Jack sat by the side of a deserted farm road at dawn, his ankle a mess, his face scorched. He was dehydrated, weak. His turnouts were covered with flame retardant, peppered with little holes from flying sparks, and he wondered how long he should rest before he just started walking again. Make that limping—he’d wrecked the ankle pretty bad. The area had been completely evacuated and it was unlikely anyone would be driving along this road until either Forestry or Cal Fire came this way. By that time he could be passed out, if not dead.
Then, against all odds, he saw the dust from a moving vehicle. He dragged himself to his feet, but he was dizzy and wobbly, his dehydration made worse by the dryness from smoke in the air. He placed himself in the center of the road. He decided he’d rather get run over than passed by. Who would pass someone in firefighter’s turnouts? Only the devil himself.
Then the devil himself in a dark pickup with tinted windows came to a stop just inches from him. “Son of a bitch,” Jack muttered to himself, his mouth dry as cotton.
The grower who’d crossed his path too often in the last couple of years opened the driver’s door and stepped out. “Jesus. You’re like a bad dream,” the guy said to Jack. “You look like hell.”
“Yeah? You’re not exactly my favorite person, either,” Jack returned thickly.
“How bad are you hurt?”
“Thirsty,” Jack said. “Just thirsty. Just let me siphon out of the radiator tank and you can go,” he said, insane though the notion was. He was insanely thirsty.
The guy, minus the Shady Brady and a little smudged with what could have been ash, sighed deeply and walked around the front of the truck. He opened the passenger door and said, “Get in.”
“You got water?” Jack asked.
“Yeah! I got water! Just get in!” Jack limped toward the truck. “You said you weren’t hurt,” Shady Brady said, eyeing the limp.
“I’m mostly just thirsty,” Jack said, walking very badly.
“You break it?”
“Nah. You ever hear a sprain’s worse than a break? We’re gonna find out…”
Shady Brady laughed in spite of himself. “Christ, you’re a piece of work. Get in.”
Jack wearily pulled himself into the truck, not easy—it was high, he was weak and the ankle was real bad. He’d hurt it right off, taking that dive into the ravine.
When the driver was settled behind the wheel, he reached behind him into the extended cab and grabbed a bottled water, handing it to Jack. “Take it slow or you’ll puke in my truck.”
“I know how to do this,” Jack said, then guzzled the water fast enough to make the concern a reality. In fact he belched and hiccuped a few times and lowered his window. But it was okay; the water stayed down. He leaned his head back and said, “Oh man. Long night.”
“How’d you end up here?”
“I got separated from the crew. Wind shifted, a tree exploded, I had to take a dive and run for it. But with no stars because of the smoke, I have no idea where I am. I walked all night.” He guzzled more water. “What are you doing out here?”
The guy laughed. “Getting the hell out of here. Listen, I’ll leave you by the county road where you’ll get picked up. I’ll leave you water, but I can’t go back that way. I’m all done there.”
“I’ve heard that before….”
“Well, this time it’s the real deal. I’m so outta here. You’ll be all right. No one’s going to drive by a firefighter, even though you could just as easily be an inmate on the run. Especially the way you put yourself in the middle of the road—nice touch.”
They drove in silence awhile; Jack rehydrated himself and Shady Brady just drove at a dangerously high speed on the deserted road. It was only about fifteen minutes before he came to an intersection with the county road; it would have taken Jack most of the day to get this far on his ankle—if he didn’t collapse or drop dead first.
“There will be cars along this road, don’t worry.” He reached behind him and grabbed a couple of bottled waters. “Stay off the ankle, go slow, ration the water—”
“I’ve been in the desert,” Jack said irritably.
“Yeah, I know. Just wait for a ride. I have to go, man. That’s all there is to it.”
Jack narrowed his eyes. “Why can’t you be just a hundred percent good or a hundred percent bad? Why do you have to keep me all confused all the time?”
He laughed. “My specialty—confusion. Listen—that fire was set. I can’t prove it, but all I’m lacking are the facts. People died. Far as I’m concerned, death is against the rules.”
“I don’t know what you are, man,” Jack said. “Half the time I see you, you really piss me off. The other half, you come through. And you’re a marine—I saw the devil dog on your arm. But there are shitty marines out there, so I didn’t let that influence me…”
“Just get out,” he said. “Stay off the leg as much as possible, I guarantee a ride will come along. Since we won’t see each other again, it would be better for me if you didn’t talk it around that I picked you up. I’d really like to go up in a puff of smoke right now. So to speak.”
“I should tell the police what you said, about it being set…”
“You know what? When they find the source of that fire, there will be a body. That body had nothing to do with me. You do what you have to do—but if you gossip a lot about this free ride, like I was there, and get some local growers looking for me, I’m going to die. And like I said, I consider that against the rules.”
Jack grinned. Okay—here was a guy who was an illegal grower, but couldn’t seem to resist saving lives like crazy, and didn’t mind if the police heard what he’d been up to, but didn’t want the other growers in the area to catch wind… He must be in deep kimshie with some growers. Now, what kind of guy would he have to be to fear the growers more than the cops? “No reason I have to say anything, pal. Appreciate the ride. Slow down a little, huh? You’re frickin’ dangerous.”
“I’m in a hurry.”
“Yeah. You wanna get there? Thanks for the ride. Try to stay out of trouble.”
Once the truck door was closed, he peeled out, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.
* * *
The drizzle continued, steaming up the ground; it was still so hot. The hottest summer ever, made hotter by the burning forest.
Mel wouldn’t leave the porch. Doc came to the bar, touched her forehead and asked her if she wouldn’t lie down for just a few minutes. “No,” she said. “I’m waiting for Jack.”
“The boys said Search and Rescue are combing the area and they’re getting ready to leave again, to look. We can wake you the second something is found.”
“Doc, it’s all right. I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.”
Muriel tried to press a brandy into her hand, but she shook her head. She wanted to be sure she could feel everything, because she could still feel him. He might as well have his arms around her. And then she remembered her very first night in Virgin River, the horrible cabin, the torrential rain, and the brandy from Jack’s bar that warmed her. She had snapped at him that she didn’t find him amusing, she’d had a terrible day. And he had only grinned and said, “Good thing I have the cork out of the Remy, then.”
And later, when he’d held her as she cried over her dead husband. Then he undressed her, dried her off, gave her that brandy. She’d had a huge emotional meltdown. If you’re going to go down, go down big. You should be proud.
His pride in her was the greatest gift. He told her often he was proud of the care she gave, proud of her commitment to helping wherever help was needed. When a man like Jack is proud of you, it means everything. She felt herself smiling.
The volume on the TV in the bar was turned up. She’d never heard it so loud. She knew Jack’s boys weren’t resting, but glued to the news, hoping to catch something about the lost firefighters. They took turns on the porch with her, afraid to leave her alone, because they thought she was losing it. Quietly and stoically, but losing it. “I’m fine,” she told them. “Really, I’m fine.”
Inside, the men were gearing up to leave again, stuffing down sandwiches for fuel, guzzling water to rehydrate. Mel accepted water, had her baby brought to her to nurse, held her son for a bottle, but she was determined. She stayed on the porch. She never once asked if there was any news of Jack.
The morning news reported there were three firefighters confirmed dead in the blaze, names being withheld pending notification. Talking quietly among themselves, the men conferred about how some notification could be on its way soon, and they would stay on in Virgin River as long as necessary, be there for Mel. They would help her lay him to rest and for as long as she needed them, someone would be there.
The men had had a break of a couple of hours, food and water, called their families to report that they were unharmed, and were almost ready to take their personal vehicles back to the area and continue the search. Joe and Paul each sat on either side of her, occasionally reaching for her hand. She stared straight ahead.
The sound of a vehicle brought her to her feet and she stood on the porch. The rain had stopped, the ground was wet, and an old pickup pulled into town, stopping in the middle of the street in front of the bar. “Holy shit,” Paul muttered, rising to his feet. Joe stumbled running into the bar.
Jack spilled out of the back, a huge smear of red flame retardant staining his body. He balanced on one foot, his other leg disabled in some way. As he reached back into the pickup for his gear, Mel serenely walked down the porch steps toward him. He tossed his gear to the ground and the pickup drove off with a toot of the horn. His face was black with soot, his eyes red and tearing, his lips pink and cracked from dryness. The turnouts he wore were speckled with holes made by flying embers.
Mel walked right into his open arms.
“You’re late,” she said, looking up at him.
He lowered his lips to softly kiss her forehead. “Sorry. I was held up. Goddamn truck left without me.” He smiled down at her. “Do you have any idea what you look like in jeans? Melinda, you just do it to me in jeans.”
“Everyone thought you were dead and you’re talking about my butt again.”
He grimaced. “They’re going to wish I was dead. I’ve been walking for twenty-four hours and I’m in a real mood.” He brushed the hair back from her brow. “Were you scared, baby?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I knew you were coming.”
“You did?”
She touched her chest. “Your heart beats in here. If it had stopped, I would have known. It did beat a little fast sometimes. Was it close, Jack?”
He chuckled, tightening his arms around her. “It was so close, I have blisters on my ass.”
“I spent all night remembering every time you touched me. Every one.”
“You don’t have to make do on memories. I’m going to touch you for many more years.”
“I knew you’d never leave me.”
“Baby, I’d walk out of hell to get back to you.”
“I know, Jack. You hurt yourself.”
“My ankle. I took a fall into a ditch. I’m not as agile as I was. I might’ve really screwed it up, running on it. It really slowed me down—and I was so ready to feel you against me.”
“What’s this?” she asked, wiping at the gooey red stuff on his shirt.
“Flame retardant. It got dumped right on me. Knocked me down—but there was a path out. Then I had to run on this damn ankle. It was awful. And then I got lost. You can get even worse lost at night when you can’t see the stars because of the trees and smoke. I think I’m going to give up firefighting.”
She touched his face, which appeared to be sunburned beneath the soot and ash. He winced. Then he bent down and crossed his arms under her bottom and lifted her up to his face. “Kiss me. Gimme a taste.” She lowered her lips to his for a kiss that was deep and strong. Behind them, a cheer went up from all the marines gathered on the porch. But Jack took his time, moving tenderly over her lips, grateful to dive into her sweet love once more. He’d been wanting to kiss her for twenty-four hours and he wasn’t going to be rushed. Not by them, not by anything. He hated the thought of letting her go, as in love with her today as that very first day. More.
“You taste like soot,” she told him.
“I know,” he said. “You taste so good.” He jerked his head in the direction of his bar, his boys. “I hate when they do that.”
“I think I’m starting to get used to it.” She smiled. And she kissed him again.
* * *
As anxious as Jack was to get home, he needed a few minutes alone with Mike Valenzuela. They sequestered themselves in the RV behind the bar. Jack told only Mike the details of his rescue, and stayed there while Mike called the sheriff, repeating the story as well as the license-plate number. When Mike hung up, he slowly turned to look at Jack.
“Well, they were ahead of you. A couple of growers—partners—had a little lover’s spat. One was shot, the other set him on fire to conceal evidence, thus the fire. They’re investigating a drug-related murder covered by arson. A suspect was arrested trying to get away,” Mike said.
Jack swallowed. “Was it our guy?”
“I’m guessing here, but if it was our guy, he would not have stopped for you. In fact, he might’ve put a bullet in your head to keep you from talking to the police. He definitely wouldn’t have told you anything about the fire. Jack, that guy isn’t what we think.”
“What do we think?” Jack asked.
“That he’s an ordinary grower. He might even be law enforcement, and if he is, they’ll pull him in, relocate him and we’ll never know.”
Jack stood up. “Well. I guess that’s it, then. The way he was driving, he probably wrapped himself around a tree before he got out of the county. I’m going home.”
“Have a good sleep.”
“Long sleep. And, Valenzuela. Thanks. For looking for me.”
“It’s just what we do. What you do. I’m just glad we didn’t have to bring a crispy critter home to Mel.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
* * *
Jack, Preacher, Mike and Paul went to their homes, their wives, to their showers and then their beds for a long, clean sleep. The others had too much of a drive ahead to think about just taking it on after no sleep in twenty-four hours. Phillips and Stephens were headed for Reno and went over the mountain pass with a big thermos of strong coffee from the bar and two sets of eyes to stay on the road. Zeke and Corny took the night in Jack’s guesthouse before tackling their long drives. Joe took Nikki back to the cabin.
That left Muriel and Walt with no instructions and a bar on their hands.
“I’d say we’re done here,” Walt said. “We didn’t exactly clean the place, but the food’s put away and the dishes done. We did our part.”
“I did my part,” Muriel said. “By now Buff has exploded in his kennel and although Luce is an angel, it’s possible she had a few accidents and ate my house out of boredom. She’s a Lab. These things are inbred.”
“Preacher left keys. What do you say we lock up and give up.”
“Let’s,” she said. “I’m wrecked.”
“I bet you’re tired.”
“Wrecked,” she repeated. “That goes beyond tired.”
Walt put a hand to the small of her back and escorted her out, locking the door behind them. He stood on the porch for a moment, looking at the sky. “I don’t know how to thank you for coming to town, helping like you did.”
“It’s my town, too, Walt. Now. And it was worth it. These are my guys, too, now. Not just yours.”
He laughed. “True. If you feed ’em, they’re yours.” He dropped his chin. “You know, I’ve been in some real hot spots over the years. I came here for peace and quiet, but today wasn’t either one.”
“I grew up in these mountains,” she informed him. “It gets dicey sometimes. It’s not an easy life all the time. Beautiful, but there are issues. In the end, it’s usually worth it. But, Walt, you shouldn’t get the idea it’s simple. It’s not. It can get rugged.”
“You saying beautiful isn’t always easy?” he asked her.
She grinned. “I’m not sure that’s exactly the message, but I guess so.”
“I’ll be sure to remember that.”
“See that you do,” she said. “I’ve been away a while. I had almost forgotten,” she added. “This can be rough country. Fire’s the worst, I think. We live in the middle of a lot of wood.”
“Did you wonder, just for a second, whether it was worth it?”
“Hmm?”
“When Jack came back, all scraped up, scorched, and picked up his little wife like he did, almost as if he’d been late from the store or something, it reminded me about what I love about this—that these people face this stuff like it’s just part of the package. They just man up, even the women. Everyone dives in, gets it done. It reminds me, if I’m going to belong to a group of people, I want to belong to people like these. They’re tough and resilient. They don’t quit early. They can count on each other. They hang in. That’s why I loved the Army.”
“Walt,” she said, putting a hand on his chest. “We’re just mountain people. We take what comes. The fact that it doesn’t come easy? There’s really not so much more to it than we don’t give up. We fight. There’s a lot to fight for here.”
He looked down into his movie-star girlfriend’s eyes. He smiled. “I’m going to sleep tonight. Then tomorrow night, why don’t I bring groceries to your place and fix you a decent dinner.”
She smiled at him. “Afraid you’ll get celery sticks and hummus for food if you just come over?”
“I just think we deserve a good dinner, alone. And I might stay late.” Then he grinned.
“I might let you. I’ll do the wine. Will you tell your daughter where you’ll be?”
“I don’t know. I’m having an awful lot of fun saying nothing about us.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “What is there to say about us?”
He leaned down and kissed her brow. “Let’s revisit that question after dinner tomorrow night.”
“Why, Walt,” she teased with a smile.
He gave her fanny a pat. “Rest up,” he said. “Because now that I think about it, I’m damn sure I’m going to stay late.”
* * * * *