Chapter Six
Grady was revvedup with nowhere to go. He needed a dog for a female veteran who had been sexually abused in Afghanistan—one who could be trained to clear rooms, to stand guard, and to sleep by the doorway and look mean andunapproachable.
Darn that Linx for calling the police on him. What was wrong with thatwoman?
What was wrong withhim?
The woman taunted him about not smokejumping this season. The woman grated on his nerves and crawled under his skin. She was a rule-breaker, and there wasn’t a sweet bone in herbody.
He didn’t need her, but he did need a supply of dogs to match with his veterans needingcompanionship.
Since he wasn’t sure he was welcome at the diner, Grady headed to the Sixty Miners Saloon—an establishment not owned by a member of Linx’sfamily.
It wasn’t open, but he leaned on a buzzer at the service door until a grizzly voice yelled, “Where’s thefire?”
“It’s Death Wish,” Grady replied with hisnickname.
He heard grumbling before the door cracked open. His jump buddy, Paul “Blue Bunyan” McCall rubbed his bleary eyes and shielded them from the sunlight. “Get in here before I burnup.”
“You hungover again?” Grady stepped into the dark, dank corridor reeking of stale beer andsweat.
“Not on the fire line anymore. Can drink morning, noon, andnight.”
“Better keep up with the PT,” Grady said, referring to the physical training necessary to stay in shape for the rigors of both jumping into a fire and manning the fireline.
“Look, you want to go back, don’t let me hold you,” Paul slurred, groaning as he slouched on a couch in hisoffice.
“That’s not what I’m here for,” Grady said. “Just coming by to see how you’redoing.
“I’m good.” Paul shrugged. “I’m frying up some bacon. Wantany?”
“No, but how are you doing?” Grady peered at his buddy who was unshaven and reeked of cigarette smoke. If he didn’t shape up, he wouldn’t be physically or mentally fit to go back to thefirefight.
“How do you expect?” Paul clenched his jaw. “If you had dropped the streamers down the right way, she wouldn’t have been blown into thefire.”
“It was a rough jump for all of us. Was badluck.”
He was well aware that Paul blamed him for his fiancée’s death when she was blown off course and landed in the middle of a raging forestfire.
“Salem was damn good with the chute.” Paul’s voice was drained and rough. “She always landed on two feet and she could thread a needle through theforest.”
Paul was referring to Salem Pryde’s expert steering of her chute by toggling the right or left steering line. In practice, she had hit the bull’s eye. Problem was, she wasn’t good at reading the streamers, and with tricky crosscurrents and turbulent wind gusts, there was no guarantee that the direction the streamers flew would be replicated by theparachute.
Grady let Paul whine and complain while he woke his phone to check his email. The truth was, Salem didn’t deserve Paul’s extensive mourning. She’d only latched onto Paul because his father was a venture capitalist, and he could buy his son any toy he wanted: fancy cars, houses, and even this bar in the middle ofnowhere.
Besides, Salem had a side to her she hid from Paul, but far be it from Grady to speak ill of thedead.
An email popped up from Linx in reply to his request for a calm, but mean-lookingdog.
From:Mountain DogRescue
To: Dogs forVets
Ihavethe perfect dog for you. A youngish male German shepherd pitbull mix. Name’s Sam. He was surrendered a few days ago. Quiet, but observant. Doesn’t bark for the heck of it. He’s well-trained, and less than three yearsold.
Meet me at the Roadside Inn off the Gold Chain Highway. Text me for time and roomnumber.
It was unsigned,but Grady’s lips curled into agrin.
