Page 9 of The Smokejumper’s Lady (Praise Me Like Fire #1)

Ryan

The rotors are already spinning when I sling my gear over my shoulder and jog toward the bird.

I don’t look back. I can’t.

If I do, I might do something stupid, like chase that goddamn SUV down and rip Clea away from the people who just tried to bury her spirit under their polished shoes and pristine family legacy.

Her parents.

Jesus.

I grit my teeth as I climb into the chopper, strapping in like it’s second nature, even though my mind is a million miles away.

The captain is barking orders, but all I hear is the way Clea’s soft voice cracked when she told her parents that she loves what she does.

That she isn’t going back to the firm. That she isn’t giving up the life she’s carved for herself, no matter how hard they try to force her into a cage made of expectations and inheritance.

And they didn’t even hear her.

Not really.

They didn’t see her the way I did, standing in the smoke and fear and fucking chaos, guiding people through the dark, never flinching.

She was brave. Steady. Brilliant. That girl has more grit in her little finger than most of my team put together, and they just tried to strip it from her with one conversation and a ride home.

My hands fist at my knees as the chopper lifts off, banking toward the fire line.

She told me her family was controlling. That she’s never felt free. I just didn’t realize how bad it is until I saw it for myself.

She was trying so hard to keep it together…but I saw it. That look in her eyes when they shut her down, when they dismissed everything that makes her who she is.

She looked lost.

Like she was about to break.

And I just let her go.

But I had to. There wasn’t time. The moment happened so fast. Dispatch called, the SUV rolled in, and before I could even tell her I’d find her, she was walking away like someone ripped the sun out of the sky.

I drag a hand over my jaw, scowling at the wind whipping through the open door.

Fuck.

She’s not just some fling. This wasn’t just some adrenaline-fueled heat-of-the-moment thing.

Clea matters.

Somehow, in just one day, she’s got me feeling like I’ve never felt for any other woman.

And that…that’s a goddamn problem. Because I’ve made it a point my whole life to keep everyone at arm’s length. I’m the grump. The loner. I’m that guy no one wants to mess with because he’s a growly bastard who never smiles and doesn’t give a shit about small talk.

But then she showed up. Bright-eyed and sharp-tongued. With that firecracker laugh and those smart-ass comebacks and the way she looks at me like I’m not just some moody asshole, but a man…a man worth touching, worth kissing, worth staying the night with.

And just like that, I fell.

I didn’t get to tell her any of that.

I didn’t get to say how fucking proud I am of her for standing up to them, even if her voice shook. I didn’t get to promise her that she can do this, that she isn’t alone anymore.

But I will.

As soon as this jump is over, I’ll find her.

I don’t care if I have to knock on every door from Glacier to Missoula. I don’t care if I have to sit through awkward dinners with her trust-fund parents, or throw fists at any bastard who tries to shut her down again. She belongs in that park, out in the trees, living wild and free and untamed.

And I belong wherever the hell she is.

The burn site comes into view, smoke curling into the sky like the world is still holding its breath. The closer we get, the quieter it gets in the chopper.

That’s how you know it’s bad.

No jokes. No banter. No nervous laughter to chase away the tension. Just the sound of blades thudding over the roar of wind, the comms crackling, and the kind of silence that tastes like ash.

Below us, the world’s on fire.

From up here, it doesn’t look real. More like a living thing, sprawling and snapping, eating through forest and mountain like it’s starving. The smoke is thick, curling high and wide, turning the sky into a bruised orange blur.

Someone mutters through the headset, “One for the books.”

Yeah. No shit.

This one’s the monster.

Fires like this don’t just scorch…they incinerate. Melt steel, vaporize flesh. One bad turn of the wind, and you’re cooked from a football field away. These kinds of blazes don’t negotiate. They swallow.

But we live for it.

Every single one of us.

Smoke jumpers are a different breed. Adrenaline junkies, the lot of us. We want the challenge. Want the risk. Want to beat the unbeatable.

And normally? I’d be right there with them. Normally my only goal is to save lives, my little brother’s voice whispering in my ear, telling me to save just one more person. One more.

If I’m being honest, I normally don’t care whether I make it out alive.

But everything is different now. I have someone to live for.

I check my rig, even though I already checked it twice. Can’t help it. Can’t stop the twist in my gut that says this jump’s different.

The light turns green, and we go.

I launch out into the sky like I’ve done a hundred times before. No hesitation, just that perfect second of free fall where the world goes still and silent and right.

But suddenly—

The wind shifts. Hard.

I jerk midair, my chute catching rougher than expected, whipping me to the side. The updraft is hotter than it should be. That means the fire’s moving faster than the satellite estimates guessed.

That means we’re fucked.

I grit my teeth and steer. It’s tighter than we expected, less clear ground, more embers already eating through the brush. The smoke’s curling in unnatural ways, like it’s being sucked into some unseen vortex.

When I hit the ground, it’s not graceful. It never is in a drop zone like this. The landing knocks the breath out of me, my knees taking most of the impact as I roll and rip the chute away.

“Clear!” I shout, but my voice gets swallowed in the crackle and roar of the inferno.

The heat hits like a goddamn freight train.

Not the usual sear—this is baking. This is oven-hot, right through the gear, sweat pouring down my back before I can even get my bearings.

“Regroup at the mark!” I hear Burke yell over the radio.

I scan for the others. Matt is pulling gear off his back, his face pale even through the soot. Elias is coughing already, the mask not doing much in air this thick.

Every one of us looks the same—tense. Eyes wide. Breathing heavy.

Flames explode through the treetops not fifty yards away. We haven’t even fully regrouped, and already the perimeter’s shrinking. Fast. This fire’s not creeping, it’s racing. Enclosing. Devouring.

Normally I’d be first in line to get at that fire, jumping right into danger with a grin on my face. And my body still knows what to do—following orders, supporting my team, doing what we have to do to save who we can.

But for the first time in ten years, I don’t feel like I have to be the one who takes the most risks, saves the most lives. I’ve already saved the most important person—Clea. She’s alive, out there somewhere, unaware of what I feel for her.

So I’m not dying today.

No matter how bad this blaze gets, how close we cut it, how hot it burns, I’m walking out of this fire.

For her.