Kitabı oku: «Back to Eden»

“What I’m trying to say is that your daughter needs stability.”

Rachel continued. “She doesn’t need someone like you coming into her life only to fall out of it because you’ve taken one risk too many or you want to be somewhere else.”

Cole stared at Rachel for a moment without speaking. Then he leaned forward and asked, “Why are you so good for her when you’ve done the same thing—risking your life on some stunt?”

“That stunt saved the lives of a fire crew.” A crew she’d been certain was Cole’s.

“You know as well as I do how lucky you are to be alive.” Cole leaned even closer. “Don’t talk to me about stability, either. I can’t imagine you make it home to cook dinner every night.”

Dear Reader,

Have you ever had an unrequited high school crush? If so, you’ll relate to Rachel Quinlan, who adored Cole Hudson in high school, even though he always treated her like a younger sister. Now that Cole is back in Eden, she has to learn to see him through the eyes of the woman she is today, not the starry-eyed gaze of a teenage girl.

Cole has a lot to learn himself. He’s always been protective of others, and now he wants to enclose Rachel and her family in a bubble, despite the fact that doing so will keep all of them from achieving their dreams.

I love to hear from readers, either through my Web site—www.melindacurtis.com—or regular mail at P.O. Box 150, Denair, CA, 95316. To the many who’ve written about Victoria, yes, her story is coming!

Warm regards,

Melinda Curtis

Back to Eden
Melinda Curtis

www.millsandboon.co.uk

As always, with much love to my family, who continue to

think of pepperoni pizza as fulfilling all major food groups

Special thanks to Susan Floyd and Anna Stewart

for providing inspiration and reality checks

when I needed them most

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

COLE HUDSON WAS NEVER going to love her.

Rachel Quinlan stared at Cole’s parked truck. The engine wasn’t even pinging or popping because it had long since cooled, and the sick sensation caused by unyielding truth settled in her gut.

Oh, Cole liked her well enough and had even taken her out to dinner and to the movies a time or two. If pressed, he might even say he loved her. But it would be clear that he didn’t “love her” love her, not in the happily-ever-after kind of way.

With tear-filled eyes, Rachel stared up at the blue sky blossoming above Eden, Wyoming—a sky that cruelly promised a beautiful October day fit for a wedding—someone else’s wedding.

It wasn’t just that Cole was four years older than Rachel and treated her as if she still hadn’t reached puberty. Heck, she’d filled out a bra three years ago, and Cole hadn’t seemed to notice.

And it wasn’t for lack of bodily contact. He gave Rachel a hug every time he saw her, sweeping her up and twirling her around, his deep laughter rumbling through to her soul.

Rachel sighed. Nope. The problem was Cole Hudson didn’t love her like a man loved a woman. He could never love her that way.

Because he’d lost his heart to Rachel’s older sister, Missy.

Not that this was a news flash. But in that moment, staring at Cole’s truck on Missy’s wedding day, the reality of it all smacked into Rachel harder than it ever had before. She was a silly, daydreaming girl, just like Missy always told her, wasting time staring at the sky and weaving fantasies that would never come true.

Missy didn’t understand Rachel’s dreams, which tended to involve leaving home. Missy was a big homebody. Heck, Missy protested if she had to leave Sweetwater County. She’d refused to fly anywhere since their mother had gone away, claiming to want only to provide a good home for Rachel and their father. And Missy had. Because of her, Rachel could dream. She’d earned her pilot’s license, reveling in the joy of soaring through the sky. Rachel had even helped her father rebuild the engine on his C119 warplane.

It did seem disloyal to have such strong feelings for someone Missy had once so dearly loved, but Missy had let Cole go, which left the door open for Rachel, didn’t it?

Rachel fidgeted. Only if Missy and Cole didn’t still love each other, which didn’t seem to be the case. The impossibility of having Cole love her threatened to overwhelm Rachel as she stared at his truck parked in front of room twenty-two of the Shady Lady Motel on the outskirts of Eden.

The question was: Who was in the motel room with Cole?

Rachel shivered, crossing her arms against her suspicions and the early-morning chill.

In less than four hours, Missy was supposed to be marrying Lyle Whitehall in front of God and everyone at the Chapel in the Valley on Main Street. Lyle was the son of Eden’s shyster mayor, who was also the bank president and holder of the note on the small Quinlan ranch and airstrip. Brian Quinlan ran an air freight business, but he wasn’t very good at making money, and Lyle and his daddy knew it.

Not that Missy didn’t seem to care for Lyle, but Lyle’s affection for Missy was…not what Rachel would call love. Rachel shivered again. This time for a different reason.

If Missy…when Missy married Lyle later today, their worries were supposed to be over. Rachel had no clue as to what would happen to them if Missy didn’t marry Lyle at eleven o’clock, but she’d bet it wouldn’t be very good.

Rachel had known there’d be trouble when Missy had slipped out of her bachelorette party last night, running down the sidewalk to Cole’s waiting truck, blond hair flying behind her. Rachel had been the only one to see her leave. She’d lied to cover Missy’s absence—by that time most of the women were too tipsy to notice the bride had flown the coop anyway—and driven home in Missy’s truck, hoping old Sheriff Tucker wouldn’t catch her driving without a license. After spending a sleepless night waiting for Missy to come home, Rachel had climbed into Missy’s truck again, her heart heavy, and driven back into town at daybreak only to discover what she’d dreaded to find— Cole’s truck parked at the motel. Now she wondered—was there going to be a wedding?

What in the world was Cole doing messing things up like this? Rachel’s dreams, her home, all would be lost. Suddenly filled with an anger demanding an outlet, Rachel ran up to the door and pounded on it.

Before her knuckles hit the warped wood a second time, Cole opened the motel room door and stalked past Rachel without so much as a glance. Missy huddled in the mussed bed, a sheet pulled up to her shoulders and tears streaming down her pale face.

Missy, who had always been Rachel’s rock as well as sister, mother, friend and confidante, and who always looked model perfect, looked as if she was thirty-nine, not nineteen.

Rachel forgot all about her own shattered dreams as she ran across the worn, stained carpet to comfort her sister.

CHAPTER ONE

COLE HUDSON FINISHED sweeping the razor across his chin, rinsed the last of the shaving cream from his face and paused to stare into the sliver of a mirror someone had hung above the outdoor sinks at the Flathead, Montana, base camp.

“We made it through a day without the fire getting the better of us,” Jackson, the supervisor of the wildland firefighters known as the Silver Bend Hot Shots, announced beside him. “I think that calls for a beer, don’t you?”

“And a thick, juicy steak,” Logan seconded, shoving his shaving kit into his pack, pausing to look at the plastic-encased picture of his family dangling from the strap.

Cole hesitated. It had been a tough few weeks in the Flathead Mountains of Montana. The beast had toyed with the crews on a daily basis and finally overrun them with near deadly consequences two days ago. Cole’s best friend, Aiden, better known as Spider in Hot Shot circles, had nearly lost his dad in the flash fire. Spider now sat vigil at a hospital in Missoula waiting for his father’s recovery.

“I heard they were serving steak tonight, too.” Jackson dried his hands with a towel, lingering over his wedding band.

“But not beer,” Logan lamented. Alcohol wasn’t allowed in fire camps. “Let’s get into the chow line before they run out of beef. If I lose any more weight this season, Thea will kill me.”

Cole knew exactly what Logan meant. After six months away from home, the entire crew was pretty lean. Thanks to the demanding physical labor and the fight against dehydration, they didn’t carry much fat.

“Just another day or so,” Cole murmured. They’d served their time, and the Forest Service would have to decide if they would stay on with a day of rest, or if they’d be sent home.

Now that they had air support, this fire just might be brought under control. Although some teams would continue working for another few weeks, others would begin winding down from the long season and go home in time to take their kids trick-or-treating and make plans for the holidays. This year, for the first time in a long time, Cole would be the only one of his friends to go home alone.

Jackson had reunited with his wife. Logan had found someone who’d brought light to his dark side. And now Spider had reconciled with his dad and was about to become a husband and father himself. Spider, who Cole had been certain would never grow up, was eager for his new role.

Poor, lucky sap.

Cole stared into the mirror, noting the wrinkles and the laugh lines emphasized by so many fire seasons under the hot summer sun. It wasn’t that he didn’t have a pretty decent life. With a job he loved and a group of friends he’d trust with his life, Cole had nothing to complain about. He even had someone at home, or at least someone in his heart. A woman he loved.

A woman he’d let go.

“You’re the only one for me,” Missy had whispered to him.

Eleven years ago he’d walked out of Missy Quinlan’s life, hoping she’d follow. Today, after battling a monster of a fire, and about to face three to four months of life alone in a small apartment, something unsettling crept into his thoughts.

It was time.

He was finished waiting for Missy. He had to know if she was happy without him. If so, he’d move on, no regrets. As soon as they were released from the fire, Cole would drive to Eden and find out if he’d been a fool all these years or an incredibly wise man.

“LOOKING FORWARD to the end?” Danny asked as he and Rachel walked through base camp on their way to dinner. He moved with a limp and shoulders stooped with age, but he was still one of the best air tanker pilots around.

“Hey, we’re heading into October and I’m in the black this year. Why would I want it to end?” Rachel joked, even as she wished herself home with her family. It was weird how she absolutely loved to fly and absolutely hated the guilt her job created.

Rachel operated Fire Angels air tanker service. She’d picked up several good contracts from the Forest Service in states to the east of Wyoming over the past few years, purposefully avoiding Idaho and Montana. But at the end of a long season, federal parks were still burning in many of the western states, so all the firefighting resources and personnel were shifting west instead of hunkering down in their homes for the winter.

Danny removed his baseball cap and gestured at the firefighters in front of them with a laugh. “Yeah, these losers are probably more than ready to head home, and we’re itching to get in the air again.”

“We’ve got the promise of tomorrow. That’s more than we’ll have next week.” Although Rachel wanted the fire to be out and the season to be over, she couldn’t help but appreciate any reason to take to the skies. Nothing could compare to the feeling Rachel got from flying.

“Look at these ground pounders,” Danny said, casting his gaze over the men around them. “I’m almost three times the age of most of them, and they’re dragging their asses like little schoolgirls.”

One of the men in front of them shot Danny a deadly look, so Rachel decided to let the conversation drop. The last thing she wanted was a fight drawing attention to herself, just in case she knew someone here.

Trying to appear like the professional she was, Rachel glanced around, but it was impossible to pick out anyone she knew beneath the yellow helmets and layers of grime. A few of the men looked her up and down, then flashed an interested grin Rachel ignored. With a body built for sin—or so Missy used to tell Rachel—and eyes that even Rachel had to admit slanted more provocatively than Missy’s, it was often hard for Rachel to blend in. And she desperately wanted to blend in today.

Rachel knew Cole was, or had been, a Hot Shot in Idaho eleven years ago. It was with mixed feelings that she’d looked at the fire camp roster a few minutes earlier and seen two Idaho crews listed. Eleven years was forever in a Hot Shot lifetime. The work was tough on the body and the mind. Chances were slim that Cole was still on active duty. With his love of horses and his bent for the big thrill, Cole could have turned from the Hot Shots to the rodeo or NASCAR for his adrenaline rush.

Still, Rachel pulled her baseball cap low over her eyes as she fell into the dinner line with the other fliers and ground support teams. The pilots and their crews had been bussed over to base camp from the airstrip twenty miles away with the promise of hot showers and a steak dinner celebrating the containment of the fire.

“Let’s not go looking for trouble.” Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel caught a glimpse of someone with blond hair and broad shoulders. Controlling the flutter in her stomach, she turned away from the man. “Besides, Danny, you know you’ll have cabin fever at first snowfall. Who wants to hurry home to that?” Back to the slow routine at the ranch, back to homework and laundry, back to the limited repertoire of meals she could cook. In the winter, she felt she was twenty-six going on forty—bound to Eden by love and a responsibility she hadn’t asked for.

“That’s why you and I get along, kid. We’re too much alike.” With a playful flick of a gnarled hand, Danny broke her reverie by flipping Rachel’s baseball hat off. There wasn’t much of a breeze, but it was enough to carry it several feet.

Rachel scrambled to pick it up, but someone beat her to it. As the man straightened, Rachel felt her knees go weak and the blood drain from her face. She half turned, as if to run.

“Rachel?”

It was sad, really, how Rachel recognized Cole Hudson’s voice with its gentle Texas twang more than eleven years after she’d last heard him speak, sadder still that her heart raced at the sound. If she’d been frying in the Indian-summer heat of Montana before, she was broiling now. Rachel was suddenly grateful that she hadn’t looked in the mirrors in the portable latrine, because she preferred to hold on to what little dignity she could muster and pretend she looked presentable. At least she could hide behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses.

“You’re such a tomboy, Rachel,” Missy said, braiding Rachel’s hair before she went to school. “Why don’t you try out for cheerleading?”

“The only thing better than flying is fixing an engine,” Rachel said. “Cheerleading is for sissies.”

Missy shook her head. “Boys don’t like tomboys.”

As Rachel turned back to face Cole, she caught a whiff of herself—sweat and a combination of exhaust fumes, slurry and engine oil. Ugh. Cole had always liked girlie girls. Rachel plastered what she hoped resembled a smile on her face, hoping at least her manner would convey what a cool, polished woman she’d become, and not raise suspicion about the secrets she was hiding.

“Hey, Cole. Long time no see.” Good. She sounded unfazed, not like a woman whose heart pounded crazily in her chest.

And then Cole was laughing as he scooped her up and spun her around in a crushing embrace.

The world slowed down, winding back, back, back, to a simpler time when anything was possible and happiness had seemed so easy to attain.

Cole.

Without thinking, Rachel clung tighter, pressed closer, until she heard the buzz of a small Cessna’s engine overhead and reality came crashing back.

What was she doing? “Put me down!” Rachel struggled against Cole’s rock-solid chest and her traitorous emotions. “Dammit, Cole. Put. Me. Down.”

Unceremoniously, his arms released her and Rachel stumbled, but somehow managed to regain her balance.

“This guy buggin’ you, Rachel?” Danny asked, a steadying presence at her side, even though his wiry physique was no match for Cole’s.

“No. He’s an old friend,” Rachel admitted after a moment spent unable to avoid looking at Cole. “Why don’t you get back in line, Danny. I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

Danny moved slowly toward the chow line with a few dark looks for Cole.

Meanwhile, Cole didn’t say a word. He just stood there watching her with bright blue eyes that she’d hardly dared stare into when she was fifteen, much less now. With a linebacker’s build, a square jaw and short blond hair, he carried his age well, probably better than Rachel. He looked at peace, far different from the worried expression Rachel saw in her own reflection.

“You look like hell. I almost didn’t recognize you,” he said finally, handing her the baseball cap. “What are you doing out here?”

Rachel put the hat back on her head. His words shouldn’t hurt, but his tone implied she had no business being at a wildland fire camp miles from civilization. Rachel looked beyond Cole to the smoke-filled horizon. Things were so much easier in the air than on the ground.

“I’m contracted with the Forest Service, working the fire just like you are.” Making good money to tide her over through the lean winter months.

He frowned, taking in her appearance from head to toe. “Hot Shot?” She wasn’t wearing the Hot Shot garb that Cole was—fire-resistant drab-green slacks and a yellow button-down.

Rachel flicked her thick ponytail over her shoulder with a laugh. “Fight fires on the ground with nothing more than a shovel or a chainsaw? I’m not that foolish. I’ll leave that to you, thank you very much.” And she should leave him standing there with the question she knew he was dying to ask—How’s Missy? But Rachel’s boots seemed to have taken root in the dirt.

The disapproving expression didn’t leave his face. After a moment Cole said, “You’re not flying air tankers, are you?”

“Yep.” Rachel squared her shoulders. She was proud of the fact that she was one of the few female tanker pilots, prouder still that she was owner of her own tanker service. She flew a PB4Y2 Privateer, an airplane that had served in at least two wars. Dumping fire retardant on forty-foot-high flames on runs reminiscent of those barnstorming fighter pilots who’d come before her was Rachel’s idea of heaven. Sometimes she couldn’t believe they paid her to do it.

Cole cursed under his breath, taking Rachel by the arm. “Look, kid—”

Kid? Rachel bristled at the word. In the back of her mind, she’d always believed that Cole would approve of what she was doing, would jump at the chance to make a run with her. She’d never imagined he’d treat her as if she were still fifteen and waiting for her first kiss. Rachel shook off his touch, even though part of her trembled with the contact.

“This isn’t a game out here. You’ve always been a risk taker, but…” Cole lowered his voice and leaned closer. “I’m sure you’ve noticed how air tankers have been dropping from the sky lately.”

He was right. A lot of the old beauties weren’t able to take the stress of diving into deep valleys and pulling up to avoid the trees on the opposite side of the basin. But Rachel had rebuilt the Privateer herself and knew that its engines could withstand tremendous stress.

“Maybe there have been a few older models that haven’t held up after fifty or more years of hard service, but my plane is different.” Rachel resisted the inclination to tell him she was one of the most respected pilot mechanics in the business, something she could thank her father for. “I know what I’m doing, Cole. Why can’t you just wish me well?” Instead of making her feel two inches high, which was how she felt anyway, because she wouldn’t tell him about Jenna. And then there was Missy… Rachel had never liked hiding the truth. Yet, that seemed to be all she did nowadays. And Cole was, in part, to blame.

Rachel looked for Danny. She couldn’t last much longer without spilling her guts or losing the facade that she was a fully functioning adult.

Unexpectedly, Cole reached out and removed her sunglasses. “What happened to your freckles?”

Rachel snatched them back and thrust them into place. “I grew out of them.” If only she’d outgrown her feelings for Cole.

“And Missy?” Cole finally asked the question she’d been dreading. “How is Missy?”

Rachel’s throat closed as she recognized the expression in Cole’s blue eyes—hope. She’d thought she’d loved this man at one time. Later, she’d realized it had been a foolish teenager’s crush. But it was clear that he was still in love with Missy, the woman he’d slept with just hours before her marriage to another man, and then left alone to face the consequences. And then there was what he’d done five years ago.

Rachel was such a sentimental fool.

“She’s dead,” Rachel managed to tell him, holding her heart together by willpower alone as she waited for Cole to say he’d wondered why Missy hadn’t shown up on his doorstep five years ago, waited for him to explain why he’d never called to see what had become of her.

Instead Cole swayed as if he might be felled by the heartbreaking news that Rachel had been living with for what seemed like an eternity.

Rachel frowned.

“I had no idea.” His gaze wandered around, from the latrines to the chow line to the trucks rumbling out of camp. Then his attention swung back to her. “When?”

Rachel tried to hide her confusion. How could Cole have forgotten? He had to have known. “Five years ago.” Although the vibrant spark that had once been Missy had been extinguished on her wedding day and none of Rachel’s efforts had rekindled that flame. “Car accident. We lost her.” Rachel’s voice sounded distant, as if someone else was speaking, someone who hadn’t known Missy and somehow failed her.

Rachel wouldn’t fail Missy now. She wouldn’t tell Cole the secrets pressing at the back of her throat, the most pressing of which was that he’d created a beautiful little girl on the eve of Missy’s wedding to Lyle.

Rachel had made her sister a promise, and she was sticking to it.

“IF YOU LOVED ME, you’d stay with me here in Eden. I can’t leave Rachel.” Missy’s voice had been filled with an aching sadness, as if she’d known her fate was sealed if Cole left her.

What had Cole done?

“Chainsaw, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” Jackson observed as he parked his booted feet near Cole’s.

Cole squinted up into the sunset to find Jackson and Logan regarding him.

After hearing the devastating news, Cole had staggered over to the latrines where he’d tried to decide if he was going to puke or not. Minutes later, with his friends standing in front of him, Cole still wasn’t sure.

Missy was dead.

He wiped a hand over his face. He’d always believed she was The One—the woman he was meant to be with. All she’d had to do was touch him and he’d combusted. She’d given him an ultimatum that last morning he’d seen her, either settle down in Eden or leave her be. There was nothing for him in Eden—no family since his had moved to Idaho, and there sure as hell weren’t any jobs in the dying town. In the heat of anger, he’d told Missy he’d wait for her through her foolish marriage. He’d told Missy he’d wait until she grew up and realized they were destined to be together.

And he had waited, living as if he’d had a marriage vow to honor, knowing she’d come back to him someday.

Only to find out Missy was dead.

“I, uh…” Cole struggled to find the words to tell his friends what had blindsided him. “I just heard that…Missy is dead.”

Without a word they sat on either side of him on the hard-packed Montana earth.

Jackson put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. How did you hear?”

“Her little sister told me a few minutes ago.” Rachel had looked just the same as the picture he carried in his wallet—a stubborn lift to her chin, wisps of long black hair escaping from her ponytail, slender as a reed, wearing cowboy boots, scruffy blue jeans and a T-shirt. If it wasn’t for the way she filled out her T-shirt, she’d have tomboy written all over her.

What Rachel didn’t have written all over her was grief, because she’d had five years to come to terms with her sister’s death. All Cole’s dreams—

“Missy’s sister?” Logan broke into Cole’s thoughts, leaning forward and looking at Jackson, then at Cole. “The little girl who rebuilt your truck engine before she had a license to drive it? The one who beat you in a bareback horse race?”

“Logan.” Jackson held up a hand in Logan’s direction.

“Yeah. She’s a tanker pilot. I should have known she’d end up doing something crazy, especially with Missy gone….” Cole stared down at his boots. Rachel was no longer a little girl. She was a woman who’d never outgrown the daredevil spirit that he’d been sure Missy would temper as they aged. Crap. He still couldn’t believe Missy was long dead. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Maybe after we finish here, we can take a run over to Wyoming and pay our respects,” Jackson suggested softly.

Cole shook his head slowly, in wonder. “You didn’t even know her.”

“No, but we know you, buddy, and even if you’re not ready to talk about it, we’ll be there for you when you are.”

“LAST RUN OF THE DAY,” Rachel said as Danny landed Fire Angel One. They’d done nothing more exciting than drop retardant around the fire all day long. The fire had died down, so that there were no flames raging out of control and no firefighters trapped and in need of rescue. Very ho-hum.

“Last run of the season,” Danny corrected wistfully as he taxied the Privateer to the retardant base.

Despite the shift in winds this afternoon, the dragon appeared to be contained, and they’d been ordered to drop one last load of slurry on the steep eastern slope near the road before refueling and heading home to Wyoming. A season of flying was over.

Rachel sighed. At least she wouldn’t have to see Cole again.

In their passes over the fire, she’d caught glimpses of the crews below, bolstering the last of the fire lines before this beast burned itself out. She couldn’t help but wonder if Cole was one of them, if he looked to the sky as she flew over. How was Cole handling the news about Missy? Rachel had dreaded meeting Cole again. She had so much to blame him for. Even though she’d idolized him all those years ago, Cole Hudson never looked before he leaped, and that had contributed to Missy’s downward spiral and death. After so much time, Rachel had thought he’d shrug, offer his condolences and move on, but he’d appeared shaken.

Beside a shed on the edge of the runway, boots in puddles of red muck, the ground crew stood ready with hoses that would pump another twenty-five hundred gallons of fire-smothering slurry into the belly of the Privateer. Originally a long-range Navy patrol bomber built for World War II, Fire Angel One had been stripped clean to make room for the massive tank that had been riveted within the plane’s belly.

Without waiting for Danny to cut the engines, the ground crew approached, each dragging a hose and looking like aliens from the red planet, because their clothing, hats, goggles, gloves and masks were covered with a sticky glaze of crimson slurry. It would take them only a few minutes to fill the tank to capacity.

“My turn to fly.” Rachel faced the old bomber pilot, raising her voice over the whoosh and splash of slurry pouring into the Privateer. “How much do you want to bet this is the most boring run of the season?”

“I’ll pass on that bet.” Danny turned his cap backward and pushed his sunglasses firmly onto the bridge of his crooked nose. “It’s back to the boob tube for me and engine rebuilds for you.”

“At least I’ve got something to do this winter.” Rachel had an engine to rebuild on an old C119 warplane for a collector in Nevada. Danny would have to wait until spring to pick up work.

Danny laughed, rising to switch seats. “Yeah. Better make this last run stellar, then, kid. Are you up for barnstorming the camp?” Danny was always suggesting risky deeds, probably because as a fighter pilot in Korea and Vietnam, he’d cheated death more than his share of times.

“Are you up for having your pilot’s license revoked?” Rachel groused as she climbed behind the pilot’s controls, wondering why she was so somber. Was it because she’d reawakened her grief over Missy’s death through telling Cole? Or was it that Cole’s shocked reaction wasn’t at all what she’d expected?

The slurry hoses quieted. The tank was sealed back up. With a wave, the men in red retreated to wait for the next plane.

Unaware of Rachel’s mood, Danny grinned, shoving his mirrored glasses on. “Where’s your sense of adventure? Life is meant to be lived. Let’s take to the air, kid!”

“WHO’S READY?” Jackson yelled at the other eighteen Silver Bend Hot Shots packing their gear in base camp.

Doc and O’Reilly, among the youngest of the crew, already had their iPod earphones on and were oblivious to Jackson’s question.