Page 6 of Light My Fire

She should have guessed she’d find firefighters or—given the emblem on the shirt of her “protector”—smokejumpers invading her hometown. With RV parks and lodges and visitor centers under the shadow of Denali, the park couldn’t afford to let a fire take out tourism.

The BLM had probably called in a team from the Lower 48 to add a little muscle to the recent firestorm west of Denali. With fire season already accelerating, she had no doubt that the in-state team, the Midnight Sun Jumpers out of Fairbanks, might have their hands full.

Yeah, she should have kept driving because the mix of out-of-town tough guys with smoke under their skin and the local off-duty deputies that hung around Vic’s could be incendiary. Not that the deputies let themselves off their tightly tethered leashes—not after being trained by her father. But even the most disciplined of law enforcement officers came to the aid of their fellow cops. At least the ones still on the force.

Of all the bad timing…to have pulled up right ahead of Nate.

The screen door to the Midnight Sun Saloon squealed, and she spotted her “hero” emerging from the saloon. Perfect. She should have simply nodded that she wasjust fine, thanks,and walked away.

But something about the way he looked at her as she walked away…

She closed her eyes. She could still feel it, those brown eyes, a deeply resonant gaze that found her bones, settled her, if only for a moment.

Frankly, it scared her just a little. Enough for her to want to draw a line, give him a hard shove away from the tender soil of her heart.This isn’t your fight, hotshot.

He hadn’t deserved that. Not at all.

See, she was trouble, just like Vic had said. Trouble and heartache and frankly, she shouldn’t have volunteered to return to this backwoods town in hopes of…what? Redemption? Forgiveness?

Restoration?

No, it was too late for any of that. Where she went, destruction followed.

The smokejumper wore his slightly curly dark brown hair cut short in back, long and tousled in front, as if he’d once sported a man bun and had cut it in rebellion. A grizzle of dark whiskers outlined his jaw, giving him just enough of a roughneck, dangerous-is-my-middle-name aura.

Perfect. Just the type she should steer clear of.

He carried a Styrofoam box in one grip, a sweatshirt jacket in the other. A tattoo banded his upper arm, what looked like a Celtic cross sneaked out from under his black T-shirt. He was lean and broad shouldered, his Gore-Tex pants were cinched at the hips with a webbing belt, and ash blackened his steel-toed boots. His easy gait suggested the kind of confidence that bespoke a man who knew how to handle himself.

He’d certainly taken Nate down and kept him there without a blink.

She’d expected him to walk past her, to one of the many trucks parked in the dirt lot.

Instead, he walked right over to her, his gaze on her, as if pinning her there. And, for a second, it worked.

“You didn’t get dinner,” he said and handed her the container.

She stared at it.

“Wings,” he said. “And Vic threw in a fresh container of blue cheese.”

“You must not have told her it was for me.”

“No, but it doesn’t matter. Itisfor you.”

Really? How thick was this guy’s skin? “It’s your dinner.”

“I’m not hungry anymore.” He offered a half-hitch smile. “Lost my appetite.”

“Adrenaline rush. You will be later.”

“Probably.” He shoved the container at her. Raised an eyebrow.

“And the strings are—?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Whatever you want them to be.”

Oh. A piece of her past rose and for a second made her wonder just what her options were. Especially with the music twining out from the bar—someone had refired the juke box with the rambling tones of a country singer. Overhead, a blazing orange sun gilded the lush Denali mountainscape, and the fragrance of wildflowers, a hickory grill, and long summer nights hung in the air.

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