Page 9 of Burnin' For You

Only then did she spot the group of smokejumpers silhouetted against the bright flame of the forest. A forest service boat had pulled up to shore, clearly on site to pluck them off the beach.

She did a quick count, then her gaze landed on a form standing slightly apart from the group. Tall, broad shouldered, he stood as a darkened, soot-covered sentry against the maelstrom of the fire. Even without his saw, and thirty feet away, she knew him, could feel the intensity of his gaze, the way he stared out over the waters at her.

Reuben Marshall.

And for the barest of seconds, everything dropped away—the fear roiling in her gut, the tension lining her shoulders, the deep, rooted ache of failure, desperation, and longing.

Leaving only a queer breath of peace, the slightest sense of right.

The unexpected stir of warmth in her chest.

Then Jared let out a long sigh, jarring her free. “Now what? Swim to shore?”

“No,” she said, unstrapping herself. She opened the window, waved to the boat now turning its light to them. “We join our team and catch our ride home.”

Chapter 2

Just when a girl saved lives, she got benched. Or at least that’s how it felt from Gilly’s perch at the dispatch bench in the Ember Fire Base.

The weather map displayed satellite heat signatures with live updates of the dying fire, and another map on the wall pinpointed with tacks the current location of the deployed Jude County Hotshot teams, along with members of the Bitterroot, Lolo, and Flathead hotshot teams.

The wind had finally died, turned in their favor, and with a sortie of bombing runs, they’d managed to stop the fire just over the ridge, kicking it into submission.

Monday night’s storm—not a drenching, but enough to slow the fire down—worked in their favor too. Now, with the teams doing mop-up, packing up their gear, and heading home, everyone hoped the fire season might be dying. With two weeks left before Labor Day, maybe they could end the season without any more flare-ups.

Which meant her flying season was over.

Gilly tried not to let that sink into her like a stone, tried not to glance over at the flight list hanging on the wall next to the hotshot dispatch list, again searching for her name.

Which wasn’t there.

Thank you, oh, so much, Jared. Although, the man hadn’t been back in the cockpit once since their put-down in Fountain Lake nearly a week ago, so maybe she’d rattled him more than she’d thought.

It couldn’t have come as a surprise. Firebombing was one of the most dangerous professions within the firefighting community.

Still, she could admit to being unnerved when she’d gotten a good look at the damage to the Annie as they’d dragged the biplane from the lake, put her on a truck, and ferried her back to the base.

The lower right wing strut had completely blown apart, the wing hanging at a forty-five degree angle. With the wind chop and the heat, Gilly knew that a hotshot team of angels had kept them aloft.

Something her father—the Reverend John Priest—had suggested in Sunday’s sermon about the difference between living dangerously and living dangerously for the Lord.Got it, Dad.She didn’t have to dig deep to find the thinly veiled reproach.

Except, she’d had everything under control.Really.

Although, she had appreciated God showing up to lend a hand to the rescue.

“The Lolo team is hiking out for pickup,” Miles Defoe said now, running operations from the Ember office. “Let me know when they connect with their buggies. Then you can take off.” The incident commander had met them on the tarmac when the plane came in. Had given her a thin-lipped look and shook his head.

Even Patrick Browning, their mechanic, was speechless as he inspected the damage. His family ranched a piece of land to the north—protected a herd of buffalo on their property, which he often surveyed with his own Cessna. The fact that he worked for the Forest Service on an on-call basis even after the death of his son last year showed a commitment to saving lives despite the brutal reminder of all he’d lost.

She well remembered Tom Browning, a few years younger than she was, too young and brave to die. It was guys like Tom that made Gilly drop into the canyon. Guys like Tom...and Reuben.

Which brought her, for a second, right back to that enigmatic look he’d given her across the lake. She hadn’t exactly been close enough to see it as much asfeelit.

Gratitude?

Respect?

She didn’t care that they’d grounded her. Because her jumpers were safe. For now, maybe even for the rest of the summer.

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