Jenna's Cowboy

by Sharon Gillenwater

  Saturday night became date night for him and Jenna, with supper out. One week, they went to the Boot Stop, and the next to the Hacienda, a new Mexican restaurant in town. Then they drove to Abilene for seafood.

  On warm days, they took horseback rides when the work was done and they could get away. But the times he enjoyed the most were the evenings she cooked for him. Afterward, they played with Zach until his bedtime, then talked, stole kisses, and dreamed for an hour or two until Nate dragged himself away.

  Pastor Brad cut his sessions to once a week, which was fine with Nate. They were seeing progress. The prayers, counseling, and maybe the medication had gone a long way to improving his state of mind. He didn’t like taking the meds, but the psychiatrist thought he should stay on them for at least a year. Doctor Silverman anticipated that he might always need to take something for the anxiety and depression due to the likely chemical changes in his brain. Nate agreed to the one year test, then he’d see how things were.

  He hadn’t had a nightmare in over a month and was sleeping well almost every night. Thoughts of the war still skittered through his mind several times a day. Intermittently, he fought battles all over again, not exactly in a flashback but in his memories.

  Cars beside the road still bothered him. He tried to head off a flashback or panic attack when he first spotted the vehicle by reminding himself, often out loud, that he was in Texas. Usually, it was a rancher checking a stock tank across the fence, or an oil company rep inspecting some equipment. Folks stopped for other reasons were far and few between. If he saw someone who might need assistance, he’d pray for guidance and control and pull in behind them. Once a radiator had overheated. Another time, a very pregnant lady had a flat tire.

  Then there were the tourists who barely spoke English. They were looking for the “cows with twenty foot wide horns” that some guy in Dallas had told them about. They wanted to take a picture standing beside one. He tried to explain that twenty feet was an exaggeration even for longhorns, but he wasn’t sure they understood. Finally, he sent them about thirty miles down the road to a ranch with a Texas longhorn herd. Then he called the rancher—the same one who’d ridden the longhorn in the Christmas parade—and warned him that he was about to have company.

  Buster came up behind him one day to ask a question and startled him. When Nate spun around and almost punched him, word got around town to approach him from the front or make a lot of noise if coming from behind. To his relief, nobody seemed to think he was weird because of it. Or if they did, they didn’t spout off where he could hear it.

  He was better, but not good enough yet to be a husband and father.

  Since the week after Christmas, the temperature had been unusually warm, with fairly low humidity, moderate winds, and not a drop of rain. The stock tanks without windmills were barely more than mud. The creeks were empty, and Buster declared that the catfish were wearing flea collars.

  The Callahans, along with the rest of the volunteer fire department, were called out to fight three grass fires in one week. Due to their quick response and a drop in the wind, those fires had remained fairly small, only burning a total of 150 acres. One shed was lost, but they saved the farmhouse nearby.

  Folks were nervous, watchful, and extra careful.

  On the last Tuesday in January, the National Weather Service issued a Red Flag Warning for a large part of West Texas, advising of critical fire weather conditions. The temperature was expected to reach the high seventies by the afternoon with humidity below 15 percent. They predicted winds twenty-five to thirty miles per hour with gusts up to forty-five. As far as the eye could see, the land was a tinderbox.

  Chance went to his job site but was prepared to leave at a moment’s notice. Dub and Will stayed close to the house in case they were called out. They checked the water level in the two large portable spray tanks kept on the ranch and made sure the tires on the trailers had the right amount of air. If the Callahans were gone, Ollie and Ace would be in charge of keeping fire watch on the ranch. If anything happened, Buster would man one spray rig with Ace driving the pickup. Ollie and Ethel would handle the other one.

  The fire departments in thirty counties readied their equipment and put their fire crews on notice.

  Though he felt bad about it, Nate knew he couldn’t help fight a fire. He and Buster went to feed the cattle. They distributed a load of hay and one of cottonseed cake, counted the cattle in the pasture, and made a quick drive-by of the fence line.

  Jenna was meeting Lindsey in town for lunch and had a hair appointment at 2:00. Without her at the ranch house for the meal, Nate planned to fix himself a sandwich and pay his bills. He dropped Buster off at the barn for his truck and went home to eat. The older cowboy always took a short rest after lunch, so Nate also spent a few minutes in his recliner before going back to meet him.

  Dub’s and Will’s pickups were still at the house when they drove by to get another load of feed. Hopefully, they’d still be there at quitting time.

  Nate and Buster rotated positions on the feeding job. It was Nate’s turn to drive slowly across the pasture while Buster tossed the hay bales off the truck every twenty feet or so. This kind of driving wasn’t exactly a mental challenge. Watch for potholes and check on his partner every few minutes to make sure he hadn’t fallen off the truck. It gave a man time for his mind to wander.

  He glanced at the clock on the dash. Jenna’s stylist should be snipping away at her pretty red hair. They were probably both laughing and talking up a storm. After the appointment, she intended to go by the Mission and sort through some donations. That kind of thing went better on the afternoons that they weren’t open for customers.

  Zach had the sniffles, so playtime with his little friends at the day care had been nixed. He was spending the day with Grandma.

  Three quarters of the way through the load, Buster pounded on the top of the cab. Nate stopped and stuck his head out the window to see what he wanted.

  “You better come up here and take a look-see.”

  Nate turned off the engine, hopped out of the cab, and climbed onto the back bumper and the open tailgate into the truck bed. A gust of wind caught his cap bill, almost blowing it off his head. He shoved it down tighter. “What’s up?”

  “Look over yonder.” Buster pointed to the northwest. A wide, thick plume of smoke rose high in the pale blue sky.

  “That looks like a bad one.” Nate scanned the pasture, noting their position and that of the smoke, which expanded rapidly. He estimated the fire to be about four miles, maybe less, southwest of Callahan Crossing.

  And the wind was out of the southwest.

  His blood ran cold. “That’s headed right toward town.”

  Buster nodded, the color draining from his face. “Lord have mercy.”

  “We gotta go.” Nate threw a bale of hay over the side of the truck. Buster grabbed one and tossed it over the other side. Nate pushed the last one off the back and jumped down. Buster was right behind him. Nate slid into the driver’s seat, taking off as Buster slammed his door closed.

  Dub had bought some two-way radios the previous summer. Though they hadn’t been cheap, they’d never achieved the twenty-mile range advertised, not even in a flat, grassy pasture. In some places they worked well for keeping in touch with someone less than a mile or two away. But in this part of the ranch, the walkie-talkies were worthless.

  They sped across the pasture, their heads smacking the ceiling of the cab a couple of times when Nate drove over bumps instead of avoiding them. Buster tried twice to press the right number on his cell phone before he succeeded. His wife was at the high school.

  “Nadine, there’s a fire headed toward town. Get out of there right now.” Shaking his head as he listened, he grabbed the armrest when they hit another bump. “Honey, don’t wait till everybody—” He jerked the phone away from his ear, staring at it. For the first time in his life, Nate heard Buster swear. The older man dialed again.

  Nate couldn’
t manage the phone and driving through the rough pasture at the same time. After he crossed the cattle guard and turned onto the dirt road, he pushed number two, the speed dial for Jenna. He got a fast busy signal. Buster was trying again. “I think the circuits are overloaded. Or the cell towers are already down.”

  “Nadine said they’re evacuating the school, but she won’t leave until all the kids are gone. I know that’s the right thing for her to do, but I don’t like her being there. The buses pick up the little kids first. I ain’t goin’ to sit home and wait for her to come in the door.”

  Nate dropped Buster off at his pickup, then raced to the ranch house and skidded to a stop. As expected, Dub and Will were gone. Jenna’s car wasn’t there or at her house. Shifting into park, he left the engine running and jogged to the back door.

  He burst into the kitchen, startling Ramona as she walked in from the dining room. She shrieked and threw a blue dishtowel in the air. “Have you heard from Jenna?”

  “No. We’ve been trying, but the phone lines are down.”

  Carrying her purse, Sue hurried into the kitchen. She already had her keys out. “Cell phones are down too.”

  “I know. Stay here with Zach,” ordered Nate. “And keep an eye on that fire. If the wind shifts, get out of here. I’ll go to town and find Jenna. What’s the name of the beauty shop?”

  “Joanie’s Cut and Clip. It’s on Twelfth between Fir and Elm. But try the Mission first. Even if she stayed for the haircut, she should be done by now.”

  Nate ran back to the pickup. Judging by the trail of dust on the main ranch road, Buster was almost to the highway. He hoped the other man planned to put the pedal to the metal because he had no intention of worrying about the speed limit.

  He covered the distance to the highway in record time. When he pulled onto the blacktop, there was no sign of Buster. Nate floored it until he hit ninety. The dark line of smoke had grown to terrifying proportions. “Lord, protect the people who are fighting that fire. Especially Dub, Will, and Chance. Please protect anyone in its way.”

  He topped a hill and saw the blaze, an inferno a mile wide and only a couple of miles from town. The wind whipped it into a leaping, dancing frenzy, devouring everything in its path. The smoke rolled before it, covering the countryside and blocking his view of the flames. “Father God, please don’t let anybody get hurt.”

  Red lights flashed amid the smoke. There had to be at least fifty or sixty vehicles trying to get ahead of the blaze. Trucks and firemen from half a dozen counties rushing to the battle. He didn’t see how a battalion of fire trucks could stop it.

  Half a mile from town, Nate crossed into the forty mile per hour zone and began to slow down. The speed limit would drop to twenty-five shortly. No matter his fear and haste, he couldn’t risk plowing into somebody. He met a highway patrolman going the other way, lights flashing, siren on and doing at least seventy. He suspected they were closing the road to keep people out. “Thanks, Lord, for letting me get here first.”

  The Mission was on the west side of town. He turned left on Main and met a stream of cars and pickups headed east. The siren at the downtown fire station blasted continuously. From the noise level, the one at the stadium sounded the same warning.

  Two people hurried from the drugstore to their cars. The insurance man rushed out of his office, carrying a box of files to his pickup. Next door, the realtor hauled out his computer and went back to lock the door. Across the street, Bob Hunter carried a box from Maisie’s store and put it in the back of his pickup, which was already almost full of antiques. He supposed Bob could always order more sporting goods, but according to Jenna, many things in Maisie’s shop were irreplaceable.

  Nate drove three blocks and turned up Maple, going to Third Street. Jenna’s truck was parked at the side of the Mission. Relief swept through him. She was safe. But not for long. Heavy smoke darkened the sky, and he thought he spotted flames at the edge of town. He shook his head, not letting himself dwell on the image.

  As he pulled up next to her pickup, she came out of the building, carrying a big, full plastic trash bag. He jumped out and ran to help her. He took the bag, noting through the slight gap in the top that it held clothes. He threw it in the back of her truck, adding to the large pile already there. “Honey, you have to leave.”

  She glanced at the red glow in the west as smoke swirled around them. “We have time to get a few more things. There are two boxes of unsorted clothes in the back. You get those, and I’ll grab the rest of the coats.” Nate did as she asked, wedging the big boxes in the truck bed.

  When she came out with the coats, he asked, “Where are you going to put those?”

  “The backseat.”

  He opened the back door, deciding there was enough room for the coats on top of the stacks of canned goods and bags of beans and rice. She stuffed them in the truck while he ran back inside. Grabbing a big empty box, he swept a tableful of shoes and boots into it.

  Jenna met him on the way out. She coughed and wiped her eyes. “I’ll get the record books. This will have to do.”

  He shoved some of the bags around to make room for the shoes. There were still boxes of canned goods in the building, and his truck was empty, but they’d run out of time. The wind swirled sand down the street, and the smoke irritated his eyes.

  She ran out a few minutes later, locking the door behind her. “Maybe it won’t reach here.”

  But they both knew it would. He took the records from her and crammed them into the only empty spot in the backseat. As she fastened her seat belt and started the engine, a roar drew their attention to the west. The cotton gin had gone up in flames. “Nate, let’s go!”

  “I’ll follow you.” He ran to his truck and pulled out behind her on Maple. The smoke was getting thicker. Instead of continuing on Maple to get out of town, she whipped right on Third. “What the . . . ?”

  He pulled up beside her on the left side of the street. She stopped and lowered her window. He lowered his right one. “What are you doing?”

  “I just remembered that Mrs. Dodd was supposed to come home last night. She doesn’t have a car. We have to check on her.”

  Nate stared down the street at the fire clearly in view. Sweat broke out on his forehead, and his hands grew clammy. Help me, Jesus. Forcing his gaze away from the sight, he focused on Jenna. Mrs. Dodd was eighty years old and used a walker. “Lead the way. I don’t know where she lives.”

  Nodding, the love of his life took off down the street, toward the firestorm. Nate was right behind her, praying furiously all the way. Three blocks later, he spotted the tiny, frail, white-haired lady. She stood in her front yard, leaning on the walker with one hand, holding the garden hose in the other, spraying water on her yard and house. The old girl wasn’t going to go down without a fight. A house at the other end of the block exploded into flames.

  Jenna screeched to a halt and ran to her.

  Nate stopped behind Jenna’s truck—and froze. The flames slithered through the rubble on both sides of the street and swept across the grass. They leaped up the front of an old blue Victorian directly beyond the empty lot next door. The noise was unlike anything he’d ever heard. A window exploded. Then another.

  Flames were everywhere.

  Lt. Myers was on the floor.

  “No!” With every ounce of his will, Nate forced the memory aside. The flames held him captive. He couldn’t move. “Jesus, set me free!” Barely a whisper, but a cry from the depths of his soul. “Help me!”

  Suddenly, God’s peace flowed through him. The terror vanished. He looked around. Jenna was trying to help Mrs. Dodd to her pickup, but the old lady moved at a snail’s pace. The flames were closing in. Unclenching his hands from the steering wheel, he threw open the door and leaped from the truck, running to them. The heat was almost unbearable. He swept the woman up in his arms. “Get the walker.”

  Jenna grabbed the walker and ran ahead of him, opening the passenger door, then she sprinted to his truc
k and tossed it in the back. He quickly slid Mrs. Dodd onto the seat.

  “My cat!” She pointed toward her house. “She’s on the porch.”

  He could barely hear the animal’s terrified wail above the roar of the fire. Embers landed on Mrs. Dodd’s roof. Through the thick smoke, he spotted the silhouette of a cat carrier on the porch. He looked back to check on Jenna. She was in the driver’s seat. “Go! I’ll bring the cat.”

  “Hurry.” He shut the passenger door, and she turned the pickup around, heading east on Third.

  Nate ducked low, shielding his mouth and nose with his hand as he ran. The smoke was so thick he could hardly breathe. His eyes stung and watered. The fire raced toward the house. But he hadn’t been an All Region wide receiver for nothing. Wondering where that silly thought came from, he dashed up the sidewalk and grabbed the carrier. A box sat beside it, and he scooped that up too.

  The cat screamed and clawed at the screened window of the small crate, but Nate’s hand was out of reach on the handle. Entering the driver’s side of the truck, he heaved the cat carrier into the passenger seat and dropped the box on the floor.

  He shifted into drive as he closed the door and made a U-turn, pushing the gas pedal to the floorboard. He was a block away when he checked the rearview mirror and saw Mrs. Dodd’s house go up in flames.

  Once he had a little breathing room, he slowed down, afraid he would run into someone in the heavy smoke. The houses were scattered in that area, but he tried to watch for anyone, any movement as he passed. He spotted faint headlights several blocks up, then taillights close ahead. Nate hoped they were Jenna’s until they turned bright red to indicate the vehicle was stopping. “Now what’s she doing?”

  The woman was going to give him a heart attack.

  The pickup coming toward them stopped beside her. Nate slowed even more.

  The cat yowled.

  “Quiet.”