Big Sky Baby

Undaunted by her slam, he merely shrugged. “I’m going to ask for a paternity test.”

“Whatever.” She turned on her heel and strode for the door, eager to escape the man she should never have gotten involved with in the first place.

Before she could turn the knob, he caught her arm and pulled her around to face him.

His usually cocky stance slumped and a bit of remorse softened his expression. “Listen, Jilly. I’m sorry about being a jerk, but you’re going to have to give me some time to think things through.”

She could certainly understand his need to think things through, and she tried to understand his shock and frustration. But that didn’t make him any less of a jerk. “The news didn’t sit well with me, either.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, Jilly. I’m not going to offer marriage.”

Did he think that she wanted to marry him? That marriage to him would solve all her problems?

She raised her chin, mustering all the bravado she could find. “Don’t worry about me being disappointed, Cain. Being married to a guy like you would be an awful penance to pay for past mistakes.”

She just hoped his involvement in her child’s future wouldn’t be worse.

Jeff and his crew climbed from the plane and dispersed on the temporary landing field after another day of dousing the flames that continued to threaten Custer National Forest.

Exhausted and tired of sucking smoke and ash into his lungs, Jeff took one last look at the C-130 transport plane that had been converted to a tanker. At twenty-four, he was pretty damn young to be flying one of the big birds, and he knew it. But not many guys his age could boast of his extensive experience.

The U.S. Forestry Service had been surprised at the cockpit proficiency he’d garnered in his youth, but they quickly put him to use as a pilot for MAFFS when he’d been hired.

Jeff had always loved planes and flying, and on his fifteenth birthday, his uncle Stratton took him to the airfield and paid for his first ride in a biplane. It had been the best gift he’d ever had and had merely whetted his appetite for more flights, more time in the air.

It wasn’t every teenager who could afford his own flying lessons in a multitude of different planes, nor every kid who had the good fortune of meeting a guy like Hank Ragsdale at an air show in Billings.

Hank had taken young Jeff under his wing and introduced him to other members of the Commemorative Air Force, a host of airmen who flew old World War II planes. Jeff had earned his pilot’s license at the age of sixteen, and from then on out, there was no stopping him—not with the money in the hefty trust fund that his mother had left him.

Jeff had been certified in more planes than he could count, thanks to Hank and his buddies.

“Forsythe,” Jim Anderson called from the makeshift command post. “How’d it go today?”

“Not bad. But we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.” Jeff lifted the bill of his hat and raked a hand through his hair. It had been a hell of a long day already. “Are we making any progress out near Rocky Point?”

“I’m afraid not.” Jim furrowed his brow. “In fact, a couple of firemen from Rumor sent to assist us are missing. We’re going to send a Huey out to search for them now.”

Jeff’s first concern was for his cousin, Reed Kingsley, the Rumor Fire Chief. “Who’s out there?”

“Harry Willett and Cain Kincaid. They were having radio trouble earlier, so I’m not sure what’s going on.”

Cain.

Jeff’s heart dropped to his gut. He might want to pound the guy senseless, but he didn’t want anything—other than a good and well-deserved beating—to happen to the father of Jilly’s baby. “Who’s going to look for them?”

Jim nodded toward a CH1 single-engine with the blades rotating. “Bart Henthorne. That’s him heading out.”

“I’m going with him,” Jeff said.

“Now wait a minute. You’ve been out all day, Forsythe. Take a break.”

Jeff shook his head. “This is personal, Jim. Cain is a friend of a friend.”

“Oh, what the hell. Go ahead. Just don’t get heroic. If you need a rescue team, radio in and we’ll send one out. I don’t want anything happening to you.”

Jeff shot his boss a grin. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Then he loped toward the Huey, intending to reach the chopper before it took off.

Jeff hadn’t liked Cain Kincaid since the first grade. The guy had always been a braggart and a liar. And Jeff couldn’t believe it had taken Jilly so long to see through him.

“He comes from a nice family,” she’d said in the fireman’s defense.

“Yeah?” Jeff had responded. “Well his parents gave him a biblical name he’s certainly living up to.”

Jilly had figured his status as a public servant in the community gave his character some sort of validation. But a snake in the grass like Cain didn’t grow legs and feet, just because he was slithering through life in a uniform.

The weekly talks Jeff and Jilly had shared only confirmed his opinion. In fact, each time Jilly revealed more about her relationship with the fire man, Jeff’s list of mental grievances against the guy grew.

When Jilly’s car was in the shop, Cain forgot to pick her up at work—not once but twice. He borrowed money from her, then had a million excuses why he couldn’t pay her back.

Cain even skipped out on caring for her when she got the flu, telling her he didn’t want to catch the bug and then going out with the guys to Beauty and the Beats, the strip joint, instead. “Hey, babe,” he’d told Jilly. “It was a guy thing. Those girls can’t hold a candle to you.”

Yeah, right.

At least twice Cain cheated on her in the four months they’d dated. Knowing the Rumor Romeo’s reputation, Jeff suspected Jilly had only managed to catch him twice.

But Cain was the father of Jilly’s baby, and Jeff was determined to bring the man to safety and encourage him to do right by her, even if doing right only meant providing financial support.

“I’m coming with you,” Jeff said to Bart Henthorne, as he climbed into the chopper. “Let’s go find those guys.”

For nearly twenty minutes the pilot and Jeff scoured the perimeter of the fire line, searching for the firefighters who’d lost radio contact with the command post.

The hot, smoky air swirled around them, at times clouding their vision as they scanned rocks, trees and mountainsides, looking for the yellow suits of the missing men. Their last-known position was a half mile from Rocky Point, a rugged mountain that had been aptly named by early trappers and settlers.

“There they are,” the chopper pilot said, pointing to the left. “On the east side of Rocky Point.”

One man was sprawled on the ground, obviously injured. The other stood, waving his arms.

“Damn,” the pilot said. “That fire is pretty close. We’d better get a rescue crew out here.”

And the fire would soon box them in. Jeff didn’t think a rescue team could make it in time. “We’ve got to get them now.”

“There’s no place for me to land,” the chopper pilot said. “And at this altitude, power is going to be a problem. We’re not equipped to do a rescue.”

“We’ll have to try. My first job with the forestry service was working on a rescue team. I know the drills backward and forward. And since we don’t have a crewman, I’ll go down. Can you run the hoist?”

“Yeah, but it’s going to be tricky.” The pilot shook his head. “I don’t know about this, Jeff. This bird isn’t equipped with all the rescue gear. And I’m at max power now. If I start losing turns, we’ll all go down.”

“I’ll try and make this quick.”

“The winds are pretty damn gusty. Be careful.”

Jeff strapped himself into the horse collar and descended from the hovering aircraft. The rotating blades sent the hot, smoky air swirling around him as the cable lowered him to the small patch of rocky ground where the stranded firemen waited.

A quick glance told him the wounded man was Cain. Blood and dirt covered the side of his head and face. And his eyes were closed.

“Is he alive?” Jeff asked Willett, voice straining to be heard over the noise of the chopper.

“Just barely. A burning tree limb fell on him, knocking him out. I dragged him this far, hoping to reach the rocky spot where we could escape the flames. We lost the radio somewhere along the way.”

“We’ll get you out of here,” Jeff said. “But let’s load him on the litter.”

Willett helped Jeff guide the basket that would carry Cain to the safety of the chopper.

Before lifting the wounded man onto the litter, Jeff looked him over. He had a knot the size of a golf ball over his eye, and a ragged gash gaped at the left temple. Blood, ash and dirt didn’t hide a third-degree burn on his cheek.

Jeff felt for a pulse and got one. As they loaded Cain onto the basket, he came to and grimaced in pain. Maybe the injured fireman would be all right, once they got him to Whitehorn Memorial Hospital.

When they’d secured Cain to the litter, Jeff told Willett to go first. With the pilot controlling the chopper and the hoist, they’d need someone to help pull Cain to safety.

As Jeff prepared to signal Willet they were ready to go, Cain opened his eyes. His pain-filled gaze fixed on Jeff. “Thanks for coming after us, Forsythe.”

“It’s my job.”

Cain nodded, his pale face twisted in pain and his voice hoarse. “Am I gonna make it?”

“You’d better make it,” Jeff said. “You’ve got a kid on the way. And some responsibility to face.” Jeff signaled the pilot to pull the basket up.

When it was Jeff’s turn, he grabbed the line to ascend. Smoke swirled around him, burning his throat and stinging his eyes, while the wind swung his cable high and wide. The chopper struggled to stay steady, but as Jeff left the ground, dangling like bait on the line, an updraft jerked the helicopter, slamming him against a rock on the mountain-side.

He heard the sound of his bone breaking before feeling a sharp crack of pain and a brutal ache that made his head spin, but he managed to hold on to consciousness. He swung out of control, all the while trying desperately to stay alert, to ignore smoke in his eyes and lungs, the excruciating pain in his head, arm and shoulder.

When he’d first started this flight, he’d told Henthorne he knew the rescue routine backward and forward. He just hoped the chopper pilot could manage to fly without using the guillotine switch that would cut the cable, thus saving those on board and the bird.

A couple of times he felt the buzz that came with loss of consciousness, yet somehow he managed to stay coherent. It seemed like hours before the hoist began to pull him up.

As he was dragged onto the chopper floor, Jeff asked Willett, “How’s Kincaid?”

But before he could hear the answer, a throbbing roar filled his ears and darkness settled around him.

Chapter Four

The next afternoon Jilly worked on a funeral spray of pink carnations for Mildred Sanderson, an elderly woman whose memorial service would be held at the Rumor Community Church on Friday morning.

The bell on the door chimed, and she looked up to see Blake Cameron enter the florist shop, his tattered, gray backpack slung over his shoulder.

What was it about the kid that tweaked her sympathy? Maybe it was because he reminded her of Jeff, although just in looks and temperament. Jeff had been born to a life of privilege, and Blake was strictly blue-collar.

She smiled at the dark-haired teen whose life, she suspected, was not much better than hers had been. “If you want an after-school snack, I’ve got doughnuts in the back room.”

The munchies, unfortunately, had struck again. But she guessed her increasing weight and girth were no longer a major concern, so this morning she’d given in to the craving for chocolate éclairs and glazed doughnuts from the MonMart bakery.

“Sure. I’m always hungry, or so my dad says.” The teen wandered to the back of the shop and returned with a broom in one hand and a glazed twist in the other.

Jilly continued to work, clipping the stem of a pink carnation and sticking it into the spray she was making. She cocked her head. Maybe the flower should rest a tad lower.

In the background, the soft sounds of classy elevator music blended with the gentle swoosh and scratch of a broom on scarred hardwood floors, as the teenager she’d hired as a delivery boy swept the shop.

Blake slowly made his way to the worktable where she stood. “Did you hear the news?”

She placed a sprig of baby’s breath into the spray of carnations. “What news? I don’t hear much of anything these days.”

“The wind shifted yesterday afternoon, and a couple of Rumor firemen fighting the forest fire near Rocky Point were cut off from the dirt road by the flames. They sent in a rescue chopper to get them out, but one man died from his injuries.”

Jilly’s heart did a nosedive. Cain was fighting that fire. And so were some of the other guys she’d met through him. “Do you know who it was?”

Blake mumbled, pointing to his mouth and indicating the need to finish chewing before he could answer her question.

“Yeah,” he said, jaws still moving. “The dead guy lived in my apartment complex. His name was Cain, but I don’t know the last name. I only saw him a time or two.”

She dropped the carnation in her hand and grabbed ahold of the table to steady herself. Obviously, Blake didn’t know she’d been involved with Cain in a romantic way. “Are you sure? He’s dead?”

“Yep. Reed Kingsley, the fire chief, came by the apartments and talked to the manager. I was standing right there and heard it all.”

Jilly glanced at the funeral spray she was making. Cain, who loved life—maybe too much—was gone. She would be creating arrangements and sprays for his memorial service in the next few days.

A sense of sadness washed over her, yet her heart felt surprisingly numb.

Her baby’s father—her old lover—was dead. Shouldn’t she be feeling something? Grief? Heartbreak?

Would she mourn later? When reality set in? When the community hosted a funeral service?

She closed her eyes, her hand reaching to the small bulge in her tummy where her baby grew, warm, protected and completely unaware of the tragic circumstances surrounding his or her birth.

Jilly would bear her child alone, a single mother to the fullest extent of the definition.

She might have told Jeff that she didn’t need Cain or his financial support, but now that she couldn’t depend on either, doubt crept into her mind.

Money couldn’t buy happiness, the old adage said, but it could sure take the edge off misery better than poverty could. And she ought to know; she’d had her share of both misery and poverty.

Jilly planned to offer her children more than her parents had provided her. She wanted her kids to have a sense of stability, hope for the future.

Her son or daughter would have a real house, not a run-down trailer like the one in which she’d lived while growing up. Her child would play on a swing set perched on a green lawn and surrounded by a picket fence, not a rusted-out sedan that no longer ran and was encircled by overgrown weeds.

Her child would come home from school to the scent of cookies baking in the oven, not stale cigarette smoke and beer.

But was a loving home all she could offer her baby?

What about her dream of being a part of the Rumor community, maybe even president of the PTA someday? She’d fought long and hard to earn respectability. Would bearing a child out of wedlock wipe out all she’d accomplished?

Or had Jilly—like her mother, Jo-Ellen Davis—set the circumstances in motion that would lead her back to a no-account life? Especially since Jilly had never managed to feel as if she’d truly broken free and become an accepted, respectable member of the Rumor community.

Until recently.

So close, yet so far away.

Jilly reached for a carnation and fingered the stem. If Rumor had tracks, she would have been born on the wrong side of them. In fact, she’d probably still be living on the outskirts of town and the fringe of society if it hadn’t been for Jeff.

Most folks hadn’t understood what Carolyn Kingsley’s nephew had seen in the little Davis girl. And why not?

Jeff’s mother had been a wealthy socialite—East Coast born and bred. And Jilly had grown up with very little supervision or kindness—other than what she’d received from the McDonough family who had lived next door.

She thought of Emmy McDonough, her one-time best friend and neighbor, and Emmy’s two older brothers whom Jilly had once looked up to.

Karl had gone off to fight in the Gulf War, and Ash went to prison. In a way, the McDonough boys had let Jilly down, just as they had their little sister.

The only guy in her life who had stuck around had been Jeff.

And he’d been there through all her trials and tribulations, including her mother’s death.

Jilly had only been seventeen when she came home to find her mother dead, the victim of an apparent suicide. It had been Jeff she called first, to wait with her for the coroner to arrive. And it had been Jeff who’d listened to her cry and bemoan the fact her mother had let her down yet again.

Sometimes Jilly’s lot in life seemed to be her own fault, directly or indirectly. Even her mother’s choice to check out of life because her latest man was a bigger loser than the last had felt like Jilly’s fault…somehow.

It had been Jeff who’d convinced her otherwise.

And Jeff who had always been there for her.

Jilly blew out a sigh. There wasn’t much he could do to protect her from herself or the mess she’d made of her life this time.

“Mr. Kingsley was pretty cool,” Blake said, as he popped the rest of the doughnut in his mouth. “When I asked him some questions about the fire and the rescue of the men, he took time to answer me. And I know he’s gotta be really busy right now, with the fire and all.”

Jilly had no doubt Reed was busy. He still had to provide fire protection for the town, while giving up some of his men.

“I told him I might take that fire-fighting course they offer at the community college in Billings.”

“That sounds like a great career move, if you want to be a fireman.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. But I might like to be a pilot and work with MAFFS, just like Mr. Kingsley’s cousin.”

Jilly smiled, her heart filling with pride at Jeff’s accomplishments. When he set his mind to something, he did it. And he’d always said he was going to fly planes, not just turbo props, but anything that left the ground. And he had.

Blake licked the glaze from his fingers. “Jeff—that’s his cousin’s name—was part of the search team that found the stranded firemen, then had to rescue them.”

“Oh, really?” Jilly asked, her curiosity piqued. Jeff had flown with chopper rescue teams in the past, but from what she understood, he flew the C-130s exclusively now.

“Yeah. Mr. Kingsley was heading to the hospital in Whitehorn when he left.”

“Why is that?” Jilly asked.

“That’s where they took Jeff, after he was injured during the rescue.”

Jilly dropped the carnation she’d been holding. “Jeff was hurt?”

“Yeah, pretty bad, but Mr. Kingsley said he’d be all right. He just won’t be able to fly for a while.”

Jeff had been injured, badly enough to land in the hospital. Her heart pounded in her ears. “Listen, Blake. You’re going to have to close up for me. I’ve got to go into Whitehorn.”

Jilly rushed through the lobby doors of Whitehorn Memorial Hospital, stopping just long enough to ask the volunteers at the front desk where she could find Jeff Forsythe.

In room 204, she was told.

She must have been white as a sheet when she strode through the door of his room, because the first words out of Jeff’s mouth were, “Jilly? Are you all right?”

“Me?” She studied the wounded man lying in bed, his arm in a castlike thing, a white, bulky bandage on the side of his head. “Look at you.”

“This?” He nodded at his arm. “Just a little inconvenience, that’s all. You’re the one I’m worried about. Shoot, Jilly, I don’t know anything about pregnant women, but I’d think flying into my room like a demon out of hell wouldn’t do you or the baby any good.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I wasn’t conscious until this morning. Then they stuck me in ICU for a while, as a precaution. I just got into this room about twenty minutes ago. I called the shop and talked to some kid who said he worked for you.”

She crossed her arms, willing her heart to still and her nerves to settle down, but to no avail. “What happened?”

The expression on his face grew pensive, and he paused, as though struggling to find the right words. “Cain was injured—critically.”

“I heard.” Her voice came out soft, like a whisper. She tried to feel something, to react. To cry. But for some reason, she’d lost Cain a long time ago. And her tears had already been spent.

“He didn’t make it, honey.”

She merely nodded, a flood of emotions swirling in her mind. Had the grief finally surfaced? She wasn’t sure, but she hoped so.

Again guilt reared its head, forcing her to face the fact that she’d been far more affected by Jeff’s injury than Cain’s death.

What kind of heartless person was she?

Cain was her baby’s father, her old lover. She’d cared for him once. Deeply. He might have reacted badly yesterday, but he would have come around with time. Probably.

She placed a hand upon her womb, caressing the baby and offering comfort, or so it seemed.

Jeff studied her with sorrow-filled eyes, suggesting that he thought he’d somehow failed her. “I tried to bring him home—”

Jilly sat in the chair beside Jeff’s bed, then trailed her fingers along his cheek. “I heard that you were part of the rescue team.”

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “We did what we could.”

“I know.”

Why couldn’t she cry? Show some compassion for her child’s father, her one-time lover?

She’d been angry when she last talked to Cain, yet she didn’t feel anger right now—or grief—just an overwhelming numbness. Normally she’d been able to share everything with Jeff. But not this weird sense of nothing.

“How long will you be here?” she asked.

“They’re keeping me for observation until tomorrow morning, although I suspect it’s only because my aunt is on the hospital board and was so insistent.” He rolled his eyes as though embarrassed by Carolyn Kingsley’s connections.

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