“Then we’d better get started.”
He had a point. Jade had a Pulaski, a specialized firefighting axe, in the truck. But, as far as she knew, that was it. The truck she’d brought was just a regular pickup. It wasn’t stocked for fighting fires. She ran toward the barn and found the door he mentioned. Flinging it open, she saw that, thankfully, the room was well organized, each tool hanging on a hook or leaning neatly against a wall. She grabbed every digging tool she could and staggered out of the barn. Aidan met her there and took the tools, loading them onto the floor of the tractor. Jade ran for the truck and grabbed her Pulaski. The familiar weight brought some comfort. “Let’s go,” she called as she jogged back to the tractor.
Aidan ran for the driver’s side and Jade climbed into the passenger seat. The engine roared as he accelerated up the driveway, but, over the sound, Jade could hear Chip’s muffled barking. They must have left him in the cab of the truck.
“Stop!” Jade put a hand to Aidan’s arm. “You can’t leave Chip in the truck.”
Aidan stopped the tractor. “Now you’re going to tell me how to handle my dog?”
“Yes. Let’s let him run. You’ll have to lock him up later, once the embers start coming down.”
He glared at her but put on the brake. “Go on, then, go get him.”
She couldn’t resist poking at him a little. “Because you know I’m right.”
“I didn’t say that.” But something tugged at the corner of his mouth, a quirk that might possibly be related to a smile.
Jade ran back to the truck and let Chip out. The cattle dog did a happy dance of gratitude and followed her back to the tractor, shooting Aidan what looked like a reproachful glance before running off into the grass to sniff at something.
Aidan accelerated, and Jade held on tight to the edge of her seat as they bumped up the driveway, with Chip running joyfully alongside. If the dog was worried about the fire, it was eclipsed by his happiness at running free and being included in this adventure.
They drove past Aidan’s old farmhouse, until they came to an open gate where the field around Aidan’s house started to give way to trees. Jade hadn’t even noticed it driving in, but now she could see that there was a barbed wire perimeter fence here, and the ground on this side of it had a lot less grass than everywhere else. On the far side of the fence was a little more open meadow, but that quickly gave way to a tangle of oaks and shrub. Her stomach twisted. That was a feast for a wildfire. It could fuel the fire into an inferno right before it hit the ranch.
Deep breaths. In...and out. She couldn’t control that. All she could do was check out the firebreak. Which she could immediately see wasn’t nearly wide enough. “This is only ten feet across. Out here it should be twenty to thirty.”
Aidan turned the tractor onto the plowed break and stopped. He pointed ahead of them. “Couldn’t do it. The slope is too steep up ahead. I didn’t want to roll the tractor.”
Jade stood in her seat and shaded her eyes. Sure enough, the hill angled down sharply toward the west about thirty yards ahead of them. Okay, not ideal. Think, Jade, think.
“Let’s try to widen the break right here near your driveway as much as possible,” she said. “The goal isn’t to save all of your grazing land at this point. Just the ranch buildings and the sheep.” And us. She tossed the tools down off the tractor and jumped after them, landing on the uneven soil of the overgrown firebreak. Chip came to greet her, wagging his stub tail in happiness. Jade stroked his soft, pointy ears and considered what to do next. “Drive the entire break and scrape it clean. While you do that, I’ll try to widen this area a little.”
Aidan really did smile slightly then, just a hint of humor deepening the lines of his craggy face. “Yes, boss.”
It was a strange moment for smiling but his expression, or maybe Chip’s comforting ears, settled her racing heart. “Glad we’re clear on who’s in charge.” Grabbing her Pulaski, she headed for the edge of the plowed lane. The ground was so dry that she could see cracks in the soil. This wasn’t going to be easy.
Jade watched as Aidan and the tractor bumped on down the firebreak, the lowered box blade scraping errant weeds and grass behind them. Chip zigzagged after him, sniffing at the dirt the tractor churned up. Aidan was certainly a prickly, grumpy guy, but at least he was a hard worker. That was all she could ask for right now. His possibly-a-smile and perhaps-a-sense-of-humor were unexpected surprises. If they showed up again, they would certainly make this fight a little easier.
She shifted her grip on her Pulaski and went to the spot where the firebreak met the driveway. She raised her arms and brought the sharpest end of the blade down hard about six inches from the edge of the firebreak. It barely made a dent in the soil. “Summer cement is right,” she muttered, and tried again, just a few inches from the edge of the break this time. The blade bit in and she hauled it toward herself, breaking up dirt as she went. Taking a step to the right, she repeated the motion again, then again and again. Sweat started down her face, mixing with the dust stirred up from the soil. The wind was blowing stronger, but it was hot, sooty and brought no relief.
Glancing up twenty minutes later, Jade surveyed her progress, and her heart sank toward her dusty boots. She’d come maybe ten yards and widened the break by about a foot, and her arms ached from chipping away at the rock-hard soil. She glanced north, at the black smoke blotting out the sky there. Now she knew how an ant felt, trying to move a breadcrumb by itself. So much effort, for so little reward.
Aidan was coming back her way with the tractor and she walked to meet him, dragging her Pulaski dejectedly behind her. He stopped, waiting for her to approach. Chip ran to greet her, shoving his cool nose into her free hand. “This is taking too long,” she told Aidan, heaving herself up to sit beside him again. “How about we scrape the existing firebreak as far as we can and move on to plan B?”
“Sounds good.” His voice was neutral but she could see the way his brows drew down. He looked worried. “What’s plan B?”
“I don’t know yet. But I’ll come up with it soon. And you were right. Your soil is cement.”
“Next year, when the ground is still wet, I’ll make the break wider wherever I can.” Aidan revved the engine and steered the tractor a little to the right, making sure to scrape the area that Jade had tried to conquer with her pickax.
“And maintain it,” Jade added automatically. Next year. It was impossible to look that far ahead. If Jade looked ahead more than ten minutes, panic threaded through her veins.
Aidan shrugged with what might be remorse. “Lesson learned. I should have taken this more seriously.”
It was nice to know he could admit when he’d been wrong. Maybe the stubborn rancher wasn’t quite as stubborn as he seemed. “We have other options. Do you have a hose that could reach up here?”
“I think we could run one from the house,” he said.
If things got bad, they could set a backfire on the other side of the firebreak to deprive the main fire of fuel. But despair whispered in her ear. Setting a backfire and keeping it under control was usually a team effort. There were only two of them. But they had no choice. They had to keep trying. Hopefully trying would be enough to get them through.
* * *
AIDAN GLANCED AT Jade as he dragged the box blade along the firebreak, taking down the thistles and wild fennel that had seeded itself in the churned-up soil over the summer. She was right. He should have maintained this. They were losing precious time scraping it now. But if it could stop the flames, or at least divert some of them, it would be worth it.
He knew they were in trouble. Jade was pretty calm, acting like they had plenty of time, but the fire was getting closer. The day was dimming, not just because it was late afternoon, but because the source of the smoke was closing in on them.
Aidan steered the tractor along the rutted firebreak, lowering the box
blade as the track sloped down. Why had he let this get so overgrown? Ever since Jade pointed it out, Aidan had been wondering if he was neglectful, or maybe just suicidal. A clear firebreak was everybody’s first priority out here. Wildfire wasn’t just a possibility. A rancher could expect to have to face it at some point. Between the drought, the longer, dryer summers and the warmer winters, fire was the new normal.
Was it possible he just didn’t care anymore? He cared for his animals. He wanted them to not only survive, but thrive. And the last few years he’d been pretty interested in experimenting with new ways to manage wildlife out here—mountain lions, coyotes, even the occasional bear. He’d found ways for his livestock to coexist with these predators and still keep them at bay. He’d even gotten a grant to help fund his work, and now he was a demonstration ranch. Other ranchers visited to learn from his methods. That’s how he’d gotten to know Maya and Caleb. But when was the last time he’d repaired anything on his house? And why hadn’t he tended to the firebreak?
And now here, with this firefighter, her confident manner and her dark eyes that looked right into him as if she wanted to know what made him tick, he was embarrassed.
“How long have you been out here on this ranch?” She was looking out over the property as she spoke. They had a good view from here.
Too long. Not long enough. It was his refuge, his heartland and the source of so much grief. “About nine years now,” he finally answered.
“You must really like it out here.”
“Yep.” Why was she making small talk now? Seems like they should save their breath for breathing, the smoke was getting so thick.
“And you live all alone out here?”
“What is this, some kind of interview for Firefighter Monthly?” The moment he said it, he knew it was rude. She was stuck out here for better or worse, trying to help. But he didn’t want to justify his life. He didn’t want to explain his choices, or why he was all alone. Not to her, not to anyone.
“I wasn’t trying to pry,” she said. “I was just curious.”
“Well, don’t be.” Aidan wasn’t sure if he was more disgusted with her or himself. But somehow he couldn’t stop his harsh words. “Not everyone wants to share all the details of their life. I know that’s hard for people to understand. Everyone nowadays is always oversharing, putting their lunch up on social media. Why would I care what someone else ate for lunch?”
She turned to gape at him. “Are you ninety? You sound like a crotchety old man.”
He was. Inside at least. Thirty-five years old, going on a hundred. “We don’t need to explain our lives to each other. We just need to fight this fire.”
“Right.” She blew out a breath like she was trying to keep her patience. “Fine. Let’s talk about your power source. What do you use out here? Are you off the grid?”
“I use solar.” Aidan stopped the tractor, cursing the fire and the crushing feeling of hopelessness that threatened to paralyze him. “We’ve got to turn around here. It’s too steep for the tractor up ahead.”
Jade glanced behind them at the wall of smoke, and Aidan followed her gaze to where it was towering in the sky now. In the west they still had light, but the setting sun, obscured by smoke, was an eerie, orange orb, hovering at the horizon. The hills that made up the rest of his western view were sepia-tinted and blurred, as if Aidan was seeing them in an old photo. They were running out of time. He turned his attention to turning the tractor around. It wasn’t easy to do on this narrow part of the hill.
“You have batteries right? To store your solar power? Where are they?”
She was still full of questions, but at least they weren’t personal this time. “I’ll show you the batteries when we get back to the house.”
“They power the pumps on your wells?”
“I’ve got separate solar panels for the pumps.”
“And you’ve cleared the area around them, right?”
He had. Back in spring. Just like this firebreak, he’d let everything go. Where had his mind been? He’d lost Colby over two years ago. But lately it had caught up with him. He’d thrown himself into his work during those first terrible months, as if staying busy could make the pain go away. But this summer he’d stopped working as hard. There’d been more days than he could count where he’d found himself leaning on a fence, the weight of grief heavy on his back, staring into space instead of getting his chores done.
Jade’s sigh was audible. “I take it from your silence that you haven’t maintained defensible space around the panels for your pump?”
There was fear within her sarcasm. Aidan could hear it. He cranked the tractor around, and after an awkward five-point turn got them heading back on the now-cleared firebreak. “I’ve got a weed trimmer. It will work for those areas.”
“And how are you for hoses?”
“I’ve got a fair number. Backpack pumps, too.” He glanced her way, sure that would earn him back a little respect.
It worked. She was looking less tense. She moved a hand in his direction, with her knuckles curled under.
Aidan eyed her hand. “What’s that for?”
“You’ve never done a fist bump?”
“It’s been a while.” He took a hand off the wheel long enough to bump knuckles. “I guess that means you’re happy about the backpack pumps?”
“They can make a big difference when we get spot fires.”
He noted the word when. There were no ifs here.
They drove in silence for a moment, Jade staring at the approaching smoke as if lost in thought. Aidan turned down the main driveway, calling Chip to make sure the dog followed. Chip emerged from behind some coyote brush, looking annoyed at being interrupted. He’d probably been chasing a rabbit. But he was a good dog to the core, and obediently trotted alongside the tractor as they made their way down the driveway and back toward the barn.
Jade’s questions started again. “Where is your propane tank?”
Aidan pointed it out as they drove past his house. It was out back of the house on a concrete pad, the regulation distance from the building.
“If that thing blows it’s going to take the back of the house with it.”
She didn’t inspire confidence in a guy, that’s for sure. “I followed all the rules for where to site it,” he told her.
“The rules are bad,” she said. “Most people put them farther away from structures now.”
“I guess they don’t give you much training on people skills at your job?” There he went. Rude again. Her confidence, her know-it-all attitude brought it out in him. Or maybe he was getting defensive because she clearly thought he was a fool. Not that he even cared what she thought. He’d given up on worrying about other peoples’ opinions a long time ago. So why was he reacting so much to hers?
Maybe because she’s right, an unwelcome voice from deep inside muttered. He had neglected a lot of things lately. He’d been barely getting by, let alone keeping up on changes to propane tank regulations.
“Please tell me your solar batteries are protected from the fire.”
“They’re in that shed over there.” He pointed to his shed, set up next to a large array of solar panels, angled to catch the sunlight. As soon as he did he realized his mistake. The panels and battery shed were downhill from them, about halfway between the house and barn, sitting on a poured concrete pad. But in the past few years, he’d let grass and bushes grow up all around them.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jade groaned. “Stop the tractor.” When he did, she jumped down with her firefighter’s ax and a pair of long-handled garden clippers she’d brought from his barn. “We’re wasting valuable time here, Aidan.” She yanked her gloves out of her belt and pulled them on. “We’ve got to go clear that brush.” She stormed off, disgust visible in her rigid posture, traitorous Chip bouncing alongside her.
Aidan
parked the tractor, which would never make it down the brushy slope, and grabbed his gloves and tools, as well. He followed her, and they hacked the bushes in silence, chopping down coyote brush and ripping out blackberry brambles, throwing it all in a big pile. Jade worked in a controlled hurricane of motion, whacking at the base of the brush, obliterating grass. She might be critical and annoying, but she was tough, no one could argue with that.
She pointed northwest, down the slope. “Haul this stuff about twenty yards that way. If it flares up, at least it will blow away from the house and the barn. Assuming the wind doesn’t change.”
Aidan did as he was told, and after about twenty minutes they had a few yards around the battery shed and solar panels reduced to shorn stubble.
Jade grabbed a huge armload of brush and carried it to the pile Aidan had made. “Where’s the closest hose? Let’s wet this area down.”
“It’s by the pasture with the sheep,” Aidan told her. “Follow me.”
They made their way back to the driveway and Aidan drove the tractor to the carport. As he shut off the engine Jade jumped down and pulled the tools off the tractor, leaning them against the barn wall. “I have a feeling we’ll need these again.”
Aidan read her meaning loud and clear. She was expecting a lot more problems, all because he’d neglected his chores lately.
He hadn’t wanted her here. Didn’t want to feel like, because of his negligence, her life was in greater danger. But he also knew that while Jade might be tough to take, she definitely knew what she was doing. Annoyed and defensive as he was, he should count himself lucky to have her here with him. Only it was hard to do when she was right so very often.
CHAPTER FIVE
JADE AIMED THE hose at the shorn ground around Aidan’s battery shed. This wasn’t good. They’d cleared about a ten-foot circle surrounding the shed and panels, but it wasn’t really enough, and they didn’t have time to do more. If the bushes beyond the cleared area went up quickly, the flames could get so high they’d still damage the panels. And Aidan had explained that these panels powered most of the ranch, including the pump for the well near the house. The well they’d be using to defend the upper half of the ranch from the flames. How could Aidan be so irresponsible to live all the way out here in these dry hills and not be more prepared for a wildfire?
Rescuing the Rancher Page 6
