And his conversation. Talking with him, both joking around and more serious stuff, had become one of his favorite things. He’d missed him when he’d been at practice last night, but tonight he’d be home and had promised to do something with chicken for dinner. Bronco might not recognize this new cautious, domesticated self of Brandt’s, but that was okay because Brandt was still figuring it all out himself.
Once they were in the air, thoughts of Shane fled, replaced by the business at hand. The din of the plane and the jostling of his crew was familiar. Grounding. No matter what else changed, he had this. Reid was acting as spotter for them, and he kept frowning as new weather data came in. “Not crazy about these wind conditions.”
Hartman nodded, an entire conversation happening between him and Reid in body language alone. Their close bond was as enviable as it was frustrating.
Giving up on trying to read their faces, Brandt asked, “You want to call it?”
“Nah.” Hartman’s tone was casual, but his eyes were sharper than usual, posture a little straighter.
“Let’s circle again first, but you’ll want to keep your heads about you to avoid getting treed.” Reid had a meaningful look for all of them, but his gaze lingered on Bronco.
The kid held up both hands. “Hey! Why does everyone assume I’m the risk taker?”
“Because you are.” Brandt might have reached the end of his patience already, and they weren’t even on the ground yet.
“Hey now. Tone it down.” Hartman frowned at Brandt, unspoken message that Brandt was older and supposed to be better than petty squabbles.
And then there was no time for arguing as the plane swung back around and the decision was made to go for it. Gear first, then them, timing both practiced and absolutely critical. Brandt waited for Reid’s signal before leaping. No hesitation, only appreciation for the blue sky and the rush of freefall that never grew old, even as he executed his training for positioning and the release of his chute. Below, the green canopy of the forest broken up by rocky sections waited to greet them.
Despite the great visibility, the trick was going to be making the landing zone in this wind. The air fought against all his steering efforts, yanking him this way and that. The ground was rushing up, too fast, and he was going to wind up in a tree if he couldn’t course correct.
And there were too many of the suckers, big ancient trees stretching up, dizzyingly high and close, wide branches waiting to snag his chute. Inches. He was inches from dangling off one of those widow-maker limbs.
Not today, fucker. He flexed his whole body into a last-ditch course correction, avoiding the trees, but with only seconds to prepare for a hard, teeth-rattling landing.
“Damn, that was close.” Dazed, he rubbed his thighs and rolled his shoulders, trying to make sure all his parts were still in working order before he stood up and untangled himself.
“You’re telling me.” Hartman shook his head. His face was dusty, like he too had taken a jolt. “Some of the gear ended up treed. Lucky it wasn’t your ass.”
“Damn right.” Brandt looked in the direction Hartman was pointing. Sure enough, the chute for their biggest gear pack had ended up tangled in an angry-looking tree. “Fuck. At least it’s not one of us.”
“Yeah, but someone’s gonna have to fetch that down.” Bronco looked around, like another crewmember might materialize from the rocks.
“I’ll do it.” No time for games, he headed to the tree in question. Like all of them, he was good at tree climbing, even big fuckers like this one. But he wasn’t ten feet up when the tree creaked. Damn. It was drier than it looked. “Fuck. I don’t trust this tree.”
A year ago he would have kept going, would have secured their gear because a single creak wasn’t enough to scare him off. But now the creak echoed through his bones, an ominous sound that stood between him and the easy evening he had planned. Several smoke jumpers had suffered vicious falls the last few years, and he inhaled sharply. What was he willing to bet here that this tree would hold? His neck? His future? Jewel’s?
That last question did it. Nope. He climbed back down so he could reassess his approach.
“Oh, stop with the overprotective bit. It’s getting old.” Huffing noisily, Bronco shoved by him. “You keep dithering. I’ll get it.”
“No, you won’t. Wait a damn minute.” A minute. That was what Brandt needed. A chance to come up with a better plan that wouldn’t put any of them in danger. But Bronco was already scampering up, ignoring both Brandt and Hartman, who was gesturing furiously for Bronco to get down. He reached the branch where Brandt had turned around, reached up.
Creak.
“Don’t—”
Didn’t matter whether it was him or Hartman who yelled because the whole mess, Bronco and branch, both came tumbling down.
“Bronco!” Brandt rushed over, Hartman right on his heels.
Bronco lay in a heap, groaning softly. “Fuck my life.”
“How bad is it?” Crouching down next to him, Brandt stopped him from sitting up.
“Don’t move.” Hartman joined him in pushing Bronco back down. The risk of head or spine injury was too great to not take every precaution. “Let’s check you out. Wilder, can you radio in that we’ve got an injury? They’ll probably want to send in the backup team and get us a medical evac for Bronco.”
“Got it.” Brandt went for the radio that was back with their other gear, the stuff that wasn’t currently treed.
“I’m fine.” Bronco was well enough to keep hassling Hartman as he checked him out. “Just my fucking arm. And maybe my ankle.”
Hartman made a skeptical noise. “You in good enough shape to pack five miles out?”
“If we go slow...” Bronco hedged.
“I’m on that evac,” Brandt promised Hartman before Bronco could try again to convince them he was okay. He got a message into base before returning to Hartman and Bronco.
“They’ll have an ETA for us shortly on both the evac and a second crew.”
“Fuck.” Bronco’s curse had as much wounded pride as pain behind it. “I hate them sending in someone else to do our job.”
Hartman made fast work of splinting Bronco’s arm. “Maybe next time you’ll listen to me and Wilder and then we can all do our jobs.”
“It was only a slip. Wilder was being a fucking—”
“Think about your words,” Hartman warned before Brandt could defend himself. “You sure you want to be starting shit when we still need to haul your ass out?”
“Sorry.” Bronco managed to sound a little more contrite.