the only way to make it all work was to combine everything. If she could convince her editor to let her do a pictorial on the wildfire, she could earn a living and make sure stubborn Aunt Jen evacuated when necessary.
Cat wouldn’t be happy if she left, but neither could she deny that the income was vital. Her sister would just have to prepare the bar for closing and hold down the fort until she got back.
She glanced over her shoulder at Cat, who was mumbling something to Tess and looking miserable.
Maybe the responsibility would be good for her sister. Maybe the time by herself would urge her to finally get her life together. “June thirtieth, right?” she asked Gracie.
“That’s D-day apparently. Less than three weeks.”
Would her editor go for her assignment suggestion? There was only one way to find out.
1
“SO, HOW ABOUT ME in California?” Laine asked, rocking forward on her toes as she stood in front of her boss’s imposingly disorganized desk.
Mac Solomon’s silver-and-black eyebrows drew together. “That’s a big assignment.”
“I’m ready.” Or in desperate financial straits—take your pick.
“Maybe. You know my philosophy, right? Bad news sells better than good.”
“I remember.” And she knew how the assignment game was played with her boss—the aggressive, pushy photographer always won. Even if, deep down, she was scared to death of getting within ten miles of a raging wildfire. “You’ll be pleased to hear they’ve called in an arson investigator.”
“I want something on this dead smoke jumper.”
Laine swallowed and avoided glancing at the Internet story and picture she’d laid on her boss’s desk. Tommy Robbins had died five days ago fighting the northern California wildfire. In what seemed like a lifetime ago, she’d known him. He’d been a close friend of a guy she’d dated the summer she’d lived with Aunt Jen after her college graduation.
Those carefree days seven years ago had ended in heartbreak, and now her trip back would begin there. Part of her dreaded going. The rest of her relished the challenge.
“I’ll get you all you want on smoke jumping,” she said.
Her former lover, Steve Kimball, might not be thrilled to see her, but his ego certainly wouldn’t deny her the opportunity to follow him around and take pictures of him doing heroic stuff. Of course, she’d have to fight off the gaggle of women surrounding him, but that shouldn’t feel like a kick in the teeth this time around.
Mac harrumphed. “I want some action shots. Destruction and flames.”
“This story is not just about the fire itself, you know. The reports are that the blaze could consume most of the town of Fairfax. There will be evacuations, acts of courage, a community pulling together. It could be a real uplifting piece.”
“Tears are always good sellers.”
“Ah, Mac, you’re all heart.”
“I’m all business, Laine. You know that. We have that in common.”
While she considered herself a professional, she certainly hoped she never reached the jaded bad-news-sells-better-than-good status that Mac had.
“You’ll get the best,” she said.
“I want daily updates. E-mail me what you’ve got. If you can come up with a real action shot, maybe we’ll talk about the cover.”
A big fat bonus came with the cover shot. That would come in handy. Maybe she could pull together enough funds to send Cat back to school, as she’d once dreamed of doing.
“Not too much sissified human-interest crap,” Mac went on.
Since feel-good, human-interest pictures had always been her specialty, Laine had to swallow that blow to her pride. “I’ll try to restrain myself.”
“I should be sending one of my guys to cover this, not the new girl.”
Nothing like the added pressure of having a sexist for an editor. “But they don’t have a connection with the smoke jumpers. Or an in with the chief in charge of the operation. I do.”
Thank you, Aunt Jen. Provided Laine cleared her shoots with him and supplied the forestry service with copies of her photos for training purposes, the chief had agreed to sign releases for the magazine and get her close to the fire.
“Hmmph.”
“I know the people in this town, remember? They’re a close-knit group. They’re not going to let just anybody wander around taking their picture.”
Of course, close to the people and close to the fire were two entirely different propositions, but Laine had little choice. She’d taken this job not just for money, but for new challenges. She’d decided she couldn’t bear photographing yet another rose show or “garden of the month,” such as the layouts she’d done for Texas Living. It was time she proved to Mac—and herself—that she was ready for a new test in her career.
“I’m the best person for this assignment,” she added.
“Yeah, sure.” Mac shuffled through the papers scattered across his desk. “Then what are ya standin’ here for?”
STEVE KIMBALL SHIFTED the heavy supply pack onto his shoulder as he climbed into the forestry service transport truck. He’d spent two exhausting days digging a fire line, cutting down trees and clearing brush, trying to deprive the raging flames of fuel. He was dirty, frustrated and exhausted. The men around him didn’t look much better. Faces black with soot, eyes downcast and solemn.
Though it had been a long time since he’d been part of a smoke jumper team, he knew they were usually energized by the flight, parachuting through the heat and smoke-choked sky, the feeling that they were making progress blocking the spread of a fire that couldn’t be fought in ordinary ways.
But the cockiness and exhilaration hadn’t come for Steve. He supposed he shouldn’t have expected it. He was in the last place he wanted to be, for the worst reason in the world.
He’d buried one of his closest friends a week ago. The crew he was now part of had lost one of their best.
“Well, this sucks,” Josh Burke commented as he slumped on the bench seat and laid his head back against the dark green canvas surrounding the truck bed.
Of course, he wasn’t just talking about the wildfire. Almost five thousand acres of beautiful northern California forestland had burned so far, with the flames creeping closer to civilization by the hour. If they didn’t get some rain soon, they would have to start evacuating the small community of Fairfax, the town where Josh grew up and Steve had lived during the three years he’d been a full-time smoke jumper. If the fire got beyond that, there was nothing standing between the blaze and the more densely populated city of Redding.
No one mentioned these dire details, or the late Tommy Robbins. They were men after all. Smoke
