by Jodi Thomas
Jeremiah looked up at her as if he hadn’t noticed the bandaged, bruised boy sitting next to him. “Add that to the list. Order a phone. I have no idea how to do it, so figure it out. But I don’t want any calls unless it’s an emergency, so you might want to get one of those cell phones I see stuck to half the drivers’ ears nowadays. You can use it and not give the home number to anyone, and I mean anyone.” He pointed with his head toward the green rocker.
“It is an emergency,” Noah said, “or it might be soon. There’s fire down in the canyon on the other side of the Matheson place. If it reaches the grass, we could have trouble moving fast across dry land. Since I’ve been helping out at the fire station, they put me on the list to call, even knowing that I probably wouldn’t be able to suit up and fight.”
“You’re hurt,” Jeremiah said. “Only reason I can think of they’d put you near a fire is for kindling.”
Noah shook his head. “It’s mostly just a few bruises. Nothing really. We’ve got the fire to deal with now.”
Jeremiah stood. “I’m not worrying about any fire till I know it’s coming. My momma always said never waste worry, you never know when you’ll need a bucket load of it and only have a thimbleful left.” He headed toward the house, then turned and yelled as if Noah’s injuries might have left him deaf. “You take care of yourself, boy.”
“I’ll try, sir,” Noah yelled back. “You and Rea might think about moving out for a few days until this is over.”
“I’m not leaving.” The old man shifted to Reagan,. “You might want to give him a couple of those ice-creams-on-a-stick of yours.”
“Please, don’t feed me,” Noah protested.
Jeremiah glared at the boy as if Noah had just proven he was some kind of rodent and they might want to put out traps, then headed on toward the house.
Noah leaned over and said quietly, “Does he ever say anything nice like hello or good-bye?”
“Nope,” she answered honestly, “but now and then if you listen real close, he does say something nice.”
Noah leaned back and closed his eyes.
“You shouldn’t have come,” she whispered. “You’re supposed to be in bed. The doctor told you to rest for a week.”
“I had to get out of the house. I’ve got to clear my head.” He scrubbed his scalp, sending hair flopping across his forehead. “I don’t care what the doctor said or how it hurts. I couldn’t stay there, and this was the only peaceful place I could think of to come.”
“I’m glad you did,” she said, “but your house is great.”
Noah leaned forward. “It’s not the house. It’s what I just saw there. Rea, it was horrible.”
She couldn’t imagine what could be so bad that he’d leave. Violence, murder, and a few hundred other terrible sights came to mind. “Tell me,” she said, wishing she didn’t have to hear what he saw. She had enough of her own nightmares haunting her dreams.
Noah put his head in his hands and began, “I thought I’d go down the back stairs and sneak into the den without anyone noticing. I thought I’d play a few video games before Mom found me and sent me back to bed.”
He pressed his palms against his eyes, as if trying to push out an image. “The sun was streaming in the kitchen windows. The hallway was in shadows, but I could see to move past my mom’s bedroom to the den. When I heard little noises.”
“What kind of noises?”
“Strange kinds of noises. Kind of like someone is hurting and laughing at the same time. Like they were being tickled to death, or something.”
Reagan waited.
“Then I took a step and saw in my mom’s room . . .”
“And,” Reagan whispered, afraid of what he would say.
He looked up at her, horror in his eyes. “I saw my parents having sex. I’m scarred for life.”
Reagan laughed. “Did they see you?”
He shook his head. “They were too busy at the time. All I can figure out is when the doc said for me to go home and go to bed, my parents must have been listening. It wasn’t even dark, Rea, and they were rolling in the sheets.”
Reagan giggled. “Preacher, sometimes you’re downright adorable.”
Chapter 39
AS THE FIRE ENGINES PULLED OUT OF THE STATION, HANK climbed into his Dodge and followed. If the fire was running the canyon’s length, he’d need to put the trucks at the two ends, and then he’d need his pickup, loaded down with supplies and equipment, to get from one end to the other. No proper roads ran to where a canyon dropped down like a giant crack in the flat earth, but with the prairie so dry the Dodge would be in no danger of getting stuck.
While he drove, dispatch patched him through to Wild Derwood, still in the air.
“Right now all I see is smoke, low in the canyon.” Derwood’s words bounced through the phone. “Left wall. Little movement.”
Hank swore he heard the man giggle before he asked, “Does this make me a full-fledged firefighter?”
“Yes, but we’re not finished.” Hank wouldn’t have been surprised if Derwood took off to tell his mother. The guy had been crazy so long no one even talked about it anymore. In Texas, being nuts was a more dominant character trait than any illness and Derwood was a prime example.
“Give me the orders, Chief,” Derwood shouted through the radio. “I’m ready to do my duty.”
“You’ve got an hour before dark!” Hank shouted. “Keep watching until you get low on fuel. There’s a chance the rock along the wall will stop the burn. We’ll be up top if it climbs. What I need you to tell me is which way it moves.”
North, it could break out near McAllen land. South, it would hit his spread and then Jeremiah Truman’s place. East or west, the burn would run itself out in the canyon.
Closing his eyes, Hank surveyed the land in his mind. His property would be fine. He kept firebreaks plowed and all growth away from the buildings. If the fire reached the rim, he’d call and make sure his ranch hands moved any cattle. If it reached his house, the most he’d lose would be the far barn. Of course, the smoke would scare all the women he lived with to death. He’d make sure he called, giving them plenty of time to get out. They didn’t even need to see the smoke getting closer. Aunt Pat and Aunt Fat would worry. At the speed they moved, he’d better call early. Claire would panic about her art collection, and Liz would probably explode in anger over why someone didn’t do something about the smoke. The only calm one in his family was his mother. He wasn’t sure she lived in reality most of the time, but he’d never seen her overreact. Maybe she’d gotten that all out of her system when his dad died. Since then, she’d been a rock.
Hank shook his head. Sometimes he thought fire was easier to deal with than all the women in his house, but right now, all he had time to think about was the fire.
The McAllen ranch wouldn’t be so lucky if the fire came out of the canyon onto their land. Noah had been keeping an eye on the old place, but he was far more interested in horses than keeping breaks cut, and the couple he had living there didn’t have time to do much. Alexandra’s cabin on the rim would burn if the fire climbed out near her.
Then there was the old Truman place. A house built of sticks with old half-dead trees around. The orchard was irrigated, but if fire came, the trees would burn. If fire reached Jeremiah’s land, it would destroy everything: the house, the orchard, the barns. If he managed to get fire trucks in before the fire reached Jeremiah, they could be trapped inside thanks to all the dead trees lining the only way out.
Logic told Hank to pray the fire came out on his land. McAllen’s was unprotected and Truman’s would burn, but if it hit his place, Hank would take a loss. He’d have his best chance to fight and win if he fought on home ground.
Hank was driving eighty when he passed Lone Oak Road. He almost smiled, remembering Tyler’s confession. If the sheriff arrested every farmer or rancher who broke the speed limit, they’d all be in jail except Bob McNabb. Stella would never let him speed, not even when he’d been called in to assist t
he volunteers. Half the time when McNabb showed up on a call, Stella had packed him a lunch.
Turning off the road, Hank headed across open range vowing he’d fight and beat this one, no matter what it took.
An hour later Hank and all his men were in full gear watching the sun set. Smoke drifted up from the canyon, but nothing climbed. The men were starting to celebrate, thinking maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad, just another story they’d have to tell.
Hank didn’t say anything. He stood at the edge, a foot away from a hundred-foot drop into the canyon, and watched.
Brad Rister stood beside him. “It’s not out, Chief. I can smell it burning.”
Hank had a strong feeling he was right, even if Brad was more drunk than sober. He’d been a fireman for a year in Oklahoma City. He was the only man in the department who’d walked in the door trained. Hank had a feeling Brad would be moving on after his divorce was final. Right now Brad and his wife were in hell, trying to hurt each other as much as possible. Like most couples, they couldn’t let the marriage die quietly; they both had to beat it to death. Word was Brad’s wife had started dating again, which probably explained why Brad had doubled his drinking.
Hank would be sorry to see Brad go, even though the Oklahoman rarely trained and skipped most of the meetings. Sober, he was one of the best Hank had. Drunk, he was as helpful as a flat hose.
“There’s enough juniper and mesquite in the canyon to burn for two days and no way we can get down to it to put it out.” Brad fought not to slur his words.
“I know.” Hank had climbed down these walls near his ranch. He knew that there were places ten feet deep with dried tumbleweeds. “We’ll leave five men and both trucks where they are to keep watch. Why don’t you ride along with me to check things out?” Hank would rather keep the drunk with him than leave him with the team. The last thing Hank needed was a drunk working a fire line. Maybe a drive across open range would sober him up.
Brad nodded. “Sure, I’ll ride with you, Chief.”
They both knew that the trucks were so far apart all the ground couldn’t be covered. There was a good chance if the fire came, it would have a good hold on the grass before they would even see it.
Derwood called again to say he was heading in. “I can see the trucks,” he shouted over the noise of the plane. “Looks like the smoke is concentrated right between them, but the way the wind is kicking up, it’s hard to tell.”
Hank motioned for Brad to get into the pickup. By the time he’d bumped across uneven ground for ten minutes, Brad was already complaining that he wished he’d stayed behind.
They reached the spot between the fire trucks. Neither truck was in sight, but Hank could see wisps of smoke coming from down in the canyon.
Brad jumped out and made it several feet before he threw up. When he walked back, he looked pale, but steady.
“Get the ropes.” Hank nodded toward the back of his truck. “I’m going down to have a look.”
Hank kicked off his gear, not listening to a word Brad was mumbling. The only way to find out how bad the fire was would be to rappel down the wall, and he couldn’t do that in gear. He clipped his radio to a carabiner on his belt. If his cell didn’t work in the canyon, maybe the police radio would.
While Brad tied one end of the rope to the winch on the back of the Dodge, Hank strapped on his harness. The canyon wasn’t deep here, a hundred feet if he was lucky. He and Warren had made it down sliding on their butts many times, but if there was fire this time, Hank would need to get down and back fast. He knew he could get down, even in the shadows, but the ropes would be a great help when he turned to climb.
“You know how to work the winch to pull me up?” Hank checked the tie-on. “Slow speed or you’ll drag me. Got it, Brad? Slow speed.”
“I know. I’ll remember.” Brad looked like he might vomit again. “I’ll be ready to bring you up as soon as you send the signal, but Hank, this is a bad idea. If the fire doesn’t get to you, the smoke could. It’s too dangerous.”
Hank wanted to say, Compared to what? To waiting? If the fire was growing, there was still time to call in every agency they could. If it had played itself out, he could get a few men in good enough shape to rappel down, and with backpacks they could take down enough fire retardant to contain it. With the wind shear along the rim, a plane could never make a good drop of retardant to reach the fire.
Hank tugged on his gloves and began working his way down, trudging backward when he could, jumping from rock to rock, using the ropes like a vine in the jungle when he needed to and rappelling when he had to. He’d taken a few classes on how to do it safely, but like most, he hadn’t practiced.
“I’m getting too old for this.” He swore as the muscles in his legs burned.
At sixty feet down he saw fire beneath all the smoke.
Another twenty feet lower he could make out the blackened burn crawling across the canyon.
It was a full burn, building as it inched across sagebrush and buffalo grass. A monster growing, eating away the ground growth and belching dark smoke. Because of the wind, the smoke had blown down the canyon and not up. The danger was far greater than he’d feared.
There was no way to get closer to the fire except on horseback, and before men could saddle up, the fire would spread the width of the canyon. It was already climbing the walls in spots, spreading through the scrub trees and dead cottonwoods along the dried-up creek bed. Before long it would break free of its confinement of canyon walls.
Hank felt every muscle tighten, preparing to fight.
He couldn’t send men down. Much too high a chance they’d end up trapped. They’d have no choice but to wait.
Hank let the ropes take his weight as he reached for his cell. The case clipped to his belt was empty. He grabbed the radio, trying to remember where he’d left the phone that never left his side.
As soon as Andy at dispatch picked up, Hank began rattling off orders. “Call in the parks department. They’ll need to find a place in both directions of the fire where they can stop it in the canyon.” He remembered a water crossing a few miles up where the canyon widened enough to get trucks in. To the east, the canyon narrowed. If the parks service could get a water dump from the base at Altus, that would stop the fire from crawling along.
“And, Andy . . .”
“Yes, Chief?”
“Call in all the help you can get from towns around. This is big and it will climb the walls.” Hank stared down, swearing that the burn had grown even in those few seconds. “It’ll probably break out of the canyon in more than one place. We’re going to need more men than we’ve got now to control this one.”
“I’ll call.” Andy’s voice vibrated with excitement. “And don’t worry, Chief, as soon as I can get off this desk, I’ll be out there with you.”
Hank could feel the heat now as he began to climb, pulling his weight up a few feet at a time. His hands were sweaty inside the gloves. His muscles strained. Smoke climbed with him, robbing him of oxygen.
He jerked the rope, the signal for Brad to start the winch, then waited.
Nothing.
Night had settled in and, with the smoke, Hank couldn’t see the edge of the canyon wall clearly. He felt his way, climbing. Jerking the rope to signal. Climbing.
He had no idea if he was twenty feet from the ledge or forty. He tugged the rope hard, sending the message to Brad for the fifth time.
“Brad better be dead,” he said with his teeth clenched, “or I’m going to kill him when I get out of here.”
His shirt turned wet with sweat, but he couldn’t stop. He tried yelling for Brad, but the wind whipped his call away, circling it down the canyon.
Then finally, the rope jerked and pulled. Hank relaxed for a moment as he started rising, than realized he was moving too fast. Brad must have pushed the winch full throttle. He wasn’t climbing now, but bracing his legs, trying to swing away from the walls before the edges pounded him. He felt like a boxer who
couldn’t get his footing before another punch sent him spinning.
Hank cleared the top, scraping his knee before he could roll over on his back. He yelled as the rope dragged him across solid ground, with flying dirt and weeds scratching his arms and face.
Halfway between the ledge and the Dodge, he finally stopped.
“Damn it, Brad!” he yelled as he released his harness from the rope. “You trying to kill me?”
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath of fresh air, and looked into the stormy blue eyes of the sheriff. For once in her life, she looked like she was too angry to speak. She stood above him, fists on her hips, glaring at him as if it were all his fault for almost getting himself killed.
Over by Alex’s cruiser Hank heard Trooper Davis shouting on the phone, “We found him. Damn fool almost got himself cooked.”
Alex offered Hank a hand up. He clasped her arm while she grabbed his and tugged him to his feet. They were so close he could feel her brush his chest when she breathed, building anger like steam.
Before she started cussing he smiled and asked, “Worried about me?”
“Yes,” she said without moving back. “If you die, there will be all kinds of forms to fill out. How could you have been so dumb to go down alone? Who did you think would winch you up, a jackrabbit? Another five minutes swinging above that fire, you would have been a marshmallow in full burn.”
He didn’t try to defend himself. It was almost worth all the scrapes and bruising he got to see how much she cared, even though she’d probably clobber him if he suggested that caring might be at the bottom of all her anger.
Hank spotted Brad coming out of the shadows. “Sorry, Chief, I had to throw up again.”
Hank would have let Brad have it, but right now he had something else on his mind and far too close to his body. Alexandra.
Like a dozen times before, all she had to do was step away, but she didn’t. Despite all her complaining, she was drawn to him.
He fought the urge to kiss her. She wanted him, needed him, just as dearly as he needed her. No matter what she said, she’d been worried about him.
