She had a nasty feeling that he didnât just look at her, but that he saw her. How had he known to ask that one question last night? Her one and only weak spot, and it was the first thing heâd arrowed in on. Okay, one of two spots, but she couldnât even bear to name the other.
Subject change. Time for a subject change.
âHow long until you fly one?â She focused back on the stack of plastic cases in the back of the truck.
âCouple hours.â He didnât move to start. Carly could feel him standing behind her and a little to the side. Could feel those dark eyes watching her. She didnât need to turn to see him clearly. Her mindâs eye had captured him the way it captured the terrain of every fire and almost never captured a guy.
Tall and lean. Fit. Damned fit, as youâd expect from a former smokie, all nicely accented in his midnight blue T-shirt and worn jeans. He wore a smokejumperâs heavy boots; they all did. On her feet they looked heavy and clunky. On him, they just made him appear strong, powerful despite the limp. Clearly a sore subject. Well, sheâd proven yesterday that she had her own sore spots.
She liked that heâd let her help and that he hadnât used it as an invitation to push at her. Or to chat her up. Or brush against her. Or⦠Sheâd had enough guys see her as a target that it was a pleasure not to be treated like one.
âYou need a hand with the rest of it?â She turned to find that indeed he had been staring at her. But there was no guilty turn away. No abrupt shift of the eyes upward. Heâd been looking at her profile, not her butt, with no downward drift of eyes now that she faced him. He simply looked at her as if considering the question.
Was it part of some passive-aggressive trick heâd worked out to woo the ladies? No, she decided after waiting a beat. It felt clear and honest. Which simply made it all the more powerful.
Well, her first dating rule of no rookies didnât apply, not if he used to jump fire. Her second rule of never dating a smokie usually completed her protection, but in Steveâs case it was null and void because while he had been a smokejumper, his limp made it clear he wouldnât be, at least not this summer.
Sheâd need to come up with a third rule, and come up with it soon, because she had no defenses against nice guys.
âNothing hard. Iâm okay if you need to tackle something else. Appreciate your help on the antenna and catcher. Those are a pain to do on your own.â
Again, heâd made it her option. Clearly not turning something into make-work to keep her close, but not closing the door either. Leaving it up to her about what to do. Leaving it for her to decide if TJ was full of it about Steveâs attraction to her.
Sheâd just decided to stay and help when she spotted the Beech Baron turning final in the landing pattern for the runway. Rick. She still had to find out why Rick was no longer ICA and who this Henderson guy was. SOAR or not, why the hell was he ICA on fires?
âUh, I need to catch up with him.â She waved at the small twin-engine settling to a perfect landing on the grass strip.
Disappointment clouded Steveâs features but he covered it quickly. Which was sweet of him on both counts.
âWell, your help is welcome, anytime.â
She turned and headed off. A quick glance back showed that he was still watching her, and that crazy smile had slid sideways across his face. He stood a little hipshot, favoring his left leg. His near-black hair just long enough to be tousled by the morning breeze. And those dark eyes watching her. Not her butt, like most men. Watching her.
Carly did her best to turn her look into a glare.
Steve appeared unfazed. âYou make a picture, angel. A damn fine picture.â
Angel? Sure. Whatever. She turned and walked to the line where Rick was taxiing the Baron into place.
Angel.
The way he
Subject change. Time for a subject change.
âHow long until you fly one?â She focused back on the stack of plastic cases in the back of the truck.
âCouple hours.â He didnât move to start. Carly could feel him standing behind her and a little to the side. Could feel those dark eyes watching her. She didnât need to turn to see him clearly. Her mindâs eye had captured him the way it captured the terrain of every fire and almost never captured a guy.
Tall and lean. Fit. Damned fit, as youâd expect from a former smokie, all nicely accented in his midnight blue T-shirt and worn jeans. He wore a smokejumperâs heavy boots; they all did. On her feet they looked heavy and clunky. On him, they just made him appear strong, powerful despite the limp. Clearly a sore subject. Well, sheâd proven yesterday that she had her own sore spots.
She liked that heâd let her help and that he hadnât used it as an invitation to push at her. Or to chat her up. Or brush against her. Or⦠Sheâd had enough guys see her as a target that it was a pleasure not to be treated like one.
âYou need a hand with the rest of it?â She turned to find that indeed he had been staring at her. But there was no guilty turn away. No abrupt shift of the eyes upward. Heâd been looking at her profile, not her butt, with no downward drift of eyes now that she faced him. He simply looked at her as if considering the question.
Was it part of some passive-aggressive trick heâd worked out to woo the ladies? No, she decided after waiting a beat. It felt clear and honest. Which simply made it all the more powerful.
Well, her first dating rule of no rookies didnât apply, not if he used to jump fire. Her second rule of never dating a smokie usually completed her protection, but in Steveâs case it was null and void because while he had been a smokejumper, his limp made it clear he wouldnât be, at least not this summer.
Sheâd need to come up with a third rule, and come up with it soon, because she had no defenses against nice guys.
âNothing hard. Iâm okay if you need to tackle something else. Appreciate your help on the antenna and catcher. Those are a pain to do on your own.â
Again, heâd made it her option. Clearly not turning something into make-work to keep her close, but not closing the door either. Leaving it up to her about what to do. Leaving it for her to decide if TJ was full of it about Steveâs attraction to her.
Sheâd just decided to stay and help when she spotted the Beech Baron turning final in the landing pattern for the runway. Rick. She still had to find out why Rick was no longer ICA and who this Henderson guy was. SOAR or not, why the hell was he ICA on fires?
âUh, I need to catch up with him.â She waved at the small twin-engine settling to a perfect landing on the grass strip.
Disappointment clouded Steveâs features but he covered it quickly. Which was sweet of him on both counts.
âWell, your help is welcome, anytime.â
She turned and headed off. A quick glance back showed that he was still watching her, and that crazy smile had slid sideways across his face. He stood a little hipshot, favoring his left leg. His near-black hair just long enough to be tousled by the morning breeze. And those dark eyes watching her. Not her butt, like most men. Watching her.
Carly did her best to turn her look into a glare.
Steve appeared unfazed. âYou make a picture, angel. A damn fine picture.â
Angel? Sure. Whatever. She turned and walked to the line where Rick was taxiing the Baron into place.
Angel.
The way he
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