Page 5 of Hemlock Firestorm (Black Timber Peak Hotshots #3)

FOUR

JO

I spot my cargo box and I run to it. The gear we need to fight the fire would be inside. Pain lances through my shoulder, white-hot and vicious. I bite back a groan, tasting blood where I've chewed through my lip. Fucking tree beat the absolute snot out of me.

I roll my shoulder experimentally and nearly black out from the pain. Definitely dislocated.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Just what I need when we're racing against time and fire.

"You need to sit back down." Cole's deep voice rumbles from behind me, a command wrapped in concern that sets my teeth on edge. "We have to evacuate and get you medical attention. "

I whirl to face him, ignoring the way the sudden movement makes the world tilt dangerously. My right hand clenches into a fist, nails biting deep into my palm. "Like hell we do. I've got a job to finish."

His green eyes narrow as he takes in my defiant stance. There's a flash of something —respect, maybe— before it's buried under stern professionalism. "You're injured. Protocol dictates-"

"I know what the damn protocol is," I snarl, cutting him off.

The words taste like ash in my mouth. Probably was literal ash.

Protocol. As if a rulebook written by pencil-pushers who've never stared down a wall of flame could dictate our actions here.

"I also know that if we don't get that firebreak in place, half the valley's going up in flames.

Now are you gonna help me pop this shoulder back in, or do I have to do it myself? "

We’ve all had emergency medical training. It was part of becoming a firefighter, then a Hotshot, then eventually a smokejumper. It was just like any soldier going into combat needed to know how to help one another, we did too.

For a moment, I think he's going to argue. His jaw clenches so tight I can almost hear his teeth grinding. I can practically see the gears turning as he weighs protocol against practicality, duty against common sense.

Part of me, a small, traitorous part I thought I'd buried years ago, wants him to overrule me. To be the voice of reason when I'm too stubborn to back down. But a larger part, the part forged in flame and loss, silently dares him to try and stop me.

Finally, he sighs, the sound heavy with resignation and something that might be grudging admiration. "Fine. But I'm doing it under protest."

"Noted," I snap, relief and triumph warring in my chest. "Now get over here and take my wrist."

He hesitates, concern flickering across his face. "You sure about this? It's gonna hurt like hell."

I roll my eyes, tamping down the flutter in my stomach at his obvious worry.

It already hurts like hell. I don't need his concern.

I don't need anyone's concern. "Not my first rodeo, Whitlock. It’s happened before. We don’t have time.

" I cross my forearm in front of me. "It’s posterior.

Take my wrist and move it up my chest. Just do it already. "

His looks at me surprised. Cole’s hands are surprisingly gentle as he grasps my left forearm.

I force myself to relax, knowing tensing up will only make it worse.

Still, I can't quite suppress a shiver at his touch.

It's been so long since anyone's handled me with such care. I’d spent so much time absorbed in my career I really hadn’t let myself have any romantic relationships where I'd allow anyone this close.

With the exception of a one-night stand here and there.

I tell myself it's just the adrenaline making my skin hypersensitive.

"On three," he says, his voice low and steady. "One..."

The bastard yanks before he hits two. There's a sickening pop as my shoulder slides back into place, and for a second the world goes white with pain and then sweet, sweet relief.

"Son of a bitch!" I snarl when I can breathe again, glaring daggers at him. "What happened to three?"

He shrugs, utterly unrepentant. "You tensed up when I said 'one.' Figured it was better to get it over with."

I hate that he's right. Hate even more that some small part of me is impressed by his decisiveness. "Next time, a little warning would be nice."

"Next time?" One eyebrow rises, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Planning on making a habit of this?"

"Occupational hazard." I rotate my arm, grimacing at the lingering ache. It'll hurt like a bitch later, but at least I've got full range of motion back. "Now let's get moving. We've wasted enough time already."

My hands shake horribly as I dig through my pack, and I clench my fists in frustration. Damn adrenaline crash. Or maybe it's a leftover reaction to Cole's proximity. Either way, I need to get my head in the game.

I can feel Cole watching me, his gaze heavy on the back of my head. When I glance up, his expression is unreadable, green eyes intense in a way that makes my stomach flip. I bare my teeth in something approximating a smile, all bravado and sharp edges. "Take a picture, it'll last longer."

He ignores the jab and then goes all business as he checks our coordinates on his GPS. The sudden shift in his demeanor shouldn't sting, but it does. "Base camp's about five miles northeast. If we push it, we can make it there in a couple hours."

"We're not going to base camp." I zip up my pack with more force than necessary, the words coming out clipped and hard. "I told you; we've got a firebreak to cut."

Cole's eyes flash, a storm brewing behind that professional mask. "And I told you, that's not happening. You're injured, we're low on supplies, and that fire's moving too fast. We need to get to safety and wait for backup."

"There won't be anything left to save if we wait for backup!

" The words explode out of me, raw and desperate.

I remember the gut-wrenching sensation of seeing my home reduced to a pile of ash and foundation.

Nothing left. Nothing to save. Not again.

Never again. "Look, I know the risks. But I also know fire behavior.

We've got a window of opportunity here, and if we don't take it, people are going to lose everything. "

He steps closer, looming over me. Probably trying to intimidate me into backing down. Fat chance of that working. I lift my chin, meeting his glare head-on. I've stared down scarier men than him without flinching. Like hell I'll back down from him.

"You don't think I know what's at stake?" he growls, frustration evident in every line of his body. "I was doing this job when you were just a pimpled teenager, Hadley. I know exactly what we're up against."

The dismissal in his tone sets my blood boiling. I take a step forward, eliminating the space between us. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize your years of pushing papers behind a desk still made you an expert on active fire zones. "

His eyes narrow dangerously. "Watch it, Hadley. You're going to get burned."

I snort, a very unladylike sound. "Good thing I'm used to the heat then," I snap back. "Or have you forgotten what it's like to actually fight fires instead of just watching them from below?"

Cole's jaw clenches so tight I'm surprised I don't hear his teeth crack. "You think this is a game? That you can just cowgirl your way through this because you've got something to prove?"

I bristle further. "The only thing I'm trying to prove is that we can potentially save homes and lives if we act now," I snarl, jabbing a finger into his chest. "But I guess that's not in your precious protocol, is it?"

"We're not abandoning anything," he cuts me off, voice rising to match mine. His hand wraps around my wrist tightly, not quite painful but definitely a warning. "We're regrouping. There's a reason we work in teams, Jo."

"Yeah, no shit. There’s also a reason smokejumpers are dropped first. You apparently need a reminder.

I have a job to do. I have to slow this fire so that your guys can have time to get up here and take it from there.

If we don’t…" I growl in frustration. "If I don’t, the fire will move too fast for your team to stop it in time. "

"You really think the two of us can cut a firebreak big enough to make a difference at this point?"

I yank my right arm free, ignoring the way my skin tingles where he touched me.

I was sent into this alone because they knew if there was a chance over here, I could get it done.

With or without Cole’s help. "We've lost time but now there are four arms instead of two.

We can if we actually try instead of running away with our tails between our legs! "

"It's not running, it's tactical retreat," Cole argues, exasperation clear in his voice. "But I wouldn't expect you to understand the difference, given your tendency to leap without looking."

Yeah, so what? I was told to abort but it had been too late. Whatever. Had I jumped a second earlier, it would have had the same outcome before being told to abort anyway. Rage at his low blow makes my fists clench and the urge to hurt him back nips at me.

"Better than being too afraid to jump at all," I seethe between my teeth. I grimace internally at my mouth getting away with me. I know my barb hit hard and was an even lower blow referencing his quitting smokejumping, but I’m so pissed off I can’t care right now.

I knew Cole’s jump partner died years back.

Everyone knew because of the small community of Hotshots.

Rick’s death was a huge loss to everyone.

I hadn’t yet met him but he was very well liked and the pain rippled through the whole community.

I heard Cole had quit due to an injury, but I had my suspicions.

"What's the matter, Whitlock? Worried you can't keep up with a pimpled teenager?" Prick. Really hot, irritating, prick.

His eyes flash dangerously. "I can keep up just fine. The question is, can you follow my orders for once in your damn life?"

"No. You might outrank me, but you’re not my Jump Commander and this isn’t Hotshot training. So, back the fuck off, Cole."