Free Slow Burn (Smoke Jumpers) by Anne Marsh Page A

needed a statement from her, her visit was a two-for-one. She got a good look at the fire camp and a chance to meet Evan’s boys and his brothers. The camp was exactly as she’d imagined, the planes and the Harleys and the maleness of it all almost overwhelming, the whole place one big adventure.
    Evan dropped onto the ground at her feet. He smelled like smoke and barbecue and something fundamentally, irresistibly male. She couldn’t stop herself from looking at him. “No one looks familiar.” Except that they were all firefighters. She was caught in a déjà vu that wouldn’t quit.
    “All right.” She couldn’t tell, looking at his face, if her failure made him happy or if he’d wanted to get this thing wrapped up ASAP. “You said yourself that the encounter was a quick one. You’d just driven through a brush fire. If you can’t pick out the guy, that’s okay.”
    He handed her a plate, and she took it automatically. Maybe he’d taken that whole liking-to-eat thing literally, because he’d given her enough chicken and corn to feed half a jump team.
    “Sorry,” she said, and meant it. This would have been so much easier if she’d walked in here, looked his team over, and pointed.
    “Not a problem.”
    She actually thought he might mean the words. In any case, he passed her a napkin and a fistful of plastic silverware, gesturing for her to get started on the week’s worth of groceries he’d heaped onto her plate.
    “You know all these men?” she asked, taking her first bite. God, the food here wasn’t bad at all.
    Evan shrugged. “Many of them. Not all of them. Fire season usually runs June through October, whatever dates the government agencies forecasting the weather and the possibility of fires come up with. You start with sun with a side of dry and pray like hell the autumn rains come early. Because Mother Nature here is cramming most of our work into a four month window, we hire seasonals. The local firehouses send up guys as well, whoever they can spare who wants to make a buck and be where all the action is.”
    “Which ones are on the jump team?” The L.A. department had been all hook-and-ladder trucks and ground crew, only because there was no way you used planes and jumpers in the city. Jumping straight into the heart of the fire the way these guys did took danger to a whole new level.
    Evan’s eyes crinkled around the edges. “You think we’re going to look different?”
    “Maybe. You, for example.” She took her eyes off the plate and eyed him. “You don’t look like the jump-out-of-a-plane type.”
    “Why not?” He popped the top on a Coke and passed her the cold can. He didn’t start on his own plate until she’d downed the first forkful.
    “Too big,” she said around a mouthful of food. God, these men knew how to cook. How unfair was that? “I’d expect you to sink like a rock.”
    “I float like a feather,” he promised. “Or, to put it another way, I haven’t hit the ground too hard. Yet. You’ve met my brothers, Jack and Rio. They jump, too.” He waved his own soda toward a couple of men in the barbecue line. “That’s Mack and, over there, Zay. Joey.” His finger moved down the line. “The next four are ours, as well.”
    “That’s a pretty small team.”
    “We’ve got ten jumpers in Strong right now. Eight to go up, two off, plus we’ve got ourselves a dedicated pilot, although half of us can fly the plane if there’s a need.”
    “I’ve heard about this thing called ‘equal opportunity,’ ” she said lightly. “Some places even hire women these days.”
    “Sure.” He leaned back on his elbows. “I’ve got no problem with having a woman on the team. She needs to jump, though, and she needs to haul her own shit. Jumping’s not the problem for most women. It’s the ground work.”
    “Women can’t hack it?”
    He grunted. “I’m not touching that one, Faye. All I’ll say is that when the fire’s cresting and you’re digging line for