COLE HUDSON FINISHED sweeping the razor across his chin,
rinsed the last of the shaving cream from his face and
paused to stare into the sliver of a mirror someone had
hung above the outdoor sinks at the Flathead, Montana,
base camp.
"We made it through a day without the fire getting the
better of us," Jackson, the supervisor of the wildland
fire-fighters known as the Silver Bend Hot Shots,
announced beside him. "I think that calls for a beer,
don't you?"
"And a thick, juicy steak," Logan seconded, shoving his
shaving kit into his pack, pausing to look at the plastic-
encased picture of his family dangling from the strap.
Cole hesitated. It had been a tough few weeks in the
Flathead Mountains of Montana. The beast had toyed with
the crews on a daily basis and finally overrun them with
near deadly consequences two days ago. Cole's best friend,
Aiden, better known as Spider in Hot Shot circles, had
nearly lost his dad in the flash fire. Spider now sat
vigil at a hospital in Missoula waiting for his father's
recovery.
"I heard they were serving steak tonight, too."
Jackson dried his hands with a towel, lingering over his
wedding band.
"But not beer," Logan lamented. Alcohol wasn't allowed in
fire camps. "Let's get into the chow line before they run
out of beef. If I lose any more weight this season, Thea
will kill me."
Cole knew exactly what Logan meant. After six months away
from home, the entire crew was pretty lean. Thanks to the
demanding physical labor and the fight against
dehydration, they didn't carry much fat.
"Just another day or so," Cole murmured. They'd served
their time, and the Forest Service would have to decide if
they would stay on with a day of rest, or if they'd be
sent home.
Now that they had air support, this fire just might be
brought under control. Although some teams would continue
working for another few weeks, others would begin winding
down from the long season and go home in time to take
their kids trick-or-treating and make plans for the
holidays. This year, for the first time in a long time,
Cole would be the only one of his friends to go home alone.
Jackson had reunited with his wife. Logan had found
someone who'd brought light to his dark side. And now
Spider had reconciled with his dad and was about to become
a husband and father himself. Spider, who Cole had been
certain would never grow up, was eager for his new role.
Poor, lucky sap.
Cole stared into the mirror, noting the wrinkles and the
laugh lines emphasized by so many fire seasons under the
hot summer sun. It wasn't that he didn't have a pretty
decent life. With a job he loved and a group of friends
he'd trust with his life, Cole had nothing to complain
about. He even had someone at home, or at least someone in
his heart. A woman he loved.
A woman he'd let go. "You're the only one for me," Missy
had whispered to him.
Eleven years ago he'd walked out of Missy Quinlan's life,
hoping she'd follow. Today, after battling a monster of a
fire, and about to face three to four months of life alone
in a small apartment, something unsettling crept into his
thoughts.
It was time.
He was finished waiting for Missy. He had to know if she
was happy without him. If so, he'd move on, no regrets. As
soon as they were released from the fire, Cole would drive
to Eden and find out if he'd been a fool all these years
or an incredibly wise man.
"LOOKING FORWARD to the end?" Danny asked as he and
Rachel walked through base camp on their way to dinner. He
moved with a limp and shoulders stooped with age, but he
was still one of the best air tanker pilots around.
"Hey, we're heading into October and I'm in the black this
year. Why would I want it to end?" Rachel joked, even as
she wished herself home with her family. It was weird how
she absolutely loved to fly and absolutely hated the guilt
her job created.
Rachel operated Fire Angels air tanker service. She'd
picked up several good contracts from the Forest Service
in states to the east of Wyoming over the past few years,
purposefully avoiding Idaho and Montana. But at the end of
a long season, federal parks were still burning in many of
the western states, so all the fire-fighting resources and
personnel were shifting west instead of hunkering down in
their homes for the winter.
Danny removed his baseball cap and gestured at the
firefighters in front of them with a laugh. "Yeah, these
losers are probably more than ready to head home, and
we're itching to get in the air again."
"We've got the promise of tomorrow. That's more than we'll
have next week." Although Rachel wanted the fire to be out
and the season to be over, she couldn't help but
appreciate any reason to take to the skies. Nothing could
compare to the feeling Rachel got from flying.
"Look at these ground pounders," Danny said, casting his
gaze over the men around them. "I'm almost three times the
age of most of them, and they're dragging their asses like
little schoolgirls."
One of the men in front of them shot Danny a deadly look,
so Rachel decided to let the conversation drop. The last
thing she wanted was a fight drawing attention to herself,
just in case she knew someone here.
Trying to appear like the professional she was, Rachel
glanced around, but it was impossible to pick out anyone
she knew beneath the yellow helmets and layers of grime. A
few of the men looked her up and down, then flashed an
interested grin Rachel ignored. With a body built for sin —
or so Missy used to tell Rachel — and eyes that even
Rachel had to admit slanted more provocatively than
Missy's, it was often hard for Rachel to blend in. And she
desperately wanted to blend in today.
Rachel knew Cole was, or had been, a Hot Shot in Idaho
eleven years ago. It was with mixed feelings that she'd
looked at the fire camp roster a few minutes earlier and
seen two Idaho crews listed. Eleven years was forever in a
Hot Shot lifetime. The work was tough on the body and the
mind. Chances were slim that Cole was still on active
duty. With his love of horses and his bent for the big
thrill, Cole could have turned from the Hot Shots to the
rodeo or NASCAR for his adrenaline rush.
Still, Rachel pulled her baseball cap low over her eyes as
she fell into the dinner line with the other fliers and
ground support teams. The pilots and their crews had been
bussed over to base camp from the airstrip twenty miles
away with the promise of hot showers and a steak dinner
celebrating the containment of the fire.
"Let's not go looking for trouble." Out of the corner of
her eye, Rachel caught a glimpse of someone with blond
hair and broad shoulders. Controlling the flutter in her
stomach, she turned away from the man.
"Besides, Danny, you know you'll have cabin fever at first
snowfall. Who wants to hurry home to that?" Back to the
slow routine at the ranch, back to homework and laundry,
back to the limited repertoire of meals she could cook. In
the winter, she felt she was twenty-six going on forty —
bound to Eden by love and a responsibility she hadn't
asked for.
"That's why you and I get along, kid. We're too much
alike." With a playful flick of a gnarled hand, Danny
broke her reverie by flipping Rachel's baseball hat off.
There wasn't much of a breeze, but it was enough to carry
it several feet.
Rachel scrambled to pick it up, but someone beat her to
it. As the man straightened, Rachel felt her knees go weak
and the blood drain from her face. She half turned, as if
to run.
"Rachel?"
It was sad, really, how Rachel recognized Cole Hudson's
voice with its gentle Texas twang more than eleven years
after she'd last heard him speak, sadder still that her
heart raced at the sound. If she'd been frying in the
Indian-summer heat of Montana before, she was broiling
now. Rachel was suddenly grateful that she hadn't looked
in the mirrors in the portable latrine, because she
preferred to hold on to what little dignity she could
muster and pretend she looked presentable. At least she
could hide behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses.
"You're such a tomboy, Rachel," Missy said, braiding
Rachel's hair before she went to school.
"Why don't you try out for cheerleading?"
"The only thing better than flying is fixing an engine,"
Rachel said. "Cheerleading is for sissies."
Missy shook her head. "Boys don't like tomboys." As Rachel
turned back to face Cole, she caught a whiff of herself —
sweat and a combination of exhaust fumes, slurry and
engine oil. Ugh. Cole had always liked girlie girls.
Rachel plastered what she hoped resembled a smile on her
face, hoping at least her manner would convey what a cool,
polished woman she'd become, and not raise suspicion about
the secrets she was hiding.
"Hey, Cole. Long time no see." Good. She sounded unfazed,
not like a woman whose heart pounded crazily in her chest.
And then Cole was laughing as he scooped her up and spun
her around in a crushing embrace.
The world slowed down, winding back, back, back, to a
simpler time when anything was possible and happiness had
seemed so easy to attain.
Cole.
Without thinking, Rachel clung tighter, pressed closer,
until she heard the buzz of a small Cessna's engine
overhead and reality came crashing back.
What was she doing? "Put me down!" Rachel struggled
against Cole's rock-solid chest and her traitorous
emotions. "Dammit, Cole. Put. Me. Down."
Unceremoniously, his arms released her and Rachel
stumbled, but somehow managed to regain her balance.
"This guy buggin' you, Rachel?" Danny asked, a steadying
presence at her side, even though his wiry physique was no
match for Cole's.
"No. He's an old friend," Rachel admitted after a moment
spent unable to avoid looking at Cole. "Why don't you get
back in line, Danny. I'll catch up with you in a minute."
Danny moved slowly toward the chow line with a few dark
looks for Cole.
Meanwhile, Cole didn't say a word. He just stood there
watching her with bright blue eyes that she'd hardly dared
stare into when she was fifteen, much less now. With a
linebacker's build, a square jaw and short blond hair, he
carried his age well, probably better than Rachel. He
looked at peace, far different from the worried expression
Rachel saw in her own reflection.
"You look like hell. I almost didn't recognize you," he
said finally, handing her the baseball cap. "What are you
doing out here?"
Rachel put the hat back on her head. His words shouldn't
hurt, but his tone implied she had no business being at a
wildland fire camp miles from civilization. Rachel looked
beyond Cole to the smoke-filled horizon. Things were so
much easier in the air than on the ground.
"I'm contracted with the Forest Service, working the fire
just like you are." Making good money to tide her over
through the lean winter months.
He frowned, taking in her appearance from head to
toe. "Hot Shot?" She wasn't wearing the Hot Shot garb that
Cole was — fire-resistant drab-green slacks and a yellow
button-down.
Rachel flicked her thick ponytail over her shoulder with a
laugh. "Fight fires on the ground with nothing more than a
shovel or a chainsaw? I'm not that foolish. I'll leave
that to you, thank you very much." And she should leave
him standing there with the question she knew he was dying
to ask — How's Missy? But Rachel's boots seemed to have
taken root in the dirt.