by Kim Redford
Shane gave the area a cursory glance to make sure all looked safe. His ranch house was built of multicolored native rock on two levels, with the main living quarters on the rise of a hill that extended across to a rec room with a balcony above a three-car garage. A white porch ran the length of the first level, which opened into a living room with a vaulted ceiling. So far, he saw no evidence of fire damage, like blistered paint or black soot. Perfect. This home had been his mom’s pride and joy, and he couldn’t imagine letting anything happen to it.
He drove past the house, the horse barn, and indoor arena, then stopped in front of the double open doors of the big red cattle barn. Its aluminum roof glinted in the sunlight. Cowboy trucks in all colors and sizes and repair were parked around it, meaning Max must have called in every one of their workers—even the off-duty ones—to move horses, cattle, and buffalo to pastures away from the spreading fire. Good thing, too. He’d be able to focus on the blaze, instead of worrying about the stock.
He pulled out his cell and checked for texts. Max had left several that confirmed the ranch’s cowboys were out on horseback and four-wheelers, moving herds to far pastures. Max’s confirmation relieved Shane’s mind, because once firefighters were out in the pastures, they’d get scant reception on their cell phones, although they’d stay in touch with each other via radios.
For now, he needed to compartmentalize again. He leaped from his truck, opened the back door, and started hauling out firefighting gear. He didn’t want to slow down the rigs once they got to the ranch, so he quickly changed clothes. He turned from cowboy to firefighter when he put on a thick, yellow fire jacket, stout, green fire pants, special black leather work boots, and a cherry-red helmet that served as a hard hat. He checked to make sure he had fire-resistant, thick leather gloves in a jacket pocket. He shrugged into a backpack that contained a fire-resistant tent along with a fire rake and other gear. In case he got caught in a conflagration, the tent was supposed to save him, but he doubted it’d actually work. Still, it was something if there was nothing else. He tossed his cowboy gear—shirt, jeans, boots, and hat—onto the back seat of his truck and slammed shut the door.
While he waited for the rigs and teams, he walked to higher ground to assess the fire. No matter Hedy’s evaluation, he’d go ahead and get the LCES in mind, so there was no question later.
He walked over and opened the double gates into the pasture, setting them so they couldn’t accidentally swing shut after the rigs drove through. He looked across the prairie, evaluating the rate of speed and width of the red-orange blaze cutting an erratic path with swirling, white smoke obscuring the leading edge. Fortunately, the large rolls of hay were up near the barn and not presently in the path of the blaze or his ranch structures would be in even bigger trouble with that type of superheated conflagration.
In his mind, he ran through the fire size-up. Access route: good. No fire barriers: good. No water sources: bad. Land ownership access: good. Area fire history: bad. Responding resources capabilities: good. All in all, the fire scene was doable.
He heard sirens and whipped around. Wildcat Bluff Fire-Rescue rigs barreled up the Rocky T’s single lane. Hedy had sent the two red boosters that each had a three-hundred-GPM pump capacity and a two-hundred-gallon water tank. They were basically pickups with flat beds that carried water with a pump and coiled hose that could be automatically extended and retracted. She’d also sent their two dozers, towed behind pickups. Each bulldozer had an eight-foot blade that would push, or plow, a line, leaving behind bare dirt. If that apparatus didn’t do the trick, she could still send out the big engine that had a two-thousand-GPM pump capacity and one thousand gallons of water, but it’d have more trouble getting up the lane and into the pasture. He didn’t think they’d need the pumper, but he liked knowing it was available for backup.
As the rigs pulled into the yard, he directed them to park near the fence line till they made their plans to engage the fire. They’d been trained never to rush into a dangerous situation without adequate preparation.
He watched as Slade Steele stepped out of a pickup, limped to the back, and released the dozer. Slade was over six feet of solid muscle, with a thick crop of ginger hair and bright eyes. He’d been a bull rider before an injury put him out of commission. Now he was famous for his award-winning pies and muscadine wine. Nobody doubted that, between his flirting and his cooking, he topped most cowgirl lists in the county as prime male material, but he mostly rode solo in his pickup these days. Shane could only wonder when some lucky gal was going to pierce Slade’s tough hide and reach his soft heart.
“I’m Slade’s dozer backup.” Jim Bob Williams—all sharp-eyed, hard-muscled go-getter—stepped down from the other side of the truck.
“Glad to see you’re all already in gear.” Shane watched as the other firefighters left their rigs and assembled around him.
“Dune and I are on this booster. We’ll pump and roll.” Sydney Steele clasped hands with Dune Barrett, her fiancé, as she glanced over at her twin, Slade, giving a final check of his equipment.
“I’ve got the other booster with Kent,” Trey Duval said, gesturing toward his cousin Kent Duval.
“I’ll run the other dozer,” Craig said, nodding toward the crouching machine, “but you’ll need to follow me.”
“Okay,” Shane replied, “that’ll do. Stay in close contact by radio.” He made a visual check to make sure all radios were on their shoulders, at head height for optimal use. “If necessary, you’ve got picks and shovels ready to dig ditches for containment, don’t you?”
“Hah!” Sydney said. “That’s the dozer’s job.”
“But we’ve got them just in case,” Slade said.
“Good.” Shane glanced back at the fire. “So far, we’re looking at a class A fire, and if the wind dies down, we’ll be on easy street.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Trey asked, shaking his head.
“We’ll work a little harder and a little faster,” Shane said, knowing they all understood exactly what he meant.
“Suits me,” Kent said.
“Did Hedy tell you that we’re using this area near the barn as our LCES?”
“Yep,” Slade said, putting his hands on his narrow hips as he glanced around the area. “Looks good.”
“Let’s make a direct attack, wetting, smothering, and separating burning fuel from unburned fuel.” Shane checked from one to another of the expectant faces, well aware that he was repeating what they already knew, but reminders didn’t hurt anybody and might help. He heard Hedy’s voice in the background, coming over the apparatus radios as she kept updates flowing to all parties involved in the fire. “And we’ll radio Hedy if we need more help.”
“Okay.” Slade gestured toward the blaze. “Let’s get this fire before it gets us.”
“Right,” Shane said. “Visual, radio, or vocal communications. Sydney and Dune, Kent and Trey, take your boosters to the far side of the fire and make a running attack. The wind’s whipping the fire this direction, so we’ll use the dozers on our side to cut a line that the blaze hopefully won’t cross. Okay, firefighters, initial attack. Let’s engage.”
“Dune,” Sydney said, heading for a booster, “let’s pump and roll.”
Kent and Trey quickly followed in her wake to the other booster.
After they drove away, Shane turned to Slade and Jim Bob. “You take one end. We’ll take the other. Let’s meet in the middle.”
“Hah!” Slade laughed, shrugging his muscular shoulders. “When did I ever meet anybody in the middle?”
Shane just shook his head, knowing how competitive the former bull rider could be. “Bet?”
“Winner buys a round of pie at the Chuckwagon Café.” Slade opened the bulldozer door to the enclosed cabin with a single seat.
Shane chuckled, knowing the pie would be great and taste mighty good after fighting a fire. His
friend had become the county’s blue-ribbon pie baker since leaving the rodeo circuit.
“Beers all around at Wildcat Hall or nothing doing.” Craig jerked open the door to the other dozer, reached inside, and pulled out a backfire torch.
Slade burst out laughing as he pointed at Craig. “Is it beer you’re looking for or a mighty fine gal named Fern who’s running the Hall now?”
Craig glanced to the side, as if visualizing the woman in question, before he looked back up with a big grin and heightened color on his handsome face. “Just keep to your pies and I’ll keep to my beer.”
“Way it’s looking, pretty quick, I may be the only single guy left standing in the county,” Slade said, teasing his partner as he sat down inside the dozer.
“Your time’s coming,” Craig called while turning to Shane and holding out the red torch.
He grasped it, not about to say a word on the subject because he understood only too well just how vulnerable a man could be when he was falling hard for a woman. “Firefighters, let’s roll!”
Chapter 12
So much for easy street, as if that term had ever come into play with a fire. Shane felt sweat trickle down under his hard hat to hit his cheekbones, sliding down the sides of his face and dripping onto his jacket. He was hot and sooty and grumpy, but he kept going. No choice. He was on foot and more vulnerable than Craig, who was inside the bulldozer.
They’d been at it for hours, and he was flagging behind the dozer. Craig was removing flammable material, like dry leaves and dead grass, to leave a line of bare soil. Shane’s job was to create a firebreak, widening the line as he followed the bright-yellow dozer that left a continuous line of track plates similar to those of a caterpillar or military tank.
They’d flanked the fire and gotten in front of it, but that meant the gusting wind was blowing smoke and flames directly toward them. He knew only too well that it was critical to make the line as wide as possible between the fire and his ranch structures, so he kept moving forward, no matter how tired or hot he got with the flames beating ever closer.
He figured most ground critters and birds had left the area, but he still kept an eye out for any that might be injured or unable to get away. Unfortunately, that was getting harder to do all the time, as the smoke was growing denser and the fire roaring closer. He coughed, feeling his lungs clog up with smoke. He leaned down to get a better breath, knowing only too well that smoke rose, so the air was always clearer near the ground. At least Craig had plenty of oxygen, since he was inside the enclosed cab of the dozer.
Shane couldn’t tell how close they were getting to Slade and Jim Bob, mainly because Slade kept upping the ante over the radio with jokes about pies and beers for the winners. Slade had always used humor to lift flagging spirits or motivate tired bodies. He appreciated his longtime friend for that ability, even if it could get annoying in the long haul, when he was so exhausted he could hardly put one foot in front of the other. Still, he was glad for the jokes.
Craig had plowed a long enough line again for Shane to widen it. He held his canister filled with two-thirds diesel and one-third gasoline in his gloved right hand. The backfire torch had a ten-inch-long spout, with the igniter extending beyond the nozzle. He walked across Craig’s bare line toward the blaze, lit the wick, held down the nozzle, and set the dry grass on fire. Yellow-orange flames leaped upward as he kept moving down the far side of the line, setting a firebreak.
As he lit the fire, he kept an ear out for the backup beep of Craig’s dozer, along with news over the radio. If he heard Craig start to back up, he knew to turn and run because Craig would never give ground unless the fire had turned fast, furious, and out of control. If that happened, he’d be more vulnerable than ever, not only to the fire but also to being run over by the dozer.
For now, he made steady progress behind Craig, widening the line as the sun slowly sank in the west. He didn’t want to be out after dark because it’d make his job harder, but he’d be there—like all firefighters—till the job was done. He was having more and more trouble breathing as smoke from his backfires met the original blaze coming toward them. He coughed, leaned down, tried to breath, but it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t afford to take a chance on blacking out from smoke inhalation, so he got down on his knees, where the air was better.
He didn’t like to crawl on the ground beside a raging brush fire while backfiring with a flammable torch. But he did it anyway, continuing to fire the dry grass as he gasped for breath. He couldn’t stop yet, particularly not now, when so much was at stake.
He felt completely alone in a world of red flames, black ground, and white smoke. He was getting just enough oxygen to keep going, crawling on his hands and knees, dragging the canister, raising it, lowering it, then struggling forward as he followed the dozer again. In that woozy state, he saw Eden starring in her own video from gangly kid to prom star to radio host to back at the Den. Somehow, she looked right at him out of her video, eyes wide in alarm as she pointed toward red-orange flames.
For some reason, her action galvanized him. He snapped out of his dream state, realizing that he was prone on the ground with flames arching over the bare line toward him. He took a deep breath, or as deep as he could get, and realized he was hearing the beep-beep-beep of the dozer backing up. If he didn’t move, he’d get run over. Beyond that, he heard Slade calling his name over the radio, demanding he answer or give up all thoughts of pie and beer. They must have been trying to reach him for some time. He coughed and choked as he realized he was oxygen deprived. He couldn’t get on the radio to reassure them until he could breathe properly again.
Had they met in the middle, or had the fire overtaken the dozers, sending them all scrambling to safety at the barn? He wasn’t thinking straight. He didn’t know and couldn’t tell from Slade’s shouting over the radio and Craig’s dozer’s beep-beep-beep.
He struggled to his feet, shaking his head to try and clear it. He could hear the roaring of the fire and smell the scorched earth. He started one last backfire, then, clutching the heavy canister against his heaving chest, he took off running and stumbling on leaden feet back toward the barn, hearing the dozer right behind him, gaining ground as it came faster and faster. He doubted Craig could see him for the smoke, and he didn’t have enough breath to answer Slade or Hedy, who’d now taken up calling his name. He didn’t want to worry them, but he had just about enough breath and stamina to try and get out of Craig’s way.
He cut across pasture, heading uphill as he struggled through tall grass, stumbled over blackberry vines, and gasped for oxygen in the hot, smoky air. He could hear the beeping of the dozer and the snap, crackle, and pop of the brush fire that seemed to follow him every step he took toward safety. When he saw the fences of his ranch were still white up ahead, he took a deep breath of fresh air and grinned in triumph. He’d made it. He felt relieved, tried, hungry, and thirsty, but those were all fixable as soon as he got home. Sweet home.
He turned to look behind him and saw two dozers covered in soot trundling up the line. Jim Bob trudged along behind them, carrying his fire torch in one hand and his fire rake in the other. Best of all, the fire line they’d worked so hard to create held back the blaze. They’d won.
Shane keyed his radio for dispatch. “Hedy, the fire’s under control.”
“That’s what I hear,” she responded in her no-nonsense voice. “Did you decide to take a nap or something?”
“Yeah, something.”
“Full debrief later.”
“Right.”
“By the by, Slade says you lost the bet. He says you owe pie all around. Craig says beer.”
Shane chuckled as he walked toward the fence. “How does Slade know they won? Maybe I was checking the halfway mark.”
“Is there a mark?”
“Doubtful. But I’m ready to argue the point.”
“No doubt.” She cleared
her throat. “Want my personal opinion?”
“Sure.”
“I’d call the Chuckwagon and say you’re buying pie for all the firefighters. And then—”
“Do you want me to admit defeat?”
“Hear me out.”
“Okay.”
“Call Wildcat Hall and say you’re buying all the firefighters beer.”
“Sure, I can do that, and sure, I can pay later. But why?”
Hedy gave a deep, rich chuckle. “If you go straight back to the Den, I bet there’s a gal just waiting for you there.”
Shane couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Not get cleaned up?”
“You got my point. Jack and Eden have been worried sick…and not just about the fire. But they didn’t let it stop them doing their jobs. She’s been getting reports from me, and he’s been staying on the air to keep the county in the loop. I’m proud of them both.”
“Thanks, Hedy.” He watched the others go through the gate near his barn. He hurried to catch up with them. “I’ll send the firefighters back to the station, then I’ll go to the Den. It’s only right I give them details about the fire in person.”
“Good idea. Glad you thought of it.”
“I’m just full of good ideas.”
Hedy chuckled again. “I bet you are. And don’t think this lets you off the hook. You still have a report to file come tomorrow.”
“You got it.”
“For now, I’m sending out fresh firefighters with the two old boosters to keep watch till the fire is completely out with no chance of reigniting.”
“Sounds great. We could use a break.” He clicked off, then grinned as he walked up to his friends clustered near the barn. “Hedy’s sending the other boosters with fresh teams, so we’re off duty pretty quick.”
