Chapter 3
Deanna
The afternoon sun glowed like a red orb through the smoke haze, throwing dappled light across the rows of tents on the lawn behind Anaconda High School, the chosen staging area for this project fire.
Deanna emerged from the medical tent as firefighters streamed past with their thousand-yard stares and soot-blackened faces.
She had eased off her torn glove and bandaged the cuts on her palm and the back of her hand, still throbbing from forcing open the dented cockpit door.
Her ribs ached from the tree landing on the Idaho fire, and the bruise at her side had turned a deep purple, a reminder of how close she’d come to losing her life.
Across the gravel lot, the agency rigs told their own story.
Fresh paint on half of them, with the U.S.
Wildland Fire Service stenciled over the faded Bureau of Land Management logos that had carried these crews last summer.
The Forest Service trucks sat in their own row, untouched by the January reorganization.
Her McCall jump crew still belonged with the Forest Service, at least for now.
Whether that lasted until the next fire season was anyone’s guess.
This morning’s jump had ended back at Bowman Airfield, where their Twin Otter parked between runs, three miles from the Incident Command Center at Anaconda High School.
With the closest smokejumper base nearly a hundred miles away in Missoula, the Incident Commander had commandeered the school bus garage behind the high school for a temporary jump shack and ready room.
She and Kylie had repacked their chutes there yesterday after flying in from McCall, grateful for the six-bay space and the concrete floor under their boots.
Kylie exited the tent, ash and dirt mingling with the blood on her yellow Nomex. She’d come through hell swinging, all five-foot-two of her standing taller than men twice her size. An absolute spitfire, and the reason Deanna had stuck by her side for twenty-some-odd years.
“How’s Ace?” asked Deanna.
“Conscious and hitting on everything with a pulse.” Kylie blew a strand of dark hair away from her face. “Says I’m his guardian angel. Told him it’s the morphine talking.”
“Or he’s zeroing in on your pulse,” teased Deanna.
Kylie’s cheeks turned pink. Deanna’s bestie was usually unfazed by male attention, but she was undeniably flustered now.
“He has cracked ribs and a concussion,” rationalized Kylie. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
“Where’s my angel nurse?” Ace called from inside the tent, slurred but insistent, his pain medication kicking in.
Deanna laughed. “See? Told you.”
Kylie groaned. “He’s delirious.”
“Uh-huh.” Deanna followed her into the tent, where several cots held firefighters with minor injuries. Ace rested in a corner cot, partially screened by a curtain, waiting for an ambulance to deliver him to a hospital.
He was a mess but still exuded charm, despite his left arm in a sling, purple and black bruises dotting his skin, and his eye swollen shut. The second Kylie came into view, his face lit up like Christmas morning.
“There’s my guardian angel,” slurred Ace. “You have beautiful eyes, like chocolate. Expensive chocolate, not the cheap stuff.”
“And you have a concussion,” said Kylie as a medic adjusted Ace’s IV. “You’re hallucinating.”
“Nope. Don’t think so.” His eyes stayed on Kylie.
She maintained her professional demeanor while Ace poured on the charm thicker than a load of retardant.
His relentless flirting was fast becoming Deanna’s new favorite spectator sport.
A stark contrast to the calculated seduction Deanna used to wield.
Used to being the operative phrase, she reminded herself.
“How’s your midsection?” Kylie asked, gently examining Ace’s side.
He sucked in a breath. “Like someone’s playing keyboard on my ribs with sledgehammers. But it’s worth it for the medical attention.”
“You need to rest,” said Kylie, folding her arms. “You’re being medevacked to a Helena hospital, so Precision Aviation will keep an eye on you.”
“Will you be there?”
Kylie chuckled. “No. I have fires to fight, remember?”
“Then I’m releasing myself.” Ace struggled to sit, grimaced, and collapsed back. “Ooh, maybe not.”
Deanna propped her shoulder on the tent pole. “Relax, Romeo, you’re out of action for a while. Ambulance will be here soon.”
The tent flap opened, and Colton appeared in his scorched flight suit. Deanna stilled. She shouldn’t be surprised since he’d come to see his buddy, but the sight of him caught her off guard, not that she minded.
Ash streaked his skin and dark wavy hair, blown back by rotor wash and heaven knew what else. He could have walked straight out of the fire. Despite the grime, or maybe because of it, he was a fine sight to behold.
Deanna’s pulse skipped. Seeing him again?
Yeah. I don’t mind that at all.
“How’s he doin’?” asked Colton, crossing to the curtained area.
“He’ll live,” said Deanna. “Flirting with my jump partner, so there’s minimal brain damage.”
“That’s normal for Ace.” Colton’s mouth quirked. “He once hit on an ER nurse while passin’ a kidney stone.”
Deanna laughed, loosening knots of tension from her action-packed morning.
Colton’s expression sobered. “The Air Attack supervisor and the IC want to talk to Ace and me about the tanker incidents.”
“Will be interesting to hear their take,” said Deanna. “Seems like something fishy is going on.”
“I agree. Same truck fueled both planes this morning, and both had engine failure within minutes. I don’t buy that as a coincidence.” A muscle worked in Colton’s jaw. “I think someone wanted our tankers down.”
Kylie’s attention snapped to him. “But who?”
“Maybe someone with a bone to pick with tanker pilots.” Deanna crossed her arms, winced, and let them drop.
Colton’s gaze cut to her bandage. “Did anyone look at your hand?”
“No, I took care of it.”
He pointed. “It’s still bleeding.”
Red seeped through the white gauze, but she waved him away. “I’m an EMT. I can handle it.”
“Let me have a look.” He crossed to a supply bin and returned with fresh bandages and antiseptic, unwrapping her hand before she could protest. He uncapped the bottle, dampened a fresh pad, and cradled her hand in his. The first dab stung, and she jerked her hand away.
“Oh no, you don’t. That stuff is evil.”
“Suck it up. You’re a smokejumper.” He poured more antiseptic onto the pad. “So, tell me how and why you got into jump school.”
“A few years ago, Kylie and I—yow!” she yelped, the sting jolting her halfway off the chair. She glared at him. “You distracted me on purpose.”
Colton tore open a packet with his teeth and spat out the corner. He blotted the wound with gauze and wrapped it with the bandage. “There. Keep an eye on it. If it gets infected, you’d better have it examined. You were sayin’ about you and Kylie a few years ago?”
“Hey, Doctor Davis, what about me?” interrupted Ace. “I was the one in the plane crash.”
Colton motioned at Kylie, holding a compress to Ace’s temple. “You have a smokejumping nurse.”
“And a sweet thing she is, too.” Ace grinned at her.
“Doctor Davis, are you also an EMT?” Deanna wanted to know more about this pilot who didn’t carry swagger the way some did.
“Nope. Only have the required first aid training like all firefighters do.”
She kept her voice neutral. “Well, you’re good at it.”
“Thanks.” A corner of his mouth lifted before the other, as if his smile had to warm up before he let the whole thing happen.
She berated herself for the responding tingle.
“Hey, Sky King!” Ace broke in. “Tell the Air Ops supervisor I’m flight-ready. All I need is some duct tape for these ribs, and I’m good to go.”
“Like hell you are. You’re grounded for a month with that concussion,” countered Colton. “Doctor’s orders.”
Deanna liked his plain, uncomplicated way of talking. She appreciated guys who didn’t crowd sentences with too many words.
“Technically, you haven’t been released,” added Kylie. “You’re going to the hospital, remember?”
“I don’t need a hospital,” protested Ace. “I need someone to kiss everything better.”
“You’re a shameless flirt, and you need a CAT scan,” Kylie shot back.
Deanna flexed her newly bandaged fingers. “Thanks for fixing up my hand, Doctor Davis. I have to report to the jump shack. Figure out where our next jump spot is since you’ve commandeered our current one with your Dash 8.”
His brows lifted. “You know your aircraft.”
“I know enough to be dangerous.” She glanced at her watch. “Duty calls. Good to meet you, Sky King.” She wanted to stay a few minutes longer.
“You as well. We’ll bump into each other somewhere down the line. A fire briefing or ten, depending on how long this project fire runs.”
“Maybe.” She liked this guy. He was genuinely pleasant. “Kylie, you coming?”
“Yep. Give me a few minutes.”
“Sure.” Deanna wanted to warn Kylie that men like Ace belonged on the avoidance list. Then again, who was she to judge? Ace might be a stand-up guy. Kylie had taken a shine to him, plain as day.
She turned to Colton. “Hope you get your plane out of the meadow.”
“My employer is taking care of it.” He fished his phone from a pocket. “Have to fill out an incident report at the Command Center. Check you later.” He hesitated, as though he had more to say, then exited the tent.
She followed him out and drew in a breath of smoke-tinged air. The sun had lowered itself behind the mountains, setting the smoke columns ablaze in shades of crimson. Beautiful and terrifying at once, like so many things in the world of wildland fire.
Colton spun around, and she almost bumped into him. He smelled of smoke and aviation fuel. “How about a coffee when we both get some downtime?”
“Sure thing,” she said. “But you know how it is with fire schedules.”
“Then we’ll chip away at it. See you, Miss Brooks.” He tapped his baseball cap and headed toward the Command Center.
As he strolled away, Deanna scolded herself for noticing the pleasing view from behind. She hurried to the jump shack, where her jump boss, Rooster Madsen, stood at the deployment board, felt-tip marker in hand, weathered face set in his usual half-scowl.
“Brooks.” He jabbed at a contour line near Deer Lodge. “Five thousand acres. Crowning. You’re JIC. Twin Otter rolls at first light.” Apparently, Rooster was pleased with Deanna’s handling of the jump squad.
“I’m on it,” she said.
He capped the marker and nodded toward the door. “Fire briefing in ten at the ICC, then grab your gear and head to the airfield.”
Deanna headed toward the main building, her mind on the tanker pilot from this morning. She and Colton Davis had hauled Ace out of that wreckage like they’d worked together for years.
The way he’d refused to leave his buddy behind told her most of what she needed to know, except what made him tick. His proficiency and focus showed without an air of self-importance. No boasting or vanity that she could tell.
Those qualities alone set him apart from the other pilots she’d worked with.
Maybe she’d take him up on that coffee after all.