Feeling sociable, Gull plopped down in the lounge with his book. That way he could ease out of the story from time to time, tune in on conversations, the ball game running on TV and the progress of the poker game he wasn’t yet interested in joining.

Or he could just let all of it hum at the edges of his mind like white noise.

With the idea he might be called up at any time, he opted for a ginger ale and a bag of chips to snack him through the next chapter or two.

“Afraid of losing your paycheck?” Dobie called out from the poker table.

“Terrified.”

“Out?” An outraged Trigger lurched out of his chair at a call on second. “That runner was safe by a mile. Out my ass! Did you see that?” he demanded.

He hadn’t, but Gull’s mood hit both agreeable and sociable. “Damn right. The ump’s an asshole.”

“He oughta have his eyes popped out if he can’t use them better than that. Where’s the ball to your chain tonight?”

Amused, Gull turned a page. “Ditched me for another man.”

“Women. They’re worse than umps. Can’t live with them, can’t beat them with a brick.”

“Hey.” Janis discarded two cards at the poker table. “Having tits doesn’t mean I can’t hear, buddy.”

“Aw, you’re not a woman. You’re a jumper.”

“I’m a jumper with tits.”

“Unless you’re going to toss them in the pot,” Cards told her, “the bet’s five to you.”

“They’re worth a lot more than five.”

Better than white noise, Gull decided, and likely better than his book.

Across the room, Yangtree—with an ice bag on his knee—and Southern played an intense, nearly silent game of chess. Earbuds in, Libby ticked her head back and forth like a metronome to her MP3 while she worked a crossword puzzle.

A lot of sociable going around, he mused. About half the jumpers on base gathered, some in groups, some solo, more than a few sprawled on the floor, attention glued to the Cardinals v. Phillies matchup on-screen.

Waiting mode, he decided. Everybody knew the siren could sound anytime, sending them north, east, south, west, where there would be camaraderie but little leisure. No time to insult umpires or figure out 32 Across. Instead of raking in the pot, as Cards did now with relish, they’d rake through smoldering embers and ash.

He watched Trigger throw up his hands in triumph as the runner scored, saw Yangtree take Southern’s bishop and Dobie toss in chips to raise the bet, causing Stovic to fold on a grunt of disgust.

“What’s a five-letter word for boredom?” Libby asked the room.

“TV ads,” Trigger volunteered. “Ought to be outlawed.”

“Boredom, not boring. Besides, some of them are funny.”

“Not funny enough.”

“Ennui,” Gull told her.

“Damn it, I knew that.”

“He can spout off all those pussy words,” Dobie commented.

Gull only smiled. He definitely didn’t feel ennui. Contentment, he thought, best described his current state. He’d be ready to roll if and when the call came, but for now knew the contentment of lounging with friends, enjoying the cross talk and bullshit while he waited for his woman to come home.

He’d found his place. He didn’t know, not for certain, when he’d first understood that. Maybe the first time he’d seen Rowan. Maybe his first jump. Maybe that night at the bar when he’d kicked some ass.

Maybe looking over a meadow of wild lupine.

It didn’t matter when.

He’d liked his hotshot work, and the people he’d worked with. Or most of them. He’d learned to combine patience, action and endurance, learned to love the fight—the violence, the brutality, the science. But what he found here dug deeper, and deep kindled an irresistible love and passion.

He knew he’d sprawl out in the lounge, listening to cross talk and bullshit season after season, as long as he was able.

He knew, he thought as Rowan came in, he’d wait for her to come home whenever she went away.

“Man, they let anybody in the country club these days.” She dropped down beside Gull, shot a hand into the chip bag. “Score?”

“Tied,” Trigger told her, “one to one due to seriously blind ump. Top of the fifth.”

She stole Gull’s ginger ale, found it empty. “What, were you waiting for me to get back, fetch you a refill?”

“Caught me.”

She pushed up, got a Coke. “You’ll drink this and like it.” She downed some first, then passed it to him.

“Thanks. And how’s the ball to my chain?”

“What did you call me?”

“He said it.” Gull narked on Trigger without remorse.

“Skinny Texas bastard.” She angled her head to read the cover of the book Gull set aside. “Ethan Frome? If you’ve been reading that I’m surprised I didn’t find you lapsed into a coma drooling down your chin.”

He gave the Coke back to her. “I thought I’d like it better now, being older, wiser, more erudite. But it’s just as blindingly boring as it was when I was twenty. Thank God you’re back, or I might have been paralyzed with ennui.”

“Get you.”

“It was a crossword answer a while ago. How’s your dad?”

“He’s in love.”

“With the hot redhead.”

Rowan’s eyebrows beetled. “I wish you wouldn’t call her the hot redhead.”

“I call them like I see them. How’s by you?”

“I had to get by the flower beds he’s planted, the flowers in vases, candles, the potpourri in the powder room—”

“Mother of God! Potpourri in the powder room. We need to get a posse together ASAP, go get him. He can be deprogrammed. Don’t lose hope.”

Since he’d stretched his legs across her lap, she twisted his toe. Hard. “He’s got all this color in the place all of a sudden. Or all of an Ella. I told myself it was fussy, she’d pushed all this fussy stuff on him. But it’s not. It’s style, with an edge of charm. She brought color to the beige and bone and brown. It makes him happy. She makes him happy. She filled the hole he couldn’t let heal—that’s what he said. And I realized something, that she was right that day we saw her in town. Ice cream day. She said that if I made him choose between her and me, she didn’t stand a chance. And if I’d done that, I’d be just enough like my mother to make myself sick. Either/or, pal, you can’t have both.”

“But you’re not.”

“No. I’m not. I have to get used to it—to her, but she’s put a light in him so I think I’m going to be a fan.”

“You’re a stand-up gal, Swede.”

“If she screws him up, I’ll peel the skin off her ass with a dull razor blade.”

“Fair’s fair.”

“And then some. I need to walk off the not-too-shabby skillet cuisine I prepared, then I’m going to turn in.”

“Wait a minute. You cooked?”

“I have a full dozen entrées in my repertoire. Four of them are variations on the classic grilled cheese sandwich.”

“A whole new side of you to explore while we walk. I want my shoes.”

Gibbons came in as Gull tossed the Edith Wharton onto the table for someone else.

“You might want to wrap up that card game. Everybody’s on standby. It’s not official, but it looks like we’ll roll two loads to Fairbanks tonight, or maybe straight to the fire. L.B.’s working out some details. And it’s looking like Bighorn might need some help come tomorrow.”

“Just when my luck’s starting to turn,” Dobie complained.

“New shoes for baby,” Cards reminded him.

“I rake another couple pots in, I can buy the new shoes without eating smoke.”

“Anybody on the first and second loads might want to check their gear while they’ve got a chance,” Gibbons added.

“I’ve never been to Alaska,” Gull commented.

“It’s an experience.” Rowan shoved his feet off her lap.

“I’m all about them.”


She stuffed more energy bars into her PG bag, and after a short debate added two cans of Coke. She’d rather haul the weight than do without. She changed from the off-duty clothes she’d worn to her father’s, and was just buckling her belt when the siren sang out.

Along with the others, she ran to the ready room to suit up.

The minute she stepped onto the plane, she staked her claim, arranging her gear and stretching out with her head on her chute. She intended to sleep through the flight.

“What’s it like?” Gull poked her with the toe of his boot.

“Big.”

“Really? I hear it’s cold and dark in the winter, too. Can that be true?”

She let the vibration of the engines lull her as other jumpers settled in. “Plenty of daylight this time of year. It’s not the trees as much there to worry about on the jump. It’s the water. They’ve got a lot of it, and you don’t want to miss the spot and land in it. A lot of water, a lot of land, mountains. Not a lot of people, that’s an advantage.”

She shifted, found a more comfortable position. “The Alaskan smoke jumpers know their stuff. It’s been dry up there this season, too, so they’re probably spread pretty thin, probably feeling that midseason fatigue.”

She opened her eyes to look at him. “It’s beautiful. The snow that never melts off those huge peaks, the lakes and rivers, the glow of the midnight sun. They’ve also got mosquitoes the size of your fist and bears big as an armored truck. But in the fire, it’s pretty much the same. Kill the bitch; stay alive. Everybody comes back.”

She closed her eyes. “Get some sleep. You’re going to need it.”

She slept like a rock; woke stiff as a board. And grateful they put down at Fairbanks, giving the crew time to loosen up, fuel up, and the bosses time to cement a strategy.