Only Her Smokejumper Firefighter - Cami Checketts Page 0,37

instructing his crew, monitoring escape routes, updating his section leader by radio, and just plain working. Mavyn’s beautiful face was always in his mind and his goal was to work hard and get back to her before New Year’s. The winds were moving the right direction for now, but as they finished one fire line, they were instructed to navigate through a steep, nearby canyon and onto a ridge to form another fire line before meeting at the evacuation spot. Moving through a canyon in the late afternoon with hot spots nearby was unnerving. Most deaths occurred in the late afternoon when winds picked up and shifted. Wildland firefighters called it “witching hour.” Canyons like the one they were heading into could become fire furnaces quick. To complicate matters, he was ordered to keep the San Fran guys with his crew, doubling the number of men he was responsible for.

His own guys moved at a good pace through the canyon, but some of the San Fran guys weren’t in the same shape demanded of smokejumpers, and it held them all up. Yeah, their equipment was heavy and they were heading uphill and conserving water in case of an emergency, but that was part of the job. Radio reception was spotty in this deep canyon and Ren was concerned. If the fire was headed their way, they’d have to hear it themselves since they might not get warned.

After a long mile, Bruce and some of the other men’s foul mouths were wearing on Ren.

“What did you get put in for?” one of the men walking with Bruce asked.

The canyon was quiet except for the snapping of the fire from far away on the ridge. It was impossible to block out the men’s voices.

“I was dating this gorgeous chick when I played ball at City College. She was stupid and young and she got pregnant. I got ticked, smacked her around a little bit, the baby died, probably not my fault, but the D.A. took exception and blamed me. My lawyer thinks they were trying to use me for the poster child of what not to do. I got ten to fifteen years and served all ten of them.” Of course, this diatribe was filled with cursing that made Ren’s neck feel tight.

Ren’s head felt ready to explode. Several of Ren’s crew gave disgruntled grunts and exchanged disgusted looks. Ren wondered who was going to slam a fist into the guy’s face first. It might be him.

It wasn’t possible. Was it? The guy’s name was Bruce, he’d played baseball at a junior college and been an inmate in San Francisco. Ren was about ready to spin around and demand to know what the girl’s name was, but he didn’t think he could handle knowing and not dismantle the guy. This wasn’t the time or place to get into a brawl. His men’s safety had to take precedence.

“Less talking, more walking,” was all he said.

It was quiet for not nearly long enough. Two minutes later, Bruce tripped on a large boulder and let out a long string of expletives, most of which fouled the Savior and God’s name in some way.

Ren was far past tolerating him any longer. He whirled around from where he led the pack and roared, “Shut your mouth or I will shut it for you.”

Everyone reared back in surprise, even Bruce. Ren was in charge of his crew and no one questioned that, but he was also well-liked and rarely got riled. This guy was tramping on his last nerve though. It was Christmas Day, they were in extreme danger, the wildland firefighters were slowing his guys down, and this loser dared to curse the Lord’s name when he should’ve been praying for help. It was highly unlikely Bruce was the jerk who’d hurt Mavyn, but he’d done something just as awful to whoever his girlfriend had been.

“Your answer is ‘Yes, Supe,’” Bruce’s crew boss, Jed, said quietly in deference to Ren’s years of experience and specialty and expertise as a smokejumper crew supervisor.

Bruce looked belligerent, but he muttered, “Yes, Supe.”

Ren lifted his chin in acknowledgment, turned, and trudged around some sagebrush and through dangerously tall grass. The fuels in this canyon made him nervous. They needed to move double-time, but he kept a steady pace so the wildland firefighters didn’t straggle behind or pass out from the exertion. He was sure Bruce was back there muttering, but he didn’t care. It was blessed silence besides the shuffling of