Smolder (Firefighters of Montana Book 1) by Tracy Solheim

Author:Tracy Solheim [Solheim, Tracy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tule Publishing
Published: 2016-06-06T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

“What’s the over-under on this crop of rookies, Cap?” Hugh Ferguson called to Sam from behind the bar.

The man was filling pitchers of beer for the rowdy crowd that had assembled at The Drop Zone. Apparently, it was a tradition in Glacier Creek for everyone to celebrate the men and women who survived the first day of rookie camp with a beer and a fish fry at the local tavern. It was barely five o’clock on a Monday and it seemed like most of the town had crammed into the bar. Sam had to give Hugh Ferguson his due for being not only a top notch smokejumper, but a marketing genius as well.

Sam glanced toward the back of the room where the twelve men and three women were being congratulated for passing the initial PT unit. Although, he wasn’t sure the rookies should be celebrating just yet. The forest service’s requirement of seven pull-ups, twenty-five push-ups, forty-five sit-ups, and a one-and-one-half mile run in under eleven minutes was a cake walk compared to what they’d face during the brutal four-week camp, much less the actual four to five month fire season.

“You know as well as I do that the odds are only five or six will make it to the end of the month,” Sam said. “But there’s a lot of talent in that bunch. I’m confident that between this rookie class and the part-time staff we’ll have the right crew when the season starts.”

“Pfeiffer will drop out by Thursday,” Ferguson said as he pulled the cork from a wine bottle and poured Chardonnay into two glasses. “He tries out every year but never gets past the first pack out. Last year, he was screaming like a girl at the tree climb. I swear he only comes to camp to get laid by the smokejumper groupies.”

Sure enough, the bulky firefighter in question had a harem of young women surrounding him, hanging on his every word. Sam grinned as he lifted his bottle of beer to his lips. “Hey, you can’t blame a guy for using every tool in the shed.”

Hugh scoffed as he headed down the bar, the two wine glasses in his hand. “If you’re lucky some poor woman will marry his ass before he ages out.”

“Who’s Uncle Hugh marrying off now?”

Laurel slipped in between two barstools, her body brushing up against Sam’s as she propped her elbows behind her on top of the wooden bar and leaned back so that she had a clear view of the rest of the room. Sam let out a slow, agonized breath at the sight of her. It had been over twenty-four hours since he’d last been near her—last touched her—and his body was feeling every second of their separation.

The frilly, yellow sundress she wore swirled around her knees when she moved. A perfect white pearl tethered to a leather band swayed provocatively from side to side just above the valley between her breasts. When Laurel hooked the heel of her

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