Page 2 of The Smokejumper’s Lady (Praise Me Like Fire #1)

Ryan

“You keep lookin’ at your phone like she’s gonna text you back, man,” I say, popping the cap off a bottle of Gatorade with my teeth.

Matt groans from across the table in the common room. “She is gonna text me back. She’s just busy.”

“Busy ghostin’ your clingy ass,” I mutter, leaning back in my chair. “You really oughta stop fallin’ for chicks who wouldn’t know a fire shelter from a handbag.”

“Not all of us want to die alone, Lewis,” he fires back. “Some of us like…what’s that thing? Human connection?”

I snort. “Human connection’s overrated. Hot showers, cold beers, and a quiet bed. That’s all I need.”

“Spoken like a man who’s been single too long.”

I’m about to reply with something crude about his last failed situationship when the alert blares over the speakers.

“Immediate dispatch. Rapid spread reported in Glacier National Park. All available units prepare for drop.”

I’m on my feet before the second sentence finishes.

The room explodes into motion, boots slamming into lockers, gear bags slung over shoulders. No time for bullshit now. This is what we’re here for.

“Glacier again?” Matt says, pulling his flight suit up. “That place is cursed this season.”

I zip my own suit, cinch my straps. “Let’s go bless it with some sweat and shovel work.”

We load into the jump plane within minutes. The flight crew doesn’t waste time—no chatter, no prep talk. We’ve done this a hundred times before.

Still, I always get the same coil of adrenaline low in my gut. The second the plane lifts off, my world narrows down to the job. The hum of the engine, the pressurized calm of the cabin, the sharp scent of jet fuel and pine smoke already hanging in the air.

“ETA five minutes,” the crew chief calls out.

I close my eyes. I always give myself one minute, before each job, to let the smell of smoke bring me back to the one fire I couldn’t beat. The one person I couldn’t save.

The reason I do this in the first place.

Then I let my body go still. And I let my mind lock in.

I’m ready.

We drop low over the ridge, and the smoke is already rising in thick, angry columns. Red flames snake through the tree line like they’ve got a purpose, like they’re hunting something.

“Conditions are nasty,” the pilot says over comms. “We’ve got gusting wind from the west and dry fuel all through the basin. Go in hot.”

Hot’s an understatement. This fire’s pissed off.

My chute is tight. My axe is strapped. I step up to the door and glance at the smoke curling in the sky. I brace myself, and without hesitation, I jump in.

The second I hit the ground, it’s chaos.

Wind gusts hard from the south, fanning the flames into a frenzy.

The trees scream as they burn, snapping and cracking like bones under pressure.

Smoke curls into the sky in thick black ribbons.

I barely have time to register it before I’m running, every part of me instinctively shifting into mission mode.

It’s always like this whenever there’s a fire. The switch flips and I become muscle, grit, and instinct.

We fan out, cutting a containment line where we can, but my radio crackles with something that makes my blood run cold.

“Command reports civilian presence near the north creek. Four total. Repeat—four civilians unaccounted for. Possible entrapment. Nearest team reroute immediately.”

My pulse surges. I grab the mic. “Copy that. On it.”

Matt throws me a knowing look. “You going solo, daredevil?”

“Have to,” I say, already moving.

“No unnecessary risks!” he calls after me. “I want you back alive!”

I flip him off as I run toward danger. Truth is, I don’t hesitate when civilians are involved. Never have. And Matt knows this.

That’s what brought me here in the first place.

I was eighteen when my childhood home caught fire, an old two-story near Flathead. A grass fire turned wildfire in minutes. My mom screamed until her voice cracked. My little brother never made it out. The firefighters arrived too late. Too damn late.

I remember standing barefoot in the gravel, shirtless and blackened, watching it burn while they hosed down the ruins. One of them put a hand on my shoulder, but it was too late for comfort.

I joined the local department that fall. Been chasing fires ever since. Not because I’m brave—hell, I’m not sure I believe in bravery anymore. I do this because I can’t let anyone else burn.

I was supposed to protect him, but I missed that chance. So now I have to save as many lives as I can. It’s my atonement. Every life I save, I hope the burden of my guilt will be a little lighter. But the truth is, it’s just as heavy as it was ten years ago.

I crest the ridge, lungs tight from smoke, and spot the cave tucked just behind the creek. It’s barely visible through the haze, but there’s movement. I can see shadows.

I charge toward it, ducking low. “Park service!” I shout. “Anyone in there?”

I’m greeted by silence. My heart drops to the pit of my stomach. Could they be hurt? Is there—

“Here! We’re here!”

I close my eyes in relief, muttering a soft curse under my breath. Then I step inside. She’s the first person I see, and for a second the world tilts.

The guide…

She’s crouched down, shielding a little girl with her body. Two other adults huddle just behind her. But she’s all I can see.

Within seconds, everything about her is etched in my memory…

Her dark hair spills out of a loose ponytail, like some exotic ink, and her eyes flash gold even in the dark. She’s scraped up and sweat-slicked, but her posture is tight, controlled. She’s scared. But she’s holding it together.

Damn.

My chest tightens, but not in any familiar way. This isn’t just adrenaline. It’s something else, something animal and sudden. And I don’t like it.

Focus, Lewis . The world is literally burning around you.

“Everyone okay?” I ask, keeping my voice firm.

She stands, gently peeling the girl off her. “We’re fine for now, but the fire’s coming fast.”

She’s taller than I expected, maybe five-seven. Lean and strong, probably from trekking these trails. Her gorgeous amber eyes meet mine. Not a flinch. Not even a flicker of helplessness.

I feel it again—that strange tug low in my chest.

What the hell is that?

“I’m Ryan Lewis. Smoke jumper. We’ve got evac coming, but we need to move. Stick close and do exactly what I say.”

She nods, no questions, no hesitation.

Good. I don’t have time to drag anyone out.

As they file behind me, I position her in the middle, close enough to reach if she stumbles. I tell myself it’s tactical. Logical. Safer.

But I already know it’s not just that.

As we move, I cast a glance over my shoulder and she’s right there, amber eyes sharp, jaw set. Brave.

I’m impressed by her.

And that scares me more than the damn fire.