Big Sky Baby. Judy Duarte

      She wanted to slap the smirk from his face, but crossed her arms instead. “I need to talk to you.”

      “Sure,” he said, stepping aside. “But I’ve only got a few minutes. I just got a call from Reed down at the station. The wind changed, and some of us are being sent in to help fight the fire again. We’re heading out in less than an hour.”

      Jilly nodded, then made her way into the classic bachelor’s pad—leather sofa, fully stocked bar, state-of-the-art stereo system, surround sound. A dimmer switch on all the lights.

      Like Jeff had said during one of their telephone conversations when she told him about how nice Cain’s place was, “That’s quite an impressive setup in a rented apartment. He’s a player, Jilly. Watch out.”

      Jilly had clicked her tongue and waved him off. “Give the guy a break, will you? He’s not the same kid you remember from school. He’s a fireman for goodness’ sake.”

      But Jeff had been right—as usual. Why hadn’t she figured it out sooner? Before her life came tumbling down around her.

      “Did you come to apologize?” Cain asked.

      Of all the…

      Her earlier apprehension and case of nerves flew by the wayside as righteous indignation took their place. “For what? For trusting you? For thinking you could commit to one woman for the duration of a four-month relationship?”

      He shook his head and shot her a wry grin. “If you think long and hard, you’ll realize I never made you any promises, babe.”

      She had to admit he hadn’t, not really. And she tried to remember how sweet he’d been in the early part of their relationship, how he’d poured her a glass of wine, turned on the soft sound of jazz, sat her on a bar stool that faced the kitchen so she could watch him prepare a romantic dinner for two.

      He was an incredible cook—much better than she was—and she’d looked forward to each meal they shared. And on those nights they hadn’t spent together, he’d called her to say good-night.

      But it had all been an act, a facade. He hadn’t cared about her, not in the right way.

      “Listen, Cain, I’ll make this quick, but I can’t make it easy. I’m pregnant.”

      His dark brow furrowed momentarily, then a slow smile broadened. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

      “I’m four months pregnant,” she said, assuming he would count and figure it out.

      He crossed his arms, the lighthearted smile turning dry. “Like I said, who’s the lucky guy?”

      As though having a mind of its own, her hand lashed out and slapped his face. The sound reverberated in the room, and the contact stung her palm.

      He rubbed a reddened cheek. “I hope you’re not going to try and blame a pregnancy on me. If you’ll remember, we always used condoms. I’m not the kind of guy to take stupid chances.”

      Tears welled up in Jilly’s eyes. “I wasn’t even going to tell you about it.”

      “Then why did you?” Cain leaned against the armrest of the sofa. “I’m not the marrying kind, Jilly. And I’m not about to be strapped with a kid and wife. You, of all people, should have figured that out.”

      “Believe me, I thought long and hard about telling you. But this baby is yours, as much as I rue that fact. And I thought you should know.”

      “So, now I know.” He raked a hand through his hair, then shook his head. “Hell, Jilly. I need some time to think about things. And talk to an attorney, I guess.”

      “Do whatever you need to do,” she said, suddenly sorry she’d listened to Jeff’s advice. She could have saved herself a ton of humiliation by keeping her secret. “I’m not happy about this, either. I’m going to owe the poor child a ton of apologies, since he or she is getting the short end of the stick in the father department.”

      Undaunted by her slam, he merely shrugged. “I’m going to ask for a paternity test.”

      “Whatever.” She turned on her heel and strode for the door, eager to escape the man she should never have gotten involved with in the first place.

      Before she could turn the knob, he caught her arm and pulled her around to face him.

      His usually cocky stance slumped and a bit of remorse softened his expression. “Listen, Jilly. I’m sorry about being a jerk, but you’re going to have to give me some time to think things through.”

      She could certainly understand his need to think things through, and she tried to understand his shock and frustration. But that didn’t make him any less of a jerk. “The news didn’t sit well with me, either.”

      “Don’t get your hopes up, Jilly. I’m not going to offer marriage.”

      Did he think that she wanted to marry him? That marriage to him would solve all her problems?

      She raised her chin, mustering all the bravado she could find. “Don’t worry about me being disappointed, Cain. Being married to a guy like you would be an awful penance to pay for past mistakes.”

      She just hoped his involvement in her child’s future wouldn’t be worse.

      Jeff and his crew climbed from the plane and dispersed on the temporary landing field after another day of dousing the flames that continued to threaten Custer National Forest.

      Exhausted and tired of sucking smoke and ash into his lungs, Jeff took one last look at the C-130 transport plane that had been converted to a tanker. At twenty-four, he was pretty damn young to be flying one of the big birds, and he knew it. But not many guys his age could boast of his extensive experience.

      The U.S. Forestry Service had been surprised at the cockpit proficiency he’d garnered in his youth, but they quickly put him to use as a pilot for MAFFS when he’d been hired.

      Jeff had always loved planes and flying, and on his fifteenth birthday, his uncle Stratton took him to the airfield and paid for his first ride in a biplane. It had been the best gift he’d ever had and had merely whetted his appetite for more flights, more time in the air.

      It wasn’t every teenager who could afford his own flying lessons in a multitude of different planes, nor every kid who had the good fortune of meeting a guy like Hank Ragsdale at an air show in Billings.

      Hank had taken young Jeff under his wing and introduced him to other members of the Commemorative Air Force, a host of airmen who flew old World War II planes. Jeff had earned his pilot’s license at the age of sixteen, and from then on out, there was no stopping him—not with the money in the hefty trust fund that his mother had left him.

      Jeff had been certified in more planes than he could count, thanks to Hank and his buddies.

      “Forsythe,” Jim Anderson called from the makeshift command post. “How’d it go today?”

      “Not bad. But we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.” Jeff lifted the bill of his hat and raked a hand through his hair. It had been a hell of a long day already. “Are we making any progress out near Rocky Point?”

      “I’m afraid not.” Jim furrowed his brow. “In fact, a couple of firemen from Rumor sent to assist us are missing. We’re going to send a Huey out to search for them now.”

      Jeff’s first concern was for his cousin, Reed Kingsley, the Rumor Fire Chief. “Who’s out there?”

      “Harry Willett and Cain Kincaid. They were having radio trouble earlier, so I’m not sure what’s going on.”

      Cain.

      Jeff’s heart dropped to his gut. He might want to pound the guy senseless, but he didn’t want anything—other than a good and well-deserved beating—to happen to the father of Jilly’s baby. “Who’s going to look for them?”

      Jim