Hot to Touch

When she’d spoken to her editor earlier, their conversation had been brief; she hadn’t gone on to detail her experience with Shane. She’d assured him everything had been going “peachy,” and then there’d been a pause and Emma had held her breath. Bill was one of the few people who could pick up on how she was feeling, no matter how hard she tried to hide it from him. Although he hadn’t called her out, just gruffly said, “good,” she knew she wasn’t off the hook.

“Might as well get this over with,” she mumbled.

She quickly punched in his number, the only one she knew by heart, and waited for him to pick up the phone.

After several rings, a gruff voice on the other end barked, “Hello.”

“Hey, Bill, it’s me.” Emma leaned back against the headboard, sighing deeply.

“You sound like hell.”

“Way to make a girl feel good,” she replied, laughing humorlessly.

“Been one of those days, huh?”

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“Humph. I was wondering when you’d call. How’s it going so far? You all settled in?” Emma heard the concern he tried to hide in his scratchy voice. Asking if she was settled in was his way of asking what she needed from him. Not if she needed anything, but what she needed. Emma knew that whatever it was she needed, he’d do everything in his power to help her. He never actually came out and told her that he worried about her, that he cared, it wasn’t his style, but Emma knew he did.

Bill Hanley knew her better than anyone, including her own family. He’d been the one to give her her first job, right out of journalism school. He’d also been the one to give her her first overseas assignment.

He was the first person to believe in her abilities as a reporter—even during the times she doubted them herself. Emma was determined not to let him or herself down.

“Yeah, Chief, I’m cool. I’ll let you know if I need anything.”

There was a moment of silence. Emma was about to disconnect the phone when he surprised her. “Look, if things get funky, let me know. You don’t have to put up with bull. I know some folks,” he said, and she smiled.

His phrasing reminded her of an old mafia flick. Bill had an old-school way of speaking, straight and to the point.

“Is there something you neglected to tell me?” She shut her eyes, allowing her head to rest back against the wrought-iron headboard.

There was a slightly short pause before he spoke. It was small, but enough that it made her fatigue melt away and alertness take its place.

“Bill?”

“The base manager and I go back, way back. I once did a story about his firefighter unit in the army, back when he was in the military. We became friends and have kept in contact ever since.”

“And?” she asked when he paused again.

“And…about two years ago he lent his help to jump a fire in Alaska. There was a lot of talk surrounding the fires that he and several of his men helped to fight. Rumblings about negligence on the part of senior personnel, to jumpers ignoring direct orders from the general manager. One jumper died and one was pretty badly injured. As far as I can remember there was a lot of talk about a female jumper in particular. Someone blamed her for one of Roebuck’s jumpers’ death.”

“What was the name of the jumper who survived? The male jumper?” she asked, although she already knew the answer before Bill opened his mouth.

“Westend…Westwood. Shane Westwood, if I recall correctly. Why?”

Emma was silent. The feeling in her gut worsened. “And the woman, who was she?”

“Can’t remember her name offhand. After the dust settled, last I knew she was transferred to another station.”

Emma’s instincts screamed at her that Shane was the cause for the female jumper leaving.

“Don’t tell me…this is the guy who you’re shadowing?’

“Yeah. And he wants nothing to do with women,” she said. “Well, at least not on his turf. And if he has his way, I’m on the next flight out of Lander.” Emma blew out a tired breath. “Maybe this assignment wasn’t the best one for me.”

She felt an overwhelming sense of defeat, a desire to just say, “Whatever” and let it go. She was so tired of fighting. Tired of having to prove herself over and over.

“Since when did you let the way others feel affect you going after a story?” Bill asked gruffly, after a long bout of silence. “Look, you’re one of the best photojournalists in the business.”

“It’s not that. I know I’m good,” she said and laughed. “I don’t mean it like that.”

“Well, you should,” he replied firmly.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do, and you are. Not a damn thing wrong with being sure of your abilities. You’ve been on back-to-back assignments for the last six months. Maybe you need to relax, take some time off—”

“No, I can handle it,” she interrupted. “I just need to unwind, take a long bath and hit the sack…get my mojo back,” she tried to lighten the mood, laughing lightly. She knew she hadn’t fooled her editor one bit—the man knew her too well—but thankfully he let it go.

When she disconnected the phone she pushed away from the headboard, a thoughtful look settling over her face, contemplating the information Bill had given her. Another piece to the ever-growing puzzle that was Shane Westwood.

Chapter Six

Emma was awake before her alarm could go off, feeling refreshed and ready to take on whatever challenges Shane Westwood could dish out.

The jumpers’ days started early. Immediately after breakfast, everyone gathered in the ready room where the day’s agenda was set in a general meeting with the hub’s crew. Although the job of conducting the morning meetings was the senior jumper’s, Roebuck had conducted them over the last two days as Shane had been away.

Emma donned the black sweats that had become her uniform and then sat down on the bed to pull on socks and her Nikes. Neat by habit, she quickly made the bed and walked across the room to the small refrigerator in the corner.

Not normally a breakfast person, Emma was happy to find that the room came equipped with a refrigerator, which she’d stocked her first day at the station with all of her favorites from a nearby convenience store: milk, juice, assorted muffins, diet soda and Captain Crunch. She didn’t know what the day held in store, so she decided to forgo the bowl of cereal and diet soda in favor of a small carton of juice and one of the bran muffins instead.

Twenty minutes later, she was opening the door to the ready room, the raucous sound of the men inside reaching her ears before she stepped in.

Her gaze swept the room until they connected with the one man who she hadn’t been able to get out of her mind over the last forty-eight hours.

“Let’s go. Roll call!” Shane called out in a booming voice, his voice drowning out the din of chatter as he faced the waiting, assembled men. The room quieted within seconds.

“For those of you who didn’t know, I’m back. It’s good to see you all again. The commander briefed me on what happened during my absence. I heard a lot of great things—I’m proud of the job B crew did in assisting the Montana jumpers during a cleanup job…great job, guys!” he began.

“For those of you joining us after hiatus, welcome back. Hope you had a restful time off while the rest of us worked our asses off,” he said, and they all guffawed good-naturedly, slapping several of the ones who’d had time off on the back.

He then turned to a small group of rookies who stood to his left in formation. “And I haven’t had the thrill of meeting you all yet. Don’t worry, that will soon be rectified. We’ll be getting to know each other very well over the next six weeks,” he said, and several of the older jumpers openly scoffed.

“Now, let’s hit the agenda. There’s a new mandatory class on preventing fires, which is basic, I know.” He held up a hand when several groaned. “But it’s mandatory, so no complaining about it. Also, there’s a weapons-certification class for those who plan to or want to continue to carry guns. Remember, nothing smaller than a .357 magnum. Don’t beat your chest and go caveman on me, it’s not a field trip. It’s mandatory games policy. C crew, that means you guys. Last time I checked, most of you were due for recertification. Don’t shoot the bears unless they’re coming to eat you,” he yelled out to the men who began to file out.

One of the squad leaders jumped onto the raised platform, joining him, and yelled out, “All rookies—outside. NOW! Don’t know why y’all are here any damn way! Roll call is for smoke jumpers, not freakin’ wannabes!” His booming voice echoed throughout the room, as loud and intimidating as any army drill sergeant’s. The rookies wasted no time. Within minutes they fled from of the room.

Shane was in the process of speaking with one of the squad leaders when a prickling sensation crept across the back of his neck, coiled around his body and pooled in his gut.