by Pamela Clare
That was the good news.
But there was bad news, too.
The mountainsides to the east and west of the fire were steep with dense, mixed-conifer forest, giving the fire plenty of fuel in every direction. The trees hadn’t ignited yet, but when fifty-mile-an-hour winds hit those flames this afternoon, the situation would change.
“That looks like maybe fifteen acres,” Robertson said. “Whoever was camping there is probably hell and gone, run off the moment they saw the fire got out of hand. I don’t think this poses any risk to town. I’ll get one of my crews on it.”
What the fuck?
No risk to Scarlet?
Clearly, they weren’t reading the landscape in the same way.
Eric had never claimed to be God’s gift to firefighting, but fire spoke to him. He could look at the landscape, the fuels, and the weather conditions and know with some certainty what a fire was going to do. This one was not going to stay benign for long.
He tried to be diplomatic. “To be on the safe side, we ought to call for some bucket drops. If the fire is still burning when that front hits, upcanyon winds will push it to the northwest toward Ski Scarlet or send it straight eastward toward town or both.”
That was the stuff of Eric’s nightmares.
But Robertson was already on his radio, telling his crew to make ready.
A knot formed in Eric’s stomach.
Shit.
This fire was primed to burn in any direction the wind decided to take it. Initial attack had to be successful, and, in this terrain, that meant using aircraft. But helicopters and single-engine air tankers, or SEATs, didn’t grow on trees. They were hard to come by during a bad fire season.
Three fires were already burning in Colorado—one near Manitou Springs, another on Grand Mesa, and yet another outside of Eagle. The state had only a few rotary aircraft equipped to fight fires, and they were probably already committed. The SEATs and the lone 747 Supertanker were busy fighting the Manitou fire. That meant requesting a chopper from the Colorado National Guard or asking for federal resources through NIFC—the National Interagency Fire Center—a process that often resulted in denials.
Either way, it wasn’t Eric’s call. He was fire chief for Scarlet Springs, and this was county land. What happened next was up to Sheriff Pella and Robertson, who would be Incident Commander on this blaze.
But if Eric could talk to Pella first…
It would piss Robertson off, but Eric didn’t give a damn. Robertson was putting lives on the line here—not just his crew, but every person who might be in the path of this fire if it burned out of control.
Eric turned off the mic on his headset and reached into his pocket for his smartphone.
Sophie sat in the passenger seat of Tessa’s Chevy Tahoe while Tessa drove, the two of them talking about everything and nothing, the four kids sitting in the back—Maire and Addy in the middle row and Chase and Tristan in the back.
Sophie loved the drive to the Cimarron, city giving way to foothills and finally to high mountains, buildings left behind for stands of aspen and pine. With every mile they put behind them, she felt the tension she seemed always to carry inside her fade, her heart growing lighter.
It was only an hour’s drive, but that could be hard for young children.
“Mommy, Tristan kicked the back of my seat,” Addy complained.
Sophie glanced over her shoulder. “I’m sure he didn’t do it to pester you. Tristan, can you be more careful? We’re almost there, kids.”
“He did it again!” Abby wailed.
Tessa looked back at them through her rearview mirror, the sweetness of her Georgia accent underpinned by steel. “If y’all start squabbling back there, I’m going to turn this vehicle around, and you won’t get to spend the day with the horses.”
Silence.
Sophie fought back a laugh. “Well done.”
The kids, like their parents, were best friends, but that didn’t keep them from bickering now and again.
Sophie saw the big wooden gate that marked the entrance to the Cimarron Ranch. “Here we are, kids.”
Jack, patriarch of the West clan, stood beside his pickup just inside the gate, waiting for them. He waved as Tessa turned off the highway and onto the dirt road that led to the ranch.
Tessa rolled down her window, a breeze catching her curly blond hair. “Hey, Jack!”
He bent down to look through the window. “I see you brought a load of surly cowpokes with you. Hi, there, kids. Are you ready to see some horses?”
“Yes!” the children squealed in near unison.
“All right, then. Let’s not dillydally here. Head on down to the house. I’ll lock the gate and follow you.”
“God, I love this place.” Sophie rolled down her window, let the fresh mountain air hit her in the face. “When we drive through that gate, it’s like the weight of the world is lifted from my shoulders.”
Tessa reached over, gave Sophie’s hand a squeeze. “I know what you mean.”
Tessa had been there for Sophie this past year and a half as only a true friend could be. She’d listened while Sophie had wept out her terror and grief in the aftermath of the terrorist attack on the Palace Hotel. She’d watched the kids so Marc could come to Sophie’s therapy appointments. She’d brought meals and helped Sophie clean her house. Never once had she told Sophie to get over it the way other people had—as if a positive attitude could take away the horror and grief that had imprinted itself on her heart and mind the moment she’d heard that gunshot and believed Marc was dead.
Up here, surrounded by the warmth of hospitality and the beautiful scenery, the nightmare she’d lived through hardly seemed real or even possible.
The Cimarron sat in a high mountain valley in the shadow of white-capped peaks. In the fall, the mountainsides turned gold with the aspen. In winter, they were white with snow. Horses and cattle grazed in fields of grass and wildflowers.
The surroundings were breathtaking, and the ranch house matched it in every way. Made of stone and logs, it was a mix of Swiss chalet and western styles with a steep, multi-gabled roof, high cathedral windows, and a portico driveway accented by a colonnade of polished logs. Off to one side stood several large outbuildings, including horse barns, a bunkhouse, an enormous riding hall, and several corrals. The inside of the house was even more spectacular, like something from a magazine.
Jack’s son Nate had married Marc’s younger sister Megan, and the Wests had taken Megan’s family and friends to be their own. No one could match the West clan when it came to hospitality and kindness. They’d done all they could to support Sophie, too, especially Megan, who had faced her own battle with PTSD after being repeatedly raped while in juvenile prison as a teenager. She’d understood what Sophie was going through better than anyone.
They came to the rise that revealed the valley in all of its beauty, the windows of the ranch house gleaming in the sun below.
“There’s the house, kids. See it?”
Four heads craned to look out the windows.
“Home, sweet home.” Tessa parked, and she and Sophie helped the kids climb out.
Nate and Megan were waiting for them at the house, their kids beside them. Miss Emily, as her grandpa called her, was now a big girl of eight and a half. She bounced up and down in her pink cowgirl hat, while Jackson, who had turned two in May, stood quietly holding his mother’s hand, an adorable little white cowboy hat on his head.
Nate motioned Tessa to the side of the house, a big smile on his scarred face. He’d been burned over almost half of his body in an IED explosion while serving with a Marine Special Operations Team in Afghanistan. He and Megan, each scarred in their own way, had found peace and happiness together.
“Good to see you all.” Nate bent down, tugged on the brim of Chase’s hat. “Are you ready to do some riding, buddy?”
Chase nodded, looking up at Nate with adoration on his face.
Megan welcomed Tessa and Sophie with h
ugs. “I’m so glad you came. Emily has been stir-crazy waiting for you to get here.”
“I’m as excited as she is.” Sophie pressed a kiss to her sister-in-law’s cheek.
Jack pulled into the garage and stepped out, radio in hand, a frown on his face. “I just got a call. There’s a fire burning somewhere west of Scarlet. It’s pretty small now, but the weather is supposed to turn this afternoon.”
“Fire?” Was it anywhere close to Marc, Julian, and the others?
Jack must have seen the fear on Sophie’s face. “It’s too far away to be a danger to us here. Let’s have the men get every horse trailer we have hitched up in case there’s an evacuation. I’ll put in a call to Sheriff Pella and offer to transport livestock if need be.”
Nate nodded. “They should gas up their trucks, too. We don’t want anyone heading up to Scarlet on an empty fuel tank.”
“Good point.” Jack raised his radio.
While he made the call to his foreman, Nate motioned them inside. “Come say hello to Janet. I think she’s got fresh lemonade waiting for you.”
Janet, Jack’s wife, was a former FBI special agent who’d met Jack when he threw her off his land. They’d fallen in love despite the age difference—Jack had been sixty-three when they’d gotten together and Janet forty-five—and now they had a little girl, Lily, who was three weeks younger than Jackson.
As Sophie followed Nate inside, Tessa came up beside her and spoke for her ears alone. “Don’t worry about Marc and Julian. They’re with the sheriff. He’ll make sure they’re safe.”
That wasn’t what worried Sophie. She knew her husband—and Julian, too. They were the first to step up in any crisis, the first to put themselves on the line to help others. In Denver Police Chief Irving’s words, the two of them were “shit magnets,” always ending up in situations that put their lives at risk.
But Jack had said it was a small fire.
Sophie prayed it stayed that way.
Vicki parked, grabbed the diaper bag, and walked with Caden in her arms to Robin’s front door. “You get to spend the day with Grandma Robin.”
Her mother-in-law was waiting for them. She took Caden from Vicki and kissed his chubby cheek. “I see your daddy dressed you this morning. I think that’s his favorite T-shirt.”
Vicki set the diaper bag on the floor inside the door and shut the door behind her. “Did you hear about the fire?”
“Fire?” Robin’s expression changed from happiness to worry. “Where?”
“It’s west of town. Eric got toned out just after breakfast. He said it’s a small fire, but he’s worried because it’s not far away and the weather is supposed to change.”
Robin settled Caden on the floor with his favorite magnetic blocks. “Try not to worry about Eric. I know it’s not easy, believe me, but my son has good instincts. He listens to his gut, and he always puts safety first. He loves you, and he wants to come home to you and Caden. He’ll be careful.”
Vicki nodded. “I know he will.”
Then she remembered. “I have some happy news.”
Robin’s attention was on her grandson. “That’s great. Let’s hear it.”
“I’m pregnant.”
“Oh!” Robin’s gaze jerked to meet Vicki’s, her eyes wide.
“I just did the test this morning. I think I’m about five weeks along.”
Robin drew Vicki into a hug. “Congratulations! I’m so happy for the two of you, for all of us. Another grandbaby! What does Eric think?”
“He’s excited.” Vicki told Robin how she’d surprised Eric with the news.
Then it was time for her to go.
She kissed Caden goodbye and drove into Scarlet, passing the roundabout where dear old Bear often stood preaching. He wasn’t there, but then it was still early. She parked behind Knockers and headed toward the staff entrance, carrying a white chef’s uniform on a hanger.
If someone had told her ten years ago that she’d end up married to a fireman, living in a tiny Colorado mountain town, and running a deep-dish pizza business, she’d have thought they were insane. She had loved her life in Chicago and her job in the fast-paced world of public relations and marketing—until she’d met Eric.
She’d come to Scarlet Springs to try to talk her best friend, Lexi Jewell, into dumping Austin Taylor and coming back to Chicago. Eric was Austin’s best bud, so Vicki and Eric had gotten off to a bad start. But then she’d come back to be Lexi’s maid of honor when Lexi and Austin had gotten married. Eric had kissed her, and that had been it.
Now she couldn’t imagine living anywhere but Scarlet Springs. She’d traded her career to be part of a shared business venture with Joe Moffat, or Caribou Joe, as many of the locals called him. He owned Knockers, the brewpub, and she operated her pizza business in his kitchen, offering authentic Chicago-style deep-dish pie to his customers and home delivery to the residents of Scarlet. She wasn’t making nearly as much money, but she was happy.
She stepped through the kitchen entrance to find Rico, Joe’s kitchen manager, head cook, and unofficial bouncer, already hard at work doing prep. A giant of a man with a bald head and bushy red beard, he looked intimidating, but he was a big teddy bear. He’d done time as a teen for stealing cars and had learned to cook while behind bars. Joe, big-hearted man that he was, had hired Rico, hoping to give him a fresh start.
“Hey, Rico. How’s it going?”
“Can’t complain.” Rico looked up from the celery he was chopping, hairnet over his beard. “Hey, Vic. How’s the little guy?”
“He escaped again. Eric found him on top of the refrigerator.”
Rico looked as horrified as Vicki had felt when she’d heard. “Velcro jammies. That’s the solution. Stick that rascal to his bed.”
Vicki couldn’t help but laugh. “I like that idea. You should patent it.”
She made her way through the kitchen to the women’s staff restroom, where she changed into her uniform. She stepped back into the hallway and was tucking her handbag and clothes into her locker when Libby walked in wearing her work coveralls, purple bandana over her head, strawberry-blond hair in braids. It was clear from her face that she was upset.
“Are you okay?”
Libby jerked her locker open, shoved her backpack inside, and slammed it again. “If men weren’t stupid, I would be just fine.”
Uh-oh.
“Did you and Brandon have a fight?”
Libby sat on the bench, misery on her face. “He said we should get a place together. Can you believe that? We have a great time, and he wants to screw it up by making it serious.”
Vicki wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sorry you’re having a rough day. I’m sure he didn’t say that to upset you.”
“You know what else he did? He told me he loves me and that I love him, too.”
“And that’s a bad thing because…?”
“I don’t want to love anyone!” Libby’s face flushed red. “When you love someone, they have the power to hurt you, to wreck your life. I don’t want that. I just want good sex and good times. Is that too much to ask?”
Vicki sat down next to her. “I know Brandon pretty well because he works for my husband. He’s a good guy, Libby. He’s not one of the jerks, and believe me, I’ve known some real jerks.”
That was an understatement.
Libby’s face crumpled, rage turning to anguish. “I know he is. But why did he have to go and complicate things?”
Vicki wasn’t sure Brandon was the one making this complicated, but she didn’t say so. “Being in love with a man who loves me is the best thing that’s happened to me. Sure, love is a risk, but life isn’t worth much without it.”
“You really believe that?”
“Yes, and I bet Brandon does, too. You can talk it over with him when he comes off his shift. This fire is pretty small, so I doubt he’ll end up working overtime.”
“Fire?” Libby’s eyes went wide.
Vicki recognized that fear. It was the sam
e fear she felt every time Eric got toned out, the same fear every family member of a firefighter felt whenever their loved ones were called into action. But Vicki was the fire chief’s wife. She couldn’t let that fear show, not around the friends and family of Eric’s crew.
She willed herself to smile. “There’s a small fire west of town. Eric went up in a helicopter to get a look at it. He’s worried about the weather turning, but I’m sure they’ll get a handle on it. They’ll be okay.”
Joe stuck his head around the corner, smartphone in hand, his long hair tied up in a man bun. A handsome man of almost fifty, Joe, too, had a beard, though it was shorter now since he and Rain had gotten together. “Did either of you see Bear on your way in? Silver’s calling from the firehouse. They’re trying to locate him to make sure he’s nowhere close to this fire.”
Vicki and Libby shook their heads.
“He wasn’t at the roundabout.”
Joe disappeared again.
Vicki stood, gave Libby a hug. “It will work out. You’ll see.”
Chapter 4
Marc didn’t like this at all. A little two-person tent sat on the lee side of an outcropping of rock. The rock protected the tent from wind and weather, but it also gave assholes a good place to hide. They could be up there right now, waiting for Marc and the others to get close enough for a lethal shot.
It’s what Marc would have done.
Rifle at the ready, he moved forward, he and the others arrayed in a tactical L with the other two in front of the tent and Marc off to one side. The safety mask they’d made him wear was hot and annoying as hell, partially blocking his peripheral vision. Out here, he couldn’t afford to miss anything. There were old prospecting pits and mounds of mine tailings that offered excellent cover, not to mention trees, boulders, and fallen logs.