Chapter 12
Colton
Early the next morning, Colton found Deanna at the picnic table behind the jump shack, her boots propped on the bench across from her, a paperback face down on her knee. Her hair hung loose, damp from a shower, and she wore her yellow Nomex unbuttoned, revealing a gray T-shirt.
“Whatcha reading?” He sank onto the bench beside her and stole a glance at the cover. A well-worn copy of A River Runs Through It by Norman Maclean.
“My dad’s favorite book.” She picked it up, running her thumb along the cracked spine.
“He read it to me when I was twelve. I didn’t understand half of it, but I loved the fly-fishing parts.
He taught me on the Middle Fork of the Salmon.
I stood in water up to my chest because I refused to admit I was too short for that section of the river. ”
“Stubborn at twelve. Shocking.” He stretched his legs, the sun warming his face through the smoke haze. “My dad taught me on Wise River, a short distance from here. I hooked a fourteen-inch cutthroat on my first cast and assumed I was a prodigy.”
“Were you?”
“Didn’t catch another fish for three weeks. Dad let me suffer through each fishless hour without a word of advice. On week four I swallowed my pride and asked what I was doing wrong.”
“What’d he say?”
“You’re thinkin’ about the fish. Think about the river,” he said gruffly, mimicking his dad’s stern voice. “Took me years to understand what he meant. Also, it’s sound advice for flying. Stop fixating on the target. Read the conditions.”
“Read the conditions,” she repeated, turning the phrase over. “Your dad sounds like a philosopher disguised as a rancher.” She smiled, the unguarded kind that reached her eyes.
Both their radios chirped with the morning’s first call to the briefing.
“Duty calls.” She tucked the paperback into her cargo pocket and stood. “See you out there, Sky King.”
“Have you had breakfast?” He tipped his head toward the cafeteria.
“I ate earlier, have to report to the jump shack.” She lifted her day pack and slung it over her shoulder.
“Alrighty, then. See you out there, Brooks.”
She hurried toward the bus garage while he ambled toward the cafeteria inside the high school. The air was thick with the aroma of ancient coffee and sizzling bacon. Colton would take any form of caffeine.
He loaded his plate with whatever looked good, his mind on his upcoming flight to Precision Aviation in Helena for Dash’s hundred-hour inspection. Considering what he’d demanded from the aircraft in recent weeks, he wanted to make sure everything checked out.
“Colton.” Reeva stood behind him, her flight suit clean compared to the soot-stained crews around her.
Helicopter pilots flew shorter shifts than tanker crews. Of course, she had time to corner him over breakfast.
He turned to greet her, taking his time about it, and moved along the line at the beverage counter. “Reeva.”
She fell into step behind him. “We need to talk.”
“What about?” He filled his cup, the caffeine boost black as motor oil and probably as thick. Five creamer packets, since the coffee tasted like it was brewed during the Middle Ages. The Davis Dilution Protocol to the rescue.
He carried his tray to a corner table, hoping Reeva would take the hint and leave. Instead, she dropped onto the chair across from him without invitation. She touched his arm, and he yanked it away.
“I’ve been talking to some pilots who’ve flown smokejumpers,” said Reeva in a casual tone. “They all know about Deanna Brooks.”
“What about her?”
Reeva’s perfectly shaped eyebrows shot up. “Her reputation, Colton. Ask anyone who’s worked fires with her.” She bent closer, her words dropping to a whisper. “I’ve heard things that would make you think twice.”
“You heard wrong. Idle gossip.” Even as he said it, he tensed, like yesterday when Deanna had paled at the sight of the Aurora Crew.
Reeva’s stare pierced his. “I don’t want to see you hurt by a devious liar who’s never satisfied with only one man.”
“Like how you weren’t satisfied with one man? You were the one who cheated, not me.”
Reeva fidgeted. “I messed up and made a mistake. I know that now.”
“No, you chose the betrayal route. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to eat my breakfast. Good seeing you, Reeva.”
She grabbed her tray and stood. “Just thought I’d warn you, Colton.” She waited for him to respond, and when he didn’t, she strode off.
He waited until she was gone, then blew out a breath. Reeva warning him about Deanna’s behavior? How would she know? She didn’t work in the smokejumper realm. She had obviously listened to the rumors.
That’s rich, since she’d spent the last part of our relationship lying about where she spent her weekends.
He’d told Deanna they’d split because they wanted different things. True enough. The rest of the truth ate at him, the details he hadn’t shared. He should have wondered about Reeva’s Precision Aviation questions back then.
He’d wanted honesty where Reeva only had lies. Nothing about Deanna so far suggested the same. He hoped not, anyway. He pushed eggs around his plate as Reeva’s warning circled his brain like a turkey vulture.
“This seat taken?”
Colton glanced up to see a brawny, brown-haired firefighter holding a meal tray.
“Name’s Ryan O’Connor. I’m one of the Alaska Smokejumpers,” he said. “Heard you’re one of the legendary tanker pilots based in Montana. Been wanting to meet you.”
“Ha, don’t know about legendary. Yeah, I’m Colton Davis,” he said, grateful for the distraction. “Have a seat.”
Ryan dropped into a chair with a groan. “Hell of a day already. The fire jumped the highway twice.”
“Heard that. Air Attack ordered drops, so heading to the airfield when I’m done here,” said Colton, draining his coffee.
“We’ll need the slurry. Winds are supposed to pick up again today.” Ryan popped a piece of bacon into his mouth.
“Same story, different day.” Colton forced himself to ask what he’d been wondering since Reeva left his table. “Say, Ryan, since you’re a smokejumper, do you know Deanna Brooks? Based in McCall?”
“Oh, yeah, I know her.” Ryan stared at his plate as he ate. “Was on a jump squad with her in Alaska. Why do you ask?”
“No real reason,” he said casually. “I met her recently. Or rather, met her when my buddy crashed his tanker.”
Ryan’s brows lifted. “Right, I heard about that. Pilot okay?”
“Yeah, Ace McGillicutty. Crash-landed with minor injuries. Deanna helped extricate him from the crash. She reached him just before I did, after making my own emergency landing.”
“Good that she was there to help. Look, I don’t trash-talk people, but since you asked, some issues came up in Alaska where she rubbed people the wrong way,” said Ryan.
Colton kept his face still. “Hm, not the vibe I picked up from her.”
“All I’m saying is, get the full story if you’re interested in her.” Ryan squinted at his phone. “I’ll be jumping with her tomorrow. She’ll be on our load since her jump partner is off the list with an injury.”
“Yeah, Kylie hurt her ankle on her last jump.” Colton sipped his coffee.
“To be fair, Brooks is a good jumper and firefighter,” said Ryan. “I’ll give her that. Knows her stuff on the line.”
“Right. I’ve seen that, too. Well, thanks for the info.” Colton dropped his napkin on his plate and stood with his tray. “Be safe out there.”
“You too,” said Ryan, shoveling in a forkful of scrambled eggs.
He wanted to believe Deanna after she’d stripped away her defenses. Part of him did, but now warnings from two different people bothered him. Not Reeva’s so much as Ryan’s. But two different people wouldn’t lie about the same woman for no reason, would they? He didn’t know what to think.
Deanna had paled at the sight of the Aurora Crew and deflected when he’d asked about them. Whatever the story was, it didn’t sit right. If he moved forward with her, he’d insist on honesty.
DASH WAS PRIMED AND ready to fly, locked and loaded.
Colton climbed above the smoke layer, and the sky widened into an impossibly deep blue, the mountains below hidden under a gray-brown blanket.
Pointer, in his lead plane, Bird Dog, carved lazy circles above the smoke as Colton approached the target area for his drops.
“Good morning, Sky King. Miss me?”
“Like a toothache,” Colton fired back. “What do you have from dispatch?”
“Left flank’s active, running hard toward Deer Lodge Creek. I’ve got your first approach lined up. Come to heading one-niner-zero, descend to three thousand. Target’s a quarter mile below the ridgeline. Get on my six.”
“Copy, Bird Dog.” Colton made two drops, then returned to the airfield to reload and refuel. He landed and taxied the Dash onto the reload mark. The props idled while the loading crew ran toward the aircraft, dragging thick red hoses.
Colton stayed in the pilot seat as the crew climbed onto platforms next to the fuselage, connecting the high-pressure hoses to the fill ports. The process took ten minutes, so he used the time to examine his fuel level, hydraulics system, and tank indicators.
Once airborne again, he set his course to Pointer’s coordinates.
The predicted winds materialized with a vengeance, pushing the fire in three different directions.
Colton worked a section near Deer Lodge Creek, where the fire threatened a cluster of vacation homes, laying down red lines in the late afternoon.
The smoke had formed towering columns he had to navigate around, thunderheads of ash and heat waiting to tear a plane apart.
By the time he landed, his shoulders ached from fighting the turbulence. Everything at Bowman Airfield was dark except for the runway lights, creating pools of yellow on the asphalt. Colton ticked through his shutdown checklist, securing the aircraft for the night.
As he did his final walk-around, checking tie-downs and control locks, a pickup truck rolled to a stop outside the split-rail fence, a rough-sounding engine running.
Curious, he started toward it. The truck took off, tires spinning gravel, kicking up dust. It was too dark to catch the license plates, and that got his dander up.
“Hey! What are you doing here?” he yelled as the taillights vanished down the road.
He’d inform Westlake and request extra overnight security to watch the fuel trucks and planes parked on the tarmac. Colton had never flown a fire that needed this much security, but after the fuel and water had been tampered with, he couldn’t leave the aerial base unguarded.
The drive to the ICC dragged, his headlights cutting through patches of smoke. Darkness blanketed the base when he arrived. Only the Command Center glowed, the night staff coordinating resources behind lit windows.
He parked and checked his phone to find a text from Deanna.
Exhausted and crashing early. On jump list for tomorrow morning. Ryan is the JIC. More lightning predicted near Deer Lodge. Hope you had a good day up there. Goodnight.
His unease grew, knowing Ryan would be jumping with her and calling the shots. Would he treat her fairly, considering what he’d said this morning? Ryan struck him as an upstanding guy. Hopefully, his view of Deanna wouldn’t interfere when they worked together on the fireline.
He wanted to ask her what happened in Alaska. But how would that go? Hey, a couple of people told me you’re bad news. Care to explain?
Not over a phone. Not the night before she dropped into a burning forest.
He thumbed a text instead: Be safe tomorrow. Dinner when you’re back on the ground.
Her reply beat him to the truck door. Only if you’re buying.
His couldn’t suppress a smile.
Two people had told him to walk away from Deanna Brooks. Neither had seen her behind a bus garage in a fire camp, a dog-eared paperback of her father’s open on her knees, talking rivers like they were sacred.
He put the truck in gear. Whatever crowded Ryan’s mind, one fact outweighed all of it. Come morning Deanna would step out of a plane into the flames, and he’d be the one circling above her.
Keep her alive first. Ask questions later.
And if the answers scared him, he’d fly into that too.