Smolder (Firefighters of Montana Book 1) (3 page)

Nestled a couple of hundred yards east of Flathead Lake and backing up to two point three million acres of the Flathead National Forest, the Glacier Creek forest service station was a twenty-acre facility housing two airplane hangars, a helipad, and a seven-thousand-square-foot log cabin. The cabin included not only the main offices of the service, but a large assembly room, a small workout area, and a kitchen, as well as a bunk house for on-call staff. Two large equipment sheds stood behind the cabin, storing the tools of the trade for the crews that worked out of the station. A gravel parking lot separated the main building from the two-hundred-fifty-foot jump tower and the vast open field below it known as Dead Man’s Valley—a place where rookies were either made or broken each spring.

“I have to admit, I was a little leery of your idea for a mini-boot camp, but I guess it’s better if they try to kill themselves out here rather than inside the station.” Vincent Kingston, one of the eighteen year-round employees, sat down on the platform beside Sam. Mud was caked along his tattooed arm and the knees of his cargo pants, but Kingston wore it like a badge of honor, having bested two hotshots in a fire line drill moments earlier.

“Ferguson’s singing while he sewed up parachutes this morning wasn’t conducive to getting any paperwork done,” Sam said.

The tension inside the station was fueled not only by having a new leader from outside the ranks, but also by the competitive nature of the permanent employees who manned the base. Most of the men and women working year-round were team leaders who would command the part-time employees due to arrive for boot camp in a few weeks. Those who’d spent the winter in the station were getting antsy for some action. Testing and cleaning equipment—not to mention repairing parachutes—had become tedious to a group of individuals used to performing arduous physical activities for months at a time. They needed something to blow off steam before they blew up at each other. Hence the unscheduled afternoon boot camp.

Kingston laughed at the remark about the smokejumper’s singing. “Liam’s voice has a very different effect on the women in his father’s bar. I’ve seen them throw their panties at him during karaoke night.”

“Remind me to avoid The Drop Zone on karaoke night then.” Glancing out of the corner of his eye, Sam studied the man next to him. He wasn’t surprised that Kingston had out-maneuvered the other firefighters at the drill; the guy clearly possessed the stamina and intelligence to be a first rate smokejumper/hotshot. In the seven days since Sam had taken over the station, he’d watched the other employees take their cues from the steely man. It was obvious to him that the rest of the crew had assumed either Kingston or Tyler Dodson might be their new captain rather than an outsider like Sam.

Kingston had been Russ Edwards’ best friend—he even lived in Edwards’ old house and brought the former captain’s dog, Muttley, to the station every day. But Sam sensed that behind the intensity, Kingston wasn’t exactly settled in his own skin. According to the file on the incident that left Edwards dead, Kingston was the first to arrive on the scene, finding his friend unconscious, dangling from his chute. Edwards never awoke before succumbing to internal injuries. It was a scenario Sam could relate to, having lived it more than once during his tours of duty in the army. But he, like Kingston, knew the risks involved with the job. Losing a friend, while not easy, was chief among those risks.

The chilly welcome Sam had received when he took over as captain hadn’t warmed one bit. Sam knew having Kingston’s support would go a long way to winning over the rest of the crew. He didn’t give a rat’s ass whether anyone in the station actually liked him, but he needed their respect to ensure things ran efficiently—and safely—this fire season. That was job one. Sam hadn’t botched a mission yet—his marriage, well, that was another story.

“I’m almost finished going over the applications for rookie candidates and the returning part-time jumpers,” Sam said. “We’re going to have to cast the net a little wider to make sure that, for boot camp, we have at least a dozen applicants who have significant emergency medical training. Right now, only thirty percent of our personnel are EMT qualified. That’s not enough to make sure each jump crew will have personnel with advanced medical training. I want to double that number.”

Kingston’s body went very still as even his breathing seemed to halt for a long moment. Sam had been right to guess the guy was carrying around a load of unnecessary guilt over his friend’s death. But until they were actually facing down a fire, he had no way of knowing whether or not Kingston had lost his edge. His gut was telling him the guy was one of the strongest leaders in the station. Sam was counting on the fact Kingston still had the mettle to do the job. The broadening of specialized EMT experience to each team was Sam’s way of allowing every crew member to face the fire season after their captain’s death with a little less guilt—particularly the man sitting beside him.

“We’ll add a more comprehensive first-aid training unit that’s beyond what the forest service requires to the boot camp. But it will be mandatory for every member of the crew, regardless of their experience,” Sam continued. “I’ve arranged for a combat medic I know to come and give the course early next month.”

With a whoosh of a breath, Kingston gave him a slow, deliberate nod.

“Dodson is helping me understand the nuances of coordinating among the local, regional, and national agencies. I’m also going to need some help assessing the skill-set of the returning seasonal crew. Is that something you feel comfortable doing?” Sam asked. “Next to Dodson, you have the most seniority and are familiar with the part-time personnel.”

Kingston turned and eyed him shrewdly. If he suspected Sam’s motive, he kept it to himself. “So no one’s guaranteed a job? A lot of people in this area are counting on that income for the summer.”

“Everyone’s got a job.” Kingston nodded as Sam continued. “But there’s a lot more to an individual than what is on their application, and I don’t have the luxury of getting up to speed on everyone before the fire season starts. I’m hoping you can help me put together the most efficient crews using more information than what is in their files. Provided I can even find their files. It doesn’t look like any paperwork has been completed around here in months.”

Kingston gave him a sheepish look before glancing back down below his sneakers. “That’s because Hugh Ferguson refused to replace Jacqui. Edwards’ wife was the office manager for the station. She started working here as a volunteer intern when she was just a teenager and then took a permanent G-S job when she graduated high school. She basically ran the place ever since.”

Sam knew Russ Edwards’ wife was currently on leave without pay from the forest service. But with the fire season fast approaching and the addition of thirty seasonal employees—all of whom needed to be paid—he couldn’t afford to be without a permanent office manager.

“I take it she doesn’t plan to return to work?”

“She hasn’t stepped foot in the station since Russ died. She left for Florida right after the funeral. She’s headed back for a couple of days to deal with some issues that have cropped up with their—
her
—house.”

“Any chance you could convince her to let me buy her a cup of coffee? I’d like to get her position with the service resolved so we can move ahead.”

Kingston’s jaw tensed for some unknown reason, making Sam think there was more to the situation. All he was concerned with right now, however, was making sure things at the station were running smoothly before all hell broke loose.

“I’ll mention it to her.” Kingston shot Sam a frosty glance. “But I won’t have her upset while she’s here. Is that clear?”

So there was more to the story
. Not that it was any of his business. Sam didn’t back down from Kingston’s stare. “Just coffee and boring government files. The worst that could happen is a paper cut.”

“Sure.” Kingston conceded after a long moment. He then retrained his eyes to the scene below them where Liam Ferguson was taking on two other crew members in a drill that had them crawling on their bellies through a rope obstacle.

“What’s the four-one-one on Ferguson?” Sam asked.

Kingston relaxed beside him. “Despite the devil-may-care personality, he’s one hell of a firefighter. It’s in the genes. He spent the last couple of years in Australia working with crews in Queensland and Sydney; just got back to the States six weeks ago. He’ll tell you he went for the adventure, but I suspect it was because he wanted to earn his own reputation. Both his brothers jump with the crew out of Redlands, California. His father was captain here for fifteen years before Russ took the helm.”

“So he wasn’t around last fall.”

Kingston swallowed roughly, but Sam knew that the other man understood what he was getting at. Liam Ferguson hadn’t been on the jump when Russ Edwards had died. That meant he likely wasn’t harboring the guilt that the man sitting beside him was.

“No.”

“I’d like for him to head up a crew then.”

“Will you be jumping? It’s not technically part of your job description.”

Sam turned to look at Kingston. “I won’t send a man or woman into a fire that I wouldn’t jump into myself. It doesn’t have to be in my job description. It’s in my blood.”

A slight smile—one that looked touched with admiration—crossed Kingston’s face. “Russ used to say the same thing. His motto was ‘One ass to risk’, meaning he wasn’t going to risk anyone else’s ass before he’d risk his own.”

So that’s what that is on his chute
. The late captain’s parachute hung in memoriam inside the station. It was draped reverently from the second story loft so everyone entering the building would see it. To those who gazed upon it, the memorial was a daily reminder of the friend they’d lost. To Sam, it was a constant sign that he had a long way to go towards earning the trust of the men and women who had served under Edwards.

“I’d like both you and Dodson to take a major role in assessing the rookies,” Sam said. “Let me know if there’s anyone else you think might make a good team leader.”

Kingston seemed to search the field with his eyes before settling on a dark-haired man leaning up against the hood of a pickup truck on the outer edge of the parking lot. “That guy,” Kingston said, gesturing with his chin. “Ace Clark.”

As far as Sam could tell, Clark was a bit of a wiseass who seemed the most resentful of Sam’s presence at the station. The guy didn’t appear to take too many things seriously, especially the few assignments Sam had doled out since arriving. The fact that he chose to ignore the mini-boot camp this afternoon spoke volumes to Sam about Clark’s commitment. Or lack thereof.

Kingston seemed to sense his reticence. “Don’t be so quick to judge. The kid has had a pretty hard life. But he’s more capable than he appears. He’s one of the first guys I’d pick to have my back in a fire.”

Sam studied Clark, who seemed to be good-naturedly heckling his coworkers as they navigated the course. His gut usually never let him down, but he couldn’t get a good read on the young firefighter.

“Trust is a two-way street, captain,” Kingston said from beside him. “You may need to give a little to get some back in return. You asked for my opinion and that—along with Clark being a solid asset—is my two cents.”

The sun dipped lower, warming Sam’s face as the men and women below laughingly made their way toward the station, presumably to shower and head home. He was responsible for the lives of all of the people below him—along with a couple of dozen arriving next month. It was against his nature to leave anything to luck, much less trust. But if he was going to count on Vincent Kingston to jump into a fire, Sam needed to trust Kingston’s judgment, too. All he could do was pray they both weren’t making a mistake.

“All right,” he said with a nod. “We’ll give Clark a chance. I’ll jump with his team the first time out and see how it goes.”

“Looks like everyone survived field day without killing each other. I think that calls for some nachos and a cold one,” Kingston said as he got to his feet. “I’m just gonna jump in the shower before heading over to The Drop Zone. Care to join me for a beer? I’m buying.”

“That depends. It isn’t karaoke night, is it?”

Kingston shook his head. “Even better; it’s half-price burger night.”

“In that case, count me in.”

“I’ll meet you there in half an hour.” Kingston climbed down the metal ladder. The sound of Muttley’s barking grew more excited as he got closer to the ground.

Sam glanced over toward the forest service station where some of the crew members were already making their way home. As dusk began to settle over the area, Sam’s new home away from home was bathed in pink sunlight that reflected off the many windows circling the second floor of the massive log cabin. A flock of geese landed on the lake with a loud flurry of wings and excited honking.

This day had been Sam’s best so far since arriving in Montana. Kingston was right; while the morale within the staff hadn’t improved, it hadn’t gotten any worse and that was a win in Sam’s book. Easing his mind even more, Tabitha was safely ensconced at the Whispering Breeze Ranch.

Sam fixed his gaze across the horizon. Squinting against the sun’s glare on the lake, he could just make out the stone barn where the mare was likely enjoying her dinner. Muttley barked excitedly, making Sam wonder about the little dog, Oreo, and the boy who’d been in the stable this morning. His mind immediately made a beeline to the young boy’s insufferable mother. Wayne Keenan’s daughter might be a world champion rider, but she was a callous, spoiled little rich girl, too.

She was also sexy as hell.

Sam hadn’t been able to get the image of her sassy mouth out of his head all day. It was one of the reasons he’d insisted on some unplanned, outdoor calisthenics. He’d hoped the cool air would chill the parts of him that kept thinking about the arrogant woman’s long legs wrapped around more than just a horse.

He couldn’t understand why he was attracted to her at all. She was nothing like Becky. His wife had been demure and genteel with sun-kissed blonde hair and eyes that were as blue as Texas bluebells. Laurel Keenan walked around as though she owned the world, her pert little nose up in the air, her green eyes glowing with attitude, while she tossed her long brown hair around like a pulaski. His mind drifted back to her mouth again, and what he wanted her to do with it made his jeans grow unbearably tight.