“We’re gonna need to get the shovels ready if it gets past the tack barn,” John explained, formulating a plan of action. “There’s a bit of a divide out behind here before it reaches the bunkhouse. We get that scrub brush dug up and we’ll have the same advantage as if we burned it.”
“I’ll hand ’em out, but could I hook up a team of horses and try to get ’em to plow up the scrub? I’d be quicker.”
“Won’t happen,” John replied surely. “Fire’ll just spook ’em. You’ll spend all your time keepin’ ’em in line. Two or three men with shovels and hoes’ll be enough to do the job.”
“I’ll get to it,” Dave answered before disappearing out into the smoke.
Now that he had begun the process of trying to quell the raging fire and limit the damage to what had already been done, John turned his attention toward Charlotte, grabbing her insistently by the shoulders. “This ain’t no place for you to be now, young lady,” he firmly told her. “You need to head on out around this barn, follow the side wall till you reach the end, and just keep walkin’ straight. Won’t matter if you can see nothin’ or not. ’Fore you even know it, you’ll get out of this damn smoke and find yourself already headin’ for the ranch house. Stay there till it’s safe.”
“But surely there’s something I can do to help,” she argued.
“You can help best by gettin’ yourself out of here.”
“Maybe I could get to the phone,” Charlotte kept on. “Maybe the fire department in Sawyer would be able to—”
“I’m sure that would have been helpful back in Minnesota,” John silenced her, a worn worried frown creasing his already blackened features, “but here it won’t do any good. The town’s too far away, so we’ll have to do our own rescuin’.”
“But that doesn’t mean that I can’t—”
“Charlotte, listen to me,” John said insistently, his earlier warmth now nowhere to be seen. “I’m tellin’ you to get yourself up to the ranch house and stay there. If I had time to take you there myself I would, but I need to find Del and get on top of this, so I have to trust you to do as I ask.”
“But why can’t I—”
“Promise me you’ll go, Charlotte,” he demanded.
“Okay, I’m going. Just watch out for yourself. Be careful; be careful!” Charlotte answered, but John was gone, disappearing into the smoke and leaving her standing alone.
Charlotte stood within sight of the corner of the tack barn, the route that John had told her would take her safely back to the ranch house, unsure if she could go through with what she had promised. Chaos reigned in the midst of the growing fire, matching her own indecision. Reluctant as she was to openly disobey orders she knew were prompted by John’s concern for safety, she couldn’t go when maybe she could give help.
Around her, men worked frantically with blankets and gunnysacks as they tried to put out the blaze; occasionally, bodies crashed into each other before righting themselves and getting back to whatever task they had set out to do. Even over the crackling and roar of the fire, she could hear snippets of voices.
“—over where we can do the most good!”
“If you ain’t careful, it’s gonna…”
“… the other bucket’s in the…”
As if her feet had a mind of their own, Charlotte found herself drifting away from the tack barn out into the swirling mess of smoke and heat. In the end, she could not run away and do nothing.
Within her first few tentative steps, Charlotte was struck by the fire’s frenzied rage; pressing waves of blistering heat washed over her as she ran to locate John, Hale, Del, or even Owen. The blaze’s intensity was hard to bear. Even with the sleeve of her blouse pressed tightly over her nose and mouth, the heat burned the air from her lungs. She coughed, and coughed again, but she kept moving on.
Once she was far enough away from the tack barn, Charlotte lost all sense of direction; she wasn’t even sure if she was walking toward the fire or away from it. As she struggled to maintain her balance, each of her senses was assaulted; the black smoke enveloping her, the never-ending sound of brush and wood burning, the acrid stench that it produced, the heat on her skin, even the sooty residue that lodged in her throat, all fought to upset her balance. As the men periodically wafted into her view, she had the illusion that she was dreaming, a nightmare from which she desperately wanted to wake up.
Suddenly, a shadowy form loomed up before her through the smoke and she collided with it hard, falling back stunned.
“Watch where you’re goin’!” a voice thundered.
Even through the murky gloom of the fire, Charlotte had no trouble recognizing Hale’s hearty voice. When he saw who it was who had run into him, his demeanor quickly changed.
“What the hell are you doin’ out here?” Hale shouted. Streaks of soot ran black across his sweaty face. His clothes were soaking wet. He stood before the well pump, a pair of empty buckets on the saturated ground before it. Mud caked his boots and the cuffs of his pant legs.
“I want to help,” she answered earnestly.
“This ain’t no place for you,” he growled, taking the same tack that John had when he had ordered her to leave. “Go on. Get on out of here. Now!”
“Don’t go chasing me away, Hale!” Charlotte persisted, her back up and defensive, her voice rising in anger. “Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I’m helpless!”
“You should be back at the ranch house with Hannah and—”
“I’m not Hannah! I’m here and I want to help.”
“But if something happens to you, then—”
“Then what?” Charlotte demanded. “Why is it all right for you to take all of the risk, but I’m just supposed to run away and hide.” When it looked as if Hale would argue, she quickly added, “And don’t even think of telling me it’s because you’re a man!”
Hale stared at her for a moment, then seemed to realize that there wasn’t any point in arguing.
“Once the buckets are full, they’ll be too heavy for you to haul as quick as they’re gonna be needed.”
“Hale, I told you that—”
“But that doesn’t mean that you can’t haul wet blankets up to the men who’re usin’ ’em to beat down the flames.”
Charlotte couldn’t help but grin that Hale had relented and was going to let her help. “Just show me what to do.”
Hale picked up a blanket from a pile that had been haphazardly tossed on the ground beside the well pump. With a few rapid pumps with one hand, he drew cascading water from the ground below. Hale held the blanket under the flow until it was well wetted, then handed it to Charlotte.
Pointing off behind him, Hale instructed, “Walk straight that way, but don’t go bein’ in any hurry, ’cause I ain’t sure how far forward the fire’s come. You could rush into it before you know it. Once you see the flames, find the men who’re usin’ the blankets, give ’em a wet one, and bring the other back to me. You understand?”
Charlotte nodded.
“Then go,” Hale ordered, “but be careful!”
After she headed off in the direction Hale had pointed, it didn’t take long for Charlotte to see the edges of where the fire blazed; through the thick, dark smoke, a crackling bright red and orange flame rose from the brush it consumed. The roar of bushes, grasses, and even fence posts burning was overwhelming, the heat nearly the same. While the area that was aflame wasn’t very large, mammoth effort was needed to contain it. Three men waved blankets over their heads before bringing them crashing down to the ground. Another ranch hand poured water from a pair of buckets before quickly running back toward where Hale worked the pump.
Charlotte staggered; the soaking-wet blanket was so heavy! She wondered if hauling buckets wouldn’t have been easier.
“I’ve got a new blanket!” she shouted, but no one appeared to hear her.
What am I supposed to do now?
Tentatively, she took a few steps closer; all of the men had their backs turned to her
, so she couldn’t tell who any of them were. Grime and sweat caked their shirts, their hats low on their heads. So intent were they on their tasks that Charlotte couldn’t get their attention.
I’m not just going to stand here and do nothing…
To the right of the man closest to her, the fire had gotten to a small sagebrush bush, lighting up the full length of its small branches and the dry grass at its base. With the still-soaking-wet blanket clutched in her hands, Charlotte moved closer, intent to do her part.
Tentatively at first, she began mimicking the motions of the ranch hands beside her; with her hands at the blanket’s corners, she quickly brought it swinging over her head and crashing down on the hot, burning grass. Water flew in a widening arc, dousing Charlotte but also tamping down the bright flames. Over and over she swung, growing proud of herself as she saw her actions making a difference.
When one spot was taken care of, she moved to attack another. Soon her shoulders began to ache with the strain of moving the heavy blanket. But Charlotte didn’t allow that to slow her down; she had actually begun to feel a sense of happiness course through her.
Suddenly, she bumped into something. Her first thought was that she had moved too closely to where the other men were working, but then a sharp pain flared in her elbow and forearm. Spinning, Charlotte was horrified to find that she had backed into the burning sagebrush bush. Yelping, she jumped away fast, dropping the blanket and swatting at her bare arm.
Quickly, the pain subsided, but it was then that Charlotte grew truly afraid; backing into the bush hadn’t just singed her skin.
It had set her skirt on fire.
Chapter Ten
CHARLOTTE COULD NOT BELIEVE what she was seeing; the hem of her skirt burned brightly, flame hungrily devouring the fabric. Even as the sharp, pungent smell of her burning clothes rose to her nose, mingling with the dark clouds of smoke billowing all around her, she found herself in such shock, such complete denial of the pain she began to experience, that she was incapable of moving.
Put it out, you fool! You’ve got to put it out!
Breaking through the fear that paralyzed her, Charlotte began frantically slapping at the growing flames with her bare hands. Pain ran across her skin, a blistering heat, but still she kept on. Terrified, she saw the blaze grow despite her efforts, as if fighting the fire only spread it farther across her skirt.
Without warning, Charlotte was struck hard from the side and violently knocked to the ground, the air nearly driven from her lungs. A heavy weight fell on her legs, pinning her down. Hysterically, she began kicking her feet and flailing her arms in a desperate attempt to get free.
“Hold still, dammit!” a man’s voice barked angrily. “If you don’t quit moving, I can’t help you!”
The gruff words stilled Charlotte’s thrashing movements. Rough hands started slapping at her legs. It hurt!
What in heaven’s name is happening to me?
Blinking rapidly through the thickening smoke, Charlotte tried to regain some semblance of control over what was happening to her. The man’s weight and the way he was hitting her sent flares of anger rippling across her chest, so she began to fight, kicking and flailing her limbs.
“I told you to hold still!” the man shouted. “It’s almost out, but—”
Lashing out wildly, she accidentally brought one of her knees up into the man’s jaw. The sound was horrible, bone against bone. In an instant, he came crashing down on top of her, his chest landing squarely on her own, the brim of his hat bluntly striking against her forehead.
“What in the hell did… you do that for?” the man gasped.
Even with his face shadowed by his hat and the dark, swirling smoke, covered in streaks of soot and drenched in sweat, Charlotte recognized Owen, and her heart skipped a sudden beat. While he rubbed his aching jaw, his green eyes glared at her accusingly and with… something else… Though she had sat beside him in the truck, she’d never been this close to him before. Ridiculous as it was at this moment, she thought, He is so handsome!
“Ow-Owen?” she stumbled.
“Is that the way you thank a fella for saving you?”
When Owen spoke, his face was so near hers that Charlotte could feel his warm breath upon her skin. Even though he was a mess from fighting the fire, even though she had been burned and could have died in the fire, there was something about the situation they found themselves in that triggered a feeling in her heart that was different, nearly impossible to explain.
Owen’s lips were so close to her own that Charlotte found herself in a struggle to resist leaning up and lightly, delicately touching them. In that instant, Owen looked at her and she knew, she knew, that he had had the same thought. His normally rough exterior, made worse by the fire, softened, she saw it in his eyes, but then like the flames all around them, it flickered before disappearing.
Before she could protest, Owen was up and off her, wiping his hands against his shirt as if to remove her imprint from his body.
“Charlie! What in the hell are you doing out here?” he shot out accusingly, swatting his dirty hat against his thigh.
Just as she had been unable to act when she had found herself on fire, Charlotte found herself incapable of replying to Owen’s biting, angry words. Lying on the ground, she was only aware of the scene around her; for the first time since noticing her clothes were on fire, she saw the fire; the bush she had brushed against was now completely engulfed by flame and all of the dried grasses around it crackled and roared, the blaze reaching higher and higher toward the obscured summer sun somewhere above, the heat growing with every inch the fire consumed in its relentless march forward. She wondered which was angrier, the wildfire or Owen.
“You could’ve been killed!” he snapped.
“I was only trying to help…”
“Catching yourself on fire ’cause you’re too damn foolish to stay away from a burning bush is a hell of a way to help out!”
“I didn’t do it on purpose.”
“What you intended doesn’t matter a damn bit,” Owen snapped, cutting her off. “All that matters is what you did, which was nearly get yourself burned alive, behaving like a stupid city girl who ain’t got the sense to stay away from where she shouldn’t be!” With every word, he grew more agitated, stabbing an accusing finger at her as if he were a lawyer and she on trial, charged with murder. “It’s enough that I’m fighting to save this godforsaken ranch without having to look out for you, too!”
“Then maybe you should have just let me burn,” Charlotte answered sarcastically.
Owen paused, only for an instant, before saying, “Maybe I should have.”
Unable to control her wavering emotions, Charlotte turned away quickly, not wanting Owen to see the tears that welled in her eyes. Owen’s harsh words hurt as surely as if he had slapped her across the face. Shame colored her cheeks; it wasn’t entirely sadness that wounded her, but anger that she’d allowed herself to think him a better person, someone capable of feelings she couldn’t even fully describe.
But now that hope had been shattered.
The worst part was knowing that some of what Owen was saying was the truth; she had nearly gotten herself killed and, at the same time, she had taken him away from fighting the blaze. If only she hadn’t been so stubborn, if she had listened to what John and Hale had tried to tell her, she wouldn’t have found herself in such a predicament. All she had wanted was to help, to do her part to save whatever she could for the people who had been kind enough to take her in and make her feel welcome in Oklahoma. She’d made a mistake, that was all, but now it felt as if she couldn’t have made a worse one if she’d tried. It would have been horrible enough to have had to be rescued by any of the other ranch hands, but for it to have been Owen made it much, much worse. That he had to be so callous, unforgiving, made it nearly unbearable.
“Why did it have to be you to come to my rescue?” she muttered under her breath.
Seemingly unaware of Char
lotte’s vulnerable state, Owen was relentless. “Get on back to the house before you cause more trouble.”
Without another word, he turned and headed back to fight the blaze. Charlotte stood on wobbly legs, didn’t even bother to brush her smoldering skirt, and did as he said, heading back to the ranch house.
Her eyes watered, but not just from the smoke.
Charlotte sat on the steps of the ranch house porch, watching as the sun lowered toward the western horizon. Because of the lingering smoke hanging in the evening sky, the colors were spectacular; the orange and reds were deep and vibrant, cascading into a purple where the rays struck the higher, darker sky as parts of the night mixed with what remained of the day.
Usually, the first stars would have begun to shine, but they were obscured tonight, leaving only the swollen moon, already at its zenith, to stand watch over her miserable mood.
For the most part, the fire had been put out. Enough of the black smoke had cleared for Charlotte to see the pair of small barns and the corral that had been destroyed by the fire; only charred husks still remained, smoldering but no longer aflame, save for the occasional flare-up that was quickly extinguished.
What little breeze there was carried with it the telltale signs of the wildfire’s aftermath: the sharp, biting smell of wood that had been charred into ruin, the insistent shouts of tired men still pouring buckets of well water and dirt onto flames that still fought to stay alive, and even the occasional laugh or two, now that the worst had past.
But for Charlotte, the shame of her failure still stung as freshly as if it had just happened, maybe even worse. When she finally managed to return to the ranch house, she discovered that the women were doing all that they could: bringing food and drink to replenish the firefighters’ strength, phoning Sawyer for all the assistance that could be mustered, and, particularly, tending to the wounded as they straggled up from the fire. The women rushed Charlotte to the parlor and pressed a damp, cool cloth to her burn. She briefly protested, claiming that she was capable of helping, but she was told to stay put and regain her strength. Exhausted and downhearted, Charlotte hadn’t argued much, but just sat down. Eventually, she had made her way outside.
Dorothy Garlock - [Tucker Family] Page 9
