Page 43 of Stuck With the Smokejumper

Beck

Ivy's rinsing plates and I'm drying them, mostly because Annie gave up trying to kick us out of her kitchen about ten minutes ago.

“Not the good towels,” Annie says, passing through with a stack of serving dishes. “Those are for company.”

“We're not company?” I ask.

“You're regulars.”

She disappears again before either of us can figure out if that was an insult. Ivy laughs, flicks a little water off her fingers in my direction, and goes back to the sink. “Don't even think about it,” she says, without turning around.

“I wasn't doing anything.”

“You were thinking about it.”

She's not wrong. I let it go anyway, mostly because starting a water fight in Annie Granger's kitchen seems like the kind of thing that could get me permanently banned from Sunday dinner, and I like being at Sunday dinner more than I want to have a water fight. Even if it would be with Ivy.

The rest of the crew has that kind of sluggish, well-fed contentment that shows up after a big meal when nobody's in any rush to be anywhere else. Reid's arguing with Trevor in the living room about whether Bigfoot could survive a Montana winter. Tessa and Cassidy are on dessert duty, or possibly dessert theft, judging by the amount of laughing coming from that direction. Nolan's parked in front of the window watching the sky get heavier, speculating about whether it's going to storm.

A month ago I was a guest here, figuring out where things went, careful not to take up too much space. Tonight I'm drying dishes next to Ivy, and Annie scolded me over a towel the same way she'd scold Reid. Like I've been coming here for years instead of weeks. Nobody's treating it as anything unusual. Neither am I, which might be the more surprising part.

Russ finds us in the kitchen a while later. “Beck. When you've got a minute, I need to run something by you and Reid.” Something in his tone pulls my attention, just slightly.

I follow him outside to the far end of the porch, away from the noise, where the evening air's gone cooler, and there's a heaviness building in the sky that matches the one in Russ's voice. Reid’s already on the porch.

“Elk Ridge reached out this afternoon,” Russ says. “Couple hours west of here. They've got a fire that's grown into a priority. Granite Creek. Multiple starts have stretched their people thin, and they're asking for anyone who can spare experienced hands.”

Reid straightens. I know that posture. I've probably worn it myself a hundred times.

“We've been quiet since our lightning fire,” Russ continues. “I told them I had two experienced smokejumpers I could talk to. Didn't commit you to anything. Wanted to ask first.”

“When?” Reid asks.

“Tomorrow afternoon, if you're in. Gives you tomorrow morning to get ready.”

“How long?”

“At least a week. Could stretch longer, depending on how the fire behaves. I won't lie to you and pretend I know exactly how long.”

Reid doesn't hesitate. “I'm in.”

That's Reid. Give him a fire that needs fighting, and he's already halfway out the door before anyone's finished the sentence. It's part of why I like working with him. It's also, for the first time, not quite the same reaction I'm having.

“Beck?” Russ asks.

“I'm in too.”

I mean it. People need help. It's the job. There's no version of this where I say no. But underneath the automatic yes, something else registers that hasn't before on a hundred other assignments just like this one.

Ivy.

I'm going to leave her. A week, at least. Maybe two. On any other assignment, that thought wouldn't have crossed my mind at all. Tonight it won't leave me alone.

Russ nods, satisfied, and heads back inside.

Reid looks at me once Russ is gone. “You good?”

“Yeah.”