Alaska Spark, page 7
part #1 of Blazing Hearts Wildfire Series
He backed up, welcoming the view of her skimpy tank top and shorts. And those legs—shit, those legs. He mumbled something but hadn’t a clue what.
“I was looking for another bathroom. Our room faucets don’t work.” She talked fast, hair dangling around her. Even in the twilight, he noted her flushed cheeks.
“This is the men’s wing,” he choked out, clearing his throat. It took every ounce of fortitude not to stare at her breasts spilling out of the tank top.
“I’m still figuring out the lay of the land. Should have used my phone GPS.” She sounded way too cheerful. “Um, that was a joke.” She waved her toothbrush.
“Uh, yeah, phone GPS. Right.” He laughed, bobbing his head like a damn chicken.
“Did I hurt you? Smacked you pretty hard.” She gave him a once-over, then parked her gaze on his face.
He smoothed a palm down his chest. “Don’t think so. Everything seems intact.” His eyes drifted down, horrified to see a bulge down south.
“Don’t want to injure the training instructor,” she laughed, as she tugged up her tank top to cover cleavage.
Oh, no, don’t do that.
The action increased below his belt buckle. His plane had lifted off; nothing he could do about it. Abort, abort, get to my room. Now.
“Ladies’ bathroom is at the other end.” He pointed. When she turned in that direction, he about faced and hastily retreated. “See you in class,” he tossed over his shoulder.
“Okay, sorry. Good night,” she stage-whispered after him.
“Uh-huh good night.” He jammed his key in the lock and snatched one last peek at those amazing legs. He all but pushed the door off its hinges to get it open. She’s sorry? I’m not. He ducked inside, slammed the door, and leaned against it.
Holy shit. Had her beautiful chest touched his? He wasn’t sure. How was he not sure? Guys remember those things. Dazed, he flopped on his bed, lifting his long legs onto the mattress, his size thirteens dangling off the end. His clipboard fell to the floor.
He closed his eyes and replayed the vision of a scantily clad Tara Waters. His heart thudded. Great. Now when he’d invite her to go flying tomorrow, she’ll think he’s hitting on her because he’d seen her half-dressed. No, half-naked. How the hell am I supposed to resist this woman until I no longer work with her?
He dropped a hand to the floor, groping for his clipboard. Lifting it, he reviewed his action plan, then tossed it on his nightstand. He watched mosquitoes bounce along the ceiling. Timing. It’s always the damn timing.
You’re a smokejumper, for cripes’ sake—you jump from airplanes to fight raging infernos. You’ll figure it out.
He fell into deep sleep, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, delighting in visions of naked, green-eyed goddesses brandishing auburn fire.
Chapter 9
Tara woke early, refreshed, and energized. She planned to squeeze in a run and go to the weight room before class.
When she stepped outside, the sun was already high. This far north the sun stayed up all night like a Vegas gambler. What an odd place, she thought. Dressed in black Capris and a tank top, she tucked in her ear buds, and powered on her mp3 player. Portugal The Man, playing Feel It Still; her favorite tune to ramp up her run. The music freed her mind to wander.
She did some stretches and hit the road, her feet keeping time to the song. She jogged east toward the Chena River and turned left, entering the six-lane running track. The early morning warmth pleasantly surprised her as she sipped her water bottle. Several runners dotted the rubberized track.
An eagle pair caught updrafts, circled above the river, commanding air. She envied their fearless ability to fly. Ever since Dad died, flying had become an issue. She wasn’t sure why and didn’t want to overthink it.
She loved running early in the morning when everything smelled fresh and new. Birds chirped louder and the dew-kissed, subarctic grass sparkled like glitter. The smoke had cleared, and the clean air felt heavenly to her lungs. Near the river, a moose munched willow.
An image of a startled Ryan after last night’s collision made her smile. Traipsing the hall in search of a bathroom in skimpy PJ’s wasn’t one of her smarter choices, but no one had room in a fire pack for a bathrobe.
Tara felt a swoosh on her left—someone zoomed past, flipping her thick braid over her shoulder. Ryan O’Connor, going full tilt. He raised an arm and waved, leaving her behind like a laggard.
She assessed his receding backside. Nodding approval, she doubled down and sped up. He sprinted fast—but running was her deal. Didn’t take long to catch him. She pulled the buds from her ears and let them dangle.
He slowed to a jog; a red bandana tied around sun-tinted hair. He’d tucked some behind his ears and she liked how the tiny flips poked out under his lobes. His sleeveless tee revealed muscle true to what she’d envisaged after hours of studying him in class.
“Morning.” He grinned, a bounce to his step. Way too hyper for this early.
Tara figured there ought to be a law against it. “Are you always this depressed in the morning?”
“Generally, yeah.”
Wow, those dimples. A competitive mood grabbed her. “So, are you up for a race? One lap and finish here.” She tapped her toe where they stood.
“Think you can take me?”
“Caught you just now, didn’t I?”
“Wait a minute. Let’s catch our breath.” He studied his watch, then glanced up. “Ready go.” He shot off like the roadrunner being chased by Wile E. Coyote.
“Hey, that wasn’t a full minute!” she protested, tearing after him.
They pounded around the track as if escaping a charging moose. She knew how hard smokejumpers worked out; she used to race Travis. Annoyed at herself for thinking of her ex, she sped up near the end of their lap. Once alongside Ryan, she pushed hard to keep up. He lunged ahead a few yards before the finish.
He circled back to her, his chest heaving and his shoulders glistening. “Not bad.”
“You jumped the start.” Puffing hard, she bent, hands on thighs. Her lungs ached.
“Yesterday you mentioned winning track meets.” He wiped his forehead with a short towel around his neck.
“I won a few races. But mostly worked out with my dad. He was a hot-shotter.”
“Firefighting runs in your family, I take it. Hotshots are animals when it comes to workouts.” Ryan paused to catch his breath.
“So are smokejumpers.” She shook out her arms, checking him out from behind her shades, hating that this vision was turning her on. “And that makes you an animal.”
His brows lifted above his sunglasses. “You’re talking about workouts, right?”
“What else would I be referring to?” She stretched her calves, knowing full well the gamut of things ‘animal’ could imply.
“Not touching that one,” he chortled, pressing an arm across his chest to stretch it.
He pointed at a hill on the other side of the river. “If you hike up there you can see Denali. There’s a footbridge across the river. Want to check it out?”
“Do we have time?”
“The way you cover ground, yeah.” He took off running toward the river and she followed.
He slowed at the footbridge. “As I was saying last night…” He paused.
She waited for a wisecrack about wandering the halls in her skivvies.
“I can help with your aviophobia.”
“My what?”
“Fear of flying. On the flight up here, you said you hated flying.”
“You remembered that?”
“You grabbed my leg.”
“Oh, right. Forgot about that,” she lied, her face heating. She recalled the firmness of his thigh muscle. “You fell asleep on my shoulder, so we’re even.”
“Hm, right. I did.” He gave her a broad grin. “Normally I don’t sleep on the shoulders of strangers.”
Had she known then he’d be her training instructor, she would have concealed her unease about flying. Firefighters were not in the habit of voicing fears. About anything.
She turned to him with hands on her hips. “Hating to fly doesn’t equate to a fear of flying. Technically speaking.”
“Same thing.”
“No, it isn’t. You can hate something without fearing it—just as you can fear something without hating it. I fear grizzlies, but I don’t hate them. And I don’t fear flying.”
He nodded slowly. “Interesting logic. Never thought of it like that.”
“Thanks for your keep-calm-and-fly chat on the flight to Fairbanks. You seem relaxed on planes.”
“When I’m not jumping from them, I fly them. Got my private pilot’s license a few years ago. One of the reasons I transferred to the Alaska Smokejumper Base.”
They crossed the bridge running side-by-side, their feet tapping the wood. He led her up a gentle slope that opened to a treeless mountain plateau.
He stopped and Tara nearly bumped into him as she gaped at a monolith jutting into the air like a skyscraper. “Is that Denali?” She pulled off her sunglasses.
“Affirmative.” He stood next to her, breathing hard.
Warmth flushed through her. Caused by Denali or Ryan? She wasn’t sure. Maybe both. “Now that’s a mountain. Looks like a giant snow cone.” She took in the white majesty, dappled with vertical, jagged shadows.
“I can fly you up close and personal since you’ve assured me you don’t have aviophobia.” He slid his gaze from Denali to her. “You’d see what the average person never gets the chance to. I’d even throw in a glacier landing.”
Her eyes widened. “You land on glaciers? How does that work?”
“The plane I fly has wheeled skis. I can take you to where time stands still. Are you up for it?”
His words hung in the air as she stared at Denali, processing his question. Should she go? She couldn’t wimp out, no matter how terrified she was of flying in a plane that could fall out of the sky into a narrow chasm of blue ice and be lost forever. Don’t let him know you’re scared.
“When are you going?”
“Today after class. I promised Gunnar I’d fly him into Denali Park. Only takes a few hours.”
“Today?” She gulped. Flying up to America’s tallest peak in a small plane? It’d be scary enough in a big plane, let alone a small one. This was insane.
He checked his watch. “We’d better go. I’ll jog back with you, unless you’re worried people will think you’re hitting on the training instructor.”
“Yeah, right,” she snorted, attempting to prove she thought nothing of the sort.
They jogged steadily and slowed their pace as they approached the barracks.
Ryan turned to her and she saw her reflection in his shades. “What do you say, want to go?”
She looked at him a long moment. “I’ll think about it.”
“Is that a solid maybe? People who have flown with me say I’m a damn good pilot. Even Gunnar says so.” Ryan pulled the towel from around his neck and wiped his face.
How could wiping sweat be sexy and how was she not supposed to notice? She dropped her gaze to her watch. “Everyone says that when they’re back on the ground in one piece.” If Gunnar went along, she’d be one of the guys like on a fire crew. She was good with it.
“No worries. I’m Mister Safety.” He’d thrown down the gauntlet.
Not that she was apprehensive going alone with Ryan, but the thought did flutter her insides.
Who wouldn’t want an up close and personal tour of the tallest peak in North America? She wanted to go but didn’t want to freak out doing it. Ryan was a stickler for safety, so who better to go with? They’ll land on a glacier! How many can say they’ve done that?
“Told you, I’m not afraid. What time?” She stared at him, duck-paddling about where she could lay fast hands on some Xanax.
“I’m ending class early so people can prepare for tomorrow’s pack test. Be at the back door of the barracks at half past three. Mel will shuttle us.”
“Okay.” Heart clamoring, she wondered if she was more terrified to fly or more thrilled at his invitation.
“Bring your camera with lots of juice.” He reached the door to the barracks and held it open.
“Thanks.” She clambered up the steps and grinned at him as she bolted for her room.
Angela roused as Tara burst into their room, peeling off her damp, sweaty clothes and tossing them on her bed. Was she foolish for agreeing to this? Despite her trepidation about flying, windmills spun in her chest.
“Good morning,” called Tara, stepping into the shower.
“Mornin’ sunshine. Do we have water this morning?” Angela rubbed her eyes.
Tara turned the handle and tested the spray. “We sure do.” She smiled, letting water massage her as she unraveled her thick braid.
She may be anxious about flying, but after all…she was still an adrenaline junkie at heart.
Ryan appreciated that Gunnar had planned an action-packed day for training. Since the weather was decent, they moved the class out to the lawn, pausing their talks for loud planes and helicopters. Ryan ran the trainees through their paces with on-the-spot Shake-N-Bake drills to deploy fire shelters.
During lunch, Ryan confirmed his reservation with Caribou Aviation to rent the Cessna Skyplane 182; the same plane he’d learned to fly and had flown several times into the Alaska Range. He looked forward to being in the air again.
He ended class early, hearing no complaints. The corner of his eye caught Tara hurrying to the barracks, and he brightened. He ticked off an inventory of the gear he’ll take as he headed to the barracks, with one eye on Denali, daring her to weather in. He’d be disappointed if clouds filled in the mountain passes and they’d have to turn around. He wasn’t certified for IFR—Instrument Flight Rules, relying only on instruments to guide him between the mountains if they weathered in.
Once in his room, Ryan changed into a dark North Face pullover, cargo pants, and his Caribou Aviation baseball cap. He grabbed his leather flight jacket and tossed aviator shades in a day pack, with water, snacks, and other safety gear.
A knock at the door. He swung it open to Gunnar, looking guilty. “Bro, can we go another day? Can’t today.”
“You’re canceling on me? Geez, Gunns, the plane is only available today. Next week we’ll be jumping fire.”
“My cousins are in town on a Princess tour. They’re leaving for Anchorage tomorrow. Sorry for the short notice.” He gave Ryan an apologetic smile.
Ryan shrugged. “Well okay, but now I can’t take you till after fire season.”
“Still going today?”
Delight replaced disappointment, but he hid it from his jump partner. “Yep, need the flight hours.” He debated telling Gunnar he’d invited another passenger. Nah. Let him think he’d be lonesome as hell.
“Sorry bro.” Gunnar backed out the door. “Have a good flight.”
“I’ll try.” Grinning to himself, Ryan grabbed his gear and headed behind the barracks, where Mel and Tara stood talking next to the box van. As he approached her, he assessed. Jeans, athletic shoes, and a T-shirt were not enough for winter conditions.
“Better grab a warm jacket and hiking boots if you have them. It’s ninety-two degrees here, but where we’re going, it’s sixty degrees cooler. Think January.”
Tara studied his leather jacket and heavy boots. Her eyes grew big. “Sixty degrees? Hold on a minute.” She scooted back into the barracks.
Ryan tossed his day pack on the back seat of the van before hauling himself in beside it. “Tara can ride up front.”
“How did you talk her into flying with you when you just met her?” Mel leaned against the driver’s side door and repositioned his baseball cap. He pulled out his Copenhagen and grimaced at the empty can. Sighing, he tucked it under the worn circle in the pocket of his jeans.
“I’m naturally charming, I guess.”
Mel snapped his head up. “Don’t give me that aw shucks bullshit. You smokejumpers are all about procedure.”
Ryan thought of his Incident Action Plan to date Tara. He knew Mel was dead right about that as he watched Tara skip down the steps to the van. He could watch her all day. And he had. Control yourself. Keep it professional.
She peeked in the open passenger door. “Where’s Gunnar?”
“He canceled. His cousins are in town.” Ryan gauged her reaction.
“Oh, too bad. Geez.” She seemed genuinely disappointed. Maybe she’d agreed to go because Gunnar was going. She gave him a polite smile. “Okay if I ride shotgun?”
“It’s all yours.” Ryan looked forward to spending time with her but hoped it wasn’t obvious.
“Thanks.” She slipped into the passenger seat and slammed the door. Mel turned the ignition and pulled the van onto the road leading out of Fort Wainwright.
“O’Connor, being the gentleman that he is, gave up his traditional front perch for you. Beauty before age.” Mel gave her a sidelong glance.
“So, now I’m a gentleman. Not what you said last week. And I’m offended by your age slam.” Ryan flicked his fingers at the back of Mel’s head. He liked giving his buddy a hard time.
Mel flicked his eyes at the rearview and Ryan thumbed his nose at him.
Tara twisted to grin at Ryan. “So, you’re an old man, huh?”
What a gorgeous smile. He wanted to kiss it. “Technically, I’m only—”
“He hit his third decade,” interrupted Mel.
“Thanks for ratting me out,” grimaced Ryan. “Mel rolled into a much higher number last month. He tried to keep it a secret, but we have ways of finding things out.”
Mel jabbed his thumb toward the back seat. “This joker and the other knob-heads flew a ‘Melbourne Faraday is 40’ banner behind a Cessna all over Fairbanks. Hid my age for years until that little stunt.”
“You should lay off the Botox, Mel. And let’s not discuss what you did for my thirtieth…” Ryan trailed off, catching himself. Melbourne had hired girls to dance at Ryan’s birthday party at a jumper’s house in Fairbanks. Cops showed up when neighbors complained people were skydiving from the roof onto a big army fuel bladder filled with water. Friends of Seth Boone, former Navy SEALS.
