one of the smarter things Akbar had ever said. She wasn’t interested in anything permanent, but Evan Greene was one of those guys that was permanently interesting. She considered thanking Akbar, but his breathing had shifted into a soft snore.
He was smiling in his sleep.
Laura had definitely done something strange to him.
Chapter 5
They’d left the Deerness Fire shortly after dawn. From fire to airport by helo then DC-3 back to base.
Evan had brooded on Akbar’s advice for the entire flight back and come to only one conclusion—he’d been a total chicken shit. No wonder he was feeling so pissed at the world; he wasn’t being honest.
Fix that now, soldier. But circumstance didn’t lend him any opportunity.
After landing on the grass-strip runway at the MHA base, they unloaded several tons of crap. Then everyone pitched in to clean, organize, repack chutes, and reset all of their gear into the speed racks. The base might be set up in an old, rundown boys’ camp with a grass runway down the middle, but the gear was top flight and was always maintained in perfect condition first, no matter how tired they were.
Evan passed Krista half a hundred times, but she was always going the other way, or one of them was loaded down.
His frustration was climbing with each passage. The only way he was going to be able to fix the problem as he’d promised Akbar was to get Krista alone and apologize properly. And that just wasn’t happening.
Then everyone hit the showers.
It was coming up noon by the time he was clean.
The guys got him to go back in to scrub off a missed spot on his back several times before he caught on that they were just messing with him. Damn it! He was even reacting like a rookie.
They got a good laugh and he felt even stupider than he already did.
In the Green Berets, SFG was supposed to stand for Special Forces Group, not for being such a Stupid Fucking Goon that you fell for every stupid ass…
He took a deep breath. Green Berets were the guys they sent to build peace in the villages and to build relationships to support the counter-insurgency; he’d been one of the very best at it. His ODA had ferreted out more terrorists than anyone except maybe Delta Force because of how smoothly they worked with the Afghan civilians.
And here he was wound up like an idiot…rookie!
He deserved the goddamn name.
Mark Henderson, the MHA Incident Commander, declared the rest of the day off. No fire calls until tomorrow. After fourteen days on fire, it wasn’t very generous, but based on the cheers, the crews were psyched anyway. Everyone except for him. And he knew that was only because his mood sucked at the moment.
They stampeded to the parking lot and headed down into the town of Hood River perched on the edge of the Columbia Gorge. They were going to hit the Doghouse Inn, the smokejumper bar they’d introduced him to during training and try to pick up some windsurfers. It was a great dive, one of the best he’d ever been in, but he totally wasn’t in the mood.
So he stood there and watched the gravel fly as battered pickups and over-powered muscle cars ripped out of the parking lot. He didn’t know what Krista drove, but he stood there until the parking lot quieted and the first birds were daring to call out tentatively, testing the abrupt silence after the noontime mayhem.
He’d missed her again. Well, following her to the Doghouse was just going to place him in the same unmanageable crowd.
“Shit!” he muttered softly to himself, the calling bird, and anyone else who was listening.
He spun on his heel and walked smack into her. Krista had come up not two feet behind him wearing running shoes, worn jeans, and a stretched t-shirt that proclaimed, “Wildland firefighters do it in the wild.”
“Goddamn it!” he stumbled back a step, then another. “How in the hell do you keep sneaking up on me?” And why was he yelling at the woman he’d just spent the entire flight trying to figure
He was smiling in his sleep.
Laura had definitely done something strange to him.
Chapter 5
They’d left the Deerness Fire shortly after dawn. From fire to airport by helo then DC-3 back to base.
Evan had brooded on Akbar’s advice for the entire flight back and come to only one conclusion—he’d been a total chicken shit. No wonder he was feeling so pissed at the world; he wasn’t being honest.
Fix that now, soldier. But circumstance didn’t lend him any opportunity.
After landing on the grass-strip runway at the MHA base, they unloaded several tons of crap. Then everyone pitched in to clean, organize, repack chutes, and reset all of their gear into the speed racks. The base might be set up in an old, rundown boys’ camp with a grass runway down the middle, but the gear was top flight and was always maintained in perfect condition first, no matter how tired they were.
Evan passed Krista half a hundred times, but she was always going the other way, or one of them was loaded down.
His frustration was climbing with each passage. The only way he was going to be able to fix the problem as he’d promised Akbar was to get Krista alone and apologize properly. And that just wasn’t happening.
Then everyone hit the showers.
It was coming up noon by the time he was clean.
The guys got him to go back in to scrub off a missed spot on his back several times before he caught on that they were just messing with him. Damn it! He was even reacting like a rookie.
They got a good laugh and he felt even stupider than he already did.
In the Green Berets, SFG was supposed to stand for Special Forces Group, not for being such a Stupid Fucking Goon that you fell for every stupid ass…
He took a deep breath. Green Berets were the guys they sent to build peace in the villages and to build relationships to support the counter-insurgency; he’d been one of the very best at it. His ODA had ferreted out more terrorists than anyone except maybe Delta Force because of how smoothly they worked with the Afghan civilians.
And here he was wound up like an idiot…rookie!
He deserved the goddamn name.
Mark Henderson, the MHA Incident Commander, declared the rest of the day off. No fire calls until tomorrow. After fourteen days on fire, it wasn’t very generous, but based on the cheers, the crews were psyched anyway. Everyone except for him. And he knew that was only because his mood sucked at the moment.
They stampeded to the parking lot and headed down into the town of Hood River perched on the edge of the Columbia Gorge. They were going to hit the Doghouse Inn, the smokejumper bar they’d introduced him to during training and try to pick up some windsurfers. It was a great dive, one of the best he’d ever been in, but he totally wasn’t in the mood.
So he stood there and watched the gravel fly as battered pickups and over-powered muscle cars ripped out of the parking lot. He didn’t know what Krista drove, but he stood there until the parking lot quieted and the first birds were daring to call out tentatively, testing the abrupt silence after the noontime mayhem.
He’d missed her again. Well, following her to the Doghouse was just going to place him in the same unmanageable crowd.
“Shit!” he muttered softly to himself, the calling bird, and anyone else who was listening.
He spun on his heel and walked smack into her. Krista had come up not two feet behind him wearing running shoes, worn jeans, and a stretched t-shirt that proclaimed, “Wildland firefighters do it in the wild.”
“Goddamn it!” he stumbled back a step, then another. “How in the hell do you keep sneaking up on me?” And why was he yelling at the woman he’d just spent the entire flight trying to figure
Similar Books
