Death Takes a Honeymoon by DEBORAH DONNELLY Page A

moments, but by the time she departed I had my face under control. Sort of.
    “Think it’s safe to sit down?”
    The gold-brown eyes crinkled as he said it, and he slid his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. He wore his jeans snug beneath a blue denim shirt with the tails out and the cuffs rolled back. Both jeans and shirt were as pale and as sun-bleached as his tousled hair.
    “Of course,” I said, and sat myself. My cheeks were burning again, hotter than ever.
Dammit, he hasn’t changed a bit.
    Jack, for his part, seemed untouched by thoughts of the past. But he was uncomfortable about something in the present. As he took B.J.’s seat, his face assumed a formal, almost embarrassed expression, and he tried to say something appropriate about Brian Thiel.
    “I’m sorry about your cousin. He, uh, he was a good firefighter. Very strong. Looked like he was going to be a good jumper, too. I’m really sorry.”
    “Thanks, Jack, but you can relax. We weren’t close. In fact, I hardly knew him.”
    “All right, then, I guess I’ve done my duty.” He smiled his killer smile, one that came rarely but with devastating effect. He waved at the waitress for a beer, but after it came the smile faded. “There is one other thing, though. About Brian and B.J. It’s none of my business if they were—”
    “Old friends,” I supplied hastily. “They dated once, remember?”
    “I remember. Carnegie, I don’t know how to say this to B.J., but maybe you can.” Jack winced. “She’s been pestering people about the accident. Asking questions, calling attention to herself. People are starting to wonder about her and Brian. She’s a married woman, and this is a small town, you know?”
    “I know. I’ll... I’ll talk to her.” I made a last-ditch defense. “But surely everyone’s upset about this?”
    “Of course. All the jumpers are edgy, especially since we don’t know exactly why he fell. That’s why everyone’s drinking so hard tonight, even though Thiel wasn’t the most popular guy.” Jack’s gaze dropped to the tabletop. “Everyone’s thinking, sometimes Big Ernie just hands you a bad deal.”
    Big Ernie is the god of smoke jumpers, a twisted joke of a deity. He appears in costume at the initiation rites for new jumpers, and demands worship from the veterans in the form of prodigious beer consumption.
    And yet he isn’t quite a joke. Fate or luck or destiny, whatever tips the delicate balance between life and death, that was Big Ernie, too. A faulty chute that unfurls at the last possible second, a flaming snag that falls a mortal moment too soon. Or a letdown rope knotted wrong, dead wrong.
    Uneasy with these images, I tried to change the subject. “B.J. mentioned that she talked to you about Boot Creek. I thought you were retiring?”
    “Oh, I am. But I’ve been hanging on since this heat came up so sudden and we had all these lightning fires. I promised Tracy I wouldn’t jump after the wedding, though. And since we’re all off the active list this week, that means I’m done jumping for good.” Jack frowned at his beer bottle, then took a long pull and set it down. “Well, that was then, this is now, right? How are things with you, Carnegie? It’s been a long time since you were here.”
    Since I was in your bed that night,
I added silently. My blood was rushing around my body in objectionable ways.
Don’t you even remember?
    But all I said was “Yes, a long time. Things are fine. Busy.”
    “Good.” He nodded. “It’s good to be busy.”
    A pause. A long one. We looked away from each other, and then straight into each other’s eyes.
Oh,
I thought in sudden dismay.
Oh, dear. He remembers.
    “Carnegie—”
    “Jack—”
    On the very brink of madness, I came to my senses. “Jack, I haven’t congratulated you yet! It’s wonderful about you and Tracy. Just wonderful.”
    “Thanks.” He shifted in his seat and blinked. “Thanks very much. I’m a lucky man.”
    If I held a