July Thunder

“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.”

“Whew.” Maggie looked toward him. “Sam never mentions him.”

“I’m beginning to understand why.”

Maggie faced her. “Trouble between those two, huh?”

“I guess so.” She didn’t feel free to share what Sam had told her privately, so she opted for vagueness.

“I can’t say I’m surprised. Sam is one of the nicest guys you’d ever want to meet, but he’s closed off, if you know what I mean. He was that way even before his wife died, except maybe with her.”

Mary felt the kick of interest. “Did you know her?”

“Sam’s wife? Sure. We weren’t best friends or anything, but Earl and Sam have been great friends from the instant Sam moved to town. So Earl would invite me and my late husband over sometimes, and Sam and Beth would be there. She was fun. Outgoing, unlike Sam. Young.”

“Young?”

“Not in years. She was close to Sam’s age. But…I don’t know. She always impressed me as being about eighteen.” Maggie shrugged and flashed a grin. “Probably because I had a daughter and she didn’t. I was buried in responsibility, and she was still having fun being married and in love. You know what I mean. No criticism, by the way.”

“I know.” Mary felt the hovering black cloud that never quite left her reach out for her heart. She hadn’t told a soul in Whisper Creek that she’d had a son. Not one. She couldn’t bear to explain. Or to be reminded.

“Or maybe,” Maggie said after a brief pause, “it wasn’t that she was young. Maybe it’s that I was so emotionally old at the time myself. Going through bad things. Maybe I just envied her vivacity.”

Mary nodded. She could understand that. She felt as old as the hills herself in some ways. Too old to laugh easily, too old to take pleasure in much. Too weary. But she didn’t want to think about herself. “What was going on?”

“Oh.” Meg shrugged. “It’s still hard to talk about. But my first marriage…well, we were going through a rough time back then. I was feeling isolated and pretty down.”

Mary nodded again. “I can identify with that. Things have a way of…going sour, sometimes.”

“They sure do.” Maggie sighed. “Then, of course, my husband died, and there was no way to fix anything. Thank God for Earl.”

“He’s a nice man.” Although Mary didn’t know him very well. She’d pretty much kept to herself since taking the job in Whisper Creek. Her friendships were all superficial, extensions of her job. She didn’t want anyone getting close enough to find out the truth about her. Not only because she felt so guilty, but because she felt so ugly.