Where There's Smoke: inspirational romantic suspense (Montana Fire Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

himself, young, bright-eyed, wearing his gear, two weeks of grizzle on his chin, grinning as if he owned the world.
    Back then, he had. That picture had been taken just after he’d returned from a tour in Idaho. He distinctly remembered being on his way to the Hotline later that night, hoping to bump into Kate.
    “You will, Jed.” Conner walked up to him. Peered at a more recent picture of himself. “Wow, I needed a haircut.”
    “You still do.”
    “Kate’s not in any of these pictures.”
    No, she wasn’t. Thankfully. “Jock didn’t let her jump for his crew.”
    “Why not?”
    For the same reason Jed couldn’t. “He couldn’t bear it if she got hurt on his watch.”
    Conner fell silent. Then, “I think she deserves a chance to prove herself—not that she already hasn’t.”
    Jed glanced at the pictures of the last crew—Tommy, Bo, Nutter. Jock’s square-chinned, dirty, handsome face grinned at him from the middle of the group, and a fist squeezed in his chest. He hadn’t expected to miss the guy this much, even ten months later.
    The truth was, Kate could jump every bit as well as her father. The problem was that Jed couldn’t think straight with Kate in his radar. He’d nearly gotten them killed trying to prove otherwise.
    He walked over to the window, stared out at the tarmac, at the planes.
    “Jock was like a father to me. I can hardly breathe thinking about how he died. He was the one who got me into firefighting, taught me everything I know. I can’t believe it’s up to me to fill his shoes.”
    He sighed, turned to Conner. “But that’s my job—and if I don’t figure out a way to bring this team—and this town—together by the end of the summer, then Jock Burns’s legacy will die with him.” He shook his head. “And I can’t let anything—even his daughter—stand in the way. This town needs a victory, healing. Peace. And the only way they’re going to have peace is if they know they’re safe.”
    Conner sighed. “If she doesn’t train them, who will?”
    “Me. I’ve trained jumpers before—in Alaska.”
    And this time he’d do it right.

 
 
 
 
 
    Chapter 3
     
    How Kate had missed the easy, sweetly numbing atmosphere of Friday nights at the Ember Hotline Saloon and Grill.
    The redolence of memory embedded the walls, from the greasy tang of bar food—burgers, O-rings, and chili fries—to the twang of the music from the ancient Wurlitzer near the dance floor. Someone had chosen a one-hit wonder. Lay down that boogie and play that Funky Music till you die…
    Pictures of every Jude County hotshot team for the past twenty years hung in eight-by-tens covering every available space on the pine-slabbed walls, along with the tools of the trade—Pulaskis, orange hard hats, and not a few autographs from former Strike Team leaders.
    With another fire season simmering just across the horizon, the fresh recruits assembled in groups throughout the room, raucous and looking for a fight with the powers of nature. Meanwhile, veteran hotshots, fresh in from their winter jobs, jammed onto picnic tables shoved in the middle of the room. They drank microbrews, wolfed down Juicy Lucy burgers, and sopped curly fries through the signature Hotline concoction of mayo, chili-sauce, and fresh jalapenos.
    Kate sat on a high top at the bar, nursing a malt.
    After a week of refresher training, the team of veteran jumpers formed their own motley crew near the dartboard in back. A crew rife with comments on the fate of the rookies.
    “Those two skinny kids will be crying for their momma the minute they see a real fire. Ten bucks says they cut and run before the final march,” Pete said, gesturing to a pair of preppy, skinny high school graduates, eyes eager for adventure. Kate had seen the type and agreed. They didn’t have the look.
    “How about those yahoos,” Reuben said. “They’re sitting with my cousin Ned from Minnesota.”
    Kate spotted Ned easily—younger than Reuben by a few