Firestorm (6 page)

“Fine. Just don’t treat me like I’m made of spun gold,” Beth said.

“I won’t. And you all,” she said looking about, “lay off about Logan. He’s my coworker. That’s it.”

They smiled at her like a group of Cheshire cats, all-knowing and yet for once holding their tongues. With a sigh of resignation, Reyne turned and walked to her truck.

O
n Monday morning Reyne pulled on her boots, wrestled her slim jeans back down over them, and walked to her kitchen. It was early, and she wanted to get some work done before facing Logan. She poured herself a tall mug of coffee and through its steam stared out her kitchen window.

For a moment the gentle white tendrils of steam entranced her, making her think of smoke wafting upward after a big fire. It took her back to that terrible day in Idaho and the aftermath of Oxbow, to emerging from her protective tent and realizing that not all of her team had made it …

She squeezed her eyes to pinch back the threatening tears and drew her lips into a grim line, thinking once again of her weather-kit project and how it might have made the difference that summer in Idaho.
If only—

Reyne turned abruptly, cutting off her own line of thinking, and headed out to her office, stopping briefly to grab her barn jacket and pull it on over her ivory turtleneck. The spring mornings were still quite cold, and it would take awhile to warm up the outbuilding past the standard fifty-five degrees.

As she walked, trying to cast away her foul mood, the sounds of a plane drew her attention to the airfield. Reyne checked her watch: 7:00
A.M.
She had to hand it to him; Logan did not seem like a
slouch about his work. The forestry company’s old Sherpa taxied down the runway and took off, presumably with Logan aboard.

Well if he was up, she wasn’t about to let him think that she was sleeping in. It was time that Logan McCabe found out just who he had partnered up with. Reyne Oldre wasn’t one to fall behind on the job either.

She ducked back into the house and grabbed her keys before heading over to her truck—her pride and joy—which now gleamed with a new coat of rich green paint. She and her brother Austin had worked tirelessly to bring the truck back to life the summer she was sixteen and Austin was twenty. Consequently, she had learned quite a bit about engines and been able to keep the Chevy in working order ever since. But it was only recently that Reyne had finally invested the money to reupholster the seats in a durable fabric that now matched the new shiny paint job outside—done two days ago—and to reface the cracked, aged dashboard in black leather. The original radio still worked, and Reyne tuned in a nearby Christian radio station after she turned the key and backed out her drive.

As she headed out, the incredible spring morning washed away her foul mood and melted her anger at Logan. Huge groves of birch that banked the Kootenai River fluttered tiny yellow green leaves in the spring breeze. Along the highway, Reyne passed newborn lambs cavorting with brothers and sisters … tiny calves attempting to nurse … colts trying out wobbly legs. The fields and hills were covered with verdant, fresh grass that waved in the wind. On the mountainside, the underbrush was once again beginning to match the color of the evergreens that towered high above.

In the midst of all the newness, Reyne could hardly hold on to her anger. “Hope springs eternal,” she mused aloud, wondering where the old saying came from. And inside, she felt the same. Somehow the day gave her new hope for her work, even if she had to do it on Logan’s project.
Maybe if I help him now, I’ll get the funding for my project next year
.

Reyne bent over her steering wheel and scanned the skies. Where did that Sherpa go? She frowned as she thought that maybe the airstrip team wasn’t skydiving at all … that maybe they had headed to Missoula and her trip to see them was all a waste. But it was too late now. Reyne was committed. She was almost there.

As Reyne turned down the road toward Elk Horn International—the ostentatious name for what was little more than a country airstrip—she caught sight of a plane. Quickly, she pulled to the side of the road and got out to watch. But it wasn’t the Cessna that she was sure held Logan inside. It was Horizon Airlines’ morning commuter flight. Elk Horn’s newest commercial airline ran two flights a day, ferrying travelers in and out of the one-room terminal. As they landed, Reyne shielded her eyes and scanned the sky for other aircraft. Nothing in sight.

She was about to climb back into her truck and drive home when the Chevy’s engine sputtered and died. Reyne frowned, tried the engine once more, then went to dig out her tool kit from underneath the seat. She walked around to lift the hood and ducked her head under it. Intent on her tinkering, she did not hear the second plane.

Through the open doorway of the plane, Logan spotted the sparkling green truck far below them and knew who must be underneath
the hood. “My damsel in distress!” he yelled at the spotter, Ken Oakley. Ken rolled his eyes as Logan flashed him a wide grin and lifted his eyebrows cockily. “Duty calls her knight in shining armor to save her!” Logan yelled.

Logan tilted the radio microphone at his ear down toward his mouth to talk with the pilot. “We have our landing target, Mike. Circle around the green truck on the road.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his earpiece as Mike Moser spotted the target. “You’re the worst, McCabe,” came Mike’s voice. “You’ll do anything to get a date Saturday. Ten bucks says Reyne Oldre won’t let you near her truck, twenty that she won’t agree to go out with you.”

Logan grinned. “Can I have a few days to work on her?”

“No way. The bet is only for today. That Oldre’s a tough cookie—a Forest Service legend—but you’re so dang charming that there’s no way I’ll give you that much time.”

“Ten bucks for working on her truck. Twenty if I get a date?”

“Those are the terms.”

“You’re out thirty bucks, my friend. We’ll use it for a romantic dinner this weekend. Smokejumper away.” With that he cast Ken another cocky smile and rolled out the doorway, immediately pulling his ripcord and deploying his chute.

With a fluttering roar the parachute swirled above him, spun, caught air, and canopied. The effect was immediate; it felt like an abrupt halt midair. Still, he descended, just not at the blinding speed he had been going. Reyne obviously had not seen him or heard the plane; she was apparently so involved in her work that she was not aware that he was near.

A woman of sole purpose
, he mused. Briefly he thought about the
myriad possibilities of what could be wrong with her vintage truck, preparing to impress her with his engine prowess. As he got closer, it became more difficult to concentrate on the car problems instead of on her attractive form leaning over the engine. He averted his eyes, deciding to think about his landing.

Sadly, she did not turn to note his perfect execution. He expertly bent his knees to be ready and then instantly rolled backward to diffuse the impact—as smokejumpers practiced doing for hours each spring. When she finally looked up, he gave her his best unassuming, friendly smile. Quickly he released his chute and left it where it lay, hopping up and then striding toward her in what he hoped was an impressive manner.

But he was the one who was impressed. She was magnificent—there was no doubt about it. Her flaxen hair was tied back again, but the breeze had worked wavy tendrils away from the knot to dance around her heart-shaped face. Reyne brushed away a strand from her eyes, leaving a spot of grease on her face. As he drew closer, he fought off a feeling of helplessness, like a sailor responding to a siren’s call, heading directly toward threatening rocks in spite of himself.

“I’ve been having car trouble myself,” Logan said.

Reyne turned to look at him and wiped her greasy hands on a rag. “What kind of trouble?”

“Big trouble. Talk about lemons! Most cars have a spare tire in the trunk; my car has a tow truck.”

Reyne did not laugh, but she did allow a tiny smile to pull the upturned corners of her lips—full and rosy—just a shade higher. Deep dimples threatened.

Encouraged, he continued, “It’s such a lemon that when I fill up at the gas station, I go inside for a six-pack. Of oil.”

Her smile widened.

This was definitely better than Saturday. And Sunday. “You’re out early,” he said, giving her his most appealing grin.

“Yes. Thought we could get a jump-start on our meeting today, but you were out playing.” She bent over the engine again so he could not see her face. Quickly, Logan circled the truck and looked in over the other side. She did not glance up.
You’re ten bucks down, Mike. Easy money, easy money! Now for the next twenty!

“Why don’t you go start the engine,” he suggested quietly, taking the wrench from her hand. She looked up at him as if to argue, then seemed to shrug internally and acquiesce.

A second later, the starter whirred, but nothing happened. Logan moved to another part of the engine and yelled, “Try ’er again!” Reyne did so, but still he could not see anything wrong. He moved again. “One more try!”

Still nothing. But everything was in working order. Logan frowned. These old engines were fairly simple contraptions.

Reyne ducked in under the hood again, and the two debated various problems. It was soon evident that she knew as much as he, and he hid his smile of approval.
A woman who knows engines. I’m going to have to marry her
.

Suddenly a thought came to him. “Uh, Reyne, I know this is probably a stupid question … but how much fuel do you have?”

Reyne shot him a fiery look as if to say, “Of all the stupid, inconsiderate …” Then she winced, looking away. “Oh shoot,” she began. “I thought about it a hundred times yesterday.” She walked back to the cab, climbed in, and sighed as he looked at her through the windshield.

“Out of gas?” he asked gently.

She nodded mutely, looking pained to be caught in such an
embarrassing blunder. She got out and slammed the hood shut. “I want you to know that I’ve never done this before.”

Logan nodded, his lips clamped shut against a smile. On top of losing the research grant, this must seem intolerable. “Come on,” he said, nodding his head toward the terminal and the new smokejumper building. “I’m sure we’ve got a gas can somewhere.”

They walked up the road side by side, talking about trucks and engines and how they had both put vehicles back together from scratch. “I sold mine when I graduated college,” he said, glancing at her. She seemed genuinely pleased to be conversing with someone who knew engines. “I’ve been sorry ever since.”

“What do you drive now?”

“Oh, just an old sedan. Most of the time, it gets me where I need to go. But it doesn’t have near the character of my ’51 Chevy.”

Reyne nodded in appreciation. “A ’51 Chevy, huh? They’re great vehicles. Split rear windows. You open the hood, and it’s so clean and spare you can stand in there with the engine.” She looked off in the distance as if visualizing herself doing just that.

I’m definitely going to marry this one
.

“What made you sell it?” Her question jerked him back to the present.

“The right price.”

She nodded. “I love almost everything about them, but I’ll tell you, there are times when I’m on the road for a while that I’d give my right arm for something with a little better ride.”

“Yeah, they’ve improved shocks a lot over the years,” Logan agreed. A thought came to him. “Hey, maybe you can help me find a new ’51 to fix up.”

“Maybe,” she hedged, raising her eyebrows.

Still, Logan thought, he had better push when he had the chance. They were connecting, and who knew how long it would last? “How about Saturday? We could head out to that salvage yard outside of Evergreen and find my next golden steed.”

“Saturday? Oh no, that won’t work. I … I have plans.”

In his head, he saw Mike Moser’s twenty-dollar bill blowing away in the breeze. “Oh, come on, Reyne. You can’t get away for a few hours? I need someone I can trust to scout out half the salvage yard.”

But her mind was clearly made up. “Nope. Sorry. I’m busy.”

Logan stifled a sigh and opened the door to the new log building at the airstrip for her. Above them was a sign that read:
GREATER NW FORESTRY CO
. “Madam,” he said as he gestured grandly, encouraging her to enter.

R
eyne was impressed. The forestry company had spared no expense in outfitting their innovative private firefighting force. There had been talk for years about such an enterprise and musings about how it could change the face of firefighting as they knew it. But Reyne had purposefully avoided the structure up until now, content with her behind-the-scenes work in fire.

Inside the huge log building were several tiny offices, a bank of televisions and computer screens that would eventually serve as a command center during fire season, a weightroom in which personnel could work out, locker rooms, a room full of bunk beds, a mess hall where several firefighters sat drinking coffee, a sewing room—every jumper was certified to run a commercial sewing machine to repair parachutes and protective gear—and a giant open area.

The air inside was cold and damp. The floor was concrete, and the ceiling soared a full four stories above them. A faux cliff had been constructed along one wall for rock climbing and rescue exercises. Twenty ropes descended from beams high above, useful for climbing and parachute training.

“They hope to build a hangar next summer,” Logan commented as Reyne looked around. “Funding is short, even for a private forestry company.” She glanced up at him quickly, and he looked as if he wanted to bite his tongue for reminding her. “I’m on loan from the BLM to help build their hotshot and smokejumper crew this summer.
If the forestry company’s holdings aren’t on fire, we’ll contract out with the BLM and the Forest Service.

“Come over here,” he rushed on, eager to share everything with her. They walked over to the series of ropes and climbed up a ladder to a small platform surrounded by a large net. Grabbing a tiny remote control, Logan motioned for her to don what appeared to be a parachute setup without the chute. She took off her coat and did as he bid. He did the same in a similar setup beside her.