Burnin' For You: inspirational romantic suspense (Montana Fire Book 3) Read online

  “Have you lost your ever-lovin’ mind?” This from Reuben, who blew out a breath. She could read the disapproval in his eyes. “Let’s, for one minute, remember who supposedly fixed the Annie, shall we?”

  Her voice dropped, and she met his gaze. “Let’s remember what he said in the cabin. This wasn’t about me. I was just collateral damage. He was out to hurt you, the team. He wouldn’t sabotage the AN2, because I’m the only one with the guts to fly it.”

  Reuben stared at her a long moment during which she thought he got it. The fact that this was her job, and their team needed her.

  And when he turned to Miles, she expected a repeat of yesterday’s blowout.

  “No,” Reuben said quietly. “Her knee is busted up. There’s no way she can control the foot pedals, keep the plane steady through all those currents. Even if the plane holds together, she doesn’t have the strength to keep it on course. You let her go, and we’ll just have another casualty on our hands.”

  She had no words, her stomach dropping out from under her, her entire body numb.

  He wouldn’t look at her, just kept his gaze trained on Miles. Who looked between Reuben and Gilly, his shoulders rising and falling.

  “Let me go, Miles,” she said quietly, in a voice that she didn’t recognize. Probably because her real voice was screaming in her head, words that she rarely used. She knew it, she just knew that Reuben would overprotect, not let her do her job.

  So much for them sorting it out, finding a happy ending.

  “If anyone is going to save them, it will be me, and you know it,” she said stiffly.

  More quiet from Miles. Then, he closed his eyes and gave a small nod.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me!” Reuben roared.

  “Thanks, Miles,” Gilly said.

  She didn’t spare Reuben a glance as she gritted her teeth and limped down the hall.

  But she didn’t get far.

  “Gilly—please! Don’t do this.” Reuben on her tail. She pressed her hand to the wall, drew in a breath, mostly to let out the coil of pain.

  He stepped in front of her, a wall of frustration, anger—and who knew what else.

  Bully. Yes, that was the word for him.

  “You can’t go—we both know this. Even if the Annie is okay to fly, you’re in no shape—”

  “I’m going, Reuben. The team needs me.” She started to push past him, but a needle of pain stopped her, made her catch her breath again.

  “See—you’re hurting—”

  “And we’ll both be hurting if our team dies out there!”

  That brought him up like a slap. “Okay, fine—but let’s get Jared—”

  “He won’t do it, and you know it. I can’t leave them out there!”

  “And I can’t let you go!”

  She recoiled, not only at his words, at his volume, but the expression on his face. Red eyes, his body nearly trembling.

  “It’s not up to you.”

  “Maybe not, but I can’t watch another person I care about die! Not when I can say something, maybe stop it.”

  She looked away, her eyes hot.

  “Gilly, please. I love you. I know it’s fast—but I’ve probably been in love with you for a couple of years, and—please don’t go. We’ll find another way.”

  He loved her.

  But she couldn’t let his words stop her, derail her.

  She closed her eyes, her throat thick. But she forced out the words. “If you love me, you won’t make me choose between you and the team. You and flying. You and my job.”

  She looked back at him then, hoping he’d see the truth—

  She wanted both. Tough and tender. Brave and beautiful.

  But, no. Because his expression hardened, and he straightened up. Stepped back from her. “Because if I do make you choose, I won’t win, will I?”

  His words hit her like a fist, and she stood there, her mouth open, a fist around her heart.

  It was clear that the ranch meant more to him than I did.

  She swallowed. “I took them out there. It’s up to me to bring them home.”

  And in that space of time, in the silence, Reuben’s mouth tightened around the edges, his eyes filming. “Right.”

  Then he turned and headed down the hallway.

  Wait.

  But she watched him go without a word.

  What are you trying to prove?

  Jared in her head and behind that, Reuben’s howl, reverberating through the forest.

  Gilly turned into the flight office to plan her attack.

  Chapter 9

  He’d walked away, and she hadn’t stopped him.

  Reuben slammed his fist into the lockers. They shook under the power of his frustration.

  “Hey, bro, take a step back.” Conner came into the room. He had a map tucked under his arm, and was holding his gear pack. He set the map on the bench, opened his locker.

  “What are you doing?”

  Conner glanced at him. “I’m gearing up. I figure if Gilly is flying over the crash site, I’ll jump from the Annie, connect with the team, see if I can give Pete and the guys a hand if the drop doesn’t slow the fire down. We’ll get them out on foot if we have to.”

  Right.

  Without a thought beyond Conner’s words, Reuben walked over, retrieved an extra jumpsuit from the surplus rack, grabbed a helmet, gloves, a letdown rope, and a chute pack, along with a fresh gear bag.

  His hands shook, his entire body wanting to turn around, storm into the flight office, tell Gilly—

  What? He’d already alerted the entire office to the fact that he loved her—what had possessed him to let that bit of information sneak out? He wanted to bang his head against the lockers, see if he could dislodge his stupidity.

  The last thing she wanted was him stepping in to hover over her. And he knew that.

  She was right—he did understand what drove her, and he should have seen that standing in her way would only get one of them hurt.

  Stubborn woman. Her knee probably needed surgery. He knew without a doubt that it would also fail her when she needed strength to keep the plane on course as she drove through the super-heated canyon winds.

  She couldn’t hold the course, but he could. He could work the foot pedals in tandem with her, help her with the yoke.

  It’s up to me to bring them home.

  No, it was up to them. He’d made promises, too.

  He swallowed back a rise of nausea at just the thought of getting into a plane again—it rushed over him, and for a second he collapsed onto the bench.

  “Rube, you okay? I’m not sure you should make this jump, pal. You’re looking pretty frayed. That head injury looks brutal.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Conner held up a hand, backed away. “Ho-kay—listen, no one would blame you if you didn’t want to go up in a plane so soon after—”

  “And what would you do, Conner?” Reuben looked up at him. “Leave them to die? Let the fire run over them? I can’t let that happen again.”

  Conner’s jaw tightened.

  “You were there when Jock ran into the fire,” Reuben continued. “You heard them on the radio. Don’t tell me that memory doesn’t chew away at your gut all the time. Don’t tell me that you don’t wonder late at night if you did the right thing. Don’t tell me you don’t wish you could have gone back and done something—anything—differently. Stopped Jock, or maybe run after the team—”

  “And died with them?” Conner’s voice cut through the torrent. “Because that’s what would have happened if we’d run back. If we hadn’t obeyed Jock and kept going, we would have been caught by the flames running uphill and died on that mountain. Do you wish you’d died with them? Is that what you’re saying?”

  Reuben closed his eyes. “I just wish they hadn’t died.”

  Conner blew out a breath. “We all do. But it doesn’t mean we go back, keep reliving it. Or blame ourselves. At the end of the day, we have to hold onto the fact t
hat we can’t change the past. We have to just keep looking forward, toward hope.

  Reuben winced, looked away. “I can’t do that.”

  Conner slammed his locker. “Or won’t. I get it. It feels almost—well, wrong for us to not live with that pain. To move on, be forgiven, set free. But that’s now how God wants us to live. And if He’s the one offering, it seems to me we should take it.” He offered a wry smile. “Or try to, at least.”

  Conner picked up his helmet, tucked it under his arm. “God’s not content to simply stand on the sidelines of our lives. But He isn’t going to force his way into our lives, either. So He waits, He works, He protects, and He never leaves us until we open our eyes to see Him saving our sorry, stubborn hides. He waits until we choose him.”

  Choose him.

  Reuben hadn’t exactly chosen God that day he walked off the ranch—in fact, he remembered making a pretty clear decision not to choose God.

  No wonder he felt like God wasn’t on his side…he wasn’t on God’s side. And yet God had shown up to save him over and over and…

  My dad always preaches that we have to believe God when He says He loves us and has a good plan for our lives. That’s how we get peace for today and bright hope for tomorrow, like the hymn says. But only if we trust in Him. Maybe it was time to trust God, let Him set Reuben free.

  No more hanging onto regrets or his hurt or even his fears and letting them steal his tomorrows.

  Letting them steal Gilly.

  He didn’t want to make her choose—he wanted her to be free to have both worlds. Firefighting and dancing in his arms.

  Conner picked up his pack, shouldered it. “It’s not our fault Jock and the crew died. I hate it as much as you do. But we aren’t responsible for their deaths, Rube. We did what we were supposed to do, and by God’s grace, we lived. We just have to do what we are called to do and let God take care of the rest.”

  Just stand, do your part, and see the salvation of the Lord on your behalf.

  Reuben shook his father’s voice from his head, too angry to hear his wisdom.

  “And that means letting God protect Gilly.”

  Only… what if…

  Reuben grabbed his helmet. “I’ll meet you on the tarmac.”

  Gilly was already out by the Annie doing her walk-through as a couple of hotshots filled the tanks with retardant.

  Reuben watched her for a moment as she tested the new airplane struts then continued with the external check before turning to the fuel lines.

  He had no doubt they’d be fully topped off before the plane left the ground.

  He threw his gear into the empty cargo area of the plane beside two parachutes in the back of the tanker, probably left there from their previous run.

  Then he climbed into the copilot’s seat. Put his hand on the yoke. Heard his father, teaching him to fly.

  Just hold it steady, Reuben. Bring her home. Attaboy.

  He lifted his hands off the yoke, swallowed down the rise of memory. Except maybe not such a bad memory, either.

  Hold it steady. Bring her home.

  “What are you doing here?” Gilly opened her door, was trying not to wince—yeah, he saw that—as she climbed into the cockpit.

  “I’m your copilot,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument.

  Apparently it worked, because she settled into her seat. “Don’t get sick on me.” She handed him a ringed binder.

  He took it. “Preflight checklist?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He read it off, starting with the prop, then the doorstop and oil can, moving on to the avionics.

  “Magneto switch off.”

  “Check.”

  “Flight controls free.”

  Gilly moved the yoke, but when she went to move the pedals, Reuben added his own power.

  She glanced over, and he drew his mouth into a tight line. “This is how it’s going to be, Gilly. You and me. No choices made here—just us, together.”

  She stared at him a second longer, and suddenly, her eyes began to fill. She swallowed, looked down at the avionics panel. Wiped a quick hand across her cheek.

  Oh, Gilly.

  Reuben nearly reached out for her then, but Conner came up, threw his gear bag onto the floor of the plane, climbed in. He squatted on the bare cargo area, out of earshot.

  “Thank you, Reuben,” Gilly said quietly.

  And he couldn’t help it. “You got this, Hot Cake.”

  She gave the tiniest of smiles, and he managed one of his own.

  “Air system charging valve,” he said.

  “Open.”

  “Air pressure.”

  “Check. Less than thirty.”

  “Parking brake.”

  “Set.”

  But not for long, because they moved through the list, then through the engine start list.

  “Clear!” Gilly started the props, and the AN2 rumbled to life with the tremor of power. The cockpit shuddered with a roar of noise, and Reuben fitted on his headset as Gilly started the Annie.

  A warm-up test, which the AN2 passed, and Gilly hollered at Conner to buckle in.

  Then they were taxiing down the runway, the plane shuddering over the blacktop. Reuben glanced out at the biplane wings. They bounced along, catching the wind, no damage evident.

  They might just live through this. All of them.

  They lifted into the sky, his hands on the yoke, fortifying Gilly’s grip, adding strength to the rudder controls.

  She called into the tower as they hit one thousand feet, lifting to three thousand, then five.

  The transponder was working just fine.

  “We’ll be there in twenty minutes or less,” Gilly said, pushing the airspeed above regs.

  Reuben had left his stomach on the tarmac—or what felt like it—but maybe that was a good thing.

  No airsickness yet.

  They flew north, a beeline to the fire, which he could make out easily from up here. A thundercloud of gray smoke rising from the carpet of green forest filled the entire horizon, a smudge against the blue, dissipating as it reached for the firmament.

  They soared over Yaak, and he recognized the forest road 338 below and then the blackened run of the Brownie fire farther north.

  Gilly pointed them west toward the dark cluster of billowing white-gray smoke caught in a valley between two peaks.

  As they got closer, he noticed the smoke hovered above a layer of gauzy dark-gray smoke threaded in and around the treetops, lodgepole pines, and towering cottonwood. Now and again, a flame licked out from the depths, igniting a crown.

  Thankfully, it hadn’t started a run across the treetops.

  Even from here, however, Reuben could see how close it edged in to the crash site.

  He got on the radio and called to Pete, and the team on the ground.

  “Roger, we see you, Eight-Seven-Alpha-November,” Pete responded.

  “What’s your position?”

  “We’re on the creek bed, hiking toward Black Top.”

  Reuben turned to Gilly. “Let’s get Conner out of here. He’ll drop down, hook up with Pete.”

  “I’m going to drop him right on the crash site,” she said, her expression solemn. “I don’t know how fast that fire is moving—flame lengths look to be about thirty feet—so if the wind stirs it up, it could get to them before Pete does.”

  Then she looked at him. “And what about you?”

  He glanced at Conner, back to her. “I’m staying here.”

  She met his eyes, her mouth tight, and he knew she wanted to argue.

  Instead, she nodded quickly and started her descent into the canyon, her run along the creek bed to let Conner off.

  They descended to three thousand feet, and Reuben spotted Pete and the two others hiking. They waved. Then he unbuckled and headed to the back. Conner had his chute pack and helmet on and was working his way to the door. Reuben hooked his static line into the safety bar then opened the door.

  J
ust for a second, the plane drifted to one side with the rush of air. He held on, used to it, but it didn’t stop his stomach from jumping up, taking notice.

  He leaned out and threw out a streamer. Watched the wind take it, send it east. It fluttered to the creek bed.

  “Listen—” he yelled as Conner crouched in the door. “I know I should be jumping with you but—”

  “I got this!” Conner shook his head, glanced at Gilly. “We all heard you back at HQ.”

  Oh.

  Conner grinned at him, as if to solidify his meaning.

  Perfect. Gilly would be thrilled.

  Reuben pointed to the landing zone. “Aim for the creek bed. The crash site is about a quarter mile upriver.” In fact, if he leaned out, he could probably spot it. Instead, he gave Conner a once-over, checking his gear, his helmet, his chute.

  Then he tapped Conner on the shoulder, and Conner pushed out into the blue.

  He’d strapped on a square chute for more maneuverability in the wind, and in moments it billowed out, a red patch of silk against the green forest below.

  Reuben watched as Conner steered himself west, along the creek bed, apparently intending to drop at the foot of the waterfall into the arms of the crash site.

  Reuben turned, searching for it, and as Gilly banked for her bombing run, he kept his eyes trained on the ground.

  There—a patch of white, a flash of color against the forest.

  Right about then, Conner disappeared into the trees.

  Reuben closed the door, the roar instantly muted, and climbed back into the cockpit.

  Conner’s voice entered his headset, confirming he’d touched down.

  “Now it’s on us,” Gilly said, moving toward the smoke. “We’ll do a flyover, see where the head of the fire is, and then hit it crosswise, cutting it off.”

  She descended lower, to fifteen hundred feet, the air turning bumpy. “I’m sorry for the rough ride, but I need a test run—to see how the currents affect the plane.”

  His stomach had begun to revolt, but he swallowed it down. Closer now, he could see where the fire hadn’t yet consumed the forest and could make out the flames at the front edge, leading the assault. Less than a mile from the crash site, by his estimation.

  And gaining ground fast.