Page 10 of Light My Fire

A bush pilot from a local wilderness guide service had caught the smoke early this morning. Tucker had no doubt, with the wind off the mountain and today’s low humidity, the fire was growing. But they still had time to get in and stomp it out before it grew into something inter-agency.

He and his team could handle it.

Tucker reached for his travel mug. A few other team members had trickled in to the makeshift headquarters. Not a bad place to convene, with the massive great room, overstuffed leather sofas, a log-top table brightly shined, a massive two-story river rock fireplace. Hand built in the 1950s from local Sitka spruce and Alaska pine, the place was a fortress carved out of the untamed wilderness surrounding it. A tiny lake edged the ranch to the west, surrounded beyond that by more mountains.

A few cabins for guests hugged the eastern shore of the lake. To the west, a tiny homestead cabin sat in the shadow of a ridge that cordoned off the land to the south. A road wound along the property to the cabin, clearly an outbuilding that belonged to the ranch.

The entire setup was remote, rugged, and quiet. So quiet that when Tucker got back last night, while the rest of the team hung out on the Kingston’s deck recounting the past few days, he’d retreated to the porch of his tiny rental cabin and simply listened to the wind in the trees, watched the moon struggle for presence in the tepid gray sky.

He wanted a place like this.

Someplace quiet where he could build a life. A wife, kids.

Once upon a time, he thought he had that, with Colleen. But he’d been so very young. So very stupid.

So very willing to be anything, do anything just so Colleen would love him. But she’d wanted him, ultimately, for one reason only.

The gauged ears, the tattoo had told her he was someone else. Someone dangerous. Someone her parents would hate. Someone who looked on the outside like the turmoil going oninsideColleen.

And he’d simply been too desperate to be anything else.

He was tired of trouble.

I’m leaving you in charge, Tuck.

He still couldn’t believe that Jed had so easily handed over the keys to the team.

Don’t do anything stupid.

It wasn’t a big fire yet, but it could be if they didn’t get it under control.

“Last eyes on it had it at about ten acres, and it’s crawling, so I think your team can knock it down. But if not, then I need your team to get in there on an initial attack, get eyes on it, and slow it down. We’re short on tankers—they’re on a fire north of Fairbanks. So I’ll need a status on your reinforcement needs asap,” Don said. A division one boss, Don had devised the fire action plan that had finally killed the Chelatna Lake fire.

Riley came over holding a cup of coffee in a travel mug, eyeing the map.

Don had paused, and now his voice came through the phone. “Just checking, but are you guys okay to deploy? I know you just came off a fire—”

“We’re good,” Tucker said, aware of Riley’s gaze on him. Sure, they were tired, but that’s why they were here. “As soon as Barry gets the plane fueled, we’ll get loaded up.”

Don hung up, and Tucker leaned over the map, trying to pick out the right drop zone.

“We need to get our chutes repacked,” Riley said. A few more of Tucker’s team had assembled, probably feeling the buzz of a jump in the air.

Shoot. He hadn’t thought of that. Probably, Jed hadn’t either. Repacking all the chutes would take precious time. “We could use the extras from the BLM team.”

“Those are squares. Not rounds.” The Alaskan team deployed on ram-air canopies while the USFS used round, FS-14 chutes that deployed automatically from the static line of the plane. But the ram-air offered more precise steering and could handle the higher winds coming off Denali.

Except, of course, the landings came at a faster velocity, which meant a higher chance of injury.

He glanced at the layout. “There’s a Boy Scout camp at the base of that mountain, about three miles from the blaze. And we’re just down the road another five clicks.” His finger landed at Sky King ranch.

Riley nodded. “I’m in, Tuck. But you’ll need to babysit the rookies.”

“We did at least five jumps on rams before coming up here.”

“Yep,” Riley said. “At leastfive.” He glanced up as Larke came into the room, her nearly moon-white blonde hair pulled back into a wispy ponytail. She wore yoga pants and a T-shirt that read Take to the Sky King.

Riley looked away. “I gotta pack my gear bag.”

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