Hard Landing

by Ophelia Sexton

  "Believe me, I understand about family and obligation," Carl said quietly.

  "Beto has been working as my ranch hand since spring, as well doing odd jobs for Dennis. I think he might finally be settling in here and maybe growing up a little." She gave Carl a crooked smile. "But enough about me. How did you decide to jump out of airplanes for a living? And more importantly, what did your family think about it?"

  Carl had to chuckle. "If you ask either of my older sisters, they'll tell you that I'm their spoiled baby brother and that becoming a smokejumper was my way of rebelling."

  Michelle cocked her head at him. "Older sisters generally know stuff," she announced with a mischievous twinkle.

  "Possibly," Carl conceded. "But growing up, I got mighty tired of hearing, 'Carl, why can't you be more like Angie and Cindy?' all the damn time. My sisters are super-competent, and everyone in my pack adores them. I think everyone expected me to follow in their footsteps."

  "So you did rebel!" Michelle looked positively gleeful.

  "Well, kind of. I mean, I ended up enrolling at UAA and got a degree in mechanical engineering, and everyone in my pack was pretty happy with that. I liked university, but living in Anchorage and being stuck indoors most of the day attending lectures and doing homework…well, I realized that I wasn't really suited to an office job. My wolf half craves fresh air and lots of exercise."

  "So you decided to become a smokejumper?" Michelle put down her spoon and gave Carl her full attention.

  At least I'm not boring her, he thought.

  "Not right away," he said. "I spent a few years working as a wildland firefighter out of Delta Junction in the center of Alaska before I heard the news that the Forest Service was establishing a new smokejumper base in Colorado. I'd always thought those guys were nuts, and the physical requirements…"

  Carl smiled wryly as he recalled his initial reaction to reading the application requirements for the job. Then he'd heard through the firefighters' grapevine that the new team would be mostly shifters, and that had crystallized his determination to apply to the Rocky Mountain Smokejumpers.

  "I thought to myself, if an Ordinary firefighter can perform a 110-pound pack out, hiking three miles in 90 minutes, not to mention meeting all of the other physical fitness requirements, because they're committed to fighting fires that no one else can, then don't I have the obligation to at least try out?" He grinned at her. "You know, since I have superpowers and everything."

  Michelle's eyes had widened as he described the minimum physical fitness standards for becoming a smokejumper. "And were you a skydiver or something before that?"

  "Nope. But once you're accepted into rookie training, they teach you everything you need to know about jumping safely and accurately." He grimaced. "Though sometimes you can't control the wind and other stuff. But you train for that too. Everything from getting stuck in a tree to landing in a lake or pond. Proudest day of my life was when I got my rookie jump wings and my name was posted on the jump board at base for active duty."

  "Your parents must have been so proud of you," she said.

  Carl huffed out a breath. "Kind of. I mean, they respect firefighters, and so I'm not a total disgrace or anything, but they also think that I'm wasting my college education and that smokejumping is this thing that I'll get out of my system before settling down to work at a real job. In fact, they're currently pressuring me to take over the family ranch."

  Michelle perked up. "You're from a ranching family?"

  "Yup. I grew up on a cattle and elk ranch about an hour's drive from Anchorage," he replied. "And my pack—they're basically my extended family, they own a bunch of different businesses, including Anchorage's biggest meat wholesale and export business."

  Michelle blinked at the mention of the wholesale business. "Well, I can see how being a firefighter who jumps from airplanes might be more fun than selling meat, but you can't keep smokejumping forever, right? I mean, it seems like you'd, uh, age out of it eventually."

  "Eventually," he agreed. "But I've heard of quite a few smokejumpers who continue jumping well into their fifties."

  She leaned her elbow on the table and cupped her chin in her palm. "What do you do when it's not fire season?"

  He sensed that something important lay behind this question.

  His wolf perked up too. Tell her! Let her know that you can provide for her!

  "I have my own company. I'm using my engineering background to see if I can improve the designs for the equipment that smokejumpers and wildland firefighters use, because believe me, over the past few years, I've become very aware of the current equipment's shortcomings." He took a deep breath, reminded of a recent tragedy that might have been averted with better equipment. "My first major project is a fire shelter that can withstand three times the heat of current models at half the weight."

  That earned him a slow smile that took his breath away. "So what you're telling me is that you've been using your powers for good?"

  His face heated under her regard. "Well, development is going more slowly than I'd like at this point, since I only really have time to tinker off-season, but there's been a lot of interest in a prototype I created last winter. In fact, I just hired a patent attorney to help me with filing a patent for the design. Then the plan is to license it to a company that can manufacture the new shelters…"

  Carl continued to tell her about some of the other projects he wanted to tackle, as the two of them finished their second helpings. Her interest warmed him, and she asked him several insightful questions that drew on her background as an accountant.

  Outside, the rain continued to hammer away at the house's roof and windows, and the wind moaned under the eaves.

  Michelle glanced out the window with a sigh and rose to her feet. She picked up her bowl and spoon, signaling the end of the meal.

  "Thank you again. That was delicious," she said over her shoulder as she carried the dishes over to the kitchen sink. "I'd better head over to Dennis's place before it gets too late."

  "By yourself?" Carl couldn't help asking.

  She shrugged. "Not if I can convince Beto to come with me. He's not going to be happy about having to go back out in this weather. If he throws a fit, I'll make it work somehow."

  Carl noticed the fatigue shadowing her face and experienced a surge of protectiveness. She was obviously exhausted by a day of hard work that had included hauling his sorry carcass down the mountain.

  "Don't worry about your brother," he heard himself say. "I'll come with you."

  Michelle spun and gave him an incredulous look. "You're crazy. You can barely walk."

  "Maybe," he agreed. "But I'm still strong enough to lift a goat into the back of your pickup. I'm coming with you."

  Chapter 9

  A Whiff of Bear

  Twenty minutes later, Dennis Dooley answered the knock on his door.

  The first thing that Carl noticed about Michelle's neighbor was the powerful and pervasive stink of cow manure that emanated from him, as if the man had recently been rolling around in the stuff.

  His wolf was intrigued by a whiff of bear that lingered on the large covered porch, almost lost in the miasma of cow shit.

  On the phone earlier, Dennis had told Michelle that he'd been visited by the same bear who was apparently plaguing her property.

  Is it so habituated to human contact that it's willing to come right up to the front door?

  If so, that was bad news…both for Michelle's livestock and, ultimately, the bear. Back home in Alaska, becoming a nuisance who raided human residences was usually a death sentence for a bear.

  "Michelle!" Dennis exclaimed in a loud, hearty voice, a wide smile stretching his mouth as he opened his front door. Harsh white light spilled out of the hallway behind him onto the porch, sending his wildly elongated shadow snaking between Carl and Michelle "Great to see your pretty face on my doorstep!"

  He was a big, gray-haired white man who appeared to be in his late fifties or early six
ties, with weathered features and a powerful build.

  He stepped out onto the porch, opening his arms as he swooped in for a hug. "Glad you decided to brave the storm to come see me."

  Michelle backpedaled to avoid the embrace. "I was tempted to raise the sails and unship the oars in places," she replied with a strained smile.

  She wasn't really exaggerating. On the drive over from her place, portions of the steep, rutted gravel road connecting the two properties had turned into a streambed for a fast-flowing torrent of muddy water.

  Either oblivious to Michelle's body language or deliberately ignoring it, Dennis kept moving forward, clearly intent on delivering that hug.

  Carl's wolf growled silently, and Carl agreed with its sentiment 100%.

  He'd been standing off to the side a little. Now, he deliberately stepped into Dennis's path, blocking the other man's pursuit.

  "And possibly raise the Jolly Roger, too. Hi there," he said, baring his teeth in a not-smile, barring the big rancher's way with a strategically positioned hiking pole.

  Carl didn't miss the quick flash of dismay and annoyance in Dennis's expression.

  It took all of Carl's self-control not to recoil from the wave of stench that rolled over him.

  Looks like he's trying to mask his scent using the cow dung, Carl's wolf observed.

  Carl blinked. Predators—including wolves and dogs—frequently rolled in herbivore dung to mask their scent while hunting.

  But why on earth would Dennis Dooley need to conceal his scent?

  Is he a shifter too?

  Without getting closer to the man and his eye-watering reek and openly sniffing him, Carl couldn't tell.

  And he couldn't think of a way to ask without outing himself.

  But if Dennis really was another shifter, then at least the stink surrounding him meant that Carl's own scent was likely masked in turn.

  "So this is your friend?" Dennis demanded of Michelle.

  His mouth was still stretched in a smile, but his eyes were anything but friendly now.

  Michelle put her hand on Carl's shoulder, and her touch was like a red-hot brand, even through his clothes and his borrowed rain poncho. "Dennis, this is Carl. He's a good friend of mine and a smokejumper. He's staying with me for a while."

  Even though he knew that Michelle was just trying to discourage her neighbor's advances, Carl was pleased to hear that he'd been promoted from a scary stranger who had blackmailed her into letting him stay to a "good friend."

  Carl draped his arms around Michelle's shoulders and pulled her close. She followed his cue and slid her arm around his waist. It felt really good.

  Too bad it wasn't for real, but he was more than happy to play along if it meant aiding her and simultaneously discouraging a rival.

  Plus, the sensation of Michelle's curves nestling against his side made his wolf really happy.

  We can't mate this woman without getting kicked out of the pack, he reminded his beast.

  But they did have chemistry. Lots of it. He wouldn't mind having a fling with her.

  Dennis's expression darkened even further.

  "Carl grew up on a cattle ranch in Alaska," Michelle continued.

  "Cattle and elk these days," Carl added. "There's a growing market for ranched elk. It's grass-fed, healthy, and delicious."

  "You don't say," Dennis growled, his pale blue eyes darting between Michelle and Carl.

  Carl couldn't help prodding the man a little. "Elk are way more profitable than cattle, or so my parents tell me. And they'd do well here in the mountains."

  Dennis grimaced. "People are trying to ranch all kinds of crazy stuff these days. Kangaroos. Ostriches. Llamas." He gave Michelle a significant look, and she stiffened at the veiled barb. "We'll just have to see how things pan out in the long term. As for me, I'm sticking to the tried-and-true instead of wasting my money on some fad."

  "Goats are not just a fad," Michelle said levelly. "They've been raised as livestock for as long as cattle and sheep. The same thing goes for alpacas."

  Carl sensed her irritation in the subtle tightening of her muscles, and gave her shoulders an encouraging squeeze.

  "Of course," Dennis said quickly. "But you have to admit that goats are a lot smaller and lighter than cattle. That makes them easier prey for things like mountain lions and bears." He shook his head disparagingly and added in a condescending tone, "But I'm sure your fancy business plan took all that into account."

  Michelle's lips thinned, and she tensed further.

  "Speaking of goats," Carl said conversationally. "Michelle mentioned that you'd found a few of hers."

  "I really appreciate you rounding them up and holding them for me," Michelle added.

  "No problem," Dennis said. He'd finally stopped smiling. "Let me grab my slicker and take you over to the pen where I'm keeping them."

  He turned and disappeared briefly inside the house.

  As soon as his back was turned, Michelle whispered, "A fad? Can you believe him?"

  To Carl's pleasure, she didn't make any effort to step away from him, and her arm remained firmly around his waist.

  "Maybe you should buy some musk oxen next," Carl suggested. "Or some emus."

  Her oh-so-kissable mouth twitched in amusement, and Carl felt her tension lessen. "You can't spin emu feathers into wool, silly."

  "Hey, there's always a first time for everything." Carl grinned down at her.

  Dennis re-emerged from the house wearing a long oilskin coat, a battered cowboy hat, and an unhappy expression.

  "This way," he said shortly, giving Michelle and Carl a sour look.

  He stomped down the porch stairs and onto a muddy path that wound around the two-story salt box-style house.

  He apparently didn’t need a flashlight to navigate his way. Neither did Carl, whose wolf had gifted him with excellent night vision.

  And Michelle had come prepared.

  She finally stepped away from Carl, much to his regret, and produced a small but extremely bright LED flashlight from the pocket of her raincoat.

  Then she followed Dennis out into the rainy night. Carl limped after them, bringing up the rear and gritting his teeth against the sharp darts of pain that ran up his leg every time he took a step.

  "So you mentioned that you got a visit from a bear last night," Michelle said to Dennis. "Did it do any damage?"

  Dennis slowed to walk at her side. "I've had problems with it raiding my pear trees and my berry bushes." He scowled. "You can't keep 'em out. And the deer in these parts are even worse. I've had 'em eat my vegetable garden down to the roots in just one night. Look, you and your friend here probably think I'm an old fuddy-duddy with my cattle, but the bears around here have learned not to hassle a big old steer with horns."

  "So noted," Michelle said neutrally.

  "Here," said Dennis, coming to a halt.

  Carl saw her flashlight beam sweep across a small, muddy pen.

  Three of the shaggy-looking, long-haired white goats that he remembered from his morning encounter in the meadow stood huddled together in one corner. They looked miserable in the relentless downpour, water streaming from their sodden flanks and sides.

  Like Michelle's other goats, they had big, waterproof blankets tied their backs. Carl realized it was probably to protect their fleeces from getting wet or dirty.

  One of the goats gave a long, plaintive bleat when Michelle stood on tiptoes to peer into the pen.

  "Ah, my chiquitas, there you are," she crooned. "I'll have you back in your nice dry barn in no time."

  Dennis rolled his eyes in disgust. Carl gave him a quelling look.

  "Do you mind if I back up my truck up to here?" she asked. "It'll make it easier to load them up."

  "Go ahead," Dennis said.

  "And I'll help with the loading," Carl said firmly.

  Michelle waved him off. "I think I can get them to load themselves. I have a special hack for that."

  Dennis's expression was disapprov
ing. "I don't believe in treating livestock like pets."

  "And I believe in working smarter, not harder," Michelle retorted. "Why waste energy wrangling them when a bucket of Cheerios will do the trick just as well?"

  Carl eyed her with fresh respect. Goats had a well-earned reputation for being stubborn, but they were also smart and extremely food-motivated. Which meant that a patient person could train them.