The Eleventh Hour. Wendy Etherington

courage, a community pulling together. It could be a real uplifting piece.”

      “Tears are always good sellers.”

      “Ah, Mac, you’re all heart.”

      “I’m all business, Laine. You know that. We have that in common.”

      While she considered herself a professional, she certainly hoped she never reached the jaded bad-news-sells-better-than-good status that Mac had.

      “You’ll get the best,” she said.

      “I want daily updates. E-mail me what you’ve got. If you can come up with a real action shot, maybe we’ll talk about the cover.”

      A big fat bonus came with the cover shot. That would come in handy. Maybe she could pull together enough funds to send Cat back to school, as she’d once dreamed of doing.

      “Not too much sissified human-interest crap,” Mac went on.

      Since feel-good, human-interest pictures had always been her specialty, Laine had to swallow that blow to her pride. “I’ll try to restrain myself.”

      “I should be sending one of my guys to cover this, not the new girl.”

      Nothing like the added pressure of having a sexist for an editor. “But they don’t have a connection with the smoke jumpers. Or an in with the chief in charge of the operation. I do.”

      Thank you, Aunt Jen. Provided Laine cleared her shoots with him and supplied the forestry service with copies of her photos for training purposes, the chief had agreed to sign releases for the magazine and get her close to the fire.

      “Hmmph.”

      “I know the people in this town, remember? They’re a close-knit group. They’re not going to let just anybody wander around taking their picture.”

      Of course, close to the people and close to the fire were two entirely different propositions, but Laine had little choice. She’d taken this job not just for money, but for new challenges. She’d decided she couldn’t bear photographing yet another rose show or “garden of the month,” such as the layouts she’d done for Texas Living. It was time she proved to Mac—and herself—that she was ready for a new test in her career.

      “I’m the best person for this assignment,” she added.

      “Yeah, sure.” Mac shuffled through the papers scattered across his desk. “Then what are ya standin’ here for?”

      STEVE KIMBALL SHIFTED the heavy supply pack onto his shoulder as he climbed into the forestry service transport truck. He’d spent two exhausting days digging a fire line, cutting down trees and clearing brush, trying to deprive the raging flames of fuel. He was dirty, frustrated and exhausted. The men around him didn’t look much better. Faces black with soot, eyes downcast and solemn.

      Though it had been a long time since he’d been part of a smoke jumper team, he knew they were usually energized by the flight, parachuting through the heat and smoke-choked sky, the feeling that they were making progress blocking the spread of a fire that couldn’t be fought in ordinary ways.

      But the cockiness and exhilaration hadn’t come for Steve. He supposed he shouldn’t have expected it. He was in the last place he wanted to be, for the worst reason in the world.

      He’d buried one of his closest friends a week ago. The crew he was now part of had lost one of their best.

      “Well, this sucks,” Josh Burke commented as he slumped on the bench seat and laid his head back against the dark green canvas surrounding the truck bed.

      Of course, he wasn’t just talking about the wildfire. Almost five thousand acres of beautiful northern California forestland had burned so far, with the flames creeping closer to civilization by the hour. If they didn’t get some rain soon, they would have to start evacuating the small community of Fairfax, the town where Josh grew up and Steve had lived during the three years he’d been a full-time smoke jumper. If the fire got beyond that, there was nothing standing between the blaze and the more densely populated city of Redding.

      No one mentioned these dire details, or the late Tommy Robbins. They were men after all. Smoke jumpers. Firefighters. Heroes.

      Yeah, right.

      “Let’s send Kimball into town for women,” Cole Taylor said.

      “You don’t buy them at the store,” Steve said, bracing himself as the truck bounced along the country highway. Besides, he didn’t want company. He just wanted the meal that awaited them at base camp, then to collapse on the guest bed in Josh’s apartment.

      Josh raised his head long enough to glance at Steve. “We’d have to clean him up first. Not even Mr. Magic could get a woman looking like that.”

      “Mr. Magic?” one of the younger guys asked.

      Josh lay back again, casually folding his hands across his stomach. “Women love him. Go figure. Personally, I don’t see it.”

      Steve forced himself to smile, relieved to have something to focus on besides death and flames. He could grieve and feel sorry for himself when he was alone later. Right now he had a role to fill—the fun guy, the one who couldn’t wait to charge the deadly fire again, then dance with the girls and hoist a beer to his comrades. “When you’ve got it…”

      Cole leaned forward, his white teeth peeking from behind his sooty face. “So come out with us tonight. You bailed the other night, and we wanna see you in action.”

      “I don’t—”

      “Unless you’re afraid of some competition,” another guy shouted.

      “I got twenty on Kimball,” Cole said.

      “I wouldn’t take that bet,” Josh advised the others. “Especially since it would be so easy for him to hook up with an old flame.”

      Steve cocked his head. Who did he know—

      “Laine Sheehan is in town.”

      His heart stuttered. He and Laine had dated the summer after her college graduation. He, Josh and Tommy had been roommates, living in Fairfax, working for the forestry service as smoke jumpers. Cocky and wild, they’d cut a now-notorious path through the parties and clubs of Redding and one night had run into Laine and some other women from Fairfax.

      The shy, reserved blonde had stopped Steve dead in his tracks.

      Though Josh and Tommy had never really understood his single-minded interest in Laine, Steve had soaked up her gentleness, her golden-brown eyes, her complete adoration of him. At the end of the summer he’d asked her to move in with him, but she couldn’t deal with his dangerous job, and she’d gone back home to Texas.

      At the time, he’d been resentful of her asking him to choose her or his job, but seven years later he supposed he understood her hesitation to get more involved with him. Especially in light of Tommy’s death.

      He’d never completely gotten over her.

      “How do you know she’s here?” he asked Josh, feeling the gazes of the other men on him.

      “Saw her the other night at Suds.”

      Steve raised his eyebrows. “What was Laine doing at Suds?”

      “Drinkin’.”

      “Drink—” The truck jerked to a halt before Steve could finish. Since they had to consult with forestry service officials about the fire’s progress and get their schedule for the following day, he didn’t have a chance to question Josh further until dinner.

      As he dug into baked chicken, macaroni and cheese and green beans, he was grateful for the delicious food. The churches in Fairfax had banded together to feed the dozens of teams fighting the fires, and they’d pulled out all the stops. He didn’t even want to think about any of those people losing their homes and businesses.

      “So why was