Grady was revved up 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 and unapproachable.

Darn that Linx for calling the police on him. What was wrong with that woman?

What was wrong with him?

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 her body.

He didn’t need her, but he did need a supply of dogs to match with his veterans needing companionship.

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’s family.

It wasn’t open, but he leaned on a buzzer at the service door until a grizzly voice yelled, “Where’s the fire?”

“It’s Death Wish,” Grady replied with his nickname.

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 burn up.”

“You hungover again?” Grady stepped into the dark, dank corridor reeking of stale beer and sweat.

“Not on the fire line anymore. Can drink morning, noon, and night.”

“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 fire line.

“Look, you want to go back, don’t let me hold you,” Paul slurred, groaning as he slouched on a couch in his office.

“That’s not what I’m here for,” Grady said. “Just coming by to see how you’re doing.

“I’m good.” Paul shrugged. “I’m frying up some bacon. Want any?”

“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 the firefight.

“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 the fire.”

“It was a rough jump for all of us. Was bad luck.”

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 forest fire.

“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 the forest.”

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 the parachute.

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 of nowhere.

Besides, Salem had a side to her she hid from Paul, but far be it from Grady to speak ill of the dead.

An email popped up from Linx in reply to his request for a calm, but mean-looking dog.

From: Mountain Dog Rescue

To: Dogs for Vets

I have the 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 years old.

Meet me at the Roadside Inn off the Gold Chain Highway. Text me for time and room number.

It was unsigned, but Grady’s lips curled into a grin.

He was about to jump a wildcat.

* * *

Linx wiped the sweat from her forehead as she took a break from cleaning the dog runs. The majestic peaks of the Sierra Nevada rose above the treeline, still white-capped at the top.

She let the cool morning breeze sweep over her face and took a deep breath of the resin-scented air. This mountain community was her heritage, and she knew every inch of the backroads and trails coming off the mountain range. Her family was as old as the dirt in the hills and the rocks in the rivers.

Colson’s Corner was founded by her great-great-great grandfather at the height of the Gold Rush, when nuggets of gold could be found ripe for the picking. He’d built the first series of sluices and owned the general store where he sold supplies to the miners. Once gold fever died down, her family stayed in the area, expanding into farming and ranching.

The town was too far off the beaten track to attract the strip malls and chain stores that blighted other towns close by. The lack of cell phone signal in the remote cabins outside of town kept Colson’s Corner the gathering place where people came to check messages or find out about the news.

Although lately, the phone company had been putting up towers designed to look like the giant sequoia trees native to the region. Just the other day, she’d been stopped behind a large utility truck blocking half of the road to put up a tower. There was no stopping progress, despite the old-timers who wanted to remain out of touch.

Linx wasn’t sure what she thought about it. On the one hand, development could bring more people into the mountains and grow the economy, but with more people came more traffic and other nuisances.

Linx received a text from Grady. Sure thing. Let me know when.

Bingo. He’d taken the bait.

She tucked the phone back into her pocket without replying. No matter what. She had to be in full control.

If he thought he could put stakes down in her town and run her out, he had another thing coming. Arrogant Grady Hart was not going to waltz into Colson’s Corner under the pretext of adopting dogs for veterans and drive her into hiding.

She was no longer in awe of the hotshot firefighter—the man with the death wish who would jump headfirst into a blazing forest fire and fill her nights with heat and smoke. Once, she’d crushed on him, believed in him, and counted on him.

But he’d rejected her when she’d needed him most, and for that, he deserved to be burned and burned badly.

Oh, the heat and attraction still sizzled, and desire still held a torch between them.

But this time would be different.

This time, she would have control.

She would twist and turn him inside and out, have him begging for more, and then she’d pulverize his heart the same way he’d destroyed her innocence.

Linx finished hosing off the walkway and swept the debris over the redwood chips. It was time to let the dogs out of the barn and into the meadow for their daily exercise.

After securing the front gate, she opened another gate leading to the fenced-in field of green grass and wildflowers.

The dogs were excited, yapping and barking, jumping up and down as she channeled them from their pens through a series of parallel fences to the exercise yard.

Linx patted Bob, the old bulldog, who waddled after the younger dogs. “I bet your idea of a good day is to sleep under a desk or beside an armchair.”

The elderly dog panted as she petted him, enjoying the little bit of love she bestowed on him.

Truthfully, she loved all of her rescues, and she spent a lot of time taking them on wilderness walks. She groomed them, did first aid on them, and sang to them.

Linx looked after the dogs. Most of them ran in groups, herding into packs, with Cedar front and center, leading the game of chase. But that new one, the German shepherd pitbull stood off by himself. He sniffed around the fence posts, marking them. He’d been neutered late in life, maybe after siring a litter of puppies.

“I wonder what your story is?” Linx muttered after the silent but strong male dog. She couldn’t help comparing him to Grady Hart—a loner who had trouble connecting to people, despite being a middle child in a large family—just like her.

Linx wandered back into the cabin to do the dreaded paperwork which came with running a charity.

“I hear the doorbell,” Tami said from her desk as soon as Linx stepped through the backdoor.

The problem with Tami was she hated getting off the chair. She’d gone to college and was an English major, and she was as smart as a whip. Her dream was to revive Colson’s Corner’s Gold Rush past as well as bring in new business.

“I’ll get it.” Linx answered the door. It was Jessie Patterson, the five-year-old daughter of the town’s pastor. “Did you come to see the puppy?”

“No.” The little girl wiped her teary eyes. “I lost Betsy. We came home from church, and the door was wide open.”

Betsy was an old gray Labradoodle and just about the friendliest dog in town.

“Oh, sweetie, that’s awful.” Linx held out her arms and Jessie folded herself into her embrace.

“Can you help me find her?” Jessie waved a picture of the sweet dog with curly gray hair. Her family had had Betsy since before Jessie was born, and the two were inseparable.

“Of course I will. Do you have anything of Betsy’s you can give to me? Anything with her scent?”

Jessie nodded and produced a blue and white gingham-checked dog bandana. Betsy’s name was embroidered on one edge of it. “Can you use your Wonder Woman powers to find Betsy?”

Linx stroked the little girl’s silky hair. “I will do everything I can to find Betsy.”

When Linx was a little girl, she’d lost her dog, or the family dog, for longer than a week. Every day had been torture—imagining the worst. She couldn’t sleep at night and had no appetite until the day Dolly was found.

“I really miss her,” Jessie said. Two large tears tracked down her face.

“Let’s make some posters,” Linx said, taking the photo of the dog and putting it on the scanner. “Then we can put them up and pass them around.”

It would give the girl something to do, and hopefully help bring Betsy back. It was strange that someone would break into their house, but a lot of people in town didn’t bother locking their doors.

The only problem was summer vacation season had started, and now that the kids were out of school, some families had rented their houses to outsiders while they took vacations elsewhere.

Linx scanned the picture and brought the image up on her computer. She typed in the basic information about Betsy and contact information.

“I’ll put a reward on this,” Linx promised, not that she had any money. She must have been drunk on sex hormones or simply out of her mind when she’d splurged the last of her grandmother’s money on a wedding dress to fund Grady’s charity.

That man would never use her for anything other than a quick lay, and she should have more self-respect.

But then, after what he’d made her do, she had no self-respect left, and the only way she could justify herself would be to make him feel as horrible as he’d made her feel.

As to how effing his brains out would do that? She didn’t know. A guy without a conscience wasn’t easy to hurt.

As the printer printed out the posters, Linx entered Betsy’s information to the online networks for lost dogs. She also checked the “Found” listings in case anyone had already located Betsy.

Unfortunately, there hadn’t been any sightings for an eight-year-old gray Labradoodle.

While Jessie wasn’t exactly happy when her mother came to pick her up, she was hopeful that the posters and “Wonder Woman” would do the trick.

After they left, Linx called Cedar into the cabin and let her sniff Betsy’s bandana. Cedar wasn’t a bloodhound, but she’d once been a lost dog herself.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you, baby.” She kissed Cedar and attached her leash to take her out on a walk. “You’re the only way for me to have a little bit of him—the only link.”

It wasn’t as if Cedar’s owner had looked all that hard for her. He’d given up way too easily—treated it too cavalierly, the same way he’d stomped over her heart and brushed her off like ashes off his helmet.