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resting against her rounded belly.
    Robin shook it tentatively, unsure of the message.
    â€œWelcome to the club. My last commander was always saying the same two things about me.” Again that radiant smile that was even more of a surprise the second time.
    â€œDid he give you a good recommendation when you needed it?”
    Emily looked amused, an expression that Robin had never expected on her face. “I don’t know about that, but he did give me a wedding band and two children. I have yet to decide if the second child is a blessing or a curse.” Though the way she kept a hand resting lightly on her belly, there was little question of her true feelings.
    QBB had married her commanding officer, Mark Henderson. Which would explain why someone so military was out in the civilian world. Though it was clear this woman had plenty of backbone. If the military had been so important to her, why did she leave the service to marry her commander? What’s more, why didn’t he stay in anyway? Something in her story didn’t make sense.
    Three airplanes along the line fired to life with a distracting roar of large engines and the sharp buzz of accelerating propellers beating the air: the two smokejumper delivery planes and the Incident Commander’s Beech King Air.
    Emily turned to watch the Beech King Air but kept talking to Robin. “I can’t wait to see how he flies that observing plane with two kids in the cabin. We’re going to have to find a nanny willing to travel at high elevations.” Then Emily’s face shifted in a way Robin couldn’t quite interpret and she turned away from the plane, now resting a hand on the nose of her Firehawk as if saying good-bye.
    â€œGet aloft.” Emily didn’t look up but kept her focus on the helicopter or something beyond it. “Be safe. Listen to Mark from above and Carly from beside you. Vern doesn’t speak much more than Denise, our quiet mechanic. Jeannie is an exceptional wildland firefighter, reads the flames almost as well as Carly. Vern is a masterful pilot. If you need someone to explain how they do what they do, listen to Mickey. In addition to being very skilled, he’s highly observant and knows how to turn it into words.”
    And without another word or gesture, Emily Beale was gone.
    Robin was left standing beside Firehawk One trying to remember who she was supposed to watch for what.
    She looked down the line.
    Firehawk Two was another husband-and-wife team; the woman must be Jeannie. The pilot sported an Australian accent and a fire-red streak in her dark brown hair. Her hubby was a world-class fire photographer. Hell, Cal Jackson was the wildfire photographer; didn’t need to be on the outside to know that either. Over the years, he’d taken enough photos of the National Guard helos flying to fire to satisfy anyone. There were even a pair of shots—Colorado two years ago and California three years back—that Robin was fairly sure were her bird high up and making a drop. One had hit Time magazine the other the LA Times. Seriously cool.
    Firehawk Three had a long, tall drink of water for a pilot, Vern. He was married to a tiny blond who barely reached his shoulder. Robin had been eyeing him for a little summer fun, but the blond was the chief mechanic. Denise, maybe? And you never ever pissed off your helicopter mechanic. Robin had never actually tried the married guy thing anyway, but Vern almost made it look tempting to try.
    But having met Mickey Hamilton, maybe she’d no longer need to.
    Parked beyond Firehawk Three, Mickey noticed her attention and shot her a cheery wave. She started to wave back just as Jeannie wound her Firehawk’s Auxiliary Power Unit to life to start her engine; the APU had a high-pitched whine that sliced into Robin’s ears.
    Crap! She was behind again.
    A redheaded woman from the kitchen pulled up close by in a battered golf cart and began wrestling a large