Page 8 of The Smokejumper's Lady
But my mind is still stuck on her. I can’t stop thinking about the way her voice dipped when she cracked a joke…the way her eyes cut through me like glass on smoke…
The way she looked at me like she wasn’t afraid of the fire…but maybe she was afraid of me.
And yeah, sure. She’s beautiful. That’s obvious. But I’ve met beautiful women before. Flirted with them. Slept with a few. None of them ever left an impression that lasted more than our brief encounter. None of them intrigued me like she does.
There’s something about her. A pull. One I don’t necessarily like.
Because I like control. I live for control. When you’re a smoke jumper, lives depend on your ability to stay in charge, to make clear judgment. Your ability to cut off emotion and run straight into hell with clear eyes.
But now? My eyes aren’t clear. They’re full of her.
“Yo,” Matt says, jogging up beside me as I unclip the last of my harness. “You good?”
“Yeah.” I toss my gear in the drop pile. “Just…hot run.”
He narrows his eyes. “Hot run, or hot rescuee?”
I shoot him a look. “Drop it.”
He grins, the smug bastard. “Knew it. You had that ‘oh no, she’s hot’ look.”
“I did not have a look.”
“Oh, you had a look. And you still have it. That faraway, brain-melting, she-smells-like-coconut-sweat kind of look.”
“She smells like ash and adrenaline,” I mutter, heading toward the evac area.
“Dude.” Matt laughs. “You’re already halfway gone.”
I shrug him off, but he’s not wrong. I am gone. Or going. Hell, I don’t even know.
Officially, I’m on standby now, waiting for new orders or a rotation. Unofficially? I’ve got time to kill and I know what I want to do with it.
“I’m gonna check on the civilians,” I tell Matt, trying to sound casual.
He raises both brows, giving me a cheeky grin. “Check on the civilians, huh?”
I walk away before he can say anything else.
The Reynolds family is being helped by the medics, and I scan the area, expecting to find her walking beside them. But she’s not there. My chest tightens with an irrational feeling of…anxiety?
What if she left?
The thought of not seeing her again leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
Just as I start to think of ways to “coincidentally” drop by her workplace, I see her…
She’s leaning against an old green Subaru, hands braced on the roof. Her hair is wind-tangled, soot smudged across her cheek, but she’s standing tall, her jaw set like she’s already planning her next move.
Relief hits me like a sucker punch. I force myself to walk instead of run.
“Hey,” I call out, catching her before she climbs in. “You heading out already?”
She glances over, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Thinking about it. But apparently my car’s throwing a tantrum. Battery light’s on.”
“Looks like the universe wants you to stay put for a bit.”
“Or maybe it just hates me.”
