Page 3 of The Smokejumper's Lady
But my weak excuses just make my mom think there’s hope for me yet, so she keeps pushing. And I’m not strong enough to say what I really want to say.
What I’ve never said—what I always think after those calls—is that this place feels like mine. The ridges and creeks and winding trails are the only thing that’s ever made sense to me.
But right now?
Right now, nothing makes sense. And I feel trapped.
My hands are shaking. My throat is raw. I can’t let them see how scared I am, but God—this is the worst fear I’ve ever felt. Not just for myself, but for the wonderful family with me. For Maddie.
A deep, thunderous crack shakes the cave walls. A tree has fallen somewhere nearby.
Maddie whimpers, burying herself deeper into her mom’s arms. Mrs. Reynolds sobs quietly. Mr. Reynolds looks at me again, desperate for reassurance.
I raise the walkie again. “Team ETA?” I say, trying not to sound as terrified as I feel.
“Smoke jumpers have eyes on your coordinates,” the voice replies. “Hang in there.”
I lower the walkie slowly. “They’re coming,” I whisper, mostly to myself. “Any minute now.”
I don’t know what kind of people jump out of planes into wildfire zones. I don’t know how anyone signs up for that. But right now, I’m praying one of them finds us before the fire does.
And if they don’t?
I guess it will go down in history that I died doing what I loved. Died before I gave up and settled for a desk job. That doesn’t seem so bad…
Chapter Two
Ryan
“You keep lookin’ at your phone like she’s gonna text you back, man,” I say, popping the cap off a bottle of Gatorade with my teeth.
Matt groans from across the table in the common room. “Sheisgonna text me back. She’s just busy.”
“Busy ghostin’ your clingy ass,” I mutter, leaning back in my chair. “You really oughta stop fallin’ for chicks who wouldn’t know a fire shelter from a handbag.”
“Not all of us want to die alone, Lewis,” he fires back. “Some of us like…what’s that thing? Human connection?”
I snort. “Human connection’s overrated. Hot showers, cold beers, and a quiet bed. That’s all I need.”
“Spoken like a man who’s been single too long.”
I’m about to reply with something crude about his last failed situationship when the alert blares over the speakers.
“Immediate dispatch. Rapid spread reported in Glacier National Park. All available units prepare for drop.”
I’m on my feet before the second sentence finishes.
The room explodes into motion, boots slamming into lockers, gear bags slung over shoulders. No time for bullshit now. This is what we’re here for.
“Glacier again?” Matt says, pulling his flight suit up. “That place is cursed this season.”
I zip my own suit, cinch my straps. “Let’s go bless it with some sweat and shovel work.”
We load into the jump plane within minutes. The flight crew doesn’t waste time—no chatter, no prep talk. We’ve done this a hundred times before.
Still, I always get the same coil of adrenaline low in my gut. The second the plane lifts off, my world narrows down to the job. The hum of the engine, the pressurized calm of the cabin, the sharp scent of jet fuel and pine smoke already hanging in the air.
“ETA five minutes,” the crew chief calls out.
