Tidings of Love

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  The chief gave Frank a hearty slap on the back. “We had to make you evacuate. It was too dangerous. I’m sorry we couldn’t save your homesteads.”

  “Chief, can you verify the owners of the two cabins that were lost in this fire?” I asked with pencil poised. Joe’s going to ask me this anyway. The man loves his details.

  “We haven’t released that information,” he said, no doubt fully aware that I already knew the homeowners’ identities. Still, the chief was following protocol. “Until we inform the family … ”

  “Charlie, it’s okay. I think it’d be great if their story could be told,” Frank said.

  The chief smiled slightly. “Fair enough. The first cabin was the home of the late Dr. Bob and Louise Outterland, and the other was home to their son, Robert Jr., and his wife, Mary.”

  “And there were no occupants in the homes at the time of the fire?”

  “That’s correct,” the chief said.

  “Chief, is it true the fire that happened nearly seventy years ago on this mountain also started by lightning?”

  “Yeah, that’s true as well,” he said. “When the lightning struck, it hit hard. The fire started on the backside of the mountain and burned for days that rolled into a week.”

  “I had no idea,” I said.

  “Maybe that’s the scoop you needed for your story. Granted, it’s not new news, but it’s a piece of history that ties into this story that most folks around here would appreciate,” Frank said. “And those who don’t know the history will now.”

  It felt like my heart dropped to my stomach. “My rant about this story was stupid, especially with everything you have going on. I can’t believe you stopped to tell me all of this.”

  He smiled beneath his cowboy hat. “It seemed like your luck was about to change.”

  I swallowed, but the lump in my throat remained. “Thank you. That was unbelievably kind of you.” I then shook hands with the chief. “And thank you. I write for the Wyoming Frontier, and I’m not as familiar with this area, its people, or the history.”

  “Thank me by getting safely down to your vehicle and heading off the mountain. Unless we have an early Christmas miracle, we’re going to lose the mountain. This fire isn’t going to be contained any time soon,” the chief said.

  “Is there any way I could snap a picture of you two before I leave?” I knew I was pressing my luck, but this story needed a visual. I grabbed my cell phone and quickly held it up. “Please? I promise you’ll never hear from me again.”

  The chief rolled his eyes. “If only that were true,” he said and elbowed Frank. “Come on, gorgeous, let’s give this news gal a picture.”

  The two men looked somber against the flame-ridden backdrop. I pressed the button on my cell phone and snapped away in rapid succession. I captured them posed and then as they both turned to look at the damage the fire had left in its wake.

  The chief shook hands with Frank and then left as quietly as he had arrived.

  “Thank you for sharing your story with me,” I said to Frank. “I can’t even imagine your loss.”

  “I’ll keep a lookout for your story and your pinecones,” he said with the hint of a smile.

  I felt my cheeks flush. Pinecones.

  “Who knows,” he said. “Maybe your story can start a new album of memories for my family.”

  There was a moment of silence between us when everything Frank couldn’t convey about the loss of his family’s homes showed on his face. I could see memories in his eyes, and sorrow filled the lines around his clenched jaw. I wanted to reach out and touch him or hug him, something to make it better, but his stance was one of solitude.

  “I’ve got a great story to go write,” I said softly. “I better get to that computer.”

  “Be safe,” Frank said and turned toward the face of the mountain.

  “You, too,” I said and walked in the opposite direction. After a few minutes, I looked up the mountain. The cowboy had disappeared from view.

  Chapter 14

  A temporal sky broke in a strike of lightning. I scurried toward Joe’s truck. He was in the front seat and leaned over to open the passenger side door. It swung out and I almost bumped right into it. My adrenaline was on overdrive. I hopped into his truck and closed the door.

  “Where have you been?” He pulled me toward him and wrapped his arms around me. “I was about to send out search and rescue for you.” He hugged me tightly, and I relaxed beneath his strong hold.

  “I met a cowboy up on the mountain.”

  When he pulled away from me, the ghost of his cologne lingered on my sweater. “I thought I was your Thanksgiving date. If cowboy hats are your thing, I’ve got a great lid.”

  Even in the dark, his eyes sparkled.

  “And miss seeing you in your chef’s hat? Not a chance.”

  “So tell me about this cowboy,” Joe said.

  I slowly exhaled and contemplated how I was going to present my story idea.

  “What? Was this guy a creep?” The concern in his voice made me smile.

  “No, I just … I may have a really good feature.” I waited for Joe to say something, and when he didn’t, I did. “Or it could be a sidebar to Kelly’s piece.”

  A sidebar was nothing more than a few hundred words placed in a text box beside the main article in the newspaper. It was secondary, with no promise of a byline, and I knew it, but it no longer mattered where I appeared in the paper if I could write Frank’s story.

  “What’s the angle?” My Thanksgiving date left and my editor appeared.

  “One of the first homesteads on Casper Mountain was lost on Thanksgiving,” I said, verbally drafting the story’s lead. He’s so easy to talk to.

  “Was lost in the Thanksgiving Day fire,” Joe said, already editing my copy. He reached behind him for a laptop. “Keep going.”

  “Um … ” I grabbed my notebook and tilted it toward the window for light, but the moon was hidden behind dark, angry clouds. I activated the flashlight on my cell phone and shined it on my notes.

  Joe’s laptop screen glowed in the cab of his truck. “One of the first homesteads on Casper Mountain was lost in the Thanksgiving Day fire,” he repeated as he typed.

  I glanced at his fingers pecking the keys. “Uh, do you want me to do that?”

  “No, I’ve got it. Let’s keep going.”

  “Okay,” I said and felt my heart skip a beat. Yeah, let’s do this. “The home of the late Dr. Bob and Louise Outterland perished despite their grandson’s valiant efforts to save it.”

  Joe’s fingers feverishly worked the keys in spite of his henpecking approach. He looked up at me. “You verified this?”

  “Yup.” I smiled proudly in the dark. “With Chief Gambino.”

  “Good job. What else do you have?”

  “Frank Outterland spent his Thanksgiving pouring buckets of water on the roof of his grandparents’ homestead, echoing actions his grandfather had taken decades earlier in the fire of … ” I snapped my fingers. “I don’t know the exact date of that fire. I haven’t verified it.”

  Joe held up his index finger while he scrolled through his computer. “1944. Kelly dug that up earlier.”

  “Oh, good,” I said flatly. “Okay, so in the fire of 1944. A fire that was also started by a lightning storm. However, low humidity and gusty winds prevented the younger Outterland from saving his family’s homestead when he had to evacuate the area.”

  “And the other cabin? Who did it belong to?”

  “The other cabin was home to the Outterlands’ son, Robert Jr., and his wife, Mary.”

  I worked through my notes page by page and dictated the story to Joe. The telegram, the Bible, the flag, and all that was in the fire. I poured every emotion I had left into this story because it was no longer my story—it was Frank’s.

  “How are you going to end this?” he asked with his head pointed toward his laptop.

  I drew a deep breath that burned my lungs. Smoke filled the mounta
in with a fog-like thickness that weaved its way between trees, cars, and people, creating zero visibility.

  I exhaled. “We need an early Christmas miracle,” I said under my breath.

  “What was that?” He leaned toward me.

  I shrugged. “Something the chief said.”

  “What exactly did he say?”

  I turned back to my notes. “I don’t think I wrote it down. He said it as he was leaving.”

  “Close your eyes,” Joe said.

  “Huh?”

  “Close your eyes and quiet your mind. Shut everything out.”

  It was well into the evening and I was tired, so complying wasn’t difficult.

  A few seconds passed and Joe spoke quietly. “Before the chief left, what did he say?”

  “Unless we have an early Christmas miracle, we’re going to lose the mountain. This fire isn’t going to be contained any time soon.” The chief’s words flowed out of me verbatim as I heard Joe strike the keyboard.

  He leaned over and kissed me quick and hard on the cheek. “Janey, that’s brilliant.”

  “Is that the ending?” I asked.

  “Not all stories begin simply or end neatly. This was one of those stories. It’ll make readers follow us online, grab the next day’s paper, and monitor our website.”

  “Huh.”

  Joe titled his laptop toward the dashboard. “Now to get a signal and email our front-page centerpiece.”

  “What?” My voice rose in octaves.

  “They’re going to have to re-plate the presses, but this is a great, great piece.”

  “I’m going to be on the front page?”

  “Janey, your story is the front page.”

  Chapter 15

  Dazed, I sat in Joe’s truck while he initiated an Internet connection. I glanced at my cell phone. I had one bar of service. I quickly texted Kris.

  I made the front page! It doesn’t seem right

  I re-read the glowing screen, with my thumb hovering over the “send” key. Instead I hit “cancel” and the message disappeared. “Doesn’t seem right.”

  “What’s that?” Joe asked as his finger scrolled the mouse pad on his laptop.

  “I finally landed a front-page story, but … ” I looked out the passenger side window. Our breath had fogged the windows. I rubbed the sleeve of my sweater against the glass and saw a man in the distance holding a woman, comforting her. “So much was lost tonight.”

  “Got it!” Joe’s voice made me turn toward him. “Come on, keep going.” He leaned toward the laptop. A blue transmission line slowly inched across the screen. “Just a little more, baby.” Joe clenched his fist and held it midair. “Come on, just a little more.” When the blue line completed its course, he pumped his fist in the air and hit the ceiling of his truck. “Yes! We made it!” He leaned back and a look of relief crossed his face. “That was tight, but we made it just in time.”

  He glanced at me. I smiled softly.

  “What were you saying? Something about lost?”

  I shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

  “No, it wasn’t. What’s up?”

  Again, I turned my attention to the side window. “Look at that couple. Did they lose their home tonight? Do they even have a car? It just doesn’t seem fair.”

  Joe didn’t say anything. He turned the key in the truck’s ignition and pressed a button on his car stereo. The opening chords of a guitar filled the cab with a melancholy melody.

  “I’ll be home for Christmas.” The soft velvety voice of Bing Crosby resonated between us. “You can count on me.”

  My chest swelled with emotion. “I don’t think this is helping.” I looked for the couple, but they had disappeared into the night.

  Joe inched beside me and sang, “Snow and mistletoe and presents by the tree.”

  I closed my eyes. His breath was hot in my ear, his lips grazed my neck. “Janey, you did a great job tonight. You told a story that will open readers’ hearts to the reality of this fire. You made it real.”

  I nodded and felt a tear roll down my cheek. “I just thought it would be different.” His hand gently wiped my cheek.

  “You should be proud of your work.”

  I opened my eyes and stared at him while Bing Crosby crooned, “I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams.”

  Joe softly kissed me. His lips caressed mine and held me. The local radio announcer’s voice came up softly.

  “That song is going out to Sally Owen from Tom, who’s on Casper Mountain fighting the Thanksgiving Day fire. Our prayers are with all the firefighters tonight, many who missed Thanksgiving with their family to help other families. Clancy’s Bar downtown has set up a food command center for those families displaced by tonight’s fire. This next song’s going out to all the men and women who need a little pick-me-up. Remember the code of the West, where we take pride in our work. This fire doesn’t know what it’s up against.”

  The twinkling sound of keys on a xylophone sparked a smiled on my face.

  “I … don’t want a lot for Christmas,” Mariah Carey’s sultry voice slowly sung the opening lyric to one of the best holiday songs ever.

  “She’s amazing.” I turned up the volume.

  Joe grinned. “She is saucy,” he said above Mariah’s high-reaching pitch.

  He began to tap the dashboard to the beat of the song. I joined him. We drummed the dashboard and sang.

  “Oh, I won’t ask for much this Christmas.”

  “Only that we need snow,” Joe changed the lyrics.

  “Ohhhh, yeah!” I sang very off-key.

  Mariah Carey’s voice sang. “All I want for Christmas is you.”

  Joe pointed his finger toward me. “Make my wish come true, all I want for Christmas is you. You. You. You.”

  His over-the-top singing lifted my spirits. I laughed so hard I couldn’t catch my breath.

  Joe pulled me toward him and pushed hair off my face. His passion was contagious. For a moment, I forgot about the fire. He covered my mouth with his, and I lost myself in him.

  “Baby, all I want for Christmas is you, you, you … ”

  • • •

  The drive down the mountain was subdued. I glanced at the clock on the dash. It was past midnight. I made it through my first Thanksgiving without my kids.

  “When do you have to get back home?” His gaze flicked to mine and then just as quickly turned back to the winding road.

  “Tonight. I mean, later tonight, like by seven or eight. So I’ll have to leave … by two in the afternoon to make it to Jackson in time.”

  “You can’t stay longer?”

  I hadn’t had a man ask me to stay longer in forever. I found it hard to speak with my heart lodged in my throat.

  Again, he briefly made eye contact with me.

  “I wish I could,” I said and pinched my nose to stop it from running. My eyes already brimmed with tears. How can I be sad to leave someone I barely know?

  But I already knew the answer. I did know Joe, maybe not in the same familiar way that Kelly knew him, but there was a connection between us.

  “You’ll be back,” he stated rather than asked. “On Christmas.” He reached in the dark for my hand.

  “I can’t imagine being anywhere else,” I said as I found his hand and held it tightly.

  Chapter 16

  We barely made it in the door of his home when, fully clothed, we collapsed together on his couch. We spooned and he held me all night and well into the morning. Our bodies formed perfectly against each other. We just fit.

  A winter’s sun shone across my face. I squinted until my vision came into focus. When it did, the first thing I saw was Joe’s Christmas tree perched on the windowsill.

  That tree might truly be the last relic from the mountain. Oh, Joe.

  I held on to his arm around me and he pulled me tighter into him. I don’t want to go. It felt so good, so natural, so right to be in his arms.

  My cell phone buzzed in my back
pocket.

  “Is that your phone or does your butt always vibrate? Which is kind of hot.” The sexy allure of his voice in my ear made leaving him that much more difficult.

  I turned my head. His lips found me and his arms held me. His hand inched up my back and into my hair. He released my ponytail and curls slowly unraveled. He gently massaged my head and my curls sprung back into shape, full locks that brushed his skin and intensified his kisses. Cocooned in the passion of his embrace, I didn’t hear his son enter the front room.

  Sam cleared his throat. “Dad?”

  Joe kissed me once more before he looked over my shoulder.

  “The paper’s on the house phone. They’ve called twice now, but I didn’t want to wake you.”

  Joe leaned his forehead against me and spoke into my back. “Thanks, Sammy. Tell them I’ll call back in a few minutes, okay?”

  “Got it,” Sam said.

  My phone vibrated again.

  “Looks like they found us,” Joe said.

  “The only person who knows where I am is my friend Kris.”

  Joe sat up “Don’t be so sure.”

  “Huh?”

  “Janey, your story was the front-page centerpiece in the statewide newspaper. If people didn’t know your work before this, they will now. And if your ex is the jealous type, this will definitely get his attention.”

  “I don’t think Mark knows how to read.” I giggled.

  Joe gently bit me on the shoulder. “He may not read the paper, but word spreads fast in small towns.”

  I shrugged. “So I was in Casper. We’re divorced and he’s remarried.”

  “Just be prepared. This kind of story will generate a lot of interest.”

  “Is this my editor talking or my Thanksgiving dinner host?”

  He kissed my neck. “Both.”

  • • •

  I stood beside my bug with the driver’s side door open.

  Joe pressed me against the door. “Stay another night.”

  “I wish I could.”

  “Do you need a note from your editor? Because I can arrange that.”

  I slowly shook my head and grinned.

  “So … ” His sky-blue eyes locked in on me. This man seriously dripped with sex appeal. “Did you know there are only twenty-eight days left until Christmas?”