Chasing Fire

the mountain or on it.” When he reached the platform, he grinned at Rowan. “Is this as much fun as it looks?”
    “Oh, more.” Sarcasm dripped as she hooked him to the pully. “There’s your jump spot.” She gestured to a hill of sawdust across the training field. “There’s going to be some speed on the swing over, so you’re going to feel it when you hit. Tuck, protect your head, roll.”
    He studied the view of the hill. It looked damn small from where he was standing, through the bars of his face mask.
    “Got it.”
    “Are you ready?” she asked them both.
    Libby took a deep breath. “We’re ready.”
    “Get in the door.”
    Yeah, it had some speed, Gull thought as he flew across the training field. He barely had time to go through his landing list when the sawdust hill filled his vision. He slammed into it, thought fuck! , then tucked and rolled with his hands on either side of his helmet.
    Willing his breath back into his lungs, he looked over at Libby. “Okay?”
    “Definitely on the mountain that time. But you know what? That was fun . I’ve got to do it again.”
    “Day’s young.” He shoved to his feet, held out a hand to pull her to hers.
    After the tower came the classroom. His years on a hotshot crew meant most of the books, charts, lectures were refreshers on what he already knew. But there was always more to learn.
    After the classroom there was time, at last, to nurse the bumps and bruises, to find a hot meal, to hang out a bit with the other recruits. Down to twenty-two, Gull noted. They’d lost three between the simulator and the tower.
    More than half of those still in training turned in for the night, and Gull thought of doing so himself. The poker game currently underway tempted him so he made a bargain with himself. He’d get some air, then if the urge still tickled, he’d sit in on a few hands.
    “Pull up a chair, son,” Dobie invited as Gull walked by the table. “I’m looking to add to my retirement account.”
    “Land on your head a few more times, you’ll be retiring early.”
    Gull kept walking. Outside the rain that had threatened all day fell cool and steady. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he walked into the wet. He turned toward the distant hangar. Maybe he’d wander over, take a look at the plane he’d soon be jumping out of.
    He’d jumped three times before he’d applied for the program, just to make sure he had the stomach for it. Now he was anxious, eager to revisit that sensation, to defy his own instincts and shove himself into the high open air.
    He’d studied the planes—the Twin Otter, the DC-9—the most commonly used for smoke jumping. He toyed with the idea of taking flying lessons in the off-season, maybe going for his pilot’s license. It never hurt to know you could take control if control needed to be taken.
    Then he saw her striding toward him through the rain. Dark and gloom didn’t blur that body. He slowed his pace. Maybe he didn’t need to play poker for this to be his lucky night.
    “Nice night,” he said.
    “For otters.” Rain dripped off the bill of Rowan’s cap as she studied him. “Making a run for it?”
    “Just taking a walk. But I’ve got a car if there’s somewhere you want to go.”
    “I’ve got my own ride, thanks, but I’m not going anywhere. You did okay today.”
    “Thanks.”
    “It’s too bad about Doggett. Bad landing, and a hairline fracture takes him out of the program. I’m figuring he’ll come back next year.”
    “He wants it,” Gull agreed.
    “It takes more than want, but you’ve got to want it to get it.”
    “I was just thinking the same thing.”
    On a half laugh, Rowan shook her head. “Do women ever say no to you?”
    “Sadly, yes. Then again, a man who just gives up never wins the prize.”
    “Believe me, I’m no prize.”
    “You’ve got hair like a Roman centurion, the body of a goddess and the face of a Nordic queen. That’s a hell of a package.”
    “The package isn’t the prize.”
    “No, it’s not. But it sure makes me want to open it up and see what’s in there.”
    “A mean temper, a low bullshit threshold and a passion for catching fire. Do yourself a favor, hotshot, and pull somebody else’s shiny ribbon.”
    “I’ve got this thing, this . . . focus. Once I focus on something, I just can’t seem to quit until I figure it all the way out.”
    She gave a careless shrug, but she watched him, he noted, with care. “Nothing to figure.”
    “Oh, I