Wildfire Smokejumper Trilogy

Chapter 4-3

This was not the Mace Tyler that Tim had always known. Sure, she was still far too sure that she was right—which she usually was. There’d never been any question where the brains of the family had landed.

Of both their families.

But she lived in a picture postcard house, which didn’t sound like her at all, and was presently leaning down into his truck with her butt facing him. Her jeans were worn almost to holes and were so soft that they traced every curve. The outline of where the multi-tool lived was a white imprint on the worn denim. Her position emphasized things that Stephen would beat the crap out of him for noticing if he were still around.

Mace the girl from childhood had been replaced by Macy Tyler the stunning woman. Mace, no—Macy had changed. Not that he’d ever say her proper name out loud or she’d know for sure something strange was going on between his “tall ears” where, she never failed to remark “he occasionally resorted to vain attempts at creating a cognitive process.”

Tim tried to look somewhere else, but ended up facing the dog who was clearly wondering what his problem was. When he turned, Baxter went for the nose ram again and Tim was barely fast enough to get a blocking hand up. Knowing Macy, she’d probably trained the dog to do just that.

With an abrupt ratcheting sound, the seat slid back and thunked against the last stop. There was the sharp clunk as it locked into place.

“Oh my god! You’re a savior, Tyler.”

She stood up with that smarmy grin on her face.

He wrapped her in a quick hug.

She went stiff as a spruce tree.

He backed off and mumbled a soft, “Sorry.”

Her face was unreadable in the moment before she brushed him aside to escape from where he’d inadvertently trapped her between the SUV and the open door.

“I owe you, Mace.”

“You don’t owe me squat,” she sounded pissed as a balked wildfire as she tromped back to the porch and picked up her hot cocoa. She stood with her back to him. Not that he was enjoying the view or anything.

“Okay, fine,” he needed something light to defuse whatever was going on. “My legs owe you though. They were on the verge of staging a rebellion and quitting the service after three plane flights and then that front seat.”

“Great! If I ever need your legs, I’ll give them a call. Now go back wherever you came from.”

Tim leaned back against the truck, kept half an eye on Baxter, and the other one-and-a-half on Macy Tyler.

She snapped her fingers and Baxter raced to her side. She gathered up her hot chocolate mug and they went inside with a slam of the screen door.

Tim knew what he would do…if it was anyone other than Macy. Go up and knock. Say something sweet and smooth and funny like, “I have another problem that needs fixing. There’s this kid sister of my best friend who hates me for reasons unknown…” Well, not the best ploy, but he could always come up with something; he did best when it was on the fly.

Except this was Macy.

He’d obviously hurt her and hurt her badly by not being around since Stephen enlisted and didn’t come back.

Storming the fortress wasn’t going to work.

He climbed back into the rental and headed down to French Pete’s for breakfast. It would take some thinking, but he had to find a way to make it up to her.