Wildfire at Larch Creek

by M. L. Buchman

  She finished her inspection and once more stood in front of him. She pulled the logbook from his nerveless fingers and tucked it back into the door pocket. He noticed that right next to it was a fire shelter in its pouch. All helicopter pilots who flew to wildfire kept one there in case they were downed too close to a blaze.

  The thought of Macy Tyler in a deployed fire shelter was enough to give him nightmares.

  “Crap, Mace. How did I get so far behind?”

  “Been away a while, Flame Boy.”

  “Flame Boy?”

  “C’mon, Harada. Johnny Storm, the Human Torch, Fantastic Four? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten all your comic books while you were away. Are you a total dweeb now?” Her greatest insult.

  “Flame Boy?” he knew he sounded dense, but Macy as a woman still had his brain stupefied beyond functioning.

  He barely saw her launch the punch in time to clench his gut. Still, much of the air whooshed out of his lungs for a moment. He’d forgotten how strong she was.

  “Wow! Major gut muscles there, Mr. Storm. Bet you work out for a living.”

  He blinked down at her and tried to find a response. He really did.

  “Now’s your chance.”

  His chance for what?

  She waited a moment before shaking her head and climbing aboard. Just before she shut the door she said, “Your door is on the other side, oh Dense One.”

  He opened his mouth and then shut it again and moved around to the passenger door on the left side of the cockpit. His chance? To what? Stop gaping like a beached salmon?

  Baxter was sitting by the copilot’s door waiting for him. He cracked it to ask Macy if the dog was coming or staying, and was almost butted aside onto the pavement, which answered that question.

  Tim opened the rear side door to the five seats of the passenger cabin behind the cockpit.

  Baxter gave him a second look as if to make sure that wasn’t Tim’s spot. The dog was also clearly used to riding next to his mistress. Tim gave him a nudge and he clambered aboard.

  Tim shut the door on his “I’m a sad puppy” face and climbed in the left-side copilot’s door.

  There was a high-whine as Macy hit the starter that sliced right into his skull. He slammed the door which cut the noise by two-thirds.

  “Wow! That was harsh.”

  Macy didn’t respond. That’s when he noticed she was wearing a double-earmuff headset with a boom mic. He scrabbled around looking for one.

  “Under the seat,” Macy yelled at him over the climbing noise. “Baxter doesn’t wear them much. Chewed on them a bit as a puppy, but he’s over that now. The noise doesn’t seem to bother him.”

  He dug them out and clamped them on before the turboshaft engine rode up too loud. He also found a pair of sunglasses that weren’t too scuffed up and pulled those on as well.

  Once the rotor was pounding away, Macy switched on the headsets and he could hear her.

  “You fly?”

  “Only a little. Returning from a fire, if we got a lift from helitack, I try to get front seat. Nothing official.”

  “Let’s see you do your stuff.”

  He looked at her as if she had lost her mind and almost got trapped in that dazzling smile.

  Macy Tyler, very female, deftly handling heavy machinery, and with a smile brighter than the heart of a wildfire.

  Yeah, now at least he knew what chance he’d passed up a moment ago…his last chance to turn and run.

  # # #

  Macy had to admit that she was enjoying screwing with Tim’s head. He’d never had a single bone of sneaky in his body. Maybe that’s how he swept up the bar babes so easily, by being so forthright about wanting them.

  He wrapped those big hands of his around her helicopter’s controls and she did her best to repress the warm shiver that slid up from where her hands rested on the matching set in front of her.

  Oddly, it was his hands that had been the biggest change about him. That and the sadness. Both of those were new. He’d always been lean and athletic. Even now, bulked up with the work of smokejumping he was still lean, just powerful. But his hands, which had always been his most delicate feature, were now well callused and solid with muscle. As solid as his gut.

  He tentatively moved the cyclic right and left, forward and back. She let her right hand ride along on the matching joystick that curved up to be positioned over her lap.

  “Lighter feel than a Black Hawk.”

  “I’ve never flown one,” and found herself a little ticked that he had. Black Hawks were masterful Type I machines that could heave a thousand gallons per load, over four tons of water or retardant. Her Bell 206 LongRanger, despite the L-4 modification of a larger engine, was classed as a Type III, and could heft only a few hundred gallons.

  “Emily’s Firehawk feels like a tank by comparison. I flew the MD500 with Jeannie a couple times before she graduated to the Firehawk. That’s a delicate craft.”

  Jeannie or the MD500? Macy did her best to ignore the stab of jealousy. Was it at his flying the Firehawk or had he also flown Emily and Jeannie as a part of the “training”?

  “I always felt as if I was going to break her little helicopter. This just feels right, a nice place between the two others.”

  She wasn’t going to ask. She wasn’t. She wasn’t!

  Tim checked all around, and eased up on the collective with his left hand.

  Macy could place his skill level instantly. None of the beginner flail, but no practiced smoothness either. He could fly basic patterns under perfect conditions and that would be about all. Still, he had no obvious bad habits—other than collecting women like bright pennies.

  Tim climbed steadily and when she pointed a finger north, he managed a reasonable turn in that direction, though his rudder work needed some definite practice.

  “So, does my baby fly as smooth as Emily or Jeannie?” Oh shit! She hadn’t been going to say that. She really hadn’t. Crap like that always just came out.

  Tim burst out laughing.

  Not quite the response she’d expected.

  “Oh god. You’d have to meet them to know just how ludicrous that question is.”

  “Ugly hags?” she only wished.

  “No, both stunning.”

  That would teach her. He continued apparently unaware of the level of shit he’d just left her to stew in. She wouldn’t be jealous. There was nothing to be jealous of. Tim lived in the Lower Forty-eight. Women down there were all—

  “Emily Beale is about the most terrifying woman you’d ever meet. She’s a former Army Major.”

  “Couldn’t cut it, huh?”

  “Former Night Stalker.”

  Well, that finally put the shut up on Macy’s whirling thoughts. The Night Stalkers were the baddest helicopter pilots on the planet. She eased the collective up for the climb over Liga Pass. Tim wouldn’t know that even on a calm day the winds aloft could still rip through the pass. Outside it was near perfect flying weather, the kind of day she always loved being aloft.

  Baxter stuck his nose through the gap between the cockpit and main cabin over her shoulder and rested his muzzle there. She cooed in his ear and he let out a small contented noise.

  “Emily had a kid with another Night Stalker. And the only reason Mark isn’t more terrifying is because there’s his wife to compare him to. He’s our Incident Commander Air for all of Mount Hood Aviation, Emily is the lead pilot.”

  “And Jeannie?” she hated herself for asking.

  “Jeannie…” Tim’s voice sounded a little drifty.

  Macy glanced over and decided she didn’t like that look one bit. He was smiling in a way that—

  “…is intense. She doesn’t take crap from anybody. Hair about your color, with this wildfire red streak down the back. Flies like she’s dancing across the sky
. Jeannie and her husband—”

  Okay, now Macy was feeling even stupider.

  “—are the kind that you think are going to be the wild ones, but really they’re two people used to being on their own. He’s our photographer.”

  “You have your own photographer?”

  Macy called the Ladd Airfield control tower at Fort Wainwright for clearance. She could feel Tim continuing to ride his hands on the controls, but letting her take the lead. It was an intimate connection, every little motion echoed, delayed by just an instant of backpressure on the controls.

  “Jeannie married Cal Jackson.”

  “The National Geographic cover guy?”

  “Yeah, that’s him. If you saw his article on smokejumpers, Akbar and I are on one of the main spreads. Just our backs, but it’s us.”

  She remembered the article. Had known it was Tim’s outfit. She’d have to dig out the issue from under her bed and look at it again. How had she not recognized Tim?

  “Where are we going anyway? Isn’t this the Army base?”

  Jeannie chatted with Jake in the control tower for a moment before entering the pattern and flying down to her usual spot by the service terminal.

  “Weekly mail run,” she rolled the throttle from Flight down to Idle, hit the release and rolled it to Off, then began shutting down the various systems.

  The mail truck wasn’t here yet—she checked her watch—nor would it be for another half hour.

  “Be glad it isn’t the monthly run. That’s when I take the supplies out to the really remote villages. Makes for a long day. We’re early. Why don’t you let Baxter out?” For one thing, Baxter would want to stretch his legs. For another, she needed a little distance from Tim. He liked and respected the people he worked with, and they were among the best in the business. She’d never even met a Night Stalker and he flew with a pair of them? As a helicopter pilot she was having a bit of a fan-girl moment.

  Tim had Baxter out, and the dog had dug out an old tennis ball from some corner of the passenger cabin. Tim began lofting it in high, effortless throws that sent the husky-lab mix galloping across the tarmac.

  How in the hell was she supposed to survive a week of Tim being here? So close she could touch him, and so far away that he might as well be a character in…a magazine story.

  She checked her watch again and cursed. Macy hadn’t really expected Tim to come with her. She’d left early for her pickup to escape him. What the hell was she supposed to do with Tim Harada for half an hour?

  Chapter 6

  Tim followed Macy and Baxter as she led them east past the terminal building. He hung back a couple of steps to look around.

  He’d never been to Ladd Airfield at Fort Wainwright. The Army base lay to the east of Fairbanks. He hadn’t really been paying attention as they came into the pattern and landed. It was a single long airstrip that was quiet at the moment.

  Some Army helicopters and a pair of jets to the west. Across the field were some small airplane hangers for general aviation. Overall it looked like a sleepy little place. A small twin-engine plane sailed almost silently down onto the runway as they walked along.

  He also needed a little space from Macy. Even the way she walked was making his head hurt.

  He’d felt her guiding his hands through the joined controls for the short flight—at a hundred and twenty miles an hour, the thirty of them had gone by too fast. It had been intimate, even sexy. Not just as if they were holding hands through the controls, but…

  Argh!

  Then, for a moment he’d swear she’d been jealous of Emily and Jeannie, but that made even less sense.

  He was clearly losing his mind.

  Why on Earth would he want to imagine Macy jealous of another woman? That it was Emily and Jeannie he’d imagined her reacting to only made him sure that he’d imagined it.

  But even now, the slender woman, walking with perfect confidence beside this great dog that adored her…he couldn’t look away. The sun was high enough that it glinted off her hair and made her shine, but left his footsteps walking in her still-long shadow.

  His big chance.

  If she were any other woman, it would have been his big chance to sweep her off her feet and have a quick tumble in Heinrich’s barley.

  Face it, Tim, Macy always confused the crap out of you. Even though she was four years younger, she’d always been three or four steps ahead of him. Just as she was now.

  Enough of that.

  He stretched out his stride and came up alongside her on Baxter’s other side.

  Of course now it felt as if they were walking as a couple. What would she do if he reached out and took her hand? What would he do? He’d held her hand plenty of times, back when they were kids and he was helping her back to her feet after her latest lame attempt to knock him down, or helping each other up off the Kung Fu mats. When she played sports, she played them for keeps.

  Maybe he’d try it, just to see what it felt like. To see how she’d react. He prepared himself to be thrown down on the pavement just as they came around the terminal building. Then he spotted the two planes.

  Two red-and-white painted Short Sherpa C-23s. The square-bodied, high-wing, twin-prop planes looked chunky and awkward. It was one of those planes that looked like it had been designed by a twelve-year old and could never fly. They were the backbone of any number of smokejumper teams. Each Sherpa could deliver ten smokies and two days of gear out the rear cargo hatch anywhere within three hundred miles of an airport.

  He’d forgotten that the Bureau of Land Management Alaskan Fire Service smokejumpers were based here.

  A couple guys were sorting gear out on the tarmac. One was…

  “How you doing, Hank?” Tim gave it his best casual.

  Hank Hammond jerked upright and looked at him in shock.

  “Holy shit! Two-Tall Tim. How the hell are ya, buddy?” Hank hugged him and they traded back thumps. Hank was one of those guys who was burly with muscle and had a smile that looked like maybe dark corners were a good place to avoid—not wicked, just ready to tussle.

  “You jumping with these guys?”

  “Sure. Number two on the lead stick, I couldn’t pass it up. The season up here is short, but intense as hell. What are you doing here?”

  “Just visiting.” Tim wasn’t real excited with the way Hank eyed Macy who’d hung back a step. Then he reached out a hand and shook hers. “Woman like this standing beside me, I wouldn’t just be visiting. How you doing, Macy? Damn but you’re looking good today, girl.”

  “Just for you, Hank.”

  They knew each other. Of course they did. Tim’s emotions were not only in chaos, they were also being stupid. Maybe he could get Macy to deliver some new ones as part of her mail run.

  But they were flirting with each other which meant—Doesn’t mean squat, Harada. He flirted with Jeannie all the time…though no one in their right mind flirted with Emily. Then why did it feel like…Just let it go.

  “Did they put out a fire call to you, Macy? Why don’t I know about it?” Hank was up on his toes, ready to sprint into action.

  “No, just mail day. Running a bit early so I figured I drag Flame Boy here over to visit.”

  Hank eased back and nodded, taking a moment to shake off the leading edge of fire-call adrenaline.

  “You still jumping with Akbar the Great?”

  Tim nodded, “We’re at Mount Hood Aviation now.” That elicited a low, impressed whistle. “They gave us a rain break for a week. I grew up over in Larch Creek.”

  “Don’t that beat all. Never pegged you for an man of the midnight sun. Yeah, I heard the Lower Forty-eight was socked in.” Hank turned to Macy again, “Goofy looking pair, but the best damn stick I ever fought fire with. Learned a hell of a lot from those two down in Colorado and Utah. They’re both just naturals, and that was before
they got good.”

  Tim managed not to look at Macy, could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. The whole dynamic was different with a woman standing there.

  No, it was a whole different dynamic with a woman whose opinion he cared about standing there.

  Hank turned back to Tim. “Yeah, my girl’s parents are up here in Fairbanks. Kid on the way, she wanted to be near home about the same time old Kent Thorpe retired and the slot came open, so we all win.”

  He had a girl and an incoming kid. Hank had been flirting with Macy the way Tim flirted with Jeannie; didn’t mean a thing beyond friendly.

  Clearly it was Tim’s day to feel continually stupider and stupider. When you hit a day like that you could fight it or roll with it. Today he figured he was on vacation and should just roll with it. Fighting against the traces never worked anyway.

  They hadn’t fought fire together in three years, so they caught up on who they’d each jumped with and some of the fires.

  He caught Macy looking at her watch.

  “Looks like it’s time for the mail, buddy. Can’t be delaying that or they might arrest me. Great to see you.”

  “Give me your cell number, Tim.” He shrugged at Tim’s questioning look. “Never know if we might need you on a fire.”

  They shared a laugh, traded numbers, and he followed Macy and Baxter back to the helo.

  “You guys were close,” Macy asked as they strolled back through the warming air. He was beginning to regret choosing the heavy sweater over the too tight jacket. He pulled off the sweater and then repressed a shiver; it would be warm enough inside the helo. The airport was still quiet, not a lot of operations here early in the morning on a calm day.

  “Close enough,” he replied. “Hank Hammond is a good man to have at your back. Spent a season with him the same year I met Akbar. The four of us made an unstoppable team both on the fire and in the—”

  “I get the picture,” she cut him off.

  Yep! Definitely a stupider-and-stupider day. How dumb would he be by nightfall? Especially considering that nightfall was still eighteen hours away and wouldn’t be going much past twilight even when it arrived.