was the cause for the female jumper leaving.
“Don’t tell me…this is the guy who you’re shadowing?’
“Yeah. And he wants nothing to do with women,” she said. “Well, at least not on his turf. And if he has his way, I’m on the next flight out of Lander.” Emma blew out a tired breath. “Maybe this assignment wasn’t the best one for me.”
She felt an overwhelming sense of defeat, a desire to just say, “Whatever” and let it go. She was so tired of fighting. Tired of having to prove herself over and over.
“Since when did you let the way others feel affect you going after a story?” Bill asked gruffly, after a long bout of silence. “Look, you’re one of the best photojournalists in the business.”
“It’s not that. I know I’m good,” she said and laughed. “I don’t mean it like that.”
“Well, you should,” he replied firmly.
“You know what I mean.”
“I do, and you are. Not a damn thing wrong with being sure of your abilities. You’ve been on back-to-back assignments for the last six months. Maybe you need to relax, take some time off—”
“No, I can handle it,” she interrupted. “I just need to unwind, take a long bath and hit the sack…get my mojo back,” she tried to lighten the mood, laughing lightly. She knew she hadn’t fooled her editor one bit—the man knew her too well—but thankfully he let it go.
When she disconnected the phone she pushed away from the headboard, a thoughtful look settling over her face, contemplating the information Bill had given her. Another piece to the ever-growing puzzle that was Shane Westwood.
Chapter Six
Emma was awake before her alarm could go off, feeling refreshed and ready to take on whatever challenges Shane Westwood could dish out.
The jumpers’ days started early. Immediately after breakfast, everyone gathered in the ready room where the day’s agenda was set in a general meeting with the hub’s crew. Although the job of conducting the morning meetings was the senior jumper’s, Roebuck had conducted them over the last two days as Shane had been away.
Emma donned the black sweats that had become her uniform and then sat down on the bed to pull on socks and her Nikes. Neat by habit, she quickly made the bed and walked across the room to the small refrigerator in the corner.
Not normally a breakfast person, Emma was happy to find that the room came equipped with a refrigerator, which she’d stocked her first day at the station with all of her favorites from a nearby convenience store: milk, juice, assorted muffins, diet soda and Captain Crunch. She didn’t know what the day held in store, so she decided to forgo the bowl of cereal and diet soda in favor of a small carton of juice and one of the bran muffins instead.
Twenty minutes later, she was opening the door to the ready room, the raucous sound of the men inside reaching her ears before she stepped in.
Her gaze swept the room until they connected with the one man who she hadn’t been able to get out of her mind over the last forty-eight hours.
“Let’s go. Roll call!” Shane called out in a booming voice, his voice drowning out the din of chatter as he faced the waiting, assembled men. The room quieted within seconds.
“For those of you who didn’t know, I’m back. It’s good to see you all again. The commander briefed me on what happened during my absence. I heard a lot of great things—I’m proud of the job B crew did in assisting the Montana jumpers during a cleanup job…great job, guys!” he began.
“For those of you joining us after hiatus, welcome back. Hope you had a restful time off while the rest of us worked our asses off,” he said, and they all guffawed good-naturedly, slapping several of the ones who’d had time off on the back.
He then turned to a small group of rookies who stood to his left in formation. “And I haven’t had the thrill of meeting you all yet. Don’t worry, that will soon be rectified. We’ll be getting to know each other very well over the next six weeks,” he said, and several of the older jumpers openly scoffed.
“Now, let’s hit the agenda. There’s a new mandatory class on preventing fires, which is basic, I know.” He held up a hand when several groaned. “But it’s mandatory, so no complaining about it. Also, there’s a weapons-certification class for those who plan to or want to continue to carry guns. Remember, nothing smaller than a .357 magnum. Don’t beat your chest and go caveman on me, it’s not a field trip. It’s mandatory games policy. C crew, that means you guys. Last time I checked, most of you were due for recertification. Don’t shoot the bears unless they’re coming to eat you,” he yelled out to the men who began to file out.
One of the squad leaders jumped onto the raised platform, joining him, and yelled out, “All rookies—outside. NOW! Don’t know why y’all are here any damn way! Roll call is for smoke jumpers, not freakin’ wannabes!” His booming voice echoed throughout the room, as loud and intimidating as any army drill sergeant’s. The rookies wasted no time. Within minutes they fled from of the room.
Shane was in the process of speaking with one of the squad leaders when a prickling sensation crept across the back of his neck, coiled around his body and pooled in his gut.
Emma Rawlings had entered the ready room.
Shane turned, his gaze sweeping over the heads of the room and the fleeing bodies of the rookies before connecting with hers.
With only a slight pause, he continued the briefing. When asked a question, he reluctantly broke contact and answered. When he turned back around, one of the jumpers had come to stand beside her.
His eyes narrowed when he saw her withdraw a pad from the oversize bag she wore, busy scribbling notes. She placed the notebook back inside and then withdrew an expensive-looking camera, brought the lens to her eye and snapped off a shot of the jumper she was speaking to before aiming her lens toward the men gathered around her.
When a few of the guys turned toward her, and actually smiled for the camera, Shane knew he had to turn away or he was liable to go over and snatch it from her hand to further prevent his men from embarrassing themselves with their shameless display of eagerness.
“Each group has their general assignments for the day. Before heading out, check the board for further assignments. Any more announcements?” he asked, turning to the squad leaders. When none answered, he continued. “Roll call!” and proceeded to fire off the list of names to answering variations of “Yo,” “Yep,” and “Huah!” until everyone had been accounted for.
When several stopped on the way out the door to stand and talk to Emma, he barked, “I’ll meet with C team in the cargo area in ten. Ms. Rawlings, I need to speak with you.”
When the last man left, Emma had no choice but to face him, watching him approach warily while reminding herself that anything he could dish out, she could take.
When he stood less than two feet away from her he crossed his arms over his big chest. The stance, like the scowl on his face whenever he was around her, was becoming irritatingly familiar.
“Looks like you’ve met all the men.”
The way he
