Firestorm: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

by Ellie Masters

“Do you know Judge Simon?” I turn and take both her hands in mine.

  Her eyes pinch as she looks up at the sky. “I’ve seen him at church. He’s a nice-looking gentleman. Why?”

  “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  Her eyes grow wide as I explain my meeting with the judge and the promise I made to put in a good word on his behalf with her.

  “You set me up?” She crosses her arms and gives me her stern mother look, but I see a faint flush in her cheeks.

  When I asked if she knew him, she commented on his appearance which tells me she’s taken notice. Perhaps my meddling isn’t such a bad thing.

  “I told him I’d put in a good word. So, what do you want to do about it? Want me to set something up?”

  “Well, if it helps Evelyn.”

  Yeah, my mom is great, but she’s not that much of a saint. She’s definitely interested in Judge Simon, and I’m not above using that to my advantage.

  As for Evelyn, I’m concerned. The arson findings are not in her favor. If I can’t find some evidence of this other man, it’s going to be hard proving her innocence. We head inside and help my brothers finish cleaning up after breakfast.

  We work together, washing the dishes, as I lay out my concerns. Brody and Cage listen while Mom watches. She won’t say it, but she’s thrilled we’re all back home. I get to see her every week, but Brody works in the city and Cage is often on assignment, gallivanting across the globe.

  She worries about each of us. That we’re not settling down. That none of us have ever had a steady girlfriend. I had Erin, but that blew up in my face when she fucked Felix. Mom’s afraid we aren’t going to find our soulmates and never know what true love feels like.

  She had us before turning twenty-one. The desire for grandbabies stirs in her eyes, but we’re not holding up our end of the deal, which frustrates her to no end.

  “I don’t see what you can do.” Cage slaps the drying towel over his shoulder. “The arson report is going to be tough to beat.”

  “Yeah, but Pete Sims is a putz. He does the bare minimum. Besides it’s all circumstantial.”

  “I hear you,” Cage says. “You want to believe her, but her fingerprints are all over everything.”

  “Yeah, it’s weird that they picked up prints.” Brody drains the sink and watches the suds swirl down the drain. “I thought the fire would have burned everything up.”

  “You’d be surprised what survives a fire. Things you think shouldn’t be affected are unrecognizable. Other things, like paper, are surprisingly resilient.”

  “And fingerprints?” Cage asks.

  “In plastic, they’re incredibly durable.” My brothers have a point.

  Everything points to Evelyn, but they weren’t there. They didn’t see the terror in her eyes. She wasn’t concerned about the fire or its threat to her life. Her fear came from thinking I was the man who knocked her out.

  “If we could find this man who assaulted her.” I blow out my breath in frustration, “That would clear Evelyn of everything.”

  “And how do we do that?” Cage flips the towel in the air, folding it in half. He hangs it on a drawer handle. “There’s no proof he was there. Other than footprints, but wasn’t your crew working there? If you can identify the center of the fire, then you could try that, but it’s been over two weeks. I’d think any prints would be gone by now. I think you’re fighting a lost cause.”

  “Think about it.” I persist in my defense. “After he knocked her out, he had the perfect opportunity to pin the whole thing on her. He could’ve shoved that receipt in the bottom of her bag. Who keeps receipts like that anymore? And he could’ve put the bottle of lighter fluid in her hand. There’s plausible deniability.”

  “I think you mean reasonable doubt,” Brody corrects.

  “Whatever.” I kick back and lean against the kitchen island. “She didn’t do it, and if we had her cellphone, there would be proof.”

  “What do you mean?” Cage perks up, interested.

  “She said she took some selfies and he’s in the photos.”

  “What happened to her phone?”

  I shrug. “She said it was lost with the rest of her stuff.”

  “But they found her backpack,” Cage says. “Her phone could’ve survived.”

  Brody scratches his head. “I still don’t see how her backpack survived that fire.”

  “She was in the epicenter. It burned outward from where she was.”

  “Ah, then we go up there and look for it.” Brody says it like it’s so damn easy.

  “Wouldn’t they have found it during the investigation?” Cage still isn’t convinced.

  “Only if they were looking for it, and Pete Sims found what he needed to string together his case and stopped.”

  “So, we saddle up and go look ourselves.” Cage grabs the dishtowel, spins it real quick, then snaps it at me.

  “Mother fucker!” He scores a direct hit on my hip and gives me a cocky grin, pleased with himself.

  I snatch the towel out of Cage’s grip and quickly twist the end.

  “Game on!” I flick the towel at him.

  Cage tries dancing away, but I score a direct hit on his ass.

  “Fucker!” He spins around and snags one of the drying towels.

  Mine’s wetter, which means it snaps better and is more likely to leave a welt behind.

  We used to prank each other all the time growing up, covering one another with welts over our wet bodies as we ran semi-naked through the house after a shower. Our father would sit in his overstuffed chair and mutter ‘Boys will be boys’ while our mother scolded us to stop hitting one another.

  We’re almost thirty, but we’re racing around the house, snapping each another with towels. Not to be left out, Brody grabs a towel and joins in on the chase. It’s two on one during these things as we gang up on one another. That generally changes several times. With Mom telling us to stop, we race outside where she can’t yell at us.

  Brody and I gang up on Cage, landing several direct hits before he dips his towel in one of the rain barrels to get it wet.

  Minutes later, we’re covered in welts and laughing hard inside the barn. Mom leaves, driving off in her little red corvette when she realizes we aren’t going to listen.

  We collapse against the hay bales and Cage looks over at me. “So, when are we going up?”

  “Up?”

  “Yeah, to do our investigation.” He makes air quotes with his fingers.

  “You seriously want to help?” He didn’t seem convinced earlier.

  “Damn straight.” Brody gives a nod. “Evelyn is amazing.”

  Cage cracks up. “Yeah, even if she’s a little handsy.”

  “That’s it!” I pile on top of Cage, punching and jabbing playfully as he blocks my fists. Brody is no help. He holds his sides from the laughter spilling out of him.

  I love my brothers, because no matter what they have my back, and I miss having them around. We stop goofing around and saddle our horses. After I go inside, to get my bag and water for the trail, we’re off.

  It’s late summer and still hot. Broad green leaves flutter on the vines and heavy grapes hang from the stems. In a few weeks we’ll begin harvesting, but for now the vineyards remain quiet. Scattered over the fields, footlong mylar streamers flutter in the wind. Their reflective coating scares off the birds who would otherwise decimate our crop.

  “Vines look healthy.” Brody gives an appreciative nod. “Looks like it’s going to be a good year.”

  “It should be, or would’ve been. We lost a lot in the fire.”

  “We’ll rebuild,” Cage chimes in.

  “We?” Not likely. Brody is busy in the city and Cage disappears for months at a time.

  “I’ll help out when I’m home.” Cage reaches out from horseback and tries to snag a clutch of grapes. He’s unsuccessful and we move on. He leaves in a couple of weeks for an expedition and who knows what will pull him away after that.

/>   “Honestly, there’s not much to do. George is examining the roots, seeing what we can salvage. We’ll spend winter reconditioning the soil, but it may take a season or two before we can replant.”

  Then years before the vines mature and begin producing.

  My brothers know all of this. We were raised learning everything about growing grapes and making wine. Our father put us to work on nearly every job involved in the whole process over the years. The wine business flows in our veins.

  A bead of sweat forms on my brow and I swipe my forehead. There’s not a cloud in the sky, which leaves the sun to bake the land as morning stretches into noon. Knight, Chesty, and Brody’s Arabian, amble through the fields until we get to the burned part of our fields. On the surface, it looks like a deadman’s land. Scorched dirt and the husks of vines stretch before us. Our carefree banter grows silent as we wander through the devastation.

  On closer inspection, there are small signs of life. Grasses poke up through the charred ground. Those will give way to low scrub and small bushes if left alone. My decision will be whether to allow the land to lie fallow for a season or two before attempting to replant. It will come down to whether the roots of our vines survived.

  If they start sprouting, we’ll focus on the vines. If not, I’ll let the land recover. It means decreased production and diminished profits for several years. I need to sit with Brody later to see if our business has the cash flow to survive.

  As the horses begin the climb into forest lands we come upon what’s left of the trees. The burnt husks of their trunks chill me. The fire stripped the trees of their beauty, leaving nothing but gaunt, skeletal remains clinging to barren soil. They reach up with gnarled and snapped limbs as if desperate to be whole again.

  The canopy which once sheltered so many is gone. It’s too quiet as if the land is trying to heal.

  “It’s horrible,” Brody says. His horse gives a soft snicker as it picks its way along the path.

  “It’s been a hot summer with a savage sun. All that heat baked the ground and turned the underbrush to tinder.”

  “Looks like it all just went up. Is it always like this after a fire?”

  “Not usually this bad, but all the deadwood dehydrated in the heat, providing the perfect fuel to feed the fires. It was incendiary.” I rub Knight’s neck, giving him a light pat. “As bad as it looks, as quiet as it feels, there are signs of life.” I point out little shoots of green poking through the soot. “Fast growing grass come first. Birds and small mammals will follow. Seedlings will sprout and a new forest will emerge from the ashes.”

  “You spouting the circle of life crap,” Cage says.

  “It is what it is,” I say.

  We ride through the devastation, each of us caught up in our thoughts.

  This is why I volunteer as a firefighter. To prevent horrific scenes such as this. But this is a part of life, devastation followed by life.

  Everything works in a circle.

  Hot and sweaty, the horses climb up the hills as the sun beats down on us and heats the air. The horses plod onward, putting their heads down and hearts into the effort. I listen to the steady clopping of hooves, the gentle switching of tails, and their soft snorts as they work.

  It’s a gorgeous day and the summer heat on my back is welcome. The leather reins rub between my fingers. I ride often and am protected from blisters by the rough callouses on my skin. Brody and Cage wear thick gloves. Their time away from La Rouge has softened their hands.

  Knight’s neck lathers in thick sweat which clings to the short, stiff hairs of his summer coat. Foam leaks from his mouth as he works the copper snaffle in his mouth.

  Gently, I lean down and pat his neck. “Good boy.”

  He responds with a change in gait, trotting a few steps before settling back down to lead the way.

  It takes a few hours, but we make it to the ridge a little after noon. We had a generous breakfast, but my stomach rumbles and I’m glad I had the foresight to pack snacks into my bag before setting out.

  We come upon the primitive campsite, identifiable by the soot-covered ring around the fire pit. I hop off Knight and tie him to a nearby trunk which is covered in black soot. Normally, I would let him graze, but there’s nothing alive. Brody climbs off his horse and Cage follows. They tie their horses and join me by the fire pit.

  “Shit.” Brody shades his eyes against the glare of the sun. “This place…it gives me chills.”

  I nod in agreement, although the last time I was here the entire place had been engulfed in ghastly red and raging orange as flames tore through the woodland. The unfettered flames hungrily devoured the vegetation and licked their way up the trunks of trees while they chewed through the underbrush.

  “It smells.” Cage walked toward the fire ring. He stops and sniffs the air. “That acrid scent is potent. I’m surprised it’s still so thick.”

  “It’ll last for a while, at least until the forest recovers,” I explain.

  “And you were here?” Brody turns in a circle, surveying the destruction.

  I point toward the edge of the ridge. “We rappelled down over there and dug the trenches which prevented the fire from spreading deeper into the forest.”

  That was back-breaking work, but saved the main part of the forest. Denied that avenue, the fire poured down the hills where it destroyed not just forest, but several acres of our family’s land and chewed through several homes where the homeowners had failed to maintain an adequate firebreak.

  Grady and his team from Station 13 fought those blazes, trying to get in front of the fire to cut what firebreaks they could to limit the damage and starve the fire.

  I agree with Cage. An acrid scent lingers in the air. It’s pungent and noxious.

  My helitack team worked endlessly through that night, putting in a twenty-four hour shift before taking a break. Four hours later, we were back at it, trying to save as much as we could. Days later, the fire ended leaving behind death and destruction.

  Brody walks around the campsite, surveying the damage. “This is surreal.”

  “Yeah.” I join him and glance around the area. Any confidence I have in finding Evelyn’s phone fades. We’re looking for the impossible.

  But my brothers give it their best. We stay up on the ridge for hours, kicking through the ash, turning over every stone, but as the sun begins to dip toward the horizon we decide to call it. I don’t like walking the horses in the dark and we’ve got a long ride ahead of us.

  By the time we make it back home, dusk deepens into night. We unsaddle the horses, rub them down, and make sure they have plenty to eat.

  I reward Knight with an apple for a job well done. Then we’re all back in the house, sitting on the couch. After a brief discussion about whether to binge watch TV or play a game, Brody and Cage opt to play a game.

  “You guys start.” I lift my phone. “I’m going to give Evelyn a call and see how she’s doing.”

  I’ve been separated from her for the better part of the day and feel unsettled not having her by my side.

  Before I can dial her number, my phone rings. It’s Grant Malone, and I can’t for the life of me understand why he’d be calling me.

  20

  Evelyn

  La Rouge works magic on me, leaving me oddly at peace, as if there’s a little piece of me I never knew was missing that found its way home.

  Whether that’s the blooming romance with Asher, or the way his family makes me feel at home, despite all the inadvertent groping, is difficult to say. Whatever the reason, La Rouge Vineyards feels like a place I want to spend more time at.

  Maybe tomorrow.

  For today, my time is monopolized by Prescott and Gracie. I’ve been too hard on them when all they want is what’s best for me. And Prescott is a veritable saint. He could say all manner of things to me, the top on that list being ‘I told you so’ but he keeps his own counsel. That shouldn’t mean as much to me as it does.

  Prescott has a lunch
meeting with Judge Simon which leaves the morning for shopping. Gracie takes me to a string of boutique stores in Napa, while Prescott dutifully trails behind us.

  We hit all the shops and rebuild an impressive wardrobe in a matter of hours. When lunchtime comes, our driver drops Prescott off at an establishment where he’ll meet with the judge and get a sense of how bad things are for me.

  Gracie and I consult our phones and pick a five-star restaurant to whittle away the afternoon. Lunch becomes a two-hour event, which we follow with more shopping.

  Prescott texts that he’ll join us at the house he rented for the duration and we meet up with him a little before five in the evening. It takes several trips to empty the trunk of my new purchases. Gracie and I definitely gave my new plastic a workout.

  “With my black thumb, that’s not going to last.” I point to the ornate garden with its myriad of flowering plants. The small house Prescott rented perches up on the hills overlooking the valley. It’s quaint with an English garden filling the front lawn.

  Prescott chuckles. “Which is why you have a gardener to take care of it. Don’t worry, all the amenities are taken care of.” Knowing him, that means I have a gardener and housekeeping service already scheduled. He hands me the key to the front door. “I hope you like it.”

  I’m not used to carrying keys. In the past year, I’ve spent the majority of nights camping out on the trail. It’s going to feel weird sleeping with a roof over my head. I’m thankful the house is at the end of the street. There’s no traffic and we’re far enough from any roads it’s going to be very peaceful.

  “Thank you so much for taking care of everything.” He doesn’t have to do this for me, but I sense taking care of me helps to ease some of his grief. I lost my fiancé, but he lost a son. I can’t imagine what that must feel like, and to have me standing in front of him, instead of his son, must be incredibly difficult.

  “You know we’d do anything for you.” Gracie places her hand on my arm. She’s sweet and cares deeply for me.

  “I do.” I take a deep breath and insert the key into the lock. “How long do I have to stay here?” My anxiety builds, feeling as if the world is closing in on me. I crave the open spaces of the outdoors where I’m most at peace.