Page 1 of Stuck With the Smokejumper

one

Ivy

Something is purring against my face. I turn my head deeper into my pillow. The purring follows. A cold nose presses against my cheek.

“No.”

The nose disappears. I think I've won. Then a paw lands on my shoulder. I pull the blanket higher. The mattress shifts as Dani's cat, Mabel, steps onto my ribs, walks across me, and settles on the other side of my chest. The purring resumes, louder than before.

I crack one eye open. Two green eyes stare back at me.

“You have an actual owner.”

She rubs her face against my chin. I close my eye. A paw presses against my collarbone.

“You also have Tessa.”

The paw taps my nose. I reach blindly for my phone on the nightstand and squint at the screen.

5:03 a.m. On a Saturday. Our first day off after a long week.

“Why me?”

Mabel purrs louder. I know what I'm going to find when I get downstairs. An empty food bowl that has led her to decide starvation is imminent.

I push the blanket back and sit up. Mabel jumps to the floor and trots toward the bedroom door without so much as a backward glance. Of course. She knew I'd cave. I shove my feet into a pair of flip-flops and follow her into the hall.

The Blackpine crew house is quiet and dark. Eight to ten seasonal Forest Service employees usually live here during the summer, and normally someone is awake at almost any hour. But after the week we've had adjusting to the physical demands of the job, even the early risers are taking advantage of Saturday.

Except the cat. And me. Mabel trots several feet ahead, tail held high, confident the human has finally understood her responsibilities.

I make it down the stairs without turning on a light. I've lived here every summer for seven years. I could find the kitchen with my eyes closed. Which is essentially what I'm doing.

As I cross the common room, my foot catches on something. Whatever it is, it’s large. For a half second I'm still walking, still moving forward, like my body hasn't caught up to the fact that the floor is no longer where it's supposed to be. I pitch forward and throw my hands out, grabbing at nothing. The air leaves my lungs in a short, undignified sound. Then I hit something that is not the floor. Something warm. Something that grunts.

Arms close around me on reflex. For one weightless second I have no idea what's happening. Up and down lose all meaning as everything flips, fast. My back hits the floor and a heavy body comes down on top of mine.

It takes several seconds for my half-asleep brain to catch up. I was walking. Now I'm on my back, pinned beneath what feels like several hundred pounds. Somewhere above me, a voice exhales something that isn't quite a word.

“You're crushing me,” I manage to get out.

“Sorry.” The weight disappears but not the person. He's still above me, his arms braced on either side of my shoulders.

My eyes begin to adjust to the pre-dawn light streaming in from the window. As I blink, the shadowed face just inches above mine comes into focus. Oh. Oh no. I know this face.

Beck Hale.

His hair is rumpled from sleep, and his eyes aren't quite open all the way. This is not how I've pictured seeing Beck again. Not that I've pictured it. Much.

Beck is one of my older brother’s best friends. A smokejumper. They met at jumper school. Beck has passed through Timber Creek with my brother for a few days each summer season.

He's unfairly attractive, his jaw rough with a day's stubble. He looks like he walked straight out of a gear catalog and onto my chest. Even in bad light, at a bad angle, with his weight braced above me, some part of my brain is cataloging the details.

Not that it matters. Beck comes through town, hangs around for a few days, and leaves. It's easy to ignore an inconvenient attraction when it has a reliable departure date. At the moment, though, ignoring it is harder. Because his face is less than a foot from mine. And his lower body is still lying on top of me.

A light clicks on at the edge of the room. I turn my head and see Tessa. Her hair is pulled into a crooked knot, and she's wearing flannel pajama pants and an old Blackpine sweatshirt. Her gaze moves from me to Beck. Then to the floor behind us. Then back to me.

“Already calling dibs on the new houseguests?” Tessa questions.