Page 8 of Stuck With the Smokejumper

“Who is Ice Spice?”

“Rapper. Bronx. Blew up a couple years ago.” He says it nonchalantly, like I've asked him to name the sky.

“Ok. You win.” I turn the radio off, which feels like the only remaining move I have.

“I didn’t know it was a competition.”

“Everything is a competition.”

By the time Timber Creek comes into view, any awkwardness I expected from being alone with Beck has disappeared.

The town sits in a valley surrounded by forested slopes, with one compact main street and several smaller roads branching away from it. Hanging flower baskets line the sidewalks this time of year. Pickup trucks share parking spaces with SUVs carrying kayaks, mountain bikes, and cargo boxes. A family in matching Montana T-shirts waits outside the coffee shop while two Forest Service trucks roll through the intersection.

Summer in Timber Creek.

I pull into the gravel lot beside Mercer's Market.

Beck studies the building as we get out. “This is the grocery store?”

“And general store.”

“Looks small.”

“It has everything we need.”

He follows me toward the entrance. “Everything?”

“Within reason.”

A bell jingles when I push open the door. “Morning, Ivy.”

I look toward the register. “Morning, Marlene.”

Marlene Mercer is restocking a display of huckleberry jam near the counter. “You're back for another summer.”

“Couldn't stay away.”

Her attention shifts to Beck.

I don't miss the question in her expression. “This is Beck. He's working with Blackpine for a while.”

“Welcome to Timber Creek.”

“Thanks.”

Marlene looks back at me. “If you're buying for the crew, I got another delivery of eggs yesterday.”

“You know us too well.”

She laughs and goes back to stocking the jam.

Beck pulls a cart from the row beside the door.

I take the folded list from my pocket. “Eggs first.” Six dozen eggs go into the cart.

Beck stares at them. “Six dozen?”

“You live with Reid.”