Chapter 7
Deanna
The powerful summer storm rolled in at daybreak like an invading army, clouds the color of gunmetal blotting out the mountains.
“Well, this is fun.” Kylie’s hair whipped across her face, rain and marble-sized hail pelting them as she and Deanna approached the command center.
“Guess we’re stuck here playing cards all day.” Deanna swung open the door, and they scooted inside as lightning forked the sky and thunder rattled the windows. Wind whistled through the gaps as she caught fragments of Westlake’s clipped conversation on his satellite phone.
“Logistics, this is Westlake. We’re deploying firefighters faster than we can get them.
Order a crew through dispatch, and if the region’s dry, take it national.
” Westlake ended the call, muttering to himself.
“If this storm kicks off a dozen more starts, we won’t have enough crews to cover half of them. ”
Deanna thought about Colton. He’d been scheduled for the early morning flight rotation, which meant he was probably grounded. “Wait, I need to check on something.”
Kylie looked upward, tapping her chin with her finger. “As in a certain tanker pilot who I’m sure isn’t in the air?”
“Don’t have a clue what you’re talking about,” deadpanned Deanna, heading for the door. “Back soon.”
She ducked out and hurried to the logistics tent, where she signed out a Forest Service pickup. The drive to Bowman Airfield was no picnic, rain battering the windshield like buckshot, and the wind doing its level best to blow the truck off the road.
When she arrived, there was zero activity. Most pilots had sought hotels to ride out the weather, but Colton’s pickup stood close to the hangar.
She found him inside, messing with equipment.
“Hey, Sky King, what’s new?” she called out.
He spun around with a gadget in his hand. “Hey, Brooks. What brings you out here in this delightful deluge?”
“Couldn’t sit still, so thought I’d see what you’re up to.” She eyed the water droplets on his cheeks. “You’ve been out there fiddling with your plane? Think someone would make an unwise move in this downpour?”
“This weather gives perfect cover.” He motioned toward his tanker outside. “Someone tampered with the fuel port. They cut the lock, though the tanks seem clean.”
“Are you freaking kidding me? Did you report it?”
“To who? The NTSB investigator who’s weathered in at a hotel room in Missoula? The IC who has a thousand other problems?” He shook his head. “I replaced the lock. All I can do for now.”
“You still need to report it.”
“I’ll let Westlake and Air Ops know, and they can run it up the chain.”
Thunder snapped overhead and the hangar lights flickered.
She shivered. “Hell of a barrage.”
“Hell of a summer. Weather service says this will make things worse for wildfires.” He wiped his hands on a rag. “You drove out here in this mess to check on me?”
“Um, just thought I’d check on the aircraft situation. Can’t have our air support compromised.”
“Right. The aircraft situation. Not that you’re a pilot or anything.” His lips twitched. “Want to see the flight deck? Since you’re here checking on the, uh . . . situation?” He flicked her raincoat hood up over her head. “In that case, run fast. Ready, set, go!”
Colton darted outside and jogged to his plane, and she followed. He hauled the airstair door open in the wind. “Climb up, make yourself at home.”
She slid into the seat and buckled in, then caught herself.
They weren’t flying anywhere. She ran her fingers over the yoke as memories of her dad’s plane kicked in.
Banks of instruments, switches, displays, and a flight computer dwarfed the Cessna she’d learned on.
Everything on the tanker panel gleamed. Colton must’ve polished each gauge and indicator. There were so many she lost count.
He glanced at her grip on the yoke. “Have you ever piloted?”
“My dad taught me in his Cessna on the weekends when I was in high school.” She touched the throttle levers gently. “He died when I went off to college. Crashed in severe weather coming back from Spokane.”
“You mentioned him before. Tell me about him.”
“He loved being airborne. Said the world made more sense from altitude.” She paused. “Lost interest in flying after he died. Couldn’t separate the joy from the grief.”
Colton hooked an arm over the seatback and swung toward her, humor creasing the corners of his eyes. “So now you jump from planes instead of fly them.”
Her laugh echoed softly. “I prefer to think of it as falling with style. When I float above the earth, I fantasize that the world brims with the promise of a glorious life, full of hope and adventure.”
Rain lashed the fuselage in a fresh volley as Colton stretched his legs into the rudder well. “Do you still think that?”
Her breath fogged the glass, and she traced a line through it with her finger. Lightning bleached the instrument panel white, and for a split-second the gauges glowed as if lit by an unseen force.
“You might say life has been full of twists and turns. Adventure, certainly. Can’t say much about hope. What about you?”
“My dad flew,” Colton said, adjusting his seat. “Lived near the airport growing up in Butte, so he caught the flying bug. When he came back from Desert Storm with a bad leg and nerve damage in his left arm, he couldn’t pass the FAA medical. Grounded for good.”
“Must have been hard for him.”
“He handled it how he handled everything, by pushing me to do what he couldn’t.
Paid for lessons with money we didn’t have, drove me to the airfield every weekend.
” His brow furrowed as he gazed at the storm.
“First time I soloed, he cried. Only time I ever saw him shed tears. After that, I took him up with me whenever I could.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen. Twenty-four years ago. He’s seventy now, still working the ranch like he’s forty. The leg slows him down some, but he won’t admit it.”
Deanna did the math. Forty made sense for Colton. Old enough to have learned restraint, young enough to still fly the way he did.
The storm raged outside, rain drumming the fuselage in waves. The cockpit insulated them from the fire, the base camp, and the burden of expectations.
“Most people think flying is the hard part,” said Colton. “But experienced pilots say it’s the focus that drains you.”
“Show me. Show me what it’s like flying a fire.”
Colton explained the controls. “This is the release system for the slurry, which comes out through these gates.” His hand covered hers on the control lever, guiding it through the motion, sending tingles through her arm.
“You’ve seen drops from the ground, but up here we see the slurry stream out on this monitor.
” He switched on the electronics, but the camera only showed a blurred image of the tarmac.
“I follow my Bird Dog spotter plane on its six, focusing on the smoke it lets loose to mark my drop target. I descend toward the flames, open the release gate, and let the slurry fly.”
“You make it sound easy,” she said, glancing around the crowded instrument panel.
He described how he navigated around smoke columns. “The G-force hits you right here after you drop.” He tapped his chest with his fist. “You know you’re defying physics and beating gravity. Then, in the next second, you feel . . .”
“Invincible,” she finished for him, staring through the waterlogged windshield, the sensation playing in her mind. “I would love to fly with you and release the slurry.”
“Maybe after fire season, I’ll take you up and show you how it’s done.”
After the fire season sounds like a promise.
Their shared airspace thrummed with more electric tension than the lightning. He closed the distance to her seat, his gaze dropping to her mouth. Every nerve ending in her body leaped to attention as she inhaled his scent of aviation fuel, smoke, and rain. She braced for his lips to touch hers.
What the hell am I doing? I want him, but I can’t mess this up.
It took her entire arsenal of willpower to put on the brakes. “I’m sorry, Colton. I can’t.” The words tripped on her tongue.
He straightened. “Hey, I didn’t mean to . . .”
“No, no, it’s not you,” she cut in. “I want to. God, you have no idea how much I want to. But I don’t want you thinking I’m seducing you, like I’m playing a slutty head game.”
“Nope, not at all what I think.” He sounded like he meant it. At least she hoped so.
She stared at the droplets on the windshield. “People think they know the real me. If they see me with you, they’ll say ‘the man-eater strikes again.’” She blinked. “If they feed you lies, I don’t want you thinking less of me.”
He snorted. “Give me some credit. I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks.”
“For the first time in my life, I care what people think because I want to prove I’m a better person.” She stopped, seeing empathy in his eyes. “If I kiss you right now, why would that be different from any other reckless thing I’ve done?”
“Because this time you stopped.” He brushed her cheek. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”
The old Deanna wouldn’t have stopped. She’d have taken what she wanted and damned the consequences. What stunned her now was that Colton understood why she’d restrained herself.
“I should go,” she said, fighting for composure. “Please don’t take this personally. It’s not you, it’s me.”
He grinned. “You sound like George on Seinfeld.”
“Except it’s true. I’m good at jumping out of planes but not jumping into relationships,” she countered. “I’d better scoot to the command center to review the jump roster for tomorrow.”
Colton peered at another squall pummeling the plane. “Visibility could pose a challenge for driving, let alone flying.”
“No worse than smoke.”
Thunder crashed overhead, and the plane vibrated. Colton switched off the electronics.
“I should have put this tanker to bed inside the hangar, but you came along and distracted me.” His crooked smile made her forget every good intention.
“Sorry, thought you could use the company.” She stood to exit the plane.
He reached for her wrist. “Don’t apologize. Stay until the worst passes. We’ll talk about mundane things like fire suppressants, chemical composition, and federal aviation regulations. And my extensive knowledge of 1980s TV reruns.”
She laughed. “Let me guess, like Miami Vice?”
His brows flew up. “Wow, you’ve watched it?”
“My dad used to. He also liked the other cop show, Hill Street Blues. He liked the theme song.”
“Yeah, me, too. Nothing else to do in the evenings at the tanker base.” He eased back into his pilot seat.
She regretted stopping his kiss, wanted it in the worst way, but stuck with her resolve not to jump into relationships.
Especially with Colton Davis, who women swooned over, according to Kylie.
Instead, they talked while the storm raged.
Favorite bands, concerts they’d attended, and places they’d visited.
Colton told her about his worst landing, a microburst in Colorado, nearly flipping his plane.
She told him about her worst jump, getting hung up in power lines in Oregon and having to wait for the utility company to respond.
When the storm lessened, Deanna stood to go. “Thank you for understanding my, you know . . . my situation.” She liked that he was easy to talk to.
“You’re very welcome. Let’s agree to be good friends then, okay?”
She appreciated his respect for her space. “Good friends,” she repeated.
“Wait a sec, the airstair gets slick.” He exited the plane, rounded the nose to open her door, and unfolded the portable stairs.
He offered his hand, and she loved the warmth as she stepped down.
“Bye, Sky King. Be safe tomorrow.” She hurried to the truck, the wind whipping through her hair.
“Hey, Brooks!” he called after her. When she turned around, he hollered, “You weren’t being reckless.”
Deanna hoped his “good friends” remark signaled he hadn’t given up on her. She waved as she drove off.
Deanna found Kylie waiting near their tent area when she arrived. “Where have you been? About to organize a search party.”
“Making sure things were okay at the airfield.”
Kylie gave her an impish look. “For three hours? Making sure ‘things’ were okay, or a certain tanker pilot was okay? Please don’t say you were hooking up in the cockpit.”
“Hey! I’ve cleaned up my act.” Deanna pointed at her. “And don’t call me a fire slut, or we can’t be friends.”
“Was on the tip of my tongue.” Kylie gave her a coy smile. “Did you figure out what you wanted to figure out?”
“Yeah. I think I did.” Deanna grinned. “Don’t worry, it’s all good.”
Lying in her cot that night, she thought about Colton’s touch and the almost-kiss she’d walked away from. The old Deanna would have let him take her in that cockpit without a thought.
The new one wondered if she’d be that strong next time.
If there was a next time.