

  The smoke thickened even more. It’d been a while since her passenger had spoken. There was no sound in the cockpit except the drone of the engine. She squinted a little, as if that could help her see. No matter how many hours she had in the air, flying in conditions like this could mount tension faster than anything, and she mentally prepared for the inevitable difficult landing.

  “Can you even see?” he grated out a moment later when visibility had gone down to next to nothing.

  Not so much, no. But they were only a few miles out now. She could see the bright glow of the actual blaze. It was a horrifying sight, and she could hardly make out the land beneath, but she knew the layout extremely well. “Don’t worry.”