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 fire-fighters 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 fire-fighting 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.