Featured Author: Lisa Phillips
Maxwell Hannigan had jumped from plenty of airplanes in his life, but not usually when the sky was on fire.
The wide Alaska sky burned orange, the peak of Denali mountain a backdrop to an ocean of spruce glowing hot. Smoke and ash arched up into the sky, now dotted with the other smoke jumpers in his team.
This was supposed to be a simple insertion deep into the backcountry to get the last few residents to safety before the fire overwhelmed everything. But he knew better than anyone how fast a simple situation could turn deadly. He was far more accustomed to his enemy walking around on two legs, brandishing a semi-automatic rifle, but these days his enemy was the destructive force of fire season.
Max’s parachute flapped above him in the hot, smoky breeze as he descended. He spotted a small cabin in a clearing and headed toward it, not wanting to get hung up on a tree. Whoever lived down there needed to evacuate, leaving behind those raised beds of vegetables he spotted around the tree line.
The wind whipped up and blew him off course, angling his descent right into a patch of what looked like pumpkins.
He hit the ground, and one boot jammed into the center of a particularly large vegetable. He whipped off the face mask that protected his supposedly handsome features from getting scratched up by tree branches and looked down at the offending vegetable now smeared all over his boot.
A screen door squeaked open and then snapped back on its hinges. Before he could even turn, a woman screamed.
“You stepped in it! That was going to be my prize-winning pumpkin, and you just landed on it!”
Max turned to see a blonde tear down two steps and race across the gravel toward him. He should be contemplating the way it seemed she had protected her home from encroaching wildfire. She’d clearly done her research before setting up a boundary ring of gravel between her residence and the nearest trees. But her house would still be swallowed up by the fire eventually. She had to leave.
He should be thinking about that.
Instead, he couldn’t help but stare as she raced over in a T-shirt, cutoff jean shorts, and a pair of combat boots that had seen some mileage—and were currently unlaced. As she neared him, Max realized he knew who this stranger was.
The question would be whether she recognized him.
She stopped several feet away, slammed her hands down on her hips, and squared off against him, the strap of a rifle running from one shoulder to her hip. The weapon hung down behind her back, as if she might use it later but was prepared to reserve judgment for now. However, given the thunderous expression on her face, he thought that he just might get a round aimed at his behind for the audacity of stomping on her pumpkin.
Sergeant Stella Thompson stared him down. “That pumpkin was going to win me a trophy. Now Myrtle and her I’m-the-two-time-champion attitude is going to get the first prize. I’ll be the laughingstock of the Copper Mountain fall festival.”
Max pulled his boot out of the pumpkin. “You might have lost a pumpkin, but there’s a decent chance we can save your house, Sarge.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I got out.”
“So did I.”
She started to speak, then came closer to him, her blue eyes scanning his face. The three-month growth of scruffy beard on his chin. But she knew him. “Master Sergeant Hannigan.”
“Pretty sure you can call me Max now, Stella.”
And there it was.
All the tension that had been between them for the handful of years they had served together. Blood, sweat, and desert dust. None of what they had been through held a candle to the attraction they had both tried to ignore.
“Did you follow me up here?” She scanned him head to toe, then looked up at the sky where three other smoke jumpers parachuted down into the trees around them.
The clock was ticking.
Before he could mention why he was there, she blanched, almost looking sick, “Did you sign up to jump out of planes?”
Right. She’d never been comfortable with heights.
And the parachute was still attached to him. He needed to get the thing rolled up and move on with the mission—convincing her to evacuate.
Max indicated himself and the chute. “I’m a smoke jumper now. With the BLM out of Anchorage.”
She eyed him. “Midnight Sun?”
He knew that crew worked out of a base not far from Copper Mountain, and not for the Bureau of Land Management. Max shook his head. “Maybe next year.”
“So you just happened to fall out of the sky into my pumpkin?” Mischief sparked in her eyes, and she stepped toward him.
Things never ended well when she had that look on her face…She’d broken hearts across the base flashing those baby blues, but he’d never seen her commit to anyone. When no one else was watching though…he saw her eyeing him.
Usually with an entirely different expression.
One that held a whole lot more promise.
“Stella, you need to evacuate your house. Leave before the fire gets here.” He wasn’t going to argue, and he also wasn’t going to let her stay.
“I was about to leave, Max. Right after I harvested my pumpkin.”
He tipped his head to the side. “You always do that with a rifle on your back?”
“This is Alaska,” she said. “You never know who is going to show up around here.”
Rough locals. Bears.
Old crushes.
He was about to say something when the wind whipped up and the parachute flapped. He was dragged two steps and pulled off his feet onto the gravel.
Max covered his embarrassment and managed to get the thing unclipped so that didn’t happen again.
He looked over and realized she was right next to him. Stella held out her hand.
He clasped her wrist and didn’t let go after he got himself to his feet. “Thanks.”
“If you’re so grateful, you can carry the tomatoes.”
Max looked at his boot, then at the vegetable patch. “What about the pumpkin?”
“For that,” she said. “You owe me dinner.”
He smiled. “It’s a deal.”
Lisa is a British ex-pat who grew up an hour outside of London and attended Calvary Chapel Bible College, where she met her husband. He’s from California, but nobody’s perfect. It wasn’t until her Bible College graduation that she figured out she was a writer (someone told her). Lisa is a worship leader, tea aficionado, and dog lover of two crazy Airedales.
Connect with Lisa on Facebook, Instagram, and her website.
If you enjoyed this story, check out the Chasing Fire Alaska series from Lisa Phillips and Susan May Warren coming this summer from Sunrise Publishing.
Spark Flash Fiction 