Firestorm Page 2

  The highest risk sections were the SSI lands bordering the national forest and wilderness areas on the northern and eastern sides. After those were handled, they'd move into Sanctuary's interior where the forests were healthier.

  The lowest area in priority were the SSI buildings and structures located closer to the area's main highway; those had been built and landscaped with fire and other natural disasters in mind.

  Tara smiled at Ren, a man she'd come to admire more and more over the last month. "You're saving yourself a lot of grief later on in fire season. I wish other private landowners would be as proactive."

  What was the old saying? Oh, yeah, if wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.

  "Just common sense, but it's still no guarantee we won't get burned out." Ren's voice was grim but accepting.

  While his words weren't a question, she responded anyway. "No, no guarantee. But still smart. Plus, your men are getting their physical training in."

  Ren snorted, the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement. "All my operatives are in top shape. Their lives and the lives of our clients often depend on their physical conditioning. But, yeah, after yesterday's work, they all hit the hot tub on the Lodge's deck, bitched about their aches and pains, and self-medicated with beer."

  Without meaning to, Tara searched for Price once more and admired the way his leanly muscled body moved as he piled the logs he'd just cut into a neat pile. Fluid, smooth motions that more than hinted at his strength and top conditioning.

  Over the past month as she trained Price and some other SSI operatives to back up the Grangeville hotshot team, she’d made it a habit of checking him out from up close, from afar, and even in her dreams. She suspected the reality of Price was much better than even her unconscious had created.

  Tara had first met Price when the former SEAL had buried his very real fear for his sister Fee and had coolly taken a difficult shot to save her from a meth-crazed drug runner. Everything Tara had observed since that day had confirmed he was an honorable man and a warrior with the senses and instincts of a predator. She’d named him píítaa—pronounced like pita bread—which was the Blackfoot word for eagle.

  Price's strength and honor reminded her of her three brothers. Yet her feelings toward Price were nowhere near sisterly, which had surprised the heck out of her. For the first time in a long, long time, she felt desire for a man. A man who had the reputation locally as a player.

  So, she kept her distance and observed.

  As prevalent as the rumors were, Tara hadn't seen one bit of evidence that the gossip was true. It only made sense if he were such a horndog as one of the other rangers had named him, wouldn't Price have asked her out?

  Tara knew she wasn't ugly. Men had pursued her whether she'd wanted them to or not ever since she developed breasts. Plus, she was single and eligible, and according to her sources that was all it took for Price to hook up with a woman.

  Over the course of the hotshot training, several of Price's peers had asked her out, some even more than once. And she’d refused them. Every. Single. One.

  Because they weren't Price.

  He was the only man she was even remotely interested in and he hadn't asked her out. Yes, he'd been friendly, even affectionately teasing her as her brothers might have done, but—

  She blew out a frustrated breath. How could she find out if they were even compatible if he kept her at arm's length?

  Her only course forward would appall her mother. Tara would have to ask Price out…maybe for a beer some evening? They both liked craft beers. They could be two friends, sharing a common interest, and during conversation she could make it clear she was interested in him.

  Hey, Miss Ego, maybe Price only thinks of you as a friend.

  Maybe, but her gut, which had saved her butt so many times, insisted that Price could be more than a buddy.

  "Earth to Tara." Ren tugged on her sleeve.

  She pulled her gaze from Price and shoved the puzzle he presented aside to be addressed later. Perhaps she'd test her plan to attract Price's attention out with his sister and the other SSI gals over lunch; they'd never steer her wrong.

  When she turned her head to look at Ren, she blew out a breath and muttered "shit." From the intrigued expression on his face, he'd caught her mooning over his friend.

  Ren chuckled, showing he'd heard her curse. "The chopper's coming. It's lunchtime."

  "Great!" she chirped. "I'm starved. Thirsty, too." She drained the last drops of water out of the bottle. "The large jugs of water went dry about an hour ago. It's a lot warmer than the weather forecast predicted."

  Yes, she was babbling.

  Whatever Ren thought of her staring holes in Price's body, the SSI boss was nice enough to keep it to himself. Her fellow park rangers and the local hotshots would've teased her. Her brothers would've cross-examined her and then made Price disappear.

  They still hadn't gotten over what had happened to her two years ago and might never—which was why she'd finally left Montana and moved to Idaho. She needed to live her life in the present and the future, not the past, and she'd never be able to do that with her brothers smothering her with their loving protection.

  The past happened. She’d survived. The raping, murderous bastard who'd hurt her—and lots of other women who hadn't survived—was in prison for life because of her testimony. Justice had been served. She just wanted to live in the present and plan for her future.

  And Price wouldn’t smother you with protection?

  He would, but that seemed different. Somehow.

  Her mental voice sniffed.

  Ren matched Tara’s stride as they moved toward the skid being expertly lowered to the slope. "I want to thank you again for taking your vacation time to help us with this project,” he said. “You really need to let me compensate you. Your expertise has been invaluable in determining where to clear and in what order, not to mention all the labor you're putting in."

  She hadn’t done it for compensation or brownie points. She’d volunteered partly to help prevent the spread of wildfires, but more so as part of her plan to attract Price's attention. Her thought had been in sight, in mind. But so far it hadn't worked.

  "You're welcome." She glanced at Ren. "No payment needed. I consider what we're doing here as being proactive. You're saving future firefighter's lives. That's more than enough compensation for me." She'd seen hotshots injured and even killed by falling snags. The dead trees were unpredictable and had the tendency to go up like a Roman candle.

  With the wind from the chopper's rotors blowing dust and detritus around them, Ren stared at her through narrowed eyes as if he could see into her very soul, then nodded. "Okay. Um, you should know I've seen your military service and Forest Service records. All of them." He paused at her sharp inhale.

  "All of them?" she asked. Her throat tightened until it was hard to swallow. That meant he'd read the internal Forest Service reports about the attack. He knew what had happened, but all she saw on his face, in his eyes, was concern. No pity. No repulsion. Just a patient caring.

  Her tension eased just a bit.

  "Yeah." His voice sounded hoarse. "Only Keely and I've read them and nothing has been stored on our servers. My wife was curious," his lips twisted with resignation, "about something you'd shared with her and the other gals, so she hacked into the Forest Service system. Afterward, she sent them the patches they needed to plug the holes she found. I just wanted you to know that I was impressed with your records, all of them, and if you ever want to leave the Forest Service, there's a place for you at SSI as an operative."

  Despite the anger at her sealed records being invaded, she could acknowledge it was nice to be wanted, appreciated. But still—"Tell Keely I'll be talking to her later about poking into my past. All she had to do was ask." And maybe Tara would've shared the details…or not.

  Then she added, "Thanks, Ren. I'll keep your offer in mind."

  Being
an SSI operative would get you closer to Price.

  Or be a nightmare if it didn't work out as she wanted. Plus, she liked being a ranger. She'd have to get closer to Price another way—and soon. Thoughts of Price were beginning to affect her concentration and sleep cycles.

  "You do that." Ren then turned to help detach the skid from the cables as it settled on the uneven ground.

  Chapter 2

  As Price and Tweeter approached the crowd offloading the supplies, Price eyed Tara's body from head to toe and back again—checking her for injuries, for signs of fatigue. Yeah, she'd been doing this kind of work for years, usually with a fire blazing all around her, but the work they were doing was hard and dangerous. She definitely wouldn't thank him for his concern.

  And what could he say? He simply liked looking at her. The sight of her tall, athletic but still all-female body and all that long, satiny raven hair flipped all his switches. The sound of her voice even when she was yelling at him to "kick his butt into higher gear or she'd kick it for him" made him smile. The fact she worked hard and never asked the hotshot trainees to do something she wouldn't do impressed the hell out of him. Everything about her attracted him despite the fact she was nothing like the women he'd previously dated.

  All that and—Tara made him happy. Being around her lightened something in his soul and made his heart beat faster whenever he saw her. No other woman had ever elicited those kinds of reaction from him. He'd come to the conclusion that all the other women he'd dated in his thirty-five-plus-years were, in fact, a necessary process of elimination so he'd recognize his perfect partner when he finally met her.

  After his thorough scan found only sweat and pine dust, Price let out a relieved sigh which drew a side eye from Tweeter and then a twisting of the man's lips.

  He ignored the smirk on his friend's face and shifted his attention back to Tara and her fluid motions as she easily shifted containers of water that had to weigh twenty-five pounds. She was in superb physical condition—Then a man blocked his view.

  Price growled "motherfucker" under his breath and glared at Trent Johnson, a recent SSI hire and former Marine. The Marine's hand was sliding down Tara's back and entering a no-touch-zone.

  "Price?" Tweeter cast him a worried look and then checked out the scene. "You can't kill Trent," his friend murmured. "He's from Trey's old recon team. He sends money home to his widowed mom and autistic little brother."

  "He'll be sending money home with one less hand if he doesn't stop touching her," Price bit out the words in a low monotone which carried no further than Tweeter, and then stepped up his pace toward the crowd around the supply skid.

  Luckily, he didn't have to rip the asshole's hand off at the wrist since Tara pulled away and gave the douchebag a fiery glare and a few words that had Trent backing off, his hands up between them as if fending off a potential punch.

  Yeah, Tara could handle herself. But dammit, Price still wanted the right to protect her even if she could slam dunk the dipshit Marine with one hand tied behind her back.

  "Here," Tweeter thrust a large container of water at him, "be useful," then added in a low tone, "and stop staring at her. Do you want to be obvious like Trent?"

  No, Price wouldn't be in Trent's shoes now for all the gold in Fort Knox. Tara had given the guy a set down and now was giving him the cold shoulder.

  God, he loved that woman. The spark had ignited when she'd taken out one ugly motherfucker who'd endangered Price's sister Fee and then carried all one-hundred-eighty, smelly, pounds of the asshat over a quarter mile from his sister's clinic and waited calmly until help arrived. The spark burst into flames when she'd called him "Dead Eye" and acted as his spotter for the shot that took out another fucking bastard who'd held a weapon on his little sister. Then over the month of hotshot training, Tara's stalwart presence, her kick-ass personality, her humor, and her courage when facing danger overtook his heart, mind, and body like a firestorm.

  How could he not love her?

  *

  Tara stood back and squinted up at DJ who was at the controls of the SSI helicopter resupplying them. She waved. DJ gave her a smile and a snappy salute as she throttled up and took the chopper back to the main Sanctuary compound. Flight envy struck Tara like a punch to the gut.

  Damn, she missed flying. Any kind of flying.

  During her ten-year pull in the Air Force, she'd fallen head-over-heels with nap-of-the-earth flying in her A-10. She'd loved it so much she'd gone after a private helicopter license as well.

  Flying was what she was born to do. But she’d succumbed to her mother’s pleas not to re-up, to stop fighting in winless wars, and to come home where it was safe.

  It was ironic. Coming home and working for the Forest Service as her brothers had after their service in the Marines seemed a safe bet, but it had turned out to be far more dangerous than fighting what seemed to be a never-ending series of wars. All it had taken was just one crazy son-of-a-bitch to—

  “Tara?”

  She turned to look at Trent Johnson. He was a good-looking man: tall, but not all that much taller than her own six feet, heavily muscled, brown eyes, and dark brown hair still in the high-and-tight cut he'd worn as a Marine. He was also far too persistent in his pursuit of her. Had her brothers put him up to it? They'd made it clear they'd like to see her settled with one of their Marine brethren.

  At the moment Trent was also being far too familiar; his hand hovered low on her back, right above her ass.

  She glared at him. He grinned that "aw shucks" grin that a lot of men from the South seemed to turn on and off like a light bulb when they wanted to disarm a person. She wasn't disarmed or charmed or attracted, at all. If her brothers had suggested Trent pursue her while keeping an eye on her, she'd kick their collective balls.

  “Move it or lose it, Trent.” She showed him her teeth. “Or it might get bitten off.”

  “Tara, don’t be mean, darlin'.” Trent’s Georgia drawl added a few extra syllables to the endearment.

  “I’m not mean.” She gave him a razor-sharp smile. “I’m blunt. I’m also not your darlin' or interested in what you’re selling. Got that, Marine?”

  A smile still on his face, Trent held up his hands as if warding her off. “Clear as a bell.” He turned his back on her and began to help unload the skid.

  He’d backed off for now, just as he’d backed off the other dozen times she’d told him no. She also wasn't fooled by the former Marine's slow-as-syrup, easy-going manner. One bit of encouragement from her and he'd strike quick as a rattler, and she'd find herself naked and fucked. Trent was neither slow nor stupid; he'd been Force Recon just like her brothers.

  Tara moved to the opposite side of the skid from Trent and shifted twenty-plus-pound jugs of drinking water from the skid to the shade under some of the healthier pines.

  Her Price-dar told her he was close. Close enough to touch. Close enough to catch his scent—all healthy male sweat overlaid with pine from the trees he'd cut and underlaid with a musky-spicy essence all his own. She could find him in a dark room by scent alone.

  As close as he was, Price didn’t say a word to her, just worked alongside her unloading the water.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught him shooting a glowering look at Trent.

  Tara hesitated to leap to the conclusion that Price was jealous, because she'd yet to see evidence he had any interest in her outside of them working together and having after-training drinks with the rest of the team. But a girl could hope, right? And it gave her even more reason to arrange a friendly drink and conversation with him. Maybe she'd get a better read on him if they weren't surrounded by other people all the time.

  Once the supplies were offloaded, Tara found the lunch box with her name on it. After declining several invitations to sit with others and after a longing look at Price as he and Tweeter joined Ren and Trey, she took her lunch back to the rocky shelf overlooking the ravine.

  Openin
g the box, she smiled. Scotty, the chef and general manager of Sanctuary's Lodge, had packed her a garden salad topped with grilled chicken. He'd added a side of cheese chunks and fruit plus a huge hunk of carrot cake for dessert. After all, a gal needed some carbs when working so hard. To drink, Scotty had included a couple of cans of fully loaded lime-flavored Pepsi. If Scotty weren't already involved with Nancy, DJ's mom, Tara might’ve given the woman a run for her money with the Navy veteran.

  As she savored the first bite of her healthy and delicious salad, she glanced at the scattered groups of men chatting, laughing, and eating. A sense of camaraderie was in the air. And here she was, alone on this rock, by her own choice.

  You're afraid.

  No…maybe. She'd gotten to know most of them during their hotshot training. They were good men and hard workers. They weren't the murdering rapist Steve Miller, one of the instructors at the Missoula smokejumper school who'd tried to end her life just over two years ago.

  So, yeah, she tended to shut men down when they wanted to date her. But she understood why and was working on overcoming those fears. Her therapist told her to ease into closer relationships with men, that she'd know when she was ready.

  Since meeting Price a month ago, her body and heart—and on good days, her head—were telling her to open herself up to him. To try to see if she could have a relationship with a strong, alpha male. She stared at him and sighed.

  You could’ve gone and sat with him and the others, you coward.

  She wasn’t a coward. She had a bunch of medals to prove it.

  Wussy coward.

  Tara ignored the little voice in her head. She had valid reasons about not making the first move on Price, aside from her mother's rule that ladies never asked a man out. After some highly uncomfortable, but not seriously bad, interactions with men during her military service and the one seriously sick experience with Miller during her smokejumper training, she'd kept most alpha males at arm's length. Which was pretty much anyone with male plumbing in the firefighting industry.