Chapter Six

Less than two weeks later, Willa gripped the steering wheel and turned off the highway toward the airport, wondering what the hell she was doing.

You’re getting attached.

The warning from her subconscious was both unwelcome and untrue. Come on, this was just a friendly visit. Grady—her friend Grady—had mentioned how the Hart Valley Air Center was open for public tours, and had she ever been out to see it in person?

Willa had not. And as a resident of Hart Valley—and a citizen with an interest in public safety—she owed it to herself to take a tour, to get a sense of how the base operated and what was involved in fire suppression efforts launched from this Central Oregon base.

Keep telling yourself that.

“Shut up,” Willa muttered as her phone buzzed on the passenger seat.

She glanced over at it and saw the name on the readout. Pinpricks of unease poked her arms.

Dad.

Gripping the wheel tighter with one hand, she reached over with the other and hit the button to accept the call.

“Willie!” Her father’s voice echoed through the little Toyota, filling the air with his cigarette growl and the imagined smell of cheap beer. “Been trying to reach you all week, sweetheart.”

Willa tightened her fingers on the wheel and stared straight ahead at the road, determined not to miss any turns. “I’ve been working.”

“That’s my girl. Such a hard worker.” The harsh rasp in his voice gave the words a sort of mobster effect, and she imagined him sitting there with a glass of cheap whiskey in his hand.

No, Pabst Blue Ribbon. It wasn’t noon yet, and beer came before cheap whiskey. Her father was a man of principle.

“Wish I could be working.” Her father sounded wistful and far away.

“How’s the job hunt going, Pops?”

“Oh, you know.”

Willa did know, which was why she always hated this conversation. Hated it but kept having it over and over again.

“You don’t have to say it,” her father said. “I know I wasn’t supposed to quit one job without another lined up, but what can I say? The boss was an asshole.”

Willa closed her eyes, then opened them again because she was driving and didn’t want to die.

But she also didn’t want to hear her father’s excuses. The boss was a normal guy who wasn’t a fan of his employees showing up falling-down drunk to operate a forklift. Clearly that made the guy an asshole.

Willa bit back that comment. “Did you make it to your doctor’s appointment yesterday?” she asked. “The one I marked on your calendar on the fridge.”

“Aw, hell.” Another slosh of liquid. “I knew I forgot something.”

“Dad.” Willa bit her lip and gave up arguing. What was the point? She’d just have to make a new appointment, maybe take time off to bring him there herself.

“Have you been staying away from the casino?” she asked instead.

She didn’t know why she bothered asking. Yes, no, the answer didn’t matter. The truth was that her father spent every waking hour there that he could.

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” he said.

Of course it is.

Willa kept both hands on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead at the road, willing herself not to react. “Why’s that, Pops?”

“Well, see, I could use a loan. Not a big one,” he added quickly. “And only till I get back on my feet. Shouldn’t take more than a week or two. Then I’ll pay you back with interest.”

Willa breathed in and out, gaze trained straight ahead on the asphalt. The sign for the Hart Valley Air Center flashed by in her peripheral vision, and she tapped the brakes. Dammit. She’d have to turn around.

“What happened to the last loan I gave you?” she asked.

“Damn cheating sonofabitch.”

It was anyone’s guess who he meant this time. Willa took a shaky breath and eased her car into the gravel shoulder off the side of the road. “I can’t keep giving you money,” she said. “I’m barely staying afloat as it is. My financial planner says—”

“Financial planner,” her father said. “Man alive. You ever think back when it was just you and me without two nickels to rub together that you’d end up having a fancy financial planner?” The wistfulness of his chuckle sent sharp little daggers into Willa’s gut. “Your mama would have been so proud.”

Past tense. Willa took a deep breath. Now wasn’t the time for that conversation.

“I might have a chance to bid a job for TechTel,” she said slowly. “Mom’s dream company, remember? She always wanted to work there.”

“Isn’t that something?” His tone made it clear he didn’t remember. He had no idea what she was talking about.

It was just as well. Sometimes, Willa wished for the same big gaps in her memories.

“Anyway,” she continued, “the financial planner is free. We have a trade agreement where I do his website and he helps me out with planning.”

“That’s my girl, Willa. Always got a plan.”

She spotted a place to turn around and aimed for it, annoyed with herself for missing the entrance. Annoyed with herself for a lot of things, actually.

I’m just trying to make sure I don’t end up like we were. Like we lived when I was little.

She wasn’t cruel enough to say the words out loud, but she thought them. Thought them every single day.

“How much do you need?” She stomped the brake, sending gravel spitting out behind her tires. She hated those words for falling from her lips again. Hated herself for being weak.

It was easier than hating him. She couldn’t hate him. He was her father.

“Two hundred oughta do it,” he said. “I’ll pay you back, of course.”

“Of course.”

And Willa would wake up tomorrow to find herself living on a Caribbean island with her own private jet.

Gripping the wheel, she eased the car onto the shoulder and did a quick U-turn.

“I’ll transfer two hundred tonight,” she said. “Please work on the job hunt, okay, Pops?”

“You’re the best daughter in the world, you know that?”

Willa did not know that. She also didn’t know why she kept giving this man money when he was only going to piss it away.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” she said.

“I love you.”

The low cadence of his voice, the sincerity of his words, had her heart twisting up in her chest. This. This was why.

“I love you, too.”

And she did. As much as she hated to admit it, she loved the man who’d fed her and clothed her and kept her safe after her mother was gone. Not well—he hadn’t done any of those things well. But he’d done them, if only sporadically, which was still a lot more than anyone else in her life had done.

This was why she worked so hard. To create the stability she’d so desperately needed back then and still wanted to this day.

She disconnected the call as she pulled in at the Hart Valley Air Center. Signs pointed their way to bases for the Hotshots, for the tanker planes she guessed must be those huge ones that dropped retardant on fires.

But Willa followed the signs to the smokejumpers, parking her car right next to a dorm facility where Grady had told her some of the younger guys lived. Not him—he had his own place, which he’d refused to show her no matter how much she’d pleaded with him.

“I’m saving myself,” he’d teased, cupping her ass as he bent to kiss her on the front porch several nights ago. “For our real second date.”

Willa had ground against him, eliciting a growl and a tighter ass grab from Grady.

“Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?” she’d whispered in his ear.

He laughed and swatted her butt before stepping back to put some distance between them. “Maybe I want more than milk,” he said.

“We could just call this our second date and—”

“Whipped cream,” he said, backing away from her as he headed for his truck. “Butter. A nice double-cream brie with—”

“What?”

“That’s what I want,” he told her. “More than just milk.”

“Jesus, Grady.” She’d let him go, not sure when a recitation of dairy products became such a turn-on. Just one more thing that had changed since she met Grady Billman.

Willa shook off the memory as she eased her car into a parking spot marked “Guest”. She checked her makeup in the rearview mirror. It wasn’t much—just mascara and lip gloss—but her blue and white sundress gave her an easy, breezy look. No coincidence the spaghetti straps left her shoulders bare. She’d caught Grady checking them out, so she’d made an effort to leave them uncovered as often as possible.

Since when do you care what a man thinks?

She got out of the car, reminding herself she was just making the most of the short time she’d have with Grady. That’s what this homemade lunch was all about, too. A long lunch on a workday, no less, since that’s the only time the air base was open for public tours. Willa hadn’t taken a long lunch on a weekday in… Had she ever?

Clutching the small cooler in one hand, she made her way toward the reception building. A warm breeze fluttered the hem of her dress, swirling her in a cloud of juniper berries and faint smoke. Must be the wildfire up in Canada or maybe Northern Washington. Grady had mentioned some of his crewmates had been sent out to that one.

She stepped into the air-conditioned lobby and made her way to a desk bearing a placard that said, “Guests sign in here.” A grandmotherly receptionist in a red T-shirt stepped forward, wearing a name tag that identified her as Lyla.

“Just fill out this form here.” The woman handed her a clipboard, and Willa scrawled all her information, including her full first name. Christ. She was surprised to see so many other names on the sign-in sheet. Grady wasn’t kidding about the popularity of these base tours.

“You’ve got someone meeting you over there?” she asked.

“Grady Billman,” she said, annoyed with herself for feeling a flutter of excitement when she said his name. “He’s giving me a tour.”

“I’ll page him to meet you out front.”

“Thank you.”

The woman hit a door buzzer, and Willa walked outside into the warm Central Oregon sunshine. She breathed deeply, picking up on a hint of ozone in the air that suggested rain was on the way.

Grady appeared like a mirage on the sweltering sidewalk, grinning as he approached. “You made it.”

“You thought I wouldn’t?”

“Wasn’t sure,” he said, mopping his brow with a yellow towel. “Sorry, we just got done with PT.”

Which explained why he was shirtless. And why Willa had the sudden urge to drool down the front of her dress. No man should be built this perfectly, with sculpted abs and a broad chest and—

“You want it?”

She jerked her eyes back to his face. “What?”

“The tour.” He grinned like he knew damn well where her mind had just gone. “You want the tour now, or did you want to start with lunch?”

“Oh. Either way.” She hoisted the small cooler she’d brought from home. “There’s ice in here, so it’ll keep a while.”

“Thanks again for doing that,” he said. “You don’t owe me food, but I appreciate it.”

“You bought the pizza the other night, so it’s only fair.”

“That was damn good pizza.” He smiled, possibly remembering what had happened after pizza.

And now she was blushing again.

“Come on,” Grady said, taking the cooler from her hand. “We can set this in the break room, and then I’ll show you around.”

He led her to a small room near the entrance where a battered steel table held a napkin dispenser and a pile of paper plates. “Sorry about the mess,” he said as two shirtless men wandered through with towels draped around their necks.

Kayla and Aislin would love this.

Willa kept her eyes fixed on Grady, pretty sure his abs could put everyone else’s to shame. He tucked the cooler in a corner next to an older-looking refrigerator, giving Willa a chance to admire the muscles in his back. Had she ever admired back muscles before?

“Let me just grab a T-shirt and I’ll show you around,” he said.

“I don’t mind,” she said, her voice a little wobbly. “If you wanted to skip the shirt.”

Grady laughed and walked to a bank of lockers in the hallway. He spun the dial on one of them as two more shirtless guys walked past.

“Yo, Billman. Oh, hey, Willa.”

“Tony,” she said. “Good to see you again. How was the concert?”

She knew damn well how the concert had gone, as well as how the rest of Tony’s night had unfolded with Kayla in his bed. She hadn’t stopped gushing about it since the following morning.

“Great,” he said, grabbing a bottle of Gatorade from the fridge and twisting the top. “Tell Kayla I said hi.” He wandered away as Grady finished pulling on a shirt.

“Sounds like our friends hit it off,” Willa said.

“Yeah.” Grady grinned, giving nothing away. “Come on, we’ll start in the rigging room.”

He led her down a hallway to a brightly lit room with tall ceilings and enormous counters lined up in rows. At one end, a guy with close-cropped hair and a black T-shirt was folding a giant parachute. He looked up and smiled.

“Hey, Grady,” he said.

“Ryan, this is Willa. Willa, meet Ryan.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” she said. “You’re the drummer, right?”

“Right.” He grinned, and Willa could see right away why Aislin had picked him out of the crowd. She hadn’t called him—probably hadn’t even kept his number after Grady gave it to her—but he was definitely her type.

“You must have been at one of our shows?” he asked.

“At the Boyton Ballroom the other night,” she said. “It was a great set.”

“Thanks.” He grinned at Grady. “I’m guessing this is the reason we had to play ‘Smokey the Bear’?”

Grady grunted. “Something like that.”

Willa moved forward to survey his work. “Can I ask what you’re doing?”

“Sure.” Ryan spread his arms wide. “This is where we lay out all the chutes and pack them. Gotta have a minimum of three years of service to work this job.”

“We use Ram Airs here,” Grady put in. “The square chute you see hanging up there. Most of us are trained on rounds, too, though.”

Willa fingered the ropes, marveling at their thickness. “Is there an advantage to one over the other?”

Grady shrugged. “You can steer better with the square chute, but there’s a steep learning curve. Takes a lot of practice.”

“The army uses the rounds,” Ryan offered. “More forgiving.”

“You’ll find advocates for both,” he said. “Come on, I’ll show you where we do repairs.”

Grady’s voice held a note of excitement she hadn’t expected. He was passionate about his work; that was obvious.

“I should warn you up front that I might get called out,” he said as he led her down a concrete hallway toward a room giving off an odd buzz. “They had some lightning strikes up in Northern Washington, so we’re on standby to fly.”

“Got it,” she said. “I made sure lunch is portable, just in case.”

“Thanks.”

The buzzing got louder as they approached the room, and Grady led her inside. What in the world?

Grady turned to smile at her. “This is where the magic happens.”

Willa surveyed the room in awe. Sewing machines, at least two dozen of them, lined the room in tidy rows. It looked like her high school home ec room, except all the machines were manned by grown men. Muscular, rugged men, a few of them with a faint sheen of sweat glistening on their bare chests.

One of them looked up and nodded at her. “Ma’am.” He looked at Grady. “Air-conditioning’s busted again.”

“Figures.”

Grady turned to smile at her, and Willa realized her mouth was hanging open. She closed it, still too stunned to find words. “Knitting,” she managed at last. “When I made that crack about playing music instead of knitting…”

“Yep.” He grinned. “This is what I meant. Welcome to the largest sewing circle on the West Coast.”

“What on Earth?”

“If you want to be a good smokejumper, you pride yourself on stitch quality,” he said. “Bobby McKillop over there is a senior rigger, and Pete Jensen is a master rigger.”

A guy with arms the size of tree trunks saluted, then went back to sewing. Willa watched, dumbfounded. “These are parachutes?”

“Chutes, harnesses, belts, jump suits—you name it,” Grady said. “You know how I mentioned we’re all control freaks?”

“Yes, but I didn’t realize this is what you meant.”

Grady grinned and ran his fingers over the fabric dangling from the ceiling. “Our lives depend on all that stuff, so we make damn sure every stitch is perfect.”

“I had no idea.”

“Most people don’t,” he said. “I’m sure there’s stuff that goes on behind the scenes in your life that no one would ever guess at.”

“Right.” Willa nodded, reminding herself he was talking about work. Not her personal life, which was where more of the unknowns lurked. “This is the last thing in the world I pictured when you said you were a smokejumper.”

“We’re full of surprises.” Grady smiled and took her hand. “Come on, I’ll show you where we keep the gear.”

He led her into another room, this one stacked high with shelves teeming with boxes. Hundreds of them, thousands, maybe.

“These are the packs we carry.”

She turned to see him hoisting one off the floor.

“We jump first, and then these get tossed out afterward on cargo chutes,” he explained. “We carry our own gear in the field.”

“What’s in it?”

“That’s a two-manner,” he said. “It’s enough to keep two firefighters alive for two to three days. You’ve got tools, food, water, climbing gear, things like that. And we’ve gotta be able to hike a dozen or so miles with it, since that’s often what it takes to get out to a road. To the pickup point.”

“Who picks you up?” she asked. “A plane or…?”

“Usually volunteers,” he said. “Drivers will get called out to the nearest town, wherever that happens to be, and we’ll have to hike to get to them.”

Willa tried lifting the pack. “Whoa.” It was heavy. She could barely get it off the ground. No wonder Grady’s shoulders were so strong.

“That one’s about a hundred and ten pounds,” he said. “There’s a heavier one with a chain saw.”

“A chain saw?”

“For clearing brush. With smokejumping, it’s all about the initial attack. The idea is to knock the fire out while it’s still small.”

Willa shook her head, amazed by everything that went into his job. She hadn’t had a clue. “So how does this work exactly?” she asked. “You get a call there’s a fire, and then you go?”

“Or smoke,” he said. “Sometimes not even that. Sometimes we get a call that there’s been a lightning storm in Nevada or Montana or somewhere like that, and it’s our job to go fly around looking for strikes.”

“Like smoke curling up from the forest—that sort of thing?”

“Yep,” he said. “The precursor to fires, rather than a big, raging gobbler.”

“Gobbler?”

“Gobbler or gob—that’s what we call the big fires,” he said. “We’re after the small ones. The smoldering bits in the remotest places that we’re trying to keep from turning into big fires.”

No wonder Grady grimaced at the mention of thunderstorms. “Is it usually lightning strikes that cause them?”

“That’s common, but we see some human-caused fires, too.”

“Wow, Smokey.” She patted his abs, lingering a little longer than necessary as she smiled up at him. “You’re kind of a badass.”

He grinned, that mischievous, delicious grin that sent tingles running up and down her arms. And to other parts.

“Want to see how fast I can get my clothes on?”

Willa laughed. “Is this where I’m supposed to say I’m more interested in seeing how fast you can take them off?”

Grady smiled back. “Depends on which would impress you more.”

Electricity crackled between them, their own private lightning storm with much more risk of collateral damage. Willa took a step back.

“I take it you have to suit up fast when a call comes in?”

Grady watched her face, clearly sensing a shift. “Yep. Come on, I’ll show you the speed racks.”

He led her into a room with rows and rows of garment hooks. “We need to be able to get our gear on in two minutes or less,” he said. “Kneepads, ankle braces, leg straps, the whole nine yards.”

She fingered the edge of a sleeve, marveling at the weight of it. “Because the pack’s not heavy enough?”

He laughed and shrugged into it while keeping it on the hook. All part of the strategy, she guessed. “There’s Kevlar in here,” he said. “Protection from tree branches. That’s one of the biggest risks out in the field.”

Willa tried to picture it. Grady jumping out of a plane. Grady with those spiky things on his feet as he clambered down from a treetop. Grady in a blazing forest with a chain saw, making sure the fire couldn’t spread.

She wasn’t sure that’s how it all worked in real life, but her mental picture was scary enough. “You said your dad used to jump?”

“Yeah, but he retired.” Something dark passed over Grady’s face. “Probably stayed in a little too long. It was hell on his body those last few years, but he didn’t really have a backup plan.”

Willa nodded, remembering Grady’s own comments about needing a plan for himself. “Sounds rough.”

He shrugged. “It’s part of the life.”

“So what’s are your ideas for after? For getting out earlier than your dad, I mean. Are there other jobs that interest you?”

Grady’s face hardened, but he kept smiling. It was the strangest expression. “Maybe stripping.” He rubbed a hand over his forehead, which seemed like a nervous gesture. “Those guys at Boyton seemed to be killing it that night.”

Willa studied his face. “You don’t like worrying about the future.”

He shrugged. “You’re right, stripping’s no good. Maybe I’ll be an astronaut?”

Message received. The subject was off limits. “All right.” Willa cleared her throat. “So your brothers—you said a couple are smokejumpers?”

“Yeah, and one Hotshot.” His whole body seemed to relax. “Those are the ground crew guys.”

“Your dad must be proud of you.”

“We’re pretty tight,” he said. “My whole family. But especially the ones who fight fires. We’re all really close.”

“I’d like to meet them.”

He gave her an odd look, and she realized what she’d just said. Right. The two-date rule meant she didn’t have a lot of meet-the-family moments.

“I’m sure they’re good smokejumpers,” she said. “Maybe I’ll see them around.”

Lame. Super lame, but Grady didn’t react.

“Jake’s out on a fire in California right now,” he said. “And Paul has the next couple of days off.”

There was an intensity in his eyes that made Willa take a step back. What was she doing here? She hadn’t meant to make this feel like a budding relationship, and it definitely wasn’t a date. So what was it?

She stepped back again, pasting a smile on her face. “We should go have that lunch now, you think?”

Grady nodded. “Sure thing.” He shrugged out of the suit and offered her his arm. “Thanks again for bringing food.”

They made their way down the hall in silence as Willa glanced at her watch. She’d been gone only forty-five minutes, but already it felt like ages she’d been away from work. She’d have to make an excuse to leave soon.

“It’s nothing too fancy,” Willa said as she started to unpack the cooler. “Roll-up sandwiches with turkey and avocado. I’ve got apple slices here, too.”

“This looks amazing.” Grady grabbed a chocolate chip cookie and took a bite. “Life’s short; eat dessert first.”

Willa fought the urge to grimace. “My father used to say that,” she said. “Still does sometimes.”

“I think I’d like your dad.”

She said nothing, just focused on unpacking the cooler. But she could feel her shoulders tensing. “There’s enough here if you want to share with the other guys,” she said. “I made some extra sandwiches for—”

Waaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!

The siren was louder than anything Willa had ever heard, filling her eardrums and prickling the hair on her arms. She looked at Grady, who was stuffing a sandwich in his mouth as fast as he could.

“Gotta go,” he said around a mouthful.

Boots thundered down the hallway behind him, and Willa picked up snippets of words.

Northern Idaho.

Lightning strikes.

Hurry up, asshole.

Grady dug fast through the cooler, grabbing cookies and apple slices and even an extra sandwich in a baggie. He finished chewing and tucked the food in the crook of his arm. “I’ll be set for the ride if I can fit all this in my jump suit.”

“Be careful out there.”

He smiled and pulled her into his arms. “I always am.”

The kiss was quick, but Willa’s toes curled anyway, and the rest of her screamed for more.

But Grady was already backing away. “I’ll call if I can,” he shouted, jogging toward the hall. “Or text.”

Willa rested a hand on the cooler and watched Grady surge into the rushing mob. “Good luck,” she shouted. “Stay safe.”

In the distance, she heard men shouting. Somewhere outside, a plane engine roared to life.

“I can walk you out.”

Willa turned to see Ryan from the rigging room. “You’re not going?”

“Nah,” he said. “I’m not on the jump list till tomorrow.”

She began packing the cooler, surprised to discover her hands had gone wobbly. “Want a sandwich?”

His eyes lit up. “Thanks!”

He unwrapped it and dove in while Willa finished packing the cooler. “Kind of a crazy life, huh?” she said, making idle conversation.

Ryan nodded around a mouthful of turkey and avocado. “It’s rough on relationships,” he said.

“Oh, we’re not in a relationship,” she said. “Grady and me, we’re just…”

What the hell were they? She didn’t have an answer, but Ryan didn’t wait for one.

“Midsummer gets especially hard,” he said. “It’s hit-or-miss whether you see each other at all. Most of the girls I’ve dated get sick of it after a season.”

Willa digested the information and did her best to look like she didn’t care. “Sounds like an okay arrangement for me,” she said. “I don’t have room in my life for a guy who’s hanging around all the time, distracting me from my work.”

“Won’t have to worry about that with a smokejumper.” He reached for a cookie. “We’re never around. Not even when you want us to be.”

“Good.”

Wasn’t it?

Yes, of course it was. This was exactly what Willa wanted. A date or two for fun, some amusing banter, good sex—okay, great sex—and no attachments. This was what she’d been built for. Exactly the kind of relationship she needed.

“It’s not a relationship,” she said again, as much for her own benefit as his.

“Whatever you say.” Ryan grinned as he stuffed the rest of a sandwich in his mouth, clearly not believing her at all.