Wildfire Smokejumper Trilogy

Chapter 4-2

Macy tried to wave back, she really did. But one hand held her mug and the other was convulsively clenched deep in Baxter’s fur.

Tim stuffed his hands in his pockets and moseyed up the walkway.

Baxter let out a low growl. It was just his “I don’t know you” noise, but it was enough to stop Tim a half dozen paces away. The man was absolutely not supposed to look so good, and so familiar. He’d been her first memory, sitting on the floor beside her, teaching her how to stack building blocks. She’d had a crush on him since…she was born—for all the good it had done her. Well, she could at least be civilized.

“Hey, Tim.”

“Hey yourself. That still hot chocolate or do you drink grown up drinks now?”

She looked down at the mug and felt like she was twelve, “Hot chocolate.”

“With or without?” he grinned down at her.

“With, of course,” and she tried not to feel like she was six. “Who in their right mind would drink hot chocolate without the little marshmallows?” Other than Tim Harada. She tried to make it sound fierce but the sentence didn’t really lend itself to that very well.

He moved up to the start of the porch steps and squatted down until he was almost eye to eye with Baxter then held out his knuckles.

“Watch it, he’s fierce.”

Baxter sniffed his hand and then licked it.

“Yep,” Tim agreed far too casually. “As fierce as Old Jake,” the prior family mutt who had also turned into a total mush whenever Tim came around.

Baxter had so hated Billy that she’d come close to finding him a new home before the wedding. That hadn’t happened.

Big clue there.

Oh, please don’t let Tim have heard about that.

“Looks nice,” Tim nodded to the house. “You do the work yourself?”

“Yes. Why?” she hadn’t meant to snap at him, but this sentence picked up the heat she’d been missing earlier.

“Looks well done, Mace. That’s why. When did you acquire the patience to do decent trim work and painting?”

“You’ve been gone a while, Tim.”

And his face shifted as if she’d just hauled off and punched him in the gut. It lost color and the easy full-of-himself smile was gone as if it had never been.

“What?”

Tim was staying focused on scratching Baxter’s head. The dog was stretching out his neck for more of it, the traitor. He dragged her hand, which was still anchored in the dog’s ruff, right under Tim’s.

He didn’t jerk back like she wanted to.

Instead he rested his hand over hers deep in Baxter’s fur and looked up at her with those forest dark eyes of his.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been…” he stalled, looked up at the sky as if hunting for what he’d meant to say, “…around more. You know. Since…Stephen.” Then he squeezed her hand a final time and withdrew it.

Baxter whined when Tim rose back to his feet. The couple steps up the porch were not enough to make up for Tim’s height and he was once again looking down at her.

“If you…need anything. Just let me know.”

He scuffed a boot on her gravel walkway.

“Well, I should be going,” he nodded to her, brushed his fingertips over Baxter’s nose, and turned to head back to his truck.

She gaped at him. Men weren’t clueless; they were incomprehensible.

He was trying to fold himself back into his rental when she finally shook off the paralysis. She jerked to her feet, splashing hot cocoa on her hand which made her curse, and released her hold on Baxter.

He jumped off the steps and bounded down to Tim. When Tim turned to pet him again, Baxter moved right in to sniff, jamming that big snout of his right up between Tim’s legs. Baxter was barely tall enough, but he connected.

With a whoosh and a pinching together of his legs, Tim stumbled back against the SUV and clipped the back of his head on the door frame.

Baxter thought that was very entertaining and jumped up to place two husky-sized paws on Tim’s thighs, pinning him half in—half out of the vehicle.

Macy set her hot cocoa down on the porch, wiped her hand on her jeans, and moved up behind Baxter, but made no effort to call him off. She wanted to lay into Timothy Harada. Shout what an i***t he was. Tell him...things she’d never told anyone. She needed a different tack.

“You know, these seats are adjustable,” it was in the full forward position and even she wouldn’t be able to fit her five-ten frame into the tiny space.

Tim was making a poor attempt to rub the back of his head with one hand and fend off Baxter trying to crawl up and lick his face with the other.

It was odd, Baxter didn’t generally like strangers.

“Not this one,” he managed to shove Baxter down. If Tim had thought to say “Sit,” Baxter would have obeyed immediately. But like most of the writers, the Haradas were cat people. “It’s broken, but this was the last decent car on the rental lot.”

She snapped her fingers and Baxter immediately dropped to his butt. She shoved Tim aside and looked under the seat. She worked the release lever a few times and spotted the problem. She pulled her multi-tool out of her back pocket.