Page 6 of Hemlock Firestorm (Black Timber Peak Hotshots #3)

He stares at me for a long moment, and I half expect him to throw me over his shoulder like some crazy caveman and drag me through the woods to safety. Why does the thought make me so freaking angry and turned-on at the same time? I shake my head. Now is not the time.

The air crackled with tension, his voice a low growl.

"We're going, Hadley," he snarls, his hand reaching for my arm.

"You're not going home a burnt pile of fucking bones.

" His words were a threat, a promise something more.

Shit. Maybe he is planning on tossing me over his shoulder.

I stepped back, my heart hammering against my ribs.

His eyes, usually a calm green, are wild, a storm brewing beneath the surface.

I sense the simmering rage, the frustration that threatens to boil over. Determination.

"Oh no, you don't," I say, my voice firm, my gaze unwavering.

"I was deployed first. That means my boots hit the ground first. I'm the one in charge.

You know damn well how Smokejumpers operate.

We play shit fast and loose on the ground, unlike Hotshots.

You did once upon a time too, or have you forgotten?

You should know the rules. The one deployed first is the one in charge. That's me."

He laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "The rule is: first boots on the ground makes you the one in charge," he counters, stepping closer, his face inches from mine. The scent of his soap is distracting. "My boots hit first." His smile is almost predatory.

My breath hitches. Why were men so infuriating? I wanted to scream, to lash out, to tear him apart. But I wouldn't. I wouldn't let him win. My eyes flicker down to his full lips, a fleeting moment of desire, then back up to his eyes. A slow smile curved my lips.

"But," I whisper, leaning close, my voice barely a breath against his ear, "you're not a smokejumper anymore. You’re. Disqualified."

I'm dimly aware that I'm trembling, whether from rage, misplaced arousal, or bone-deep exhaustion, I'm not sure. Hell, maybe all three.

Cole's nostrils flare, and for a second I think he might actually shake me. "You're out of line, Hadley."

"And you're out of your depth," I retort, standing my ground. My voice goes low and calm. "So. either help me do my job or get the hell out of my way."

For a split second, understanding flashes across his face. I see my own ghosts reflected in his eyes, the weight of past failures and lives lost. Then his expression hardens, shuttering closed so fast it gives me whiplash. "No. It's too risky. We're heading for base camp, end of discussion."

Like hell it is. I open my mouth to argue further, but he's already turning away, reaching for the satellite phone clipped to his belt to try again. The dismissal stings more than it should.

"I'm calling this in," he says, not even bothering to look at me. "Maybe we can get a chopper out here to evac us."

I snort, bitter laughter bubbling up in my chest. "Good luck with that. You already know the canopy's too thick for a clean extraction, let alone a signal to radio out."

He ignores me, fiddling with the dials. All he gets is static. I watch the tension ratchet up his spine with each failed attempt, a perverse sense of satisfaction at being right warring with genuine concern.

"Told you," I mutter, unable to keep the smug note out of my voice.

Cole's jaw clenches as he clips the useless radio back to his belt. He pulls out a flare gun instead, and sudden panic floods my system.

"Don't!" I lunge forward without thinking, grabbing his wrist before he can fire. The contact sends a jolt through me, like touching a live wire. "Are you trying to get people killed?" I shriek.

He jerks away from my touch like I've burned him, and I try to ignore the pang of hurt that lances through me. It shouldn’t hurt but it did. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Use your brain, Whitlock," I snap, fear making my words sharper than intended. Mr. By-the-Book wasn’t thinking straight.

"You really think the team can get to us out here without putting themselves at risk?

All you'll do is pull resources away from where they're actually needed and most effective. "

For a long moment, we glare at each other.

I can see the wheels turning in his head as he processes my words, weighing them against his own experience and training.

The air between us crackles with tension, and I'm suddenly, acutely aware of how close we're standing.

Close enough to see the flecks of gold in his green eyes, to count each of his eyelashes. Close enough to-

No. Focus, Hadley.

Finally, he lowers the flare gun. "Alright," he says grudgingly, a massive exasperated sigh leaving him. "You've made your point. But we still need to get out of here."

I shake my head, relief making me lightheaded.

Or maybe that's just the smoke inhalation.

"We need to complete the mission. We know fire behavior better than any of the crews on this mountain.

We've got a small window where we can get ahead of this thing and cut it off at the pass.

If we don't take it, that fire's going to jump the ridge and take out half the valley. "

I hear planes overhead and know they are dumping fire retardant down in big pink clouds.

He studies me for a long moment, his green eyes boring into mine like he's trying to see inside my skull. I meet his gaze steadily, silently willing him to understand. To trust me, even if he doesn't agree.

"You're sure about this?" he asks finally, his voice low and intense.

I nod, not breaking eye contact. "I stake my life on it. Both our lives. I don’t take that lightly even if you think I do." My stupid voice cracks but I clear my throat.

Another beat of silence stretches between us, heavy with unspoken words and the weight of lives in the balance. Then he sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. "Alright. We’ll do it your way. But the second things start going sideways, we’ll do it mine. Deal?"

"Deal." I try to ignore the relief that floods through me, the way my knees go weak now that the adrenaline's wearing off. Focus on the mission, Hadley. You can celebrate getting through Cole’s thick friggin’ skull later.

I yank open the Cargo box and see my firebox.

Inside there was a chainsaw, pump and hose, fuel, some water, a helmet, and food.

We do one final gear check before heading out.

I situate my helmet onto my head. My Smokejumper helmet is no doubt cooked now, wherever that landed when the tree mauled me on the way down.

I struggle with a stuck zipper on my pack, muttering curses under my breath.

Before I can stop him, Cole steps in to help, his calloused fingers brushing against mine as he works the zipper free.

I freeze, my skin tingling where he touched me .

What the hell? Get it together, Hadley. You're not some blushing teenager with her first crush.

To cover my reaction, I launch into a detailed rundown of the wind patterns and how they'll affect fire behavior. Cole listens with half an ear as we start moving, his eyes scanning our surroundings for potential threats.

I try to focus on the mission ahead, on the lives depending on us. But a traitorous part of my mind keeps circling back to the feeling of Cole's hands on mine, the intensity in his eyes when he looked at me.

This is dangerous , a voice in the back of my head whispers. Caring leads to distraction. Distraction leads to mistakes. And out here, mistakes get people killed.

I shake off the thoughts, steeling myself for the task ahead. I can deal with whatever this is, later. Right now, we've got a fire to fight.