“Reverend Canfield,” Mary said, “I thought you’d want to know that Sam is up in the mountains fighting the fire.” Then, before he could say a word in response, she turned and hurried back across the street. She didn’t want to know if he thought she was a busybody, didn’t want to hear anything he might have to say about Sam. Any man who could think Sam Canfield had failed in life was a man she didn’t want to know.
She was aware that he stood there a while in his open door, but she didn’t look his way. He might be staring at her, or he might be staring at the threatening glow over the mountains. He might be stunned, or he might be indifferent. She just didn’t want to know.
Maggie Sanders was only a few minutes late. She pulled up near Mary in a silver Suburban and leaned over to open the door. “Hop in.”
Mary obeyed, climbing up into the seat and reaching for the belt. “Where’s Allie?”
“At a friend’s house in town. I didn’t want her to be home alone.”
Mary felt a shiver of apprehension and glanced at Maggie. “That’s right. Your house is close to the pass.”
“Yeah.” Maggie shook her head and put the car in gear. “I’m trying not to think about that. But there are quite a few houses scattered around out there. And The Little Church in the Woods.”
The sun had completely vanished by the time they reached the top of Edgerton Pass. Vehicles were everywhere, pulled off to the side of the road, and a tarp-covered command center was now lighted by gas lanterns.
The smoke from the fire, once again a thick, rising column that reached high into the sky, caught the sunlight, glowing golden and red at the top. Below, in the shadows, it turned silvery-gray, smudgy. Occasionally it would part a bit and reveal the hellish glow of flames.
It was a few miles away, Mary noted with relief as she helped Maggie unload the insulated food containers and pass them out to the men. But even as she felt the relief, she realized how rapidly the situation could change.
“Sorry I didn’t call.”
The sound of Sam’s voice caused her to turn around just as she finished lifting two foam containers from the back of the Suburban. Standing there with the cartons in her hand, she felt relief pour through her, so great that for an instant her knees felt rubbery. He wasn’t down in the valley. A little warning bell clanged in her mind, pointing out that she was reacting too strongly, that she didn’t know Sam well enough to feel this strongly. But the thought whispered away as he smiled at her.
“Hamburger and fries?” she asked stupidly.
“Sure. Thanks.” He took a container and opened it, then took a huge bite of the burger. “Are you mad at me?”
“For what?”
“Standing you up.”
It was a good thing it was getting dark, because she could feel her cheeks heat. “It wasn’t a date, remember? Besides, I hear there’s a fire.”
He smiled with his mouth closed, the food bulging in his cheek, and nodded. Other men were approaching, and Mary turned quickly to give them food, as well.
A pickup truck arrived, carrying huge insulated jugs and folding tables. Two mothers who Mary knew from school jumped out, and soon they were all helping to set up the tables near the command tent, on a fairly level bit of pine-needle-covered forest floor. The insulated jugs were full of hot coffee.
Soon another truck arrived bearing cups, water and bags full of chips.
“Instant supper,” Sam remarked. “I need to get some of that down to the guys in the trenches.”
“I’ll drive it down,” Maggie offered.
“Like hell you will. I like my butt just the way it is. Earl would have my hide. I’ll take it.”
So Mary found herself helping to load Sam’s truck. He’d switched his cruiser for one of the department’s Blazers, and they filled the cargo area with food and drink. Moments later Sam headed down into the valley on the narrow, paved road.
Maggie reached out and took Mary’s hand. “He’ll be okay. George Griffin, that forester guy, told me the crews aren’t anywhere near the fire.”
Mary squeezed her hand back. “I know. He’ll be fine.”
Maggie arched a brow. “Are you two an item?”
“No. We’re very clear on that. Not even dating.”
“Really?” A crooked smile came to Maggie’s mouth. “If you say so.”
Mary felt a little burst of irritation, then reminded herself it didn’t matter whether Maggie believed her or not. Time would tell. Which could, she thought, be the whole problem. Not whether Maggie believed her, but whether she believed it herself. Whether she wanted to believe it herself.
Because Sam was an attractive guy. Very attractive. And he seemed both nice and gentle, a rarity in a man. As if he didn’t feel a need to prove anything.
Mary sighed and went back to the table to help serve. It didn’t matter, she told herself. It would never matter. She wasn’t in the market for a relationship, good or bad. And she certainly didn’t deserve a good one.
The wind kicked up. It was nearly ten o’clock, and the last of the day’s warmth had seeped from the thin air. As cold air sank into the warmer valleys, the breath of the breeze stirred and grew. The fire hungrily sucked it in, feeding the flames with fresh air. The angry red glow brightened.
The planes were still flying overhead, dumping their loads of chemicals on the flames. But even as each load fell and fire winked out beneath the assault, the flames spread elsewhere. Before the wind started, it had looked as if they were winning. In an instant, all that changed.
Like orange lights winking on in the darkness, the flames scattered to trees farther away, jumping long distances. Heading south, heading up the mountainsides. Where there had been only one fire, in minutes there were six or seven of them.
George Griffin was talking anxiously into his radio, calling for more chemicals and water.
The wind, shifting almost wildly, blew smoke their way, blinding them, causing Mary to cough as it burned her throat. Then it blew another way, briefly burying the entire valley in an inky pall. Moments later the pall lifted, blurring the stars and revealing the disaster below.
More fires burned now, individual blots of orange and red in the darkness. And the conflagration was creeping toward the pass.
Huge tongues of flame leaped upward, more than twice the height of the trees. Even at this distance an occasional loud pop could be heard as a tree exploded in flames. And on the wind they could hear the distant roar, like that of a hungry beast.
A shoulder brushed Mary’s, and she looked to her side. Elijah Canfield stood there, staring at the fire. “Where’s Sam?” he asked.
“I think he’s still down with the crew building the firebreak. He didn’t come back up after he took food down.”
His eyes, intense even in the dull red glow that was lighting the night, fixed on her. “Doesn’t anyone know for sure?”
Mary felt a stirring of impatience, accentuated by her growing anxiety. “That’s the last we heard from him. If you don’t believe me, there’s George Griffin.” She pointed. “Why? Are you worried about him?”
Under any other circumstances it would have been an unthinkable question to ask a father, but this father…well, he deserved it.
His gaze seemed to burn into her, but he didn’t answer. Instead he strode away toward George.
Maggie spoke from behind her. “Chilly sort of guy.”
“That’s Sam’s father. The Reverend Elijah Canfield.”