Page 6 of The Smokejumper's Lady
It’s strange that he has such an effect on me when I literally met him seconds ago. I barely know him, yet my head is filled with thoughts of him, my eyes glued to his big, strong back.
He clears a path ahead of us like it’s nothing. One strong swing of his axe, and a smoldering branch crashes out of our way. He doesn’t even flinch. Just keeps moving, cutting through the smoky underbrush, making sure we’re following close behind.
I glance back at Maddie. She’s griping her dad’s hand tightly, but she’s stopped crying. Probably because the human mountain in front of us radiates so muchI’ve-got-youenergy it’s contagious.
“Stay tight,” he says without looking back, his voice gravelly and calm. “Wind’s picking up. We’ve got about a quarter mile to the evac point.”
“Copy that,” I mutter before I can stop myself.
He glances back. And yep—there’s that look again. Like he’s taking me in from head to toe, his staggering blue eyes drinking me in, in a way that makes my stomach tighten into knots.
I square my shoulders and keep walking. This is not the time to fantasize about the strong line of a man’s forearms. Or what hemight look like without the gear. Or what it would feel like to run my palms over his sculpted muscles and—
Focus, Clea.
I clear my throat, resisting the urge to press my palm over my burning cheeks. I can’t believe I’m thinking such things at a time like this. My brain must be malfunctioning due to the excess heat.
Yup! That’s it!
We push forward, the fire crackling ominously behind us, smoke getting thicker. I try to stay focused on the terrain, but it’s hard when every few seconds, Ryan Lewis is doing something absurdly competent. Like digging a quick trench to slow the fire’s edge. Or redirecting us with just a jerk of his chin when a gust of flame shifts direction.
By the time we reach the clearing, I’m dripping sweat, breathing hard, and somehow even more rattled.
The helicopter is waiting for us, blades chopping the air, dust flying everywhere, but the angry fire is catching up fast. Ryan helps the Reynolds’s load in first. Maddie clings to her mom as they’re ushered into the cabin by another jumper. Mrs. Reynolds is practically weeping from relief while Mr. Reynolds looks like he regrets the whole adventure.
Suddenly, a crack like a gunshot rings out behind us.
“MOVE!” Ryan yells at me.
A massive pine splinters and drops like a titan falling. We duck instinctively, but it lands just feet from the chopper, flames licking the edges.
The pilot shouts over the comms. “We’ve got thirty seconds max! This is getting too hot!”
Ryan turns toward me. “Get on.”
“Not without you!” I shout.
The ground is shifting, and the flames are rearing toward us like angry beasts. For a moment, I think Ryan wants to stay and fight the flames, but that’s crazy—surely it’s way too dangerous here now.
The crew chief yells something at Ryan I can’t make out, but I get the gist when Ryan boosts me up into the helicopter as if I weigh nothing at all, and then climbs in beside me, slamming the door shut.
Then we lift.
For one breathless second, I think we’re in the clear. But then there’s a clang, a jolt, and the chopper dips hard to the left.
“Hang on!” the pilot calls out.
Ryan braces me instinctively, one arm banded around my waist. It’s an automatic move but it feels…personal. His grip is solid. Unyielding. Safe.
“Mechanical issue,” the copilot yells. “Secondary latch caught. We’ll have to bring it down manually a few clicks out—there’s a flat spot east, near the ridge.”
“Can we make it?” I ask.
The pilot hesitates. “With a little luck and some good teamwork.”
Which translates to “not guaranteed.”
The cabin rocks again. I look at Ryan. “Okay, mountain man. Got any genius ideas?”
