by Kim Redford
He stuck his hat back on his head, tied his bandanna around his neck, and eyeballed the post. Not strong enough. He plopped another u-nail into position over a strand of barbwire, held it with forefinger and thumb, and struck down hard with his hammer to pound the nail into place. At least barbwire and u-nails didn’t change.
Truth be told, he wanted more in life. After Cuz Sydney had brought Storm into the world on a wild and stormy night, he’d enjoyed the hell out of the sassy little girl. Made him want one of his own to teach how to ride a horse, rope a steer, barrel race, give big hugs, and take to rodeos. But he couldn’t do it on his own. He needed a gal to help, but not just anyone would do. He wanted the kind of long-term love his parents had managed to hang on to through thick and thin.
So far he hadn’t met the special woman who’d turn his life upside down in the best way possible. Well, he hadn’t until—Katie, bar the door—yesterday. An image of blond hair, green eyes, and a knockout body came to mind. Smart as a trick pony, too. But that fine gal was on one side of the fence and he was on the other. Not what you’d call an ideal situation, but he’d yet to quit a rodeo before he was out of the chute.
He looked down the line of fence and was satisfied with what he’d done. He’d already fixed the fence on Wildcat Road. Lucky break for them all, Misty coming along at just the right time the day before. Then again, it was about time the county got a break. And a Christmas angel to put it into play.
He’d done enough work out here for the day. He’d take Samson back to the barn and see what needed to be done there. He walked over to the shade of the live oak, rubbed Samson down his long nose, and put his hammer and u-nails in the saddlebag. He pulled out his cell. Sometimes he could get coverage out here. No new messages. He’d check again at the barn.
He put his left foot in the stirrup and swung his right leg up and over the saddle. He heard leather creak as he settled comfortably into the saddle. He picked up the reins, clicked to Samson, and headed for the barn at a leisurely pace. As he rode, he looked around to make sure all was in order. Place was a tinderbox. What he wouldn’t give for snow, so it’d slowly seep into the ground, but he’d take a rainstorm even if the water mostly ran down into the streams.
By the time he reached the barn, he was feeling relaxed about life. He’d see Misty later. Any time spent with her couldn’t be anything but good. He dismounted and led Samson into the cool shade of the barn. Other horses nickered to him from their stalls. He checked on them. A ranch hand had already mucked stalls and filled water tubs.
He removed Samson’s saddle, blanket, bridle, and saddlebags, then set them to dry in the tack room. He curried Samson’s russet coat to get rid of the sweat and dirt before giving the horse a big hug and fresh oats in his stall. All done, Trey pulled his bottle of water out of his saddlebag, took a long drink, then got out his phone.
He saw he’d missed a text and a message. He checked the text and got a jolt. Fire alert! He felt his heart rate speed up. If he hadn’t meandered across the pasture, he’d have been here to get the alarm first thing. As it stood now, he’d be late, but he knew other volunteers would already be in place and putting out the fire. He’d get there as fast as possible and help any way he could once he saw the situation. On his way out of the barn, he grabbed a couple of stained but clean towels just in case he needed them.
As he jogged to his truck, he listened to a message from Hedy. There’d been a computer glitch, so the fire alarm was late going out. Slim Norton lived on the farm adjoining the fire. He’d noticed the smoke first, but when he’d called 9-1-1 he’d gotten no answer. He’d driven to the fire station and arrived about the same time as Hedy, who’d fixed the problem and notified volunteers. As luck would have it, Kent and Sydney had been in town, so they’d piled into two rigs and headed for the blaze.
Trey was relieved to hear his cousins were on the job. He jerked open the door of his pickup, tossed the towels on the shotgun seat, and grabbed the keys from the floorboard. He set his phone on the center console, inserted the key in the ignition, backed out, and made for Wildcat Road.
Soon he joined a line of trucks heading hell-bent for leather to the fire. He wasn’t the only one in the county who’d just gotten the alert. He watched a plume of white smoke rise into the western sky. From its location, the conflagration looked to be at the Winston farmhouse or nearby pasture. If the blaze got loose and turned into a widespread brush fire, they’d have a major disaster on their hands.
When Ole Man Winston had died a few years back, his Dallas family had stripped the house’s furnishings and sold the acreage to a local businessman. Bertram Holloway had let the house turn into a dried-out husk, more firetrap than anything. Good thing the place was uninhabited, so there was no chance for loss of life—as far as he knew. Trey’s greatest concern was fire containment.
He turned onto a gravel road and bumped along behind the other pickups. They sent up a line of dust in their wake. He strained to see ahead so he’d know what they were up against, but the fire area was on a rise and he was down below it. Still, he could already smell smoke.
When he reached the top of the rise, he saw the fire and felt his belly unclench. House, not pasture. The blaze would be more containable. Better yet, Sydney and Kent were on the scene in full gear and had help from four other firefighters. They were dousing the house with water from the engine and the booster.
Volunteers ahead of Trey parked their vehicles and raced toward the fire. They carried fire extinguishers, axes, and shovels. Some had thrown on protective firefighter helmets and jackets. Others wore cowboy hats and jean jackets. They wouldn’t enter the house, so they didn’t need full turnout gear.
He stopped his truck behind the other pickups and jumped out. Smoke and heat lashed his face. And damn it all, he could smell accelerant. Somebody had set this fire with gasoline. He jerked open his back door, reached inside, and pulled out a high-visibility orange and yellow firefighter parka. He shucked on the jacket and tucked leather gloves into his pocket.
He jogged toward the fire, knowing all the bake sales and benefits had been worth it. Their new red engine had a two-thousand-GPM pump capacity and one thousand gallons of water with thirty gallons of Class A Foam. Their smaller red booster truck had a three-hundred-GPM pump capacity and a two-hundred-gallon water tank. He figured they had enough water so they wouldn’t need to pump from a pond or stock tank because there were no fire hydrants in the country.
He watched Sydney expertly wave the nozzle of the engine’s large-diameter hose and expel high-velocity water on the house. Two firefighters wrestled with the hose to keep it stable, so it didn’t twist, turn, and buck like a wild rodeo bull. Kent kept up a steady flow with the line from the booster’s water tank. Smoke and steam rose upward from the house as the streams of water fought to bring the fire under control.
Suddenly the windows exploded outward in self-ventilation, sending out shards of glass and other debris. Kent and Sydney staggered backward and went to their knees. Trey sped up to go to their rescue, thinking of little Storm’s pain if her mother was hurt. But Kent and Sydney got back on their feet and kept the water barrage going on the house.
With the glass in the windows gone, the fire quickly expanded in size as it ate up the extra oxygen. Soon the wooden structure was fully engaged and pumping smoke from every crevice and open window. Flames and smoke surged high into the blue sky. There wouldn’t be any saving the structure.
Trey caught up with the other volunteers as they spread out around the house to control stray sparks while Kent and Sydney kept up the water barrage. Firefighters were beating back the fire, despite the orange and yellow flames spitting and licking and clawing to take back what they gave up. Every fire had its own personality. This one reminded Trey of an angry cat.
At the moment, he wasn’t essential to fighting the fire, so he took a bigger view. He checked the wind. They had a slight breeze from
the south that was pushing flames northward. As bad luck would have it, Slim’s farmhouse was to the north and on an elevation in the land. Fire rose because heat rose, so if the fire got loose, it’d make a beeline for Slim’s home. Containment was vital.
Trey wondered if anybody had notified Bertram Holloway. Not that it’d matter. Bert wouldn’t be around. He never was when one of his decrepit, insured buildings went up in flames. They’d find him fishing or some such thing up in Southeast Oklahoma, innocent as the day is long but richer by the end of it. Bert insisted somebody had a vendetta against him. That was possible, since it was rumored he’d made enemies by the way he did business. Still, nobody’d been caught setting fires or leaving incriminating evidence, so there was no way to prove either theory.
Bert’s building fires didn’t explain the sudden rash of grass and tree fires. High temperatures and prolonged drought seemed the logical explanation, but that idea didn’t sit well with Trey. Maybe it was too easy an answer or maybe he had a gut feeling there was something more sinister at work.
He glanced around to see where he’d be most useful. He caught his breath in surprise. Misty stood beside Morning Glory’s pickup. She held a firefighter helmet and jacket limply in her hands, but she’d made no use of them. Instead, she watched the blazing house with horror etched on her face.
What was she doing here? If she had a panic attack, he’d get her out of here as fast as possible. At least his pickup was last in line so he could get out. He probably ought to take her away anyway. But why was she with Morning Glory? He’d thought she was safely tucked away at Twin Oaks and enjoying her vacation.
Misty suddenly threw down the firefighter gear and ran toward the fire. Shocked, he rushed after her, caught up with her, grabbed her around the waist, and pulled her tight against his chest.
“What in tarnation are you doing?” He fought to hold her against him. She suddenly had the strength of somebody three times her size.
“Look!” She pointed toward a clump of bushes set away from the house. “We’ve got to save those babies.”
“What babies?”
And then he saw a mother cat with her teeth clamped in a kitten’s fur on the back of the neck. She struggled to drag her baby to safety in the bushes, even though the fur on her back had been singed away.
“Let me go!” Misty kicked back at him, trying to get free.
“Not on your life. It’s too dangerous.” He tightened his grip around her as he glanced back at the house. Nobody else had noticed the cats because their attention was focused on the fire.
Mama Cat deposited her kitten in the bushes, and then she ran back to the burning house. She slipped into the open crawl space underneath the floorboards of the house and disappeared into the darkness.
“I’m going after her.” Misty panted, gasping for breath, even as she struggled to get free.
“No!” Trey turned her around so he could look into her face. “Stay here. I’ll do my best to get the cats.”
“Please don’t endanger yourself.”
“I’m a first responder. That’s what we do.” He gave her a quick kiss on her soft lips, more comfort than anything.
As he ran to the house, he zipped up his firefighter parka, pulled up the hood to protect his head, and tugged on his gloves. He dropped to his stomach and looked under the house. He couldn’t see anything in the dark, but he could feel the heat and steam, smell the acrid smoke. He had seconds to rescue the cats. If Mama Cat had her kittens near the entry, he could snatch them.
When he heard the sharp demand of Mama Cat’s yowl and the plaintive mewling of kittens, he knew they were close. He dug his elbows into the mud and slithered into the crawl space underneath the burning house. He took short, shallow breaths to avoid the heat that could sear his lungs. He saw the gleam of cat eyes and counted three or four kittens nestled in an old towel. Mama Cat hissed at him. He tossed the towel over the kittens. He backed out, dragging the litter of babies with him while Mama Cat raced out ahead of him.
He took a deep breath of clean air as he got to his feet. He glanced down at the squirming bundle. And smiled. He’d saved lives. He couldn’t ask for a better outcome.
“Are they okay?” Misty hurried over to him.
“Think so. Let’s go have a look.”
He walked away from the heat, steam, crackling fire, and firefighters hollering to each other as they brought the fire under control. He gently laid his bundle on the ground. He flung back the hood of his parka and noticed Mama Cat intently watching him. He pulled apart the raggedy, dirty towel to reveal the kittens. Three small, furry faces—bright eyes slit in the sunlight—turned up to him. They looked none the worse for wear. He felt a surge of happiness that they appeared okay.
Unfortunately, the fourth kitten, a black and white tuxedo, lay unmoving on his side. Trey’s heart sank at the sight of the runt of the litter. The kitten was obviously in distress due to smoke inhalation, a situation that was regrettably much too common with birds, cats, dogs, and other animals in house fires.
Mama Cat butted Trey’s leg with her head, then gently picked up a kitten by the back of the neck with her mouth and headed for her nest in the bushes.
“Should we let her take them?” Misty asked, looking back and forth between the kittens and Mama Cat.
“There’ll be less stress on them if they’re with their mother. And I’m thinking she’s still nursing them.” He nudged the runt with the tip of his finger and got no response. “This one needs our help now.”
Misty carefully lifted the kitten and held him in the palm of one hand. “He’s not breathing well.”
Trey took off his bulky leather gloves and dropped them on the ground. He gently lifted the kitten from Misty’s hand. He placed two fingers on the kitten’s left side behind the front leg and shoulder. “He still has a heartbeat.”
“That means a chance to live.”
“I’ll do what I can for the little one, but—”
“Let me help.”
“Will you run to my pickup? There’s an unopened bottle of water in the cup holder and clean towels on the front seat. We need the water and a towel.” He gestured toward his bright red truck.
She took off toward his pickup.
Chapter 13
Trey glanced around to check on the fire. Thankfully, they’d caught the blaze in time so it wouldn’t spread. He wanted to cheer, but he didn’t want to alarm the kitten he held or Mama Cat, who was moving the last of her healthy babies to shelter. He’d let Slim Norton know where his barn cats were and about the injured kitten. Who knew why the mother had decided to nest under the old house instead of in Slim’s barn, but there was no arguing with a cat’s logic. They did what they did for their own reasons. Even if Mama Cat moved her kittens again, she’d go to Slim for food and he could follow her to the kittens. All would be well there.
He nodded to several of his friends who’d backed away from the fire and were drinking from bottles as they watched the dwindling blaze. Water hissed as it hit the smoldering remains of what had once been a family’s home. Pops and cracks and groans and crashes filled the area as the house slowly collapsed in a blackened heap of debris, leaving one corner starkly upright. All in all, as a firefighter would say, it was a good stop.
He caught Kent’s curious look and held up the kitten. His cousin nodded in response. They all hated to lose vulnerable animals to fire, so folks would be glad Trey was doing his best to save the kitten while others kept the fire contained to the house.
He checked the little one’s breathing by holding his finger in front of the tiny nostrils. Not much breath at all. But the heartbeat was still strong.
Misty ran up to him and held out a bottle of water and a towel. “I got it all! What now?”
“Thanks. Need you to wet the kitten.”
“Just pour water over him? You’re sure that won’t hu
rt him?”
“Got to cool him down quick as we can. Then dry him.”
She sprinkled water over the kitten’s small body, and then gently blotted off the excess liquid.
“Thanks. I’m going to try AR. That’s artificial respiration.”
“You can do that with a cat?”
He nodded. “As soon as I get a good response, I want you to drive us to the vet’s clinic.”
“Me drive your big hulking truck?”
“Keys are in the ignition.”
“Okay. You keep the kitty alive, I’ll drive Godzilla.”
Trey chuckled as he glanced up at her. He was glad to see she was handling the fire so well. Her breathing might be a little ragged, but that was her only physical issue as far as he could tell. She’d bucked up here just like she had at the grass fire. Strong gal with a big heart.
He set the tiny kitten in the center of his big firefighter glove. The sight reminded him of King Kong holding tiny Ann Darrow in the palm of his hand. Could Trey save this little one? He’d never performed AR on a cat before, but he had watched training videos and he had to try. He wiped the sweat from his brow with a corner of his towel, unzipped his jacket, and knelt down with his bright parka flaring out around him.
He positioned the kitten so he lay on his side with his four legs extended on top of the glove. First, he opened the kitten’s mouth and tugged the tongue to the front of the mouth. Second, he gently closed and held the mouth shut. Third, he made sure the kitten’s neck was straight so the airway was open. Fourth, he stood up, lifting the kitty on his glove. He bent forward and sent a soft puff of air into the kitten’s nose, one breath every four to five seconds.
Now was the time for a Christmas miracle.
Morning Glory ran up to them, necklaces jingling around her neck. She leaned in close to the kitten. “Blessings on this sweet baby. Let the spiritual forces of this magical season of renewal and rebirth help this kitten find the strength to recover.”