by Terri Farley
Head bobbing so that his black forelock covered, then cleared from his eyes and the star on his forehead, Ace followed her into the corral. The two paint mares and the old bay looked nervous, but Sam was pretty sure they weren’t terrified.
Then they proved it. As she set Ace loose with a pat on the rump, the other horses rushed to stand guard at their empty feed bins.
Thunder rolled overhead, making Sam walk faster. When lightning crackled, she ran. Rain began pattering down. But before Sam could feel relieved, she heard more crackling. Not lightning this time, but brush burning. When she looked up, a yellow haze of smoke drifted across the clouds.
The wrought-iron gate clanged as Sam entered the shady garden and saw Callie coming down the concrete path that looped around the side of Mrs. Allen’s house. The path led to Mrs. Allen’s art studio, a separate building, with high, round windows. Callie carried Imp and Angel.
Sam’s mind raced. Callie should have been in the house by now, calling the fire department!
“They were hiding back there,” Callie said. “I couldn’t leave them on their own.”
“I bet they were looking for Mrs. Allen,” Sam said. She felt sorry for the little dogs. Callie was right—Imp and Angel weren’t smart in the way Ace was. Left on his own, the mustang might survive a fire. Those two little dogs wouldn’t stand a chance. But how much closer had the fire burned in five minutes?
There was no time to worry about it.
“I’ll do it,” Sam said, but Callie was right beside her. “There’s a brush truck at Three Ponies Ranch,” Sam added, as they nearly fell through the front door together. “It should be able to get here right away.”
Grateful she knew where to find the telephone from the time she’d spent here before, Sam turned to the round table draped with what looked like a gypsy shawl.
While Sam dialed, Callie ran fresh water into a bowl for the panting dogs.
Before she’d even finished dialing, Sam heard the faraway wail of a siren.
Someone else must have sighted the smoke and reported it. But Sam didn’t hang up. What if lightning had started more than one fire?
It sounded like the truck was coming from Three Ponies Ranch. Relief rushed through her as she thought of Luke Ely, chief of the volunteer fire department, surrounded by his experienced and level-headed sons. Would Luke be home from work? For a minute she couldn’t remember which day it was, but then she thought of Bryan and Quinn and Jake. They’d rush to help, even if Luke was away.
“It’s still just ringing,” Sam told Callie.
Callie gave a half nod. “Wait for the dispatcher, anyway. One truck might not be enough.”
Chills, like being wrapped in a wet sheet, made Sam shiver.
Callie was right. If the fire raged out of control, one truck couldn’t fight both sides of the blaze. Part of it could race toward wild horse country while the other part swept toward Deerpath Ranch. It wouldn’t, would it? Wouldn’t the wind push it in one direction?
The phone kept ringing—where? In Darton? At the county offices where she’d met with Sheriff Ballard? Why wasn’t someone answering? Sam wondered as she remembered the wind tossing the flames back and forth, warring for control.
“Fire department.”
In an instant, all the emergency drills she’d recited in elementary school came back to Sam.
“This is Samantha Forster. I’m at Deerpath Ranch, Mrs. Allen’s place?” Sam heard the dispatcher’s quiet “go ahead” and maybe the tapping of computer keys. “A lightning strike started a fire out on the…” Sam paused, trying to picture a compass. Which side of the ranch was burning? Which direction?
“We’ve already got a volunteer truck started your way,” the dispatcher said. “One of Luke Ely’s boys called it in. They’re right by you, and the Darton Fire Department’s been notified to stand by. They’re in radio contact with each other.”
Sam met Callie’s eyes and gave her an “okay” sign.
“If the volunteers don’t think they can knock down the fire on their own, we’ll tone out Darton.”
Tone out.
Sam wasn’t certain what that meant, but she remembered hearing Dad’s volunteer fire department radio giving high-pitched sounds, and Gram saying the emergency was for another department.
Whatever. Help was coming.
“Samantha?” the dispatcher said.
“Yes,” Sam answered, but she was watching Callie, thinking she looked awfully pale.
“Ask if we should leave,” Callie instructed.
No, Sam thought. She didn’t want to ask.
She had to stay. She’d promised Mrs. Allen that she’d take care of the captive mustangs. And she had to ask the firefighters if the flames were burning toward the foothill canyons.
If they were, she had to tell the firefighters about the wild horses. If she didn’t stay to do it, who would?
“Should we evacuate?” Callie demanded, raising her voice.
The dispatcher must have heard. “Samantha, are you listening?”
“Yes,” Sam said, at last.
“It’s always smart to evacuate before you’re ordered to, but Chief Ely will be on scene in…” The dispatcher paused. Sam heard a squawk and the buzz of radios before the dispatcher continued. “A minute or two. Follow his directions.”
“Okay,” Sam said and then she hung up.
“The mustangs are probably okay,” Callie said.
Which mustangs? Sam’s mind ping-ponged between the captive herd, seeing Roman, Belle, Faith, the sorrel with the twisted legs…and the Phantom’s wild band with the two blood bays, the big honey-colored mare, the bay colt with the white patch over one eye that she called Pirate, and the mighty silver stallion who’d once been hers.
Suddenly, Sam swallowed hard, remembering Queen. Callie had a horse to worry over, too.
“They’ve got plenty of room to run away from the fire,” Sam said.
“But what about Mrs. Allen’s three, and Ace?”
“We have the trailer,” Sam reminded her, but a sour taste filled her mouth. They had a two-horse trailer. Was there time to move all four horses?
“Okay.” Callie pushed pink bangs away from her wire-rimmed glasses. Sam could see her mind whirling behind her gray eyes. Callie was probably troubled by the same thoughts.
“And I could take the dogs with me,” Callie said slowly.
“Good idea,” Sam said. “And since River Bend is on the other side of the river, but still close—”
“I’ll take them there,” Callie finished. “But while I’m doing that,” Callie said, shaking her head, “I can’t leave you here.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Sam began.
“Don’t worry? Are you joking?” Callie came closer to snapping than Sam had ever heard her.
“No, I just—”
“If it’s serious enough to evacuate the horses and dogs”—Callie’s voice was too level and controlled—“then you have to leave.”
“It’s just a precaution,” Sam insisted.
“Do you really expect me to just desert you here with a fire”—she motioned vaguely—“like, roaring down on you?”
Sam blocked out the image. “Okay, you’re allowed to worry, and I promise to talk with Jake’s dad as soon as I can.”
“And if he says to leave, you’ll do it,” Callie added, pinning Sam down. “Right?”
“Right,” Sam said. Then, she’d bet her smile turned sickly, and not because she was afraid of the fire. Dad and Gram would freak out when they realized she was facing the fire without them.
In fact, since Dad was part of the volunteer fire department, the emergency radio that usually sat in the living room with a red light glowing had probably started beeping and giving orders. Dad might be on his way over right now.
The dogs clicked to the front door and sniffed at the bottom of it. Was the smoke heavier?
The sirens were louder, closer.
Suddenly, heavy footfalls sounded on th
e walk outside.
Then the pounding of a fist made the wooden door shudder. The little dogs barked in a high-pitched frenzy as a voice boomed, “Let’s go! Everybody out!”
Chapter Six
“I’m not leaving,” Sam told Callie as the fist hammered at the door, but the older girl must have seen the fear mixed with Sam’s stubbornness, because she pretended not to care.
“Suit yourself,” Callie shouted over the pounding at the door. “And when you do decide to take off, bring my flute,” Callie said. “No way would I put it in the Jeep with Imp and Angel.”
“Someone needs to stay and watch the horses,” Sam protested.
Her voice was way too loud, as the sirens cut to silence and the pounding stopped.
Sam couldn’t prick up her ears like the dogs did, but it sounded as if the truck had stopped farther out than the ranch gates.
Sam was reaching for the doorknob, about to go out and explain she had to stay with the horses, when the front door swung open.
The dogs jumped back.
Outside, smoke hung like fog. Its smell rushed in, overcoming the scent of Mrs. Allen’s roses. Standing amid the thick smoke was Jake Ely.
Dressed in bright yellow “turnouts,” with his black hair tied back and tucked inside his collar, Jake looked like a real firefighter. Sam wondered why she felt a wave of relief at the sight of him. Especially since she had no intention of doing what he’d shouted through the door.
“I mighta known,” Jake said.
Jake’s low voice revived Imp and Angel. Yapping and drooling, they lunged toward him.
“Oh, get back,” Callie scolded. Then, grabbing Sam’s arm, she slipped outside and pulled the door closed behind them, leaving the dogs indoors.
“You need to leave the ranch,” Jake said. “They never should have put the propane tank so close to the house.”
Sam hadn’t noticed the tank of propane Mrs. Allen used as heating fuel. Now, she did. The white tank looked like a small submarine, and it was filled with flammable gas. If the tank got too hot, it would explode.
“I’m outta here,” Callie said, though she didn’t take a step. “I trust Queen to take care of herself.”
Jake looked satisfied as he motioned for the girls to walk ahead of him.
Callie watched Sam.
Sam set her teeth against each other. How could she balance her safety with that of the horses?
This was no time to bicker with Jake, but she said, “The lady at the fire department told me to wait for your dad, since he’s the chief.”
Jake’s eyes widened. Sam could see he was offended, but just for a second.
“C’mon,” he said, then strode toward the green fire truck parked outside the ranch gates.
Sam followed, but she only glanced at Luke Ely and the other guys in yellow turnouts clustered around him. They were all staring at the fire, and Sam stopped stone-still as her eyes followed theirs.
Her pulse pounded in her temples, throat, and wrists, and her mouth turned dry.
The fire had quadrupled in size. It had burned just a few yards along the fence line before veering away from the sanctuary pasture. Now it gobbled cheatgrass, leaving a black scorch behind as it swooped toward the foothills.
“Stop it!” Sam shouted, then she turned to Jake. “Can’t you please stop the fire?”
For an instant, Jake’s eyes showed he was her friend, the guy she’d grown up with.
“It’s okay, Brat,” he said, in a soothing tone. “It’s burnin’ away from us.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m not scared, it’s…”
Jake’s sympathy got all mixed up with her mental images of wild things fleeing hungry flames.
“The animals,” Sam said, but while she tried to focus her thoughts, Jake returned to the firefighter’s attitude he’d pulled on along with his turnouts.
“Our first responsibility is to protect people and structures,” he said.
“But the people and structures are just fine!” Sam cried.
The gray-white fire hoses were rolled out to battle the flames. Jake’s brothers, Quinn and Bryan, and a cowboy she didn’t recognize, seemed almost lazy as they aimed water spray at the fire.
And Jake’s dad was just standing there!
“It’s burning away from the house. You just said so,” Sam pointed out, when Jake didn’t seem to understand. “So there’s no reason to evacuate, and you guys can go around there”—she broke off to point at the sheet of flame sweeping toward the hills—“and put it out.”
Sam tried to sound patient, but she’d bet she was doing a bad job of it. Even though Callie hung back a few steps, Sam knew she felt frustrated, too. Callie just wasn’t arguing because she didn’t know Jake as well.
“Can I just talk to your dad?” Sam asked.
“He’s busy.”
Jake’s voice left no room for questions, and Sam saw Luke Ely was speaking into a handheld radio.
He was the chief, Sam reminded herself. He was in touch with the Darton fire department.
Frustration kept swelling inside Sam. Either Jake and the other firefighters were blind, or she was missing something. That had to be it, because they couldn’t all be so hard-hearted. Could they?
As if he’d heard, Jake’s brother Quinn surrendered his position on the hose to another man.
Skinny and tall, Quinn had a porcupine-sharp crewcut. He looked nothing like Jake as he strode toward them, carrying his helmet by the chin strap. Quinn was on student council at school and he’d helped her pull a trick or two on Jake, but once he reached them, his voice was honey-sweet, as if he were trying to calm her, too.
“Don’t worry, you’re safe,” Quinn said.
“Who cares about my safety?” she began.
“You’re always safe in the black,” Quinn went on, as he pointed. “The first flames burned along the fence line. So even if the wind shifts and the fire comes back this way, you’re okay. There’s nothing for it to burn in the black.”
When Sam waved her hands, he stopped talking, eyebrows raised in surprise. “I’m not worried about getting hurt. The fire is going up the canyon.”
Quinn shot a quick glance at his brother, but Jake’s expression reminded Sam of a closed door.
“It might burn that far, depending on the winds,” Quinn said, squinting toward the hills. “Luckily, there’s only cheatgrass between here and there. Really, it’s doin’ a good job of clearing things out. Lots of ranchers apply for permits and do a controlled burn so that they can plant. Mrs. Allen doesn’t have to go to all that trouble.”
All at once, Jake and Quinn stiffened, shrugged, and went back to work as their dad approached.
Luke Ely was taller than Dad. His pronounced cheekbones and long jaw made him look like a man who was used to giving orders and having them obeyed. Sam knew Jake’s dad had a great smile, but it was hard to picture it. As he came her way, he looked every inch a fire chief.
“It’d be a good idea to get those older horses out of here,” he said to Callie. “They suffer from smoke inhalation just like people.”
“Got it,” Callie said, and her car keys were already in her hand as she left.
“Now, what’s up with you?” he asked Sam.
Jake’s dad sounded impatient, but faintly amused. Maybe.
“Quinn and Jake were both telling me there’s no reason to fight the fire over there,” Sam said, pointing. “And, I understand about you having to stay here and protect homes and barns first, but since it’s all burned off—”
“It isn’t,” Luke interrupted. “It’s burnin’ spotty, because of moisture in the low places.”
Sam swallowed hard as he indicated the place where she’d left the paint cans. She couldn’t see them from here, but she could imagine dampness from the passing storm. It probably wouldn’t be damp enough, Sam thought, as she heard more crackling.
“There’s plenty left to burn if it turns back this way,” Luke said. “That’s why I left Nate
down there with what equipment I could spare, and that’s why we’re taking a stand here.”
The sound of a distressed neigh made Sam turn away from Luke. She squinted back toward the ranch yard. She could make out Callie in the corral and see Ace trotting uneasily around it. She could see only one pinto. Callie must have already loaded the other, but now she was battling Judge. Tossing his black mane, the old gelding reared, huffed, and resisted the pull on the halter rope.
“Samantha.” Luke’s voice jerked her attention back. “I need you to return to the house and stay there, if you’re not leaving with Callie.”
“I’m not,” she said.
Callie drove past, windows rolled up against the smoke, but Sam could see she was frowning.
Sam didn’t wave. She drew a breath, trying to ask more, explain more, but her eyes were fixed on a tower of smoke mingling with the gray clouds. She couldn’t tell them apart. Smoke veiled the sun, turning it into a tan disk surrounded by a dull yellow ring. Everywhere the smoke wavered.
Fire didn’t have a mind of its own. If it did, she’d think the flames were trying to decide in which direction to charge next.
“Sam, you’re going to have to spit it out,” Luke snapped. “I’ve got duties here.”
Sam’s fists curled so tightly, her fingernails bit into her palms.
“If the fire keeps burning toward the hills, it’ll get into the canyons. My dad says they’ll act just like a chimney.”
Luke gave a nod, but then a tone from his radio distracted him. After a short sentence, he turned back to her.
“Wyatt’s right. That area’s a disaster waiting to happen. It hasn’t burned off in years, which means there’s lots of fuel.
“It looks awful when you see black, charred trees where a fire’s gone through, but a fire can be a blessing. Old brush is gone. Big animals can move through areas that have been too dense for them. New seeds get sun for the first time and the ashes act like fertilizer. That’s how nature does it and we’ve been inter-ferin’, settin’ ourselves up—”
As Luke turned to his radio again, Sam rubbed her arms against a sudden gust of wind, but it wasn’t cold. The smoky summer wind might have gusted from an oven.