“What I’m trying to say is that your daughter needs stability.”

Rachel continued. “She doesn’t need someone like you coming into her life only to fall out of it because you’ve taken one risk too many or you want to be somewhere else.”

Cole stared at Rachel for a moment without speaking. Then he leaned forward and asked, “Why are you so good for her when you’ve done the same thing—risking your life on some stunt?”

“That stunt saved the lives of a fire crew.” A crew she’d been certain was Cole’s.

“You know as well as I do how lucky you are to be alive.” Cole leaned even closer. “Don’t talk to me about stability, either. I can’t imagine you make it home to cook dinner every night.”

Dear Reader,

Have you ever had an unrequited high school crush? If so, you’ll relate to Rachel Quinlan, who adored Cole Hudson in high school, even though he always treated her like a younger sister. Now that Cole is back in Eden, she has to learn to see him through the eyes of the woman she is today, not the starry-eyed gaze of a teenage girl.

Cole has a lot to learn himself. He’s always been protective of others, and now he wants to enclose Rachel and her family in a bubble, despite the fact that doing so will keep all of them from achieving their dreams.

I love to hear from readers, either through my Web site—www.melindacurtis.com—or regular mail at P.O. Box 150, Denair, CA, 95316. To the many who’ve written about Victoria, yes, her story is coming!

Warm regards,

Melinda Curtis

Back to Eden
Melinda Curtis

www.millsandboon.co.uk

As always, with much love to my family, who continue to

think of pepperoni pizza as fulfilling all major food groups

Special thanks to Susan Floyd and Anna Stewart

for providing inspiration and reality checks

when I needed them most

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

COLE HUDSON WAS NEVER going to love her.

Rachel Quinlan stared at Cole’s parked truck. The engine wasn’t even pinging or popping because it had long since cooled, and the sick sensation caused by unyielding truth settled in her gut.

Oh, Cole liked her well enough and had even taken her out to dinner and to the movies a time or two. If pressed, he might even say he loved her. But it would be clear that he didn’t “love her” love her, not in the happily-ever-after kind of way.

With tear-filled eyes, Rachel stared up at the blue sky blossoming above Eden, Wyoming—a sky that cruelly promised a beautiful October day fit for a wedding—someone else’s wedding.

It wasn’t just that Cole was four years older than Rachel and treated her as if she still hadn’t reached puberty. Heck, she’d filled out a bra three years ago, and Cole hadn’t seemed to notice.

And it wasn’t for lack of bodily contact. He gave Rachel a hug every time he saw her, sweeping her up and twirling her around, his deep laughter rumbling through to her soul.

Rachel sighed. Nope. The problem was Cole Hudson didn’t love her like a man loved a woman. He could never love her that way.

Because he’d lost his heart to Rachel’s older sister, Missy.

Not that this was a news flash. But in that moment, staring at Cole’s truck on Missy’s wedding day, the reality of it all smacked into Rachel harder than it ever had before. She was a silly, daydreaming girl, just like Missy always told her, wasting time staring at the sky and weaving fantasies that would never come true.

Missy didn’t understand Rachel’s dreams, which tended to involve leaving home. Missy was a big homebody. Heck, Missy protested if she had to leave Sweetwater County. She’d refused to fly anywhere since their mother had gone away, claiming to want only to provide a good home for Rachel and their father. And Missy had. Because of her, Rachel could dream. She’d earned her pilot’s license, reveling in the joy of soaring through the sky. Rachel had even helped her father rebuild the engine on his C119 warplane.

It did seem disloyal to have such strong feelings for someone Missy had once so dearly loved, but Missy had let Cole go, which left the door open for Rachel, didn’t it?

Rachel fidgeted. Only if Missy and Cole didn’t still love each other, which didn’t seem to be the case. The impossibility of having Cole love her threatened to overwhelm Rachel as she stared at his truck parked in front of room twenty-two of the Shady Lady Motel on the outskirts of Eden.

The question was: Who was in the motel room with Cole?

Rachel shivered, crossing her arms against her suspicions and the early-morning chill.

In less than four hours, Missy was supposed to be marrying Lyle Whitehall in front of God and everyone at the Chapel in the Valley on Main Street. Lyle was the son of Eden’s shyster mayor, who was also the bank president and holder of the note on the small Quinlan ranch and airstrip. Brian Quinlan ran an air freight business, but he wasn’t very good at making money, and Lyle and his daddy knew it.

Not that Missy didn’t seem to care for Lyle, but Lyle’s affection for Missy was…not what Rachel would call love. Rachel shivered again. This time for a different reason.

If Missy…when Missy married Lyle later today, their worries were supposed to be over. Rachel had no clue as to what would happen to them if Missy didn’t marry Lyle at eleven o’clock, but she’d bet it wouldn’t be very good.

Rachel had known there’d be trouble when Missy had slipped out of her bachelorette party last night, running down the sidewalk to Cole’s waiting truck, blond hair flying behind her. Rachel had been the only one to see her leave. She’d lied to cover Missy’s absence—by that time most of the women were too tipsy to notice the bride had flown the coop anyway—and driven home in Missy’s truck, hoping old Sheriff Tucker wouldn’t catch her driving without a license. After spending a sleepless night waiting for Missy to come home, Rachel had climbed into Missy’s truck again, her heart heavy, and driven back into town at daybreak only to discover what she’d dreaded to find— Cole’s truck parked at the motel. Now she wondered—was there going to be a wedding?

What in the world was Cole doing messing things up like this? Rachel’s dreams, her home, all would be lost. Suddenly filled with an anger demanding an outlet, Rachel ran up to the door and pounded on it.

Before her knuckles hit the warped wood a second time, Cole opened the motel room door and stalked past Rachel without so much as a glance. Missy huddled in the mussed bed, a sheet pulled up to her shoulders and tears streaming down her pale face.

Missy, who had always been Rachel’s rock as well as sister, mother, friend and confidante, and who always looked model perfect, looked as if she was thirty-nine, not nineteen.

Rachel forgot all about her own shattered dreams as she ran across the worn, stained carpet to comfort her sister.

CHAPTER ONE

COLE HUDSON FINISHED sweeping the razor across his chin, rinsed the last of the shaving cream from his face and paused to stare into the sliver of a mirror someone had hung above the outdoor sinks at the Flathead, Montana, base camp.

“We made it through a day without the fire getting the better of us,” Jackson, the supervisor of the wildland firefighters known as the Silver Bend Hot Shots, announced beside him. “I think that calls for a beer, don’t you?”

“And a thick, juicy steak,” Logan seconded, shoving his shaving kit into his pack, pausing to look at the plastic-encased picture of his family dangling from the strap.

Cole hesitated. It had been a tough few weeks in the Flathead Mountains of Montana. The beast had toyed with the crews on a daily basis and finally overrun them with near deadly consequences two days ago. Cole’s best friend, Aiden, better known as Spider in Hot Shot circles, had nearly lost his dad in the flash fire. Spider now sat vigil at a hospital in Missoula waiting for his father’s recovery.

“I heard they were serving steak tonight, too.” Jackson dried his hands with a towel, lingering over his wedding band.

“But not beer,” Logan lamented. Alcohol wasn’t allowed in fire camps. “Let’s get into the chow line before they run out of beef. If I lose any more weight this season, Thea will kill me.”

Cole knew exactly what Logan meant. After six months away from home, the entire crew was pretty lean. Thanks to the demanding physical labor and the fight against dehydration, they didn’t carry much fat.

“Just another day or so,” Cole murmured. They’d served their time, and the Forest Service would have to decide if they would stay on with a day of rest, or if they’d be sent home.

Now that they had air support, this fire just might be brought under control. Although some teams would continue working for another few weeks, others would begin winding down from the long season and go home in time to take their kids trick-or-treating and make plans for the holidays. This year, for the first time in a long time, Cole would be the only one of his friends to go home alone.

Jackson had reunited with his wife. Logan had found someone who’d brought light to his dark side. And now Spider had reconciled with his dad and was about to become a husband and father himself. Spider, who Cole had been certain would never grow up, was eager for his new role.

Poor, lucky sap.

Cole stared into the mirror, noting the wrinkles and the laugh lines emphasized by so many fire seasons under the hot summer sun. It wasn’t that he didn’t have a pretty decent life. With a job he loved and a group of friends he’d trust with his life, Cole had nothing to complain about. He even had someone at home, or at least someone in his heart. A woman he loved.

A woman he’d let go.

“You’re the only one for me,” Missy had whispered to him.

Eleven years ago he’d walked out of Missy Quinlan’s life, hoping she’d follow. Today, after battling a monster of a fire, and about to face three to four months of life alone in a small apartment, something unsettling crept into his thoughts.

It was time.

He was finished waiting for Missy. He had to know if she was happy without him. If so, he’d move on, no regrets. As soon as they were released from the fire, Cole would drive to Eden and find out if he’d been a fool all these years or an incredibly wise man.

“LOOKING FORWARD to the end?” Danny asked as he and Rachel walked through base camp on their way to dinner. He moved with a limp and shoulders stooped with age, but he was still one of the best air tanker pilots around.

“Hey, we’re heading into October and I’m in the black this year. Why would I want it to end?” Rachel joked, even as she wished herself home with her family. It was weird how she absolutely loved to fly and absolutely hated the guilt her job created.

Rachel operated Fire Angels air tanker service. She’d picked up several good contracts from the Forest Service in states to the east of Wyoming over the past few years, purposefully avoiding Idaho and Montana. But at the end of a long season, federal parks were still burning in many of the western states, so all the firefighting resources and personnel were shifting west instead of hunkering down in their homes for the winter.

Danny removed his baseball cap and gestured at the firefighters in front of them with a laugh. “Yeah, these losers are probably more than ready to head home, and we’re itching to get in the air again.”

“We’ve got the promise of tomorrow. That’s more than we’ll have next week.” Although Rachel wanted the fire to be out and the season to be over, she couldn’t help but appreciate any reason to take to the skies. Nothing could compare to the feeling Rachel got from flying.

“Look at these ground pounders,” Danny said, casting his gaze over the men around them. “I’m almost three times the age of most of them, and they’re dragging their asses like little schoolgirls.”

One of the men in front of them shot Danny a deadly look, so Rachel decided to let the conversation drop. The last thing she wanted was a fight drawing attention to herself, just in case she knew someone here.

Trying to appear like the professional she was, Rachel glanced around, but it was impossible to pick out anyone she knew beneath the yellow helmets and layers of grime. A few of the men looked her up and down, then flashed an interested grin Rachel ignored. With a body built for sin—or so Missy used to tell Rachel—and eyes that even Rachel had to admit slanted more provocatively than Missy’s, it was often hard for Rachel to blend in. And she desperately wanted to blend in today.

Rachel knew Cole was, or had been, a Hot Shot in Idaho eleven years ago. It was with mixed feelings that she’d looked at the fire camp roster a few minutes earlier and seen two Idaho crews listed. Eleven years was forever in a Hot Shot lifetime. The work was tough on the body and the mind. Chances were slim that Cole was still on active duty. With his love of horses and his bent for the big thrill, Cole could have turned from the Hot Shots to the rodeo or NASCAR for his adrenaline rush.

Still, Rachel pulled her baseball cap low over her eyes as she fell into the dinner line with the other fliers and ground support teams. The pilots and their crews had been bussed over to base camp from the airstrip twenty miles away with the promise of hot showers and a steak dinner celebrating the containment of the fire.

“Let’s not go looking for trouble.” Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel caught a glimpse of someone with blond hair and broad shoulders. Controlling the flutter in her stomach, she turned away from the man. “Besides, Danny, you know you’ll have cabin fever at first snowfall. Who wants to hurry home to that?” Back to the slow routine at the ranch, back to homework and laundry, back to the limited repertoire of meals she could cook. In the winter, she felt she was twenty-six going on forty—bound to Eden by love and a responsibility she hadn’t asked for.

“That’s why you and I get along, kid. We’re too much alike.” With a playful flick of a gnarled hand, Danny broke her reverie by flipping Rachel’s baseball hat off. There wasn’t much of a breeze, but it was enough to carry it several feet.

Rachel scrambled to pick it up, but someone beat her to it. As the man straightened, Rachel felt her knees go weak and the blood drain from her face. She half turned, as if to run.

“Rachel?”

It was sad, really, how Rachel recognized Cole Hudson’s voice with its gentle Texas twang more than eleven years after she’d last heard him speak, sadder still that her heart raced at the sound. If she’d been frying in the Indian-summer heat of Montana before, she was broiling now. Rachel was suddenly grateful that she hadn’t looked in the mirrors in the portable latrine, because she preferred to hold on to what little dignity she could muster and pretend she looked presentable. At least she could hide behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses.

“You’re such a tomboy, Rachel,” Missy said, braiding Rachel’s hair before she went to school. “Why don’t you try out for cheerleading?”

“The only thing better than flying is fixing an engine,” Rachel said. “Cheerleading is for sissies.”

Missy shook her head. “Boys don’t like tomboys.”

As Rachel turned back to face Cole, she caught a whiff of herself—sweat and a combination of exhaust fumes, slurry and engine oil. Ugh. Cole had always liked girlie girls. Rachel plastered what she hoped resembled a smile on her face, hoping at least her manner would convey what a cool, polished woman she’d become, and not raise suspicion about the secrets she was hiding.

“Hey, Cole. Long time no see.” Good. She sounded unfazed, not like a woman whose heart pounded crazily in her chest.

And then Cole was laughing as he scooped her up and spun her around in a crushing embrace.

The world slowed down, winding back, back, back, to a simpler time when anything was possible and happiness had seemed so easy to attain.

Cole.

Without thinking, Rachel clung tighter, pressed closer, until she heard the buzz of a small Cessna’s engine overhead and reality came crashing back.

What was she doing? “Put me down!” Rachel struggled against Cole’s rock-solid chest and her traitorous emotions. “Dammit, Cole. Put. Me. Down.”

Unceremoniously, his arms released her and Rachel stumbled, but somehow managed to regain her balance.

“This guy buggin’ you, Rachel?” Danny asked, a steadying presence at her side, even though his wiry physique was no match for Cole’s.

“No. He’s an old friend,” Rachel admitted after a moment spent unable to avoid looking at Cole. “Why don’t you get back in line, Danny. I’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

Danny moved slowly toward the chow line with a few dark looks for Cole.

Meanwhile, Cole didn’t say a word. He just stood there watching her with bright blue eyes that she’d hardly dared stare into when she was fifteen, much less now. With a linebacker’s build, a square jaw and short blond hair, he carried his age well, probably better than Rachel. He looked at peace, far different from the worried expression Rachel saw in her own reflection.

“You look like hell. I almost didn’t recognize you,” he said finally, handing her the baseball cap. “What are you doing out here?”

Rachel put the hat back on her head. His words shouldn’t hurt, but his tone implied she had no business being at a wildland fire camp miles from civilization. Rachel looked beyond Cole to the smoke-filled horizon. Things were so much easier in the air than on the ground.

“I’m contracted with the Forest Service, working the fire just like you are.” Making good money to tide her over through the lean winter months.

He frowned, taking in her appearance from head to toe. “Hot Shot?” She wasn’t wearing the Hot Shot garb that Cole was—fire-resistant drab-green slacks and a yellow button-down.

Rachel flicked her thick ponytail over her shoulder with a laugh. “Fight fires on the ground with nothing more than a shovel or a chainsaw? I’m not that foolish. I’ll leave that to you, thank you very much.” And she should leave him standing there with the question she knew he was dying to ask—How’s Missy? But Rachel’s boots seemed to have taken root in the dirt.

The disapproving expression didn’t leave his face. After a moment Cole said, “You’re not flying air tankers, are you?”

“Yep.” Rachel squared her shoulders. She was proud of the fact that she was one of the few female tanker pilots, prouder still that she was owner of her own tanker service. She flew a PB4Y2 Privateer, an airplane that had served in at least two wars. Dumping fire retardant on forty-foot-high flames on runs reminiscent of those barnstorming fighter pilots who’d come before her was Rachel’s idea of heaven. Sometimes she couldn’t believe they paid her to do it.

Cole cursed under his breath, taking Rachel by the arm. “Look, kid—”

Kid? Rachel bristled at the word. In the back of her mind, she’d always believed that Cole would approve of what she was doing, would jump at the chance to make a run with her. She’d never imagined he’d treat her as if she were still fifteen and waiting for her first kiss. Rachel shook off his touch, even though part of her trembled with the contact.

“This isn’t a game out here. You’ve always been a risk taker, but…” Cole lowered his voice and leaned closer. “I’m sure you’ve noticed how air tankers have been dropping from the sky lately.”

He was right. A lot of the old beauties weren’t able to take the stress of diving into deep valleys and pulling up to avoid the trees on the opposite side of the basin. But Rachel had rebuilt the Privateer herself and knew that its engines could withstand tremendous stress.

“Maybe there have been a few older models that haven’t held up after fifty or more years of hard service, but my plane is different.” Rachel resisted the inclination to tell him she was one of the most respected pilot mechanics in the business, something she could thank her father for. “I know what I’m doing, Cole. Why can’t you just wish me well?” Instead of making her feel two inches high, which was how she felt anyway, because she wouldn’t tell him about Jenna. And then there was Missy… Rachel had never liked hiding the truth. Yet, that seemed to be all she did nowadays. And Cole was, in part, to blame.

Rachel looked for Danny. She couldn’t last much longer without spilling her guts or losing the facade that she was a fully functioning adult.

Unexpectedly, Cole reached out and removed her sunglasses. “What happened to your freckles?”

Rachel snatched them back and thrust them into place. “I grew out of them.” If only she’d outgrown her feelings for Cole.

“And Missy?” Cole finally asked the question she’d been dreading. “How is Missy?”

Rachel’s throat closed as she recognized the expression in Cole’s blue eyes—hope. She’d thought she’d loved this man at one time. Later, she’d realized it had been a foolish teenager’s crush. But it was clear that he was still in love with Missy, the woman he’d slept with just hours before her marriage to another man, and then left alone to face the consequences. And then there was what he’d done five years ago.

Rachel was such a sentimental fool.

“She’s dead,” Rachel managed to tell him, holding her heart together by willpower alone as she waited for Cole to say he’d wondered why Missy hadn’t shown up on his doorstep five years ago, waited for him to explain why he’d never called to see what had become of her.

Instead Cole swayed as if he might be felled by the heartbreaking news that Rachel had been living with for what seemed like an eternity.

Rachel frowned.

“I had no idea.” His gaze wandered around, from the latrines to the chow line to the trucks rumbling out of camp. Then his attention swung back to her. “When?”

Rachel tried to hide her confusion. How could Cole have forgotten? He had to have known. “Five years ago.” Although the vibrant spark that had once been Missy had been extinguished on her wedding day and none of Rachel’s efforts had rekindled that flame. “Car accident. We lost her.” Rachel’s voice sounded distant, as if someone else was speaking, someone who hadn’t known Missy and somehow failed her.

Rachel wouldn’t fail Missy now. She wouldn’t tell Cole the secrets pressing at the back of her throat, the most pressing of which was that he’d created a beautiful little girl on the eve of Missy’s wedding to Lyle.

Rachel had made her sister a promise, and she was sticking to it.

“IF YOU LOVED ME, you’d stay with me here in Eden. I can’t leave Rachel.” Missy’s voice had been filled with an aching sadness, as if she’d known her fate was sealed if Cole left her.

What had Cole done?

“Chainsaw, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” Jackson observed as he parked his booted feet near Cole’s.

Cole squinted up into the sunset to find Jackson and Logan regarding him.

After hearing the devastating news, Cole had staggered over to the latrines where he’d tried to decide if he was going to puke or not. Minutes later, with his friends standing in front of him, Cole still wasn’t sure.

Missy was dead.

He wiped a hand over his face. He’d always believed she was The One—the woman he was meant to be with. All she’d had to do was touch him and he’d combusted. She’d given him an ultimatum that last morning he’d seen her, either settle down in Eden or leave her be. There was nothing for him in Eden—no family since his had moved to Idaho, and there sure as hell weren’t any jobs in the dying town. In the heat of anger, he’d told Missy he’d wait for her through her foolish marriage. He’d told Missy he’d wait until she grew up and realized they were destined to be together.

And he had waited, living as if he’d had a marriage vow to honor, knowing she’d come back to him someday.

Only to find out Missy was dead.

“I, uh…” Cole struggled to find the words to tell his friends what had blindsided him. “I just heard that…Missy is dead.”

Without a word they sat on either side of him on the hard-packed Montana earth.

Jackson put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. How did you hear?”

“Her little sister told me a few minutes ago.” Rachel had looked just the same as the picture he carried in his wallet—a stubborn lift to her chin, wisps of long black hair escaping from her ponytail, slender as a reed, wearing cowboy boots, scruffy blue jeans and a T-shirt. If it wasn’t for the way she filled out her T-shirt, she’d have tomboy written all over her.

What Rachel didn’t have written all over her was grief, because she’d had five years to come to terms with her sister’s death. All Cole’s dreams—

“Missy’s sister?” Logan broke into Cole’s thoughts, leaning forward and looking at Jackson, then at Cole. “The little girl who rebuilt your truck engine before she had a license to drive it? The one who beat you in a bareback horse race?”

“Logan.” Jackson held up a hand in Logan’s direction.

“Yeah. She’s a tanker pilot. I should have known she’d end up doing something crazy, especially with Missy gone….” Cole stared down at his boots. Rachel was no longer a little girl. She was a woman who’d never outgrown the daredevil spirit that he’d been sure Missy would temper as they aged. Crap. He still couldn’t believe Missy was long dead. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Maybe after we finish here, we can take a run over to Wyoming and pay our respects,” Jackson suggested softly.

Cole shook his head slowly, in wonder. “You didn’t even know her.”

“No, but we know you, buddy, and even if you’re not ready to talk about it, we’ll be there for you when you are.”

“LAST RUN OF THE DAY,” Rachel said as Danny landed Fire Angel One. They’d done nothing more exciting than drop retardant around the fire all day long. The fire had died down, so that there were no flames raging out of control and no firefighters trapped and in need of rescue. Very ho-hum.

“Last run of the season,” Danny corrected wistfully as he taxied the Privateer to the retardant base.

Despite the shift in winds this afternoon, the dragon appeared to be contained, and they’d been ordered to drop one last load of slurry on the steep eastern slope near the road before refueling and heading home to Wyoming. A season of flying was over.

Rachel sighed. At least she wouldn’t have to see Cole again.

In their passes over the fire, she’d caught glimpses of the crews below, bolstering the last of the fire lines before this beast burned itself out. She couldn’t help but wonder if Cole was one of them, if he looked to the sky as she flew over. How was Cole handling the news about Missy? Rachel had dreaded meeting Cole again. She had so much to blame him for. Even though she’d idolized him all those years ago, Cole Hudson never looked before he leaped, and that had contributed to Missy’s downward spiral and death. After so much time, Rachel had thought he’d shrug, offer his condolences and move on, but he’d appeared shaken.

Beside a shed on the edge of the runway, boots in puddles of red muck, the ground crew stood ready with hoses that would pump another twenty-five hundred gallons of fire-smothering slurry into the belly of the Privateer. Originally a long-range Navy patrol bomber built for World War II, Fire Angel One had been stripped clean to make room for the massive tank that had been riveted within the plane’s belly.

Without waiting for Danny to cut the engines, the ground crew approached, each dragging a hose and looking like aliens from the red planet, because their clothing, hats, goggles, gloves and masks were covered with a sticky glaze of crimson slurry. It would take them only a few minutes to fill the tank to capacity.

“My turn to fly.” Rachel faced the old bomber pilot, raising her voice over the whoosh and splash of slurry pouring into the Privateer. “How much do you want to bet this is the most boring run of the season?”

“I’ll pass on that bet.” Danny turned his cap backward and pushed his sunglasses firmly onto the bridge of his crooked nose. “It’s back to the boob tube for me and engine rebuilds for you.”

“At least I’ve got something to do this winter.” Rachel had an engine to rebuild on an old C119 warplane for a collector in Nevada. Danny would have to wait until spring to pick up work.

Danny laughed, rising to switch seats. “Yeah. Better make this last run stellar, then, kid. Are you up for barnstorming the camp?” Danny was always suggesting risky deeds, probably because as a fighter pilot in Korea and Vietnam, he’d cheated death more than his share of times.

“Are you up for having your pilot’s license revoked?” Rachel groused as she climbed behind the pilot’s controls, wondering why she was so somber. Was it because she’d reawakened her grief over Missy’s death through telling Cole? Or was it that Cole’s shocked reaction wasn’t at all what she’d expected?

The slurry hoses quieted. The tank was sealed back up. With a wave, the men in red retreated to wait for the next plane.

Unaware of Rachel’s mood, Danny grinned, shoving his mirrored glasses on. “Where’s your sense of adventure? Life is meant to be lived. Let’s take to the air, kid!”

“WHO’S READY?” Jackson yelled at the other eighteen Silver Bend Hot Shots packing their gear in base camp.

Doc and O’Reilly, among the youngest of the crew, already had their iPod earphones on and were oblivious to Jackson’s question.

The Silver Bend Hot Shots had been given marching orders. The fire was almost at the mop-up stage. That meant that less-skilled crews with lower hourly rates could be utilized. And since Silver Bend wasn’t a Montana crew, they were among the first to be released and sent home. States took care of their own.

Their duffels were stuffed with dirty clothes and reeked of smoke. They’d been fed and assured their paychecks were in the mail. All that was left to do was to pack up, load up, gas up and head for Idaho. Still, they weren’t in their civvy gear yet. There was always a chance when you were on a fire that you’d be called back into the thick of things. And this fire had created its own weather almost every afternoon since they’d been here, wreaking havoc with predictions and putting lives in danger when the winds whipped flames to dangerous heights.

Even now Cole could feel the wind pick up and change direction.

At the roar of an airplane overhead, Cole looked up. It was one of those antique planes that the Forest Service kept threatening to ground because of performance issues, planes so old they had a high likelihood of crashing. Cole had no way of knowing if it was Rachel or not, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the plane. In some weird way, she was the only thing he had left of Missy. The sisters hadn’t looked alike, and they were as different as milk to wine, but it was a link Cole was reluctant to break now that he’d found Rachel again.

WITH A SIGH Rachel took out her camera and snapped a quick shot of the base camp as they flew overhead. She tucked the camera back into her utility vest pocket. When Rachel got home, she and Jenna would sit together in front of the computer and look at her pictures from the season. This year she’d got some spectacular shots from above of other tankers dumping their payloads on hot targets. Jenna always seemed to enjoy looking at her pictures.

Voices crackled urgently in her headset.

“Did you hear that?” Rachel shouted over the roar of the four prop engines.

“You heard right.” Danny grinned. “Wind’s shifted. There’s a crew that might be trapped if they don’t get help soon. This is no longer a milk run, kid.”

Rachel banked and brought the plane into a new trajectory. They were minutes away from the location—a deep slope in a narrow part of the valley. As approaches went, it would be easy. They’d have to fly as low as they could over the canopy of trees. It was the climb out that was going to be tricky. Not impossible for Danny and Rachel, but it would by no means be a cake walk.

Rachel flew over the drop site once, taking in the fire racing after the fleeing men and women in yellow shirts before losing them in thick plumes of smoke, examining the seamless horizon broken only by a lone pine towering forty feet above the main tree line.

“Not much time,” Rachel noted as she prayed that wasn’t Cole down there running for his life. As Rachel angled around for a final approach, she rejected the feeling of guilt for keeping the truth about Jenna from Cole.

“Don’t need much time if your aim’s good,” Danny said, always fearless.

“We’ve got to watch out for that granddaddy pine as we come out,” Rachel observed, scanning the gauges for any sign of stress in the Privateer. Everything looked normal.

She spared a quick glance at her latest picture of Jenna and Matt. Jenna smiled with the unworried expression of a preteen who hadn’t yet discovered boys. Matt’s grin had been known to melt the hearts of ice-cream store clerks.

Coming out of the turn, Rachel leveled out the plane before pushing it into a steep dive through the thickening smoke. Down, down, down they plummeted toward the flaming treetops. Rachel flew as if she had no fear. Part of her reveled when her stomach dropped at their rapid descent. Part of her worried about Jenna and Matt, orphaned back at home if Rachel ever miscalculated.

She wouldn’t disappoint her kids.

“Slow down. Don’t lose them in the smoke.” The voice of the attack boss, circling high overhead in a small Cessna, crackled through the airwaves. “You’re coming in pretty damn fast.”

“Don’t listen to him. He’s never flown a bird like this in his life,” Danny yelled, leaning forward as if that would help him see better through the smoke. “We need speed. More speed.”

Rachel agreed with Danny. They had to come in fast and slingshot out, even if they were breaking a few safety regulations by flying in near-blind conditions. She gave it more throttle.

The plane shuddered with anticipation. The air seemed thick with the heavy threat of danger, making it hard to breathe. Usually Rachel imagined a young Cole was there at her side on adrenaline-pumping runs like this, egging her on, past the fear and into a zone where she operated on instinct.

She couldn’t find that Cole today, couldn’t bring the image of the object of her teenage affections to mind. But Rachel didn’t let the fear hold her back or keep her from diving into the shrouded air space over the retreating crew, who might be consumed by flame if she didn’t slow the fire and create a path to safety.

Visibility dropped as smoke wrapped around them. Rachel craned her neck as she tried to see out. She had no time to acknowledge the fear that clenched her heart, no time for more than a fleeting thought of home.

Pockets appeared in the smoke, showing her the way, then disappeared and teased just at the edge of her vision. Common sense screamed for her to pull up, get out, but Rachel had a job to do.

She kept her hands steady. There’d be time to let the shakes and the what-ifs take over later.

“Almost there. Don’t let up.” Danny wouldn’t back off either. “And…now!”

With economy of motion, Rachel punched the button on the steering yoke and felt the first three drop doors shudder open. At their rate and angle of descent, the red slurry would fall at a ninety-degree angle. She’d planned this run to catch the front flank of the fire with her first drop, hoping it would slow, if not halt completely, the raging head of the beast.

“Right on target, kid. Hit it again,” Danny cried, peering down at the flaming forest.

Rachel released the final three doors, catching sight of some of the fleeing crew as she did so, hoping this drop would provide a safe escape route for them.

The Privateer was long gone by the time the slurry hit the ground.

The smoke ahead was dense and dark. Visibility dimmed as she entered the plume, then cleared, then dimmed again as Rachel threw the flaps to bank, forcing the plane into a blind move against their momentum, against gravity. The Privateer bucked and groaned in complaint. The cockpit was dim, the air ahead of them impenetrable to the eye.

The attack boss cursed over the airwaves. “Can’t see a damn thing. Where are you, Fire Angel?”

“Hold together, baby,” Rachel murmured, praying for a clear windshield, even if it was only a view of the smoke-filled sky.

“Steady,” Danny cautioned. “You’re doing great.” He’d undoubtedly be crowing when they made it out of here. It was just the kind of adrenaline-pumping last run he’d wanted.

The smoke thinned as the plane climbed, shuddering from the effort.

Then they were bursting out of the smoke into a blinding dose of sunlight toward a thick spire of green. Too close. It was too close!

“The tree! The damn tree!” Danny shouted, as they raced toward the lone pine. It was fifty feet ahead of them and they were flying nearly one hundred miles an hour.

But it was too late to turn. Fire Angel One took the pine head-on about thirty feet from its top. The crack of the tree and the rip of metal was all Rachel heard as the windshield shattered into the cockpit, bringing a barrage of glass, branches, wood and pine cones onto them.

Rachel’s face stung and the air whooshed out of her lungs as something struck her in the rib cage. Impossibly, the plane seemed to float there, as if deciding whether to continue or give up. And then it bucked forward.

“We’re still flying!” Danny cried, as if that were the best news ever. “Three engines running. Hot damn!”

Danny didn’t know how hard Rachel was fighting to keep the plane going or to keep her shit together. Or maybe Danny did know and was just trying to keep her spirits up.

Her ribs were on fire. Something must have hit her when the windshield shattered, because breathing had become agony. But she didn’t dare spare a glance down at herself, because she could barely control the steering yoke, much less reach the other controls hidden beneath piles of green.

The Privateer bobbed and dipped dangerously above the canopy. Rachel didn’t think they could stay in the air much longer. They’d lost an engine on the right side, possibly damaged by debris. The landing strip was too far away, and the only thing between them and the airport was miles and miles of trees.

Something sputtered to her left.

“More thrust!” Danny reached for the thrusters. “Crap,” he yelled as he realized what Rachel already knew. Even if she could reach the control panel, it wouldn’t matter. The thrusters and gauges were covered with chunks of tree, barricaded in as if the old pine, in death, wanted to make sure it didn’t go down alone. Danny tugged at the wood, but a good portion of the trunk lay across the controls.

And pinned Rachel to her seat.

Double crap. Now that Rachel had looked, her hands started to shake.

The noise level decreased as one of the engines on the left died. Something an awful lot like doom swirled in Rachel’s gut. She couldn’t leave Jenna and Matt like this. The corner of their picture peeked out from behind pine needles.

“Fuel?” Rachel shouted as they shot out over the ridge and a new crop of trees waiting to shish kebab them.

Danny tugged frantically at the wood covering the thrusters. “Fuel’s fine, but we need more power. I’ll try restarting the engines.”

“We’re losing altitude,” she said, unsure if Danny heard her.

Danny released a string of curses and dug for the controls Rachel was sure wouldn’t work, her eye momentarily caught again by a corner of the photo still visible on the dash.

What had Rachel done?

Now Cole would never know the truth.

CHAPTER TWO

“DID YOU HEAR THAT?” Cole craned his neck to look up into the smoke-strewn sky.

“It’s just a plane,” Logan answered, busy packing his bags.

Cole shook his head. “It was a crack or a boom or something.”

A small two-seater plane was circling low over a point to the northeast.

“Look at that.” Jackson pointed at the Incident Command tents pitched on the rise above them. “Something’s happening.”

Sure enough, members of the IC team were running out of their individual tents that served as mini-offices tracking fire behavior, weather, personnel and the like, and were heading for the main tent. Just as a pair were about to yank open the door to the IC tent, the camp helicopter pilot burst out and ran toward the makeshift chopper pad at the end of the parking lot.

Something cold and unpleasant gripped Cole, momentarily freezing him in place. He didn’t need to possess Jackson’s near-psychic abilities to guess what had happened. The observation plane, which coordinated air attacks, was circling, flying too low. A plane had gone down.

“Come on.” With one hand, Cole dragged Doc to his feet. The kid had finished medical school in the spring and was about to start his internship. “You and I are getting on that chopper.” They’d be asking for volunteers to go on the rescue, crew members with medical training or rappelling experience, not that Cole had a lot of either.

Hearing Doc’s protests, Jackson moved closer. “Cole, what are you doing?”

“You’ll need your medical kit, Doc.” Cole swung the red bag emblazoned with a big white cross from the ground into Doc’s chest and started towing the slighter man in the direction of the chopper.

“Cole?” Jackson trotted beside him. “Where are you going?”

“A plane went down.” Cole didn’t slow up. He was getting on that bird.

The helicopter pilot was hurrying around the chopper, checking out rotors or flaps or whatever pilots did before they took off. A younger man in coveralls ran to the helicopter. The two men exchanged words and then the younger man hopped into the cockpit. Cole assumed he was the copilot. They wouldn’t allow the rescue team in the cockpit.

Jackson wasn’t giving up. “You think the plane that went down was Missy’s sister’s?”

Cole didn’t think; he knew. Yet it sounded stupid to say it out loud.

“Let me find out what’s going on first.” Jackson had spent the past few days of the fire working with the IC team. “There may not have been a crash. It might not be Missy’s sister.”

“No. By the time you do that, this bird will be gone.”

Jackson ran a few steps ahead and stopped in Cole’s path. “Don’t go running off based on a feeling.”

“Why not? You do it all the time.” Cole gave Jackson his fiercest glare.

Jackson shook his head.

“Look, I wasn’t there for Missy when she died. I’ll be damned if I’m not there for Rachel when she needs me,” Cole said through gritted teeth. “Now, step aside. Me and Doc are getting on that chopper.”

Jackson swore and did step aside. “Let me talk to the pilot. I know him.”

“Just get me on that chopper.”

“THERE!” Cole shouted above the whine of the helicopter rotors. The fuselage of the plane rested precariously on a canopy of trees fifty feet above the ground to their left.

“Holy crap. Will you look at that,” Doc said beside him. “What lucky SOBs.”

Cole could only hope Rachel had been lucky. The nose of the plane was smashed in and the windshield shattered. From this angle, he couldn’t see inside the cockpit. Branches thrust through the windshield. No one flagged them down as they approached.

Not dead. Rachel couldn’t be dead.

The copilot came back to the area where Cole and Doc sat. He snapped a hook attached to his harness to a safety line, then opened the side door.

Wind and the smell of smoke—both wood and fuel—rushed into the cabin as the copilot began prepping the equipment needed to drop someone out of the airplane.

Cole unbuckled his seat belt and stood, grabbing a hand loop for balance and stepping toward the door.

“Sit down,” the copilot commanded with a stern look, yelling over the din.

“I’m going down there.” There was no way anybody was going to keep him from being a part of Rachel’s rescue.

“Of course, you are,” the copilot agreed, still shouting. “But you’ll fall out if you aren’t strapped in. The air up here is choppy. Ever see a man fall eighty feet to the ground?”

Doc looked up at Cole and swore.

“Now, sit back down so you’ll get your chance at being a hero.”

As if emphasizing his point, the helicopter pitched Cole in the direction of the open door.

“I think I’m gonna puke,” Doc moaned as he yanked Cole back.

The copilot laughed. “I always knew you Hot Shots were a bunch of wusses.”

Buckling in next to Doc, Cole glared at his friend. “Hang in there. I need you.”

“You could have taken the camp medic.” Doc closed his eyes. His skin had become a sickly shade of white.

“I chose a doctor instead. Now, quit your griping.”

“Have you rappelled out of a helicopter before?” The copilot shouted at Cole. Who didn’t even blink as he nodded.

Despite his nausea, Doc managed to raise his eyebrows at Cole.

Cole scowled back at him. So what if he’d only rappelled once? So what if he’d rappelled onto solid ground? Rachel was down there hurt, perhaps dying.

Cole recoiled at the thought, leaning back into his seat. The little girl he’d once rescued from a flash flood couldn’t die. She was too stubborn, too full of life.

“Get into this.” The copilot tossed a four-point body harness at Cole’s feet.

When Cole had the harness strapped on tight around him, the copilot hooked a nylon rope to it, fit him with a helmet containing a built-in headset and positioned Cole near the door.

“I’m going to let you down slowly until you get to the wreck. Try not to put your weight on the plane because we don’t know how stable it is. You will not be going inside, copy?”

Cole nodded.

“Once you’re there, let us know if the pilots are salvageable or not.”

“Salvageable?” Damn him. “There will be survivors,” Cole growled.

The copilot looked down on the fuselage. “I hope so, although we’ll have a hell of a time extracting them in anything more than a basic harness. We won’t be able to get a cage down there.”

Cole nodded. He knew what the copilot was saying. If Rachel or her copilot had neck or spine injuries, it would be next to impossible to get them out without increasing their injuries or killing them.

Cole glanced down at the crumpled metal shell that had flown through the sky less than an hour ago. No matter what, he was getting Rachel out of there.

“Ready?” the copilot asked.

Cole gave a tight nod and went to rescue Rachel.

When Cole neared the plane, he found purchase on the roof as he sought to steady his descent. Mistake. The branches beneath the fuselage cracked in protest, the sound nearly stopping Cole’s heart. The plane swayed in the trees, and Cole looked to the forest floor with a start.

It was a long way down. No one would survive that kind of fall.

Cole worked up enough saliva to swallow. He would not send the plane plummeting to the forest floor. He would not be the cause of Rachel’s death.

“Don’t put your weight on it until you absolutely have to,” the copilot chastised him through the radio.

Sweating, Cole tucked his legs in and continued down. With the help of the helicopter, Cole pulled himself forward until he was straddling the nose of the plane, hating to look inside, knowing that he had to look inside. Bearing Cole’s weight, the plane swayed as if it were a playground swing.

Not dead. Not dead. He couldn’t lose both Rachel and Missy.

Cole stared past the debris and shattered remains of the windshield and saw Rachel’s face, looking fragile and white as a sheet. Her sunglasses hung awkwardly off one ear. Blood oozed from her temple, and little cuts crisscrossed the rest of her face, probably from the windshield breaking.

“Rachel, wake up.”

Her eyelids fluttered and she gasped as if in pain.

“She’s alive.” Cole extended one arm through the windshield, but he couldn’t reach her. Too many branches were in the way, one of which—a thick, splintered shaft about eight inches in diameter—seemed to have pinned Rachel to her seat.

“There are supposed to be two,” the helicopter copilot reminded him.

“Can’t see anyone else. The cockpit is covered with branches.” Maybe the other pilot had been thrown out the window. Damn. Not the most pleasant way to go.

“We’re sending down a second harness.”

Cole inched to the edge of the cockpit, but his lifeline prevented him from reaching Rachel. He couldn’t unbuckle her safety restraints from outside the plane.

“Come on, honey. Help me out here. Can you release your harness and scoot forward?”

Rachel didn’t move a muscle. In fact, she seemed to have stopped breathing. Hell! If she needed CPR, he needed to be in there. Now!

Cole unsnapped his lifeline and slid into the cockpit headfirst. The plane groaned as Cole struggled to get his feet beneath him through a thick mess of branches.

“What the hell are you doing? That plane could drop at any moment. Is he crazy?” The helicopter copilot was as shocked as Cole was.

Cole wouldn’t be surprised if Doc did puke this time.

The plane continued to sway and something snapped beneath him. Crap, bad idea. His feet finally found something solid to stand on. He stood between the two seats, knee-high in branches.

“Rachel.” Cole put his gloved hands on her cheeks. “Don’t give up now. We’ve got to get out.”

Her eyes opened a crack. Her lips moved. All Cole caught was, “Danny?”

“Your copilot? I don’t see him.” Cole glanced around again. The other side of the cockpit was covered in limbs. No one could be under there, could they? He recalled the slight, stooped old man he’d seen Rachel with in the chow line last night. A guy that size could be buried beneath all that nature. Cole swore and tried shifting the debris, which only made bad sounds happen as both trees and metal protested his movements.

And yet there was someone under there. Cole touched an arm, fought revulsion at its lifelessness, followed the arm to a wrist and searched for a pulse.

Nothing.

“He’s dead, Rachel. I’m sorry.”

Rachel moaned. “Did he get us back to the landing strip?”

“No. Do you feel the plane moving? We’re sitting in a couple of trees.” Something clattered on the plane. Another harness.

Her eyelids drifted closed again.

“No, no, no. I’ve got to move you.” If only he could be sure she hadn’t injured her spine. “Can you move your neck or your toes?”

“I hurt everywhere.”

Not good. He began yanking off the branches that pinned her to her seat.

“Are you checking in for the night or coming out?” The helicopter copilot snapped.

Pulling away as many branches from Rachel as he could, Cole confirmed, “We’re coming out.” Finally there was just the big branch wedging her in. No wonder she seemed to struggle for each breath.

With one hand on Rachel’s shoulder and one on the branch, Cole pulled the shattered limb away from her ribs.

Whimpering, Rachel slumped forward and then shot back in her seat, her face white.

Shit. He’d practically killed her. And there was blood in her hair. Lots of blood. He released the catch on his harness and yanked it off. “Are you all right?”

“I can wiggle my toes,” Rachel answered with her eyes closed as he unbuckled her seat restraints.

“Good.” As gently as possible, Cole slipped Rachel’s feet into his harness and tugged it up her body. She was in no shape to climb through the windshield. Cole hauled her to her feet, pulling the remaining straps over her arms and clicking the four-point clasp home. She was no help at all.

The plane dropped a foot, sending them sprawling onto the branches covering the copilot. Branches poked Cole everywhere, as he scrambled to get them both standing again.

With rolling eyes Rachel awakened. Then her gaze steadied, caught by something on the control panel.

“You’ll need that,” she gestured toward the debris-covered gauges where a bit of yellow peeked out…a picture.

Without looking at the photo, Cole plucked it from the panel and pocketed it. Anything to get Rachel to move faster.

The plane tilted sideways.

“Get the hell out of there!” the copilot shouted.

JENNA WOULD HAVE GOT to the phone before Pop if she hadn’t been washing dishes.

Aunt Rachel called at the end of every day, and the sun was now setting. Aunt Rachel didn’t fly after dark when she fought fires unless the fire was really bad. It had to be her.

“Hello.” Pop winked at Jenna. He knew it was Aunt Rachel, too. Then his voice got real serious. “This is Mr. Quinlan.”

Not Aunt Rachel. Jenna bit her lip in disappointment and handed Matt a plate to dry. Pop ran the house when Aunt Rachel was gone, which was all the time. Aunt Rachel was never home anymore.

Jenna frowned.

She wanted Aunt Rachel to give up flying her airplane and stay at home. She worried about her aunt. Every October, Aunt Rachel brought back scary pictures and told wild stories about flying that made Jenna want to hug her aunt so tight she’d never go up there again.

Still on the phone, Pop turned his back to Jenna and sank down in a chair really quickly.

Bad news.

Even though she was only ten, Jenna had seen enough bad news to recognize it when it was delivered.

“Where?” Pop stood on his shaky, toothpick legs and scribbled something on a piece of scrap paper on the counter. He couldn’t see very well and wrote letters and numbers bigger than Matt did. Jenna sounded out the big word from where she stood.

Hospital.

Pop looked in the direction of the sink and then away. A big knot tied up Jenna’s stomach.

Not Aunt Rachel.

Jenna’s hands drifted down in the soapy water as she stared out the kitchen window at the blue-and-pink sky. Aunt Rachel meant everything to Jenna.

“Are we done with dishes?” Matt asked, standing on the stool next to her, totally clueless about what was going on.

First she’d lost her mom and now Aunt Rachel. Her family was cursed.

With a sob, Jenna ran out the back door, stopping only to pull on her boots. She was halfway to the hangar when she heard the screen door creak open behind her. Ignoring Pop calling to her, Jenna continued on to the hangar. Only then did she stop. And that was just to stick her soapy fingers in her mouth and whistle.

Once. Twice.

Tears spilled down her cheeks.

Not Aunt Rachel.

God had taken everyone Jenna cared about.

Her breath came in ragged gasps as she tried to whistle a third time, only nothing came out.

Jenna sank to the ground, hugging herself tight.

Even Shadow had left her.

Stupid, stupid horse.

She whistled again. This time, there was an answering whistle, clear and strong above the sound of thundering hooves.

A dark horse stopped nearly on top of Jenna. Jumping up, she grabbed a handful of thick mane, then swung herself onto Shadow’s back and guided her one true friend out across the open prairie at a full gallop.

“YOU SHOULD GET some rest,” Jackson advised Cole, having driven the Silver Bend’s van and crew to the hospital to meet Cole and Doc. They were planning to leave as soon as they heard if Rachel was okay. “You don’t know how long the exam will take.”

“I’ll wait until we see the doctor,” Cole said, stretching his legs out in front of him as he slouched deeper into the waiting room seat.

Doc suspected Rachel had a couple of bruised or broken ribs, as well as a severe concussion. But she was alive, which was a much better fate than her copilot.

“I still can’t believe you took off your harness and crawled into that wreck. I had no idea you were so crazy,” Doc said, reclining across three waiting room chairs.

Jackson frowned, spinning his wedding band. “He’s not that crazy.”

Not anymore. Cole had been wild in his youth, but joining the Hot Shots had made him realize that crazy stunts like that led to early retirement…or death.

“He just lost his mind.” Logan came in with four cups of coffee balanced in his hands. “Even my kids know Cole’s as predictable as a rock.”

“We didn’t think you were coming out,” Doc said almost cheerfully, sitting up and reaching for a coffee. “It was like some action movie watching you click your lifeline on her and grab the second rope just before the plane fell.”

“Rachel was injured.” And in a daze from her head wound. And then… “But she was alert enough to make me grab a picture from the instrument panel.”

“A picture? Of what? Her boyfriend?” Doc perked up.

“It would have to be important,” Logan agreed. “More than just a photo of her faithful dog, Shep.”

“Maybe it was of her copilot, poor bastard,” Jackson said.

His three friends looked at Cole expectantly. What would be so important to Rachel that she’d stop during their escape? He didn’t know, and yet—

Cole pulled the crumpled photo out of his pocket. It was a snapshot of two kids—a little boy and an older girl. It was the image of the girl that sent Cole’s heart pounding. She looked like his sister, Sally, in the fourth or fifth grade. He squinted at the face. No. Not his sister, but the same blue eyes, the same white-blond hair, the same dimpled smile.

Rachel’s daughter? Not unless she’d had a high-school pregnancy with a boy having the same Nordic coloring as Cole’s family. With her dark eyes and hair, Rachel had taken after her father, while Missy had been the spitting image of their blond bombshell mother.

Cole focused again on the glossy picture. The boy was younger, maybe five or six, with dark coloring and chubby cheeks. Cole’s attention turned back to the girl. There was something about the slant of the child’s eyes that was familiar.

Missy’s eyes.

“Someday, we’ll have kids together and live happily ever after.” With one bare toe, Missy sent the porch swing moving and snuggled deeper into Cole’s arms, sliding a hand beneath his waistband.

Cole tried to remember the face of the guy Missy had foolishly wanted to marry. Lyle had been tall with brown hair and eyes.

Something cold and unpleasant stole Cole’s breath. At least part of Missy’s promise had come true.

This was his daughter.

Doc snatched the picture from his fingers. “Hey, it’s just a couple of kids.” His voice was filled with disappointment.

Jackson and Logan crowded in to see for themselves. After a moment, Jackson gave Cole a knowing look.

“Are you waiting for Rachel Quinlan?” A doctor in green scrubs stood in the doorway.

“Is she awake?” Cole asked. Because he needed answers to questions he hadn’t even thought of yet.

RACHEL FLEW LOW through the forest. Branches whipped past her face too quickly for her to fend off. The wind was cold and there was snow on the ground. She was freezing. And scared.

“There’s nothing like soaring far above the earth.” Danny’s voice, distant yet nearby.

Only, they weren’t soaring far above the earth.

A fleeting memory of smoke-filled sky, and then Rachel was plunging into a green darkness with no end. Plunging—

“Rachel.” Cole’s voice this time, stern but comforting in the darkness.

She forced open heavy lids only to squeeze them shut against the bright sunshine.

Someone walked by, shoes squeaking. And voices were everywhere—urgent, loud, whispering, commanding, fearful.

Not sunshine, then. She was inside. So, why was she so cold? Her toes. Her left hand. Her head hurt. A lot. Where was she?

She pried her eyes open, determined to keep them open this time.

“Rachel.” Cole stood beside her looking grim.

She was in a hospital bed surrounded by machines. Scary machines. Tubes ran into her left hand. Curtained partitions surrounded her on three sides.

“Was there…” Her voice was rough. “Was I in an accident?” She tried not to panic, but this didn’t look good. And Rachel couldn’t remember, could barely draw breath herself.

Cole nodded.

“You’re in the emergency room. Do you know this man?” a nurse asked, leaning closer to look deep into Rachel’s eyes with a small flashlight, making Rachel dizzy.

The need to vomit was intense, then faded as the nurse drew back.

“He’s my sister’s boyfriend.” Missy. Where was Missy? She couldn’t see any of the other beds around her. But Cole wouldn’t be with Rachel if Missy was hurt, unless…

Cole’s frown was no help, filled as it was with worry and something like disapproval. Rachel shied away from the thought that Missy was gone. But if something bad had happened, he’d look like that, wouldn’t he? Like the time he’d caught her snitching a bag of M&M’s from Marney’s general store.

“Where’s Missy?” Rachel had to gasp the words out. It felt as if someone were sitting on her right side.

The nurse looked at Cole, who stared down at a small picture in his hand.

“Was I driving to the wedding?” She didn’t have her license yet, but she was a safe driver. Why couldn’t she remember what had happened? What had she done this morning? And the wedding. Missy was getting married today.

Worry threatened to overwhelm her. “Please. Somebody say something.”

Cole didn’t look so good. That’s when Rachel remembered that Missy wasn’t marrying him today. She was marrying Lyle.

“You’ve been in an accident.” The nurse stated the obvious. “A little disorientation is normal. Just try to relax and I’ll get the doctor.” She patted Rachel’s arm before moving away.

“Cole? Is Missy…” Dead? She couldn’t say the word even though she knew with cold certainty that Missy was gone.

Cole’s clothes were filthy. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth to say something, then glanced at the picture in his hand.

The nurse returned with a man wearing green scrubs, a white coat and a stethoscope around his neck. He came to stand on her right side with a friendly smile.

“Miss Quinlan, how are you feeling? I thought it might help to wake up with a familiar face after that crash, but I hear that bump on your head has you a bit disoriented. Concussions can sometimes do that. How long do you think she was out?” He directed the question to Cole.

Crash.

The sharp, staccato images of green branches whipping past returned. Cockpit. She’d been in a cockpit, but the wind had been brutal, and something pressed against her ribs, making it hard to breathe, hard to move, impossible to handle anything other than the stick.

“Keep the nose up!” Danny yelled as they went down.

He hadn’t sounded afraid, even at the end when they’d plowed through the treetops, while Rachel had been certain they were going to die.

She wasn’t fifteen. She hadn’t been in a car accident. She was twenty-six and had been flying over a fire with Danny. People were trapped, and she’d made that pass through the smoke to save them.

“Danny?” she whispered in a half croak.

“He didn’t make it,” Cole said quietly. “He was gone when we got there.”

Rachel didn’t remember. But she knew that Danny would have wanted it that way. Quick. In the air. While saving others.

That didn’t stop Rachel’s eyes from tearing up, or her nose from stinging as she tried not to cry. Danny wouldn’t want her to cry. He’d want her to remember his hair-raising tales about one of the wars he’d served in, or the way he could skim the Privateer mere feet above a lake without popping a drop of sweat. He probably wouldn’t want her to remember how he loved to visit local parks to feed the ducks, or the way he could read Matt a bedtime story with an arsenal of funny voices. But Rachel would remember it all.

Rachel wiped a tear away with her right hand.

“We’re back in the present. Good.” The doctor pulled up a chair. “You’ve been here at St. Patrick’s in Missoula for several hours. I don’t know how much you know about concussions, but it’s an injury that attacks your equilibrium and takes a long time to heal. When those bruised ribs of yours are better, you’ll still have some residual effects from the head wound.”

“So I’ll live to fly again.” Fear, not her aching ribs, kept her lungs from filling with air.

Rachel turned her face away from Cole as more images of the crash threatened to shatter what little calm she had left. She’d faced death. How would she ever enjoy the freedom and beauty of an airplane again?

She had to fly. That’s how she made her living. Yet, for the first time in her life, she didn’t want to take to the air.

Not fly? As quickly as it surfaced, Rachel buried the thought. She was simply having a reaction to being in a cold, sterile hospital. She’d go back home to Eden, to Jenna and Matt, and try to salvage Fire Angels.

Rachel blinked heavily, suddenly worn-out.

“Are you drowsy?” the doctor asked.

“Yes.” She was incredibly sleepy. Now that she knew more about what had happened, it was hard to keep her eyes open.

The doctor patted her hand. “We’ll be taking you to X-ray soon. And you’ll have to bear with us if we wake you up a lot. We don’t want to lose you after such a daring rescue. You have this gentleman to thank for that.” He gestured to Cole.

Cole had rescued her?

Her knight in shining armor.

Rachel sucked in a shuddering breath. She’d thought that’s who Cole was once. She’d since learned that knights in shining armor didn’t exist.

“I need to call home,” she said, blinking back the tears again. She didn’t like hearing how badly she was hurt or how close she’d come to not making it. At least if she talked to Jenna and Matt, she’d be able to pretend everything was okay.

“I called the ranch and talked to your dad,” Cole said, his voice unaccountably cool. “And base camp would have notified the next of kin for your copilot by now.”

Rachel mumbled her thanks, though she knew Danny had no next of kin.

She wanted to call home, wanted to talk to Pop and Matt, wanted to reassure Jenna. Rachel didn’t like the idea of her niece worrying, but she couldn’t press for the call now, not in front of Cole.

She gave in to the exhaustion and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, Cole was gone.

CHAPTER THREE

“THE DOCTOR SAYS you can go home tomorrow.” Cole stood in the doorway of Rachel’s hospital room looking tired. But at least he’d showered, shaved and changed into clean, comfortable clothes, while Rachel had been wrapped for days in the same paper-thin hospital gown, confined to a bed.

Rachel hadn’t seen Cole since she’d woken up in the hospital three days ago. During those days, she’d had to deal with bandages and bedpans, bossy nurses, X-rays and MRIs. She’d even had to listen to the doctor tell her they might have to drill a hole in her skull to relieve the pressure from the swelling around her wound.

It hadn’t come to that, thank God.

She was ready to go home, and a bit irritated that Cole had found out about her release before she had.

“I thought I’d make sure you got home all right,” Cole announced.

No! He’d see right off that Jenna was his. He’d try to take her niece away from her. The pain and discomfort Rachel had been through in the past few days was nothing in comparison to the threat of Cole taking Jenna away.

“That’s very kind of you, but I’ve made other plans.” Like pestering the nurse until she called the bus station for the time of the next bus to Wyoming.

Cole lifted one eyebrow before coming into the room and settling his large frame in the small plastic chair next to her bed. “I went home to Silver Bend with my crew in the van and came back in my own truck just to get you.” He’d always barged right into her life without asking or apologizing.

Frowning created a stab of pain in her head. “You didn’t have to do that.” He’d driven from Montana to Idaho and back just for her? The gesture pleased Rachel, and yet she didn’t want him to do that. How could she turn him down, now?

Easy. Because she had to.

“Cole, I—”

“I insist. I haven’t been back to Eden in years.” He was looking at his hands as if he were uncomfortable with the memory of his last visit to Eden. And why wouldn’t he be? That’s when he’d broken Missy’s heart.

And most likely his own, as well, Rachel realized, feeling an unwanted sympathy for him. On the day she’d died, Missy had left a note saying she was returning to Cole, and that she was leaving the kids in Rachel’s care. Then, on her way to reunite with her lost love, Missy’s truck had plunged into an icy river. And Cole had never even bothered to call. Many of Rachel’s illusions had been shattered that night.

“It hasn’t changed much,” Rachel admitted. “Though most of your old friends have moved away.” Thank God for that. If they’d stayed around, it wouldn’t only have been Missy’s husband, Lyle, who’d realized that Jenna wasn’t his child.

“Sounds like you’re trying to change my mind about going.” Cole gave her a probing glance. How quickly he’d turned from remorseful to suspicious.

Apprehension scurried around her belly. What did Cole have to be suspicious of except the secret Rachel had so ardently guarded all these years?

“Is there some reason you don’t want me to come back to Eden, Rach?”

“No. Not at all.” God, she sounded desperate. With effort she held his gaze. “I appreciate the offer. It’s just that you probably have a million things to do at home, what with fire season over and all.” She raised a hand weakly. “You go on. I’ll be fine on my own.”

“I do have a lot of loose ends to tie up.” His gaze was almost intolerable with its directness. Rachel resisted the urge to squirm. “Starting in Eden.”

Something chilled Rachel’s blood. She couldn’t speak. Her heart began to pound in her chest.

Cole pulled out a bent photograph from his pocket and stared down at it for several seconds of strained silence while Rachel agonized, feeling as if someone had strapped her down so that she couldn’t escape the truth.

“I was wondering…” He turned the photo around so that it was facing her. Matt’s cherubic cheeks and Jenna’s bright smile couldn’t keep Rachel’s skin from feeling clammy or slow the beat of her heart. “…Whose daughter is this?”

Cole’s hard gaze demanded she stop the lie. With silent intensity, he dared her to deny Jenna was his.

Her sister’s words came back to Rachel in a rush: “Don’t tell Cole about Jenna. It’s not as if he wants her. You know how he’s always searching for the next big thrill. Settling down is the last thing on his mind. It would just create one more disappointment for Jenna.”

Don’t tell Cole.

Easy enough to say when Cole wasn’t staring at you as if he already knew the truth. But Missy had been right in one respect. Jenna certainly didn’t need another disappointment. Cole was still a Hot Shot, involved in a profession requiring a nomadic life—the kind of life that tore families apart. His track record with Missy confirmed that.

Cornered, Rachel announced in a weak voice, “She’s my daughter.”

Cole’s jaw dropped. But before he could say anything, the nurse came in to check the tubes and machines connected to Rachel and take her pulse. “You’re upsetting her.” She glared at Cole.

He glared right back. “She’s upsetting me.”

“If this continues, I’ll have to ask you to leave.” She made a note on a chart and then walked away on her squeaky shoes.

“I don’t remember you being such a liar.” Cole glared at Rachel. “The truth,” he demanded. He’d never talked to her with such disdain.

Of course, she’d never lied to him before. When they were kids, she’d worshipped the ground Cole walked on because he was brave and daring and handsome. Only later had she figured out he wasn’t all he seemed.

Rachel swallowed thickly, feeling vulnerable and alone. She’d always had her father and Missy to catch her when she stumbled. Her sockless feet stung with cold under the thin covers as she looked everywhere but at Cole. There was no one to ask for advice or to deflect Cole’s demand.

Don’t tell Cole.

The lie slithered through her thoughts, demanding more lies to keep it alive, souring her stomach until Rachel couldn’t turn away from the facts.

“Let me tell you a bit about the little girl in that picture,” she began, tugging at a snag in the blanket. “She’s been through a lot in her short life. First, she had a father who didn’t want her, or Missy for that matter. Then after Missy died, she only had Pop and me to rely on.” Rachel raised her eyes to his.

“What’s her name?” Cole’s question hung harshly between them.

“Jenna,” Rachel sighed. “What I’m trying to say is that Jenna needs stability. She doesn’t need someone like you coming into her life only to fall out of it because you’ve taken one risk too many or you want to be somewhere else.” Rachel fervently believed this was true. She’d given up her dream of leaving Eden when she’d become guardian of Matt and Jenna. She’d settled into a role she hadn’t asked for with no complaints.

Cole stared at her without speaking. Then he leaned forward and asked, “And you? Why are you so good for her when you’ve done exactly the same thing? Risking your life on some stunt.”

“That stunt saved the lives of a Hot Shot crew.” A crew she’d been certain had been Cole’s. That just went to show what a softhearted dolt Rachel was.

“You know as well as I do how lucky you are to be alive.” Cole leaned even closer. “Don’t talk to me about stability, either. I can’t imagine you make it home to cook dinner every night.”

“You don’t know a thing about me or what my life is like.” But part of her acknowledged the truth in his words. She wasn’t home eight months of the year.

“Let’s call a spade a spade, Rachel. You and I are a lot alike, only I don’t have a family waiting at home for me, wondering if I’m coming home safe.” Something had darkened his eyes, sending a tremor of fear into Rachel’s heart.

She had too much responsibility to shoulder fear, as well. Rachel shook her head slowly, making the room waver.

“You could just as easily have crashed on top of the crew after that crazy dive-bombing run you made,” Cole accused relentlessly.

“But I didn’t. I would have been fine if not for the smoke and that one huge, aberration of a tree.” Rachel reached blindly for the bed controls with one hand, having had enough of lying at a forty-five-degree angle while he towered over her. She needed to be fully upright for this fight.

“The incident commander is considering writing you up for a safety violation.”

Damn it. A violation like that and she’d have one hell of a time getting back into the air-tanker business.

The bed beneath Rachel’s head and back rose at an excruciatingly slow pace, but the dizziness was immediate. She clapped her right hand over her eyes and willed her stomach to settle. “That’s bullshit and you know it. I did what I had to do to save that crew. If anyone’s lost anything from the crash, it’s me…and Danny.” Rachel blinked back the tears. Stubborn old coot. She hadn’t even been able to say goodbye.

“The incident commander mentioned agencies investigating the accident, like the TSB, FAA and NIFC.” He pronounced the acronym for the National Interagency Fire Center as NIF-see. “But that’s not the point. The point is that this little girl is mine and no one saw any need to tell me.”

“Did you want her?” Ignoring her head, along with the stabs of pain in her ribs and her heart, Rachel snapped at him, hating that it had come to this—she and Cole pitted against each other. “You didn’t even love Missy enough to stay in Eden. What would you have done with a child? What would you do with one now?”

Before Cole could answer, the nurse came squeaking into the room. “That’s enough. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Fine,” he growled. “I’ll be back tomorrow to pick her up when she’s released.”

Rachel’s head throbbed and her body was covered in a cold sweat. Ignoring Cole’s continued insistence that he was taking her back to Eden, Rachel drove her point home. “It’s fine to be offended because you didn’t know about Jenna, but remember this—Missy sacrificed everything because she loved you enough to make sure you lived the life you wanted, which didn’t include her or the baby. Are you willing to make as big a sacrifice for a little girl who doesn’t even know you exist?”

“JACKSON?” Having punched a number in his cell phone without much thought, Cole struggled to hold it together, hoping that the roar of his truck’s air conditioner would cover the sound of his ragged breathing. On shaky legs, he’d somehow made it to the hospital parking lot after Rachel had confirmed that Cole was indeed a father.

“Chainsaw?” Jackson paused to tell his wife, “It’s Cole. I’ll be a minute.” A door opened and closed. “What’s up? Did you make it back to Missoula okay?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“How is she?”

“She looks like hell.” Her head was swollen. Her complexion was pale despite her tan, and the smooth skin over her face was marred with tiny cuts.

And she’d lied to him.

Jackson replied with something totally appropriate that Cole instantly forgot.

Instead, he blurted, “The kid is mine. The girl in the picture. She’s my daughter. Mine and Missy’s.” Their child existed, yet Missy was no more. Cole put his head on the steering wheel. “What in the hell do I do now?”

A few days ago he’d been envious of what Jackson, Logan and Spider had—loving wives. But kids…kids needed attention, closets full of stuff…and millions of other things of which Cole was blissfully ignorant. He’d wanted a wife, someone to spoil him with long, slow, passionate kisses and home-cooked meals. What did he get? A kid.

And what was he going to do about his mom? By some cruel twist of fate, Jenna looked incredibly like his sister, Sally, and Cole knew meeting her would send his mother over the edge, because she’d never really recovered from Sally’s death at age ten. Maybe it would have been easier on his mother if Jenna had been a boy. But she wasn’t. All in all, Cole was starting to think he was better off not knowing he had a kid. Could he just not tell his parents?

He swore. Wasn’t that just what Rachel had said?

“You’ll be a good dad. Don’t worry about it.”

A dad? Is that what he wanted? The title implied involvement—nearly impossible from another state—and demanded he come clean with his parents. And that was something he wasn’t sure he could do.

“Who has custody?”

Cole’s careening thoughts screeched to a halt on Jackson’s question. “Rachel seems to,” Cole answered woodenly. At least with Rachel Cole knew his daughter was in good hands, especially if he could convince her to give up firefighting.

“That’s good. You’ve always gotten along with her.”

“Sure. A decade ago we were friends.” That was before he realized everything about his time in Eden was a lie. “Why did she do this to me?” Cole wasn’t sure if he meant Missy keeping Jenna a secret or Rachel telling him about Jenna.

“Why don’t you ask Rachel?”

“I will. Tomorrow.” And all during the drive back to Eden. Like it or not, Rachel was getting a ride home from Cole. Cole hoped that was enough time to get to know more about his daughter and what he should do, and crack the mystery that had been Missy. Somehow, Cole knew that if he didn’t understand Missy better, his heart would never let her go. And the only person with answers was Rachel.

“ARE WE CLOSE?” Matt asked, walking with wobbly steps as he tried to balance the plastic-wrapped flowers Pop had purchased in the gift shop with one chubby hand. His other hand held Pop’s.

Jenna wasn’t sure what to be more worried about—her grandfather falling down and hurting himself or Matt tripping and crushing the flowers. She pressed the bunch of flowers back against Matt’s chest before looking at the numbers on the wall. “The lady said 112. This is 104.”

Jenna didn’t like hospitals. Bad things happened there. She walked next to Pop and Matt with her head down, concentrating on pulling the small wheeled suitcase. Trying to be quiet. Only, it was hard to be quiet in cowboy boots. She wished they could walk faster, but Pop had been wobbly on his feet since his eyes had gotten worse.

“Is this it?” Matt peeked into the next room. He’d just started kindergarten and wasn’t good with numbers yet.

Jenna shook her head. “No, 106.”

Matt ran to the next doorway, almost tripping over his own feet. “Is this it?”

“No.” Sometimes Matt was annoying. Jenna bit her lip to keep from yelling at him.

Pop’s gnarled hand rested on her shoulder with a gentle squeeze. “I’m real proud of you. We couldn’t have made this trip without you, Jenna.”

“I got us lost,” Jenna mumbled, burning with embarrassment.

“Yes,” Pop chuckled. “But then you found us again.”

Matt was running ahead, dragging the flowers on the gray floor as he stuck his head in room after room, calling out, “Is this it, Jenna?”

“Matt, stop,” Jenna hissed, seeing the nurse at the desk ahead of them frown, then stand up. “Wait for us.”

“Can I help you?” The nurse didn’t smile. Jenna could tell by her frown she didn’t really want to help them. The last time Jenna had been in a hospital was when Matt was born. Her mom had been crying. The nurse had pushed her out of the room and warned her to stay put or else.

Matt had stopped in the middle of the hallway, moving the bunch of flowers up and down and around as if he held a toy airplane. Jenna shushed him before he started making engine noises. Any minute now the nurse was going to kick them out.

Pop squeezed Jenna’s shoulder again. “We’re here to see my daughter, Rachel Quinlan. She’s in room 112.”

Jenna held her breath. That nurse was going to open her mouth and…

“Ahh, I was worried you wouldn’t get here in time.” The nurse came around the desk to them.

“In time?” Pop said, frowning in the nurse’s direction.

Jenna knew it. Aunt Rachel was dying.

“THERE SHE IS! Mommy!” Matt ran on stubby legs across the gray linoleum to Rachel’s bed, flinging his arms and a bouquet of flowers over her waist before resting his head on the mattress.

He didn’t land on her with much force, but Rachel’s muscles contracted around her bruised ribs, momentarily sending waves of pain through her chest.

When Rachel could breathe again, she ran a hand over Matt’s dark, silky hair and smiled as best she could through sudden tears at the sight of her father hobbling through the door with one hand on Jenna’s shoulder. She was glad to see them, yet she worried that if Cole came before they left he’d say something Jenna wasn’t ready to hear.

“There’s my girl,” Pop said, without looking at her directly. Since macular degeneration had decreased the clarity in the middle of Pop’s vision, he’d taken to looking at things sideways. “We’re here to take you home.”

“And bring you clean clothes,” Matt added, plucking at her hospital gown. “Looks like someone stole yours.”

“This is what you wear in a hospital. How was your trip?” Rachel lowered her voice to a whisper meant only for Matt. “Did you have any accidents?” He was having a bit of trouble remembering to go to the bathroom in school.

“Nope.” The little guy gave her a thumbs-up sign.

Jenna’s face was pale. She looked thinner than normal and remained rooted in the doorway, gripping the suitcase handle. Unlike Matt, who had the appetite of a teenager, Jenna didn’t think much about food.

Rachel wanted to gather them all close, but knew if she sat up too fast, she’d keel over, scaring the daylights out of them all. She settled for reaching out to Pop. “How did you get here?”

Her dad wasn’t allowed to drive long distances or at night, but he’d figured out how to get their family to Montana from Wyoming. Rachel wished they hadn’t surprised her. She would have preferred to get some of the tubes out of her arms so that she didn’t look like such an invalid.

“We took the bus,” Pop said in a gruff voice, taking Rachel’s hand and holding on tight, his bony fingers still strong despite his age and failing health. “Couldn’t stomach you being here alone. We hoped to be here yesterday.”

With an impish smile, Matt said, “It took Pop forever to find the bus place. Then Jenna read the thing wrong, and we ended up on the wrong bus.” He rolled his eyes.

Ignoring Matt, Jenna moved forward with slow steps, asking in a strained voice, “What happened to your head?”

“I’ve got a big bruise.” With effort, Rachel held her smile in place. She knew she looked scary. She could barely stand to look at herself in the mirror.

“I’ve never had a bruise like that.” Matt peered at her hair.

Rachel prayed he never would.

“It looks like you’re wearing a beanie on your head.” Blue eyes wide, Jenna made a circular motion with her hand around her crown. “Are you going to be like that forever?”

The noise Rachel hoped was a laugh sounded more like a donkey braying. “Of course not.” She wasn’t particularly vain, but she’d asked two nurses and the doctor the same thing.

“What’s the word on the Privateer?” Pop asked. “Can we salvage it?”

Hating to disappoint him, Rachel avoided his gaze. “There’s nothing left to salvage.”

“Did you wreck your plane?” Matt stuck out his lower lip. “Couldn’t you save her?”

“You did save the most important thing on board,” Pop said, squeezing Rachel’s hand. A veteran of many wars and a few crashes, her dad was probably fully aware of what she was going through—the doubts, the fear, the guilt over Danny’s death, the anger that she hadn’t been good enough to avert disaster.

And she still had Missy’s secrets to worry about.

“We’ll find an even better plane. I’ll call a couple of people when we get home.” Pop’s smile and words were meant to reassure.

But Rachel’s throat closed. She’d come close to cutting her life short, to letting them all down. How was she going to find the will to get in the air again?

Jenna stood at the foot of the bed, arms wrapped tightly around her torso. Missy’s daughter understood how close she’d come to losing Rachel. She was an old soul who’d seen too much sorrow for a ten-year-old.

Rachel flicked a finger over Matt’s nose, which elicited another smile from him. “I’m afraid we’ve lost her, Matt, but you’ve still got me.”

Oblivious to the emotions of those around him, Matt bounced against the mattress a couple of times. “I hope we get a really fast plane next time, because Pop says I can start flying when I’m ten.” His dark eyes sparkled with excitement.

Next time. Would there be a next plane? A next flight? There had to be. Flying was the only way Rachel knew to pay the bills and keep her family together. Flying was the only place where Rachel felt free.

If only Rachel’s heart didn’t pound a fearful beat at the thought of taking to the air.

“I NEED TO GIVE YOU instructions before you all leave.”

Lost in thoughts of Missy and what might have been if he’d just stayed in Eden or if someone had told him the truth earlier, Cole almost didn’t stop at the nurse’s station. “Instructions?”

“Yes.” The nurse eyed him as one would a misbehaving child. “Until the swelling in Miss Quinlan’s head goes down, she’ll be very unsteady on her feet. Don’t let her walk on her own.”

He was to be Rachel’s nursemaid? Rachel wasn’t going to be too happy about that. If only he could reclaim the easy relationship they’d had when they were younger. Then she’d let him help her. And maybe he could get her talking about Missy, which would help him understand what had happened. He knew that was the only way he’d be able to let go. It might also give him the answer as to what to do about Jenna and his parents.

Given the tragedy of his sister’s death and how that had sent his mother into a tailspin that she had yet to fully come out of… Well, showing up on his parents’ doorstep with someone who looked so much like Sally wasn’t an idea he’d even remotely consider. Custody, which he hadn’t even thought about until Jackson had brought it up, was not something Cole was looking for. So what did he want from this?

He wanted Missy. He wanted to go back to Eden, to a time when Missy had loved him and he’d felt as if he’d belonged to someone, to a family.

Too late. He’d blown his chance.

The nurse tapped the tip of a pen on the counter to reclaim his attention. “No unassisted walking. Not even to the bathroom. Every time her head rises above her feet, she’ll feel as if she’s just gotten off a roller coaster. That means even sitting can be a problem.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll have a hand on her every time she so much as sits up.” Since Rachel needed such delicate care, she wouldn’t be able to send him away the moment they arrived back in Eden. In light of that, playing nursemaid was bearable.

“Be careful of her ribs when you help her up and down. Bruised ribs are no fun.”

Nodding, Cole rubbed his chest. He’d cracked a couple of ribs his first year as a Hot Shot when a tree he’d been trying to take down had nearly crushed him. He’d learned a lot about falling trees since then, and adopted a more conservative approach to life.

The nurse interrupted his meandering thoughts. “If you can’t wake her up, take her directly to the emergency room.”

That got his attention. Cole had never been around anyone recovering from a concussion before. He’d noticed Rachel’s head was swollen, but hadn’t realized the consequences of the injury lasted so long.

Poor thing.

Poor lying thing. He had to remember that she’d kept so much a secret from him all this time. Missy had been gone five years. Five years! The realization that he’d never see Missy again still turned his stomach, and yet, the fact that Missy had had so little faith in his love stung. Rachel hadn’t been the only lying Quinlan.

The nurse shifted into his line of vision. “When she gets home, she’ll need constant assistance and lots of sleep. Dressing will be a challenge, and things requiring a good bit of standing, like cooking, are out for at least a few weeks.”

As it became clear just what an invalid Rachel was, Cole felt a bit overwhelmed by the responsibility of it all. Wasn’t the nurse going to write any of this down?

“Nod if you understand,” the nurse said with a steely gaze.

Cole nodded slowly.

“It seems as if I can trust you, although after that episode yesterday, I’m not so sure.” She looked him up and down. “You won’t upset her, will you?”

Cole scratched the back of his neck. “You’ve seen what kind of patient she is. She doesn’t like sitting still or taking orders. Do you honestly think anyone caring for her won’t upset her?”

The nurse grinned. “All right, you’ll do. Let’s go get our patient.” She pushed the wheelchair briskly down the hall to Rachel’s room.

Cole hesitated. The time had come to face Rachel after the bluntness of her parting words. What would he have done if Missy had called him up and told him she was pregnant all those years ago?

Cole frowned. The past eleven years would have been different if he’d known about Jenna. A part of him felt guilty to have had such a good life, free of the responsibility and financial burden a child brought. Cole didn’t want to acknowledge that Rachel and Missy might have been right. He’d been itching to do things, to go out and tackle the world. A child, hell, even a wife, would have fenced him in.

He’d like to think he would have found a way to make things work with Missy, to create a home for her and the baby, to make peace with his mother, but the truth was Cole would have resented going back to Eden and taking up some mundane job at a gas station or grocery store. And Missy had made it clear she wasn’t leaving Eden. Cole lived for the outdoors and had come to love the risk and adrenaline rush of being a Hot Shot. If he’d known about Jenna their relationship would have been doomed.

“THIS IS ALL UNNECESSARY,” Rachel said as she eyed the wheelchair her nurse pushed into the room. She wasn’t that helpless.

Cole appeared in the doorway, glancing from Rachel to the wheelchair. Rachel tugged self-consciously at the wrinkled T-shirt her family had brought her and wondered if she could get rid of Cole before the others got back from the cafeteria. “I can walk out of here on my own.”

“Uh-huh.” Ignoring her protests, the nurse swung Rachel’s booted feet slowly around until they hung off the side of the bed.

Rachel stared at the dark splotches on her boots and tried to swallow back the fear the bloodstains awakened. Fear of flying. Fear of dying. Fear of failure. Inexplicably, Rachel’s gaze was drawn to Cole’s in the hope that he would dispel her anxiety the way he’d done when they were younger.

But Cole wore the same disapproving frown as her nurse. That made Rachel wish things were different between them, wish that she could smile at Cole and he’d grin back, as if they shared a private joke the punch line of which only they knew. But she was on her own. The only one who was going to handle the burdens Rachel carried was Rachel.

Disappointed, Rachel looked away. “Just call me a cab, and I’ll get myself to the bus station.” She would not allow herself to be hurt further by Cole, or let him hurt Jenna.

“Sure, sure. I’d do that. But it’s hospital policy that we give you a ride out of here.” The nurse gave Cole a significant look and nodded toward the end of the bed.

Cole moved closer. Clearly he was going to help the nurse move Rachel into the wheelchair. Rachel frowned until her head throbbed in protest. She winced and cleared her expression.

“I don’t like being babied,” Rachel announced, squinting intently at the floor because judging the distance to it was somehow difficult. Doubt surfaced. Maybe she really did need help.

“I don’t baby my patients,” the nurse answered stiffly, flipping the wheelchair footrests to either side, then locking the wheels in place. She returned to Rachel’s side, near enough to catch her if she fell, and then pushed the button to lower Rachel’s bed.

It was now or never.

Wrapping one hand around her rib cage Rachel slid slowly off the bed, hoping to land on her feet. It didn’t work out like that. Even though Cole and the nurse grabbed for Rachel’s arms, she still ended up on the floor.

“Could you not have waited two seconds more?” Cole asked.

“I wanted to see if I could do it.” Rachel struggled to breathe as the world came back into focus. Unfortunately, clear vision made it possible to see that Jenna had arrived.

“Are you all right?” the girl asked, looking as if she was about to cry. Between Rachel’s appearance and nonexistent balance, her niece had every right to be shaken. It would have been better if Pop had kept her little family at home.

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