Where There's Smoke: inspirational romantic suspense (Montana Fire Book 1) by Susan May Warren Read Free Book Online Page B

here?”
    Before he could answer, she found it and pried it out. She put the box of curly fries inside, then snapped on the helmet and turned to him. “You’re on the back.”
    She—huh? But she didn’t wait for him, just threw her leg over the seat and leveraged the bike off the kickstand. Then, “Getting on?”
    “I can get the bike home, Kate.”
    “I know. But you’re tired and drank half your beer, and frankly, that fight in there is my fault. Besides, you know I’ve always wanted to ride your bike.”
    And for a second, everything dropped away—their fight from a week ago, seven years of tangled emotions, even the searing regret of the mistakes that nearly took their lives. Just Kate, smiling at him as if there might be hope for a fragile friendship.
    Huh. He stood there a moment, debating, wondering just how many of his recruits might be watching.
    “C’mon, Jed. This isn’t a fire. You can trust me to get you home.” And, for a second, hurt shone in her eyes behind the soft smile.
    “I know,” he said. He sat behind her, settling his hands on her hips. “When did you learn how to ride a bike?”
    “Rudy taught me.”
    One of the rookie jumpers who’d lasted through the Alaska summer, sticking around after Jed had walked away—or rather, limped away on crutches, back to the lower forty-eight.
    She took off down the single road that cut through Ember. Stopping at the only light in town, she flicked on the radio. Ember’s KFire filled the air with a Boston tune—oldies night.
    It’s more than a feeling...
    Oh, that wasn’t fair. His heartbeat slowed with the easiness of letting her drive, moving in tune with her as she turned left, toward the fire base.
    He couldn’t help the longing to move his hands up, touch her shoulders, her arms. To draw her back against himself.
    Wow, this was a bad idea. The sense of her under his hands roused the memories, and he was powerless to fight them.
    I...dream of a girl I used to know...I closed my eyes and she slipped away...
    “This song was playing that night I showed up in Alaska. I still remember it.”
    She glanced over her shoulder at him, her visor up. “I remember that. We were still putting the station together for the season—the place was a mess. There were guys sewing chutes, and I was working on inventory. I couldn’t believe it when you walked in.”
    What are you doing here?
    The surprise in her voice, the wide-eyed, masked expression—sometimes the guilt could still rise from the dead to choke him.
    “I just remember you smelled like something that lived under a Dumpster,” she said.
    “Oh, that’s real nice, Kate. I had been on the road for five days.”
    “You looked like it, too—greasy hair, unshaven. And I admit, for a minute there, I thought Dad had sent you.”
    He swallowed hard, her words a knife, but thankfully she looked back and gunned the bike.
    Just go up there, and make sure she quits.
    Hardly. Jock clearly didn’t know his daughter like Jed did. But he’d owed Jock so much, he couldn’t say no. Until, of course, Jed betrayed him.
    And nearly cost Kate her life.
    Jed leaned with her as they turned onto the dirt road that led past the base, the meadow where they practiced their landings, then the jump platform, and in the distance, the barracks, the mess hall, the Overhead office. To the east, Glacier National Park rose dark and foreboding.
    Kate was taking him to Jock’s place.
    She turned onto the rutted, grassy road that edged her into Jock’s acreage, and he spotted the camper, permanently parked on a bluff overlooking the fire camp. It gleamed in the moonlight. They pulled up in back onto the parking pad and she held the bike as he climbed off.
    Setting her helmet on the seat, she said, “C’mon. I need to give you something.”
    She didn’t wait for him but walked up the path, flicking on the string of Christmas lights that framed the deck, freshly built last summer on Jock’s off days. “Wait here,” she