Dorothy Garlock - [Tucker Family] (11 page)

“Is the fire near the ranch?” she asked worriedly as the truck roared around a tight corner.

“On or near,” John answered grimly, his jaw clenched and his forehead deeply furrowed with concern.

“Could it be someone burning a brush pile?”

“It ain’t. Too spread out.”

“But I’ve seen plenty of little fires around the ranch,” Charlotte kept on, gritting her teeth as they shot so quickly over
a rise in the road that she would have sworn the truck’s wheels had left the road. “It’s probably nothing more than Hale getting
ready to shoe a couple of horses or…” She paused momentarily, another sudden, treacherous turn silencing her tongue before
continuing. “Or one of the cook fires is smokier than usual. I’d hate for us to get in an accident over something as simple
as that.”

John turned quickly to her, his eyes only leaving the road for a second, but Charlotte could clearly see how serious he was.
“I’ve spent too many years ranchin’ not to know when things ain’t right. Lyin’ to myself ain’t gonna make it go away no matter
how much I wish it were so.”

Charlotte opened her mouth to speak but instead fell silent; she wished that there were words she could offer that would lessen
his worry and stop their recklessness,
but she knew there was nothing that would take John Grant’s foot off the gas pedal. She remembered that they had been discussing
wildfires on the way to the Becks’ cabin; it seemed impossible that one could have just sprung to life. Scanning the growing
smoke to which they drew ever closer, she could only hope that the rancher’s worry really
was
for nothing.

No matter how preoccupied she was with her own safety, Charlotte’s thoughts kept returning to her meeting with Sarah Beck.
The thought of the young girl’s burden weighed heavily as unbidden questions pressed for answers she did not have.

Why are the Becks staying on John Grant’s property?

Who is the father of Sarah’s unborn child?

Am I going to be able to teach Sarah enough before the baby comes?

Charlotte knew that the answers to these questions, as well as many others, would come only when she had the chance to have
a long and very honest conversation with John, but now was not that time.

Crossing the narrow bridge that spanned the gurgling creek as it skirted to the south of the ranch, they raced around a gentle
turn, drove down into a depression, and then shot up out of it as the ranch finally came into view. Charlotte couldn’t suppress
her gasp.

“Oh, my Lord!”

“Damn it all to hell,” John swore beside her.

Before their eyes, at the edge of the corral pens south
of the livery stable and beside the first cluster of worker cabins, bedlam reigned. Within the nearly impenetrable smoke that
pulsed and billowed into the blue sky, flickering tongues of red and yellow flame showed through, racing ever forward, with
the fences caught in its advance already ablaze. Shapes ran around wildly in the gloom, releasing the stock. As she watched,
horrified, Charlotte could hear the unmistakable sound of the fire’s onslaught, a crackle and popping punctuated by an occasional
human shout or a horse’s terrified whinny, even over the ticking of the truck’s engine and the pounding of her own heart.
John had been right to worry.

“What… what do we do?” Charlotte asked.

John grimaced, his hands tight on the truck’s steering wheel. “We damn well better stop it, that’s what.”

John brought the truck to a skidding halt just before the large barn that housed the ranch’s horse tack. Though she was only
a few feet from the open doors, Charlotte could hardly see the saddles, stirrups, bridles, reins, harnesses, and bits that
lined the walls, so dense was the smoke. From the Becks’ cottage where John first sensed something was wrong, it had looked
as if the smoke was just gently rising up into the sky, but now, down on the ground where the fire raged, swirling, hot winds
pushed the flames, choking out the light of the summer sun and gagging those unfortunate enough to inhale it. Charlotte coughed
involuntarily, even as she held the sleeve of her blouse against
her nose. Carefully, she moved around the truck as John shouted angrily.

“What in the hell happened?” he bellowed.

“We ain’t rightfully sure, Mr. Grant,” a man answered. Blinking in the stinging smoke, Charlotte thought that it might have
been Dave Powell but couldn’t be certain. “Come up outta nowhere, all sudden like, and ’fore we knew it, it was right on top
of us! Been a struggle ever since.”

“Any idea what started it?”

“None, sir.”

“How broad is it? Is it all the way across the western flank of the ranch?”

“No, sir, it ain’t. From what I can tell it’s in a pretty narrow strip, just right here around the pens and barn. Thank the
Lord that there ain’t much of a wind or who knows how big a mess we’d have. If the wind was gustin’, I’d be worried ’bout
it reachin’ all the way to Sawyer.”

All around them, men darted about in the churning smoke, frantically shouting instructions. Charlotte felt terror rising within
her. Just driving to the tack barn had been frightening, but barreling full speed into the teeth of a fire in dense, choking
smoke was crazy! They might run headlong into something or someone they couldn’t see. Frantically, she peered through the
blaze for John. His reaction was remarkable; though he was clearly upset, he remained focused on getting control of the fire.

“Where’s Del?”

“He was one of the first ones out to fight the blaze,” the man replied. “Got one hell of a burn up his arm for his troubles.”

John frowned. “Did anyone set about startin’ a backfire?”

“Hale’s got a group of men over at the well haulin’ buckets back to where the worst of it is,” Dave answered; Charlotte was
finally certain that it was he. “Blankets are bein’ doused in the horse troughs and handed out and we talked ’bout that, ’bout
startin’ a backfire, but it ain’t done that I know of.”

“It’s probably too damn late for that anyway,” John said. “The fire’s too close to us out here at the barn for it to do us
any good, but keep it in mind if we think the ranch house is in danger.”

“What’s a backfire?” Charlotte asked.

“Backfirin’s when you light a couple of small fires in the direction you think the big one is headed,” Dave answered; John’s
attention was elsewhere, his determined gaze focused on the fire.

“But won’t that just make things worse?”

Dave shook his head. “Nope, it don’t. What a backfire does is take away the fuel that the fire’s got to have in order to keep
goin’. If it don’t have nothin’ else keepin’ it burnin’, it’ll peter itself out, or at least make it easier for us to do it.
Problem is that Mr. Grant’s right… it’s already too close to the barn and corrals for that. Startin’ a backfire here
would
just make it worse.”

“We’re gonna need to get the shovels ready if it gets past the tack barn,” John explained, formulating a plan of action. “There’s
a bit of a divide out behind here before it reaches the bunkhouse. We get that scrub brush dug up and we’ll have the same
advantage as if we burned it.”

“I’ll hand ’em out, but could I hook up a team of horses and try to get ’em to plow up the scrub? I’d be quicker.”

“Won’t happen,” John replied surely. “Fire’ll just spook ’em. You’ll spend all your time keepin’ ’em in line. Two or three
men with shovels and hoes’ll be enough to do the job.”

“I’ll get to it,” Dave answered before disappearing out into the smoke.

Now that he had begun the process of trying to quell the raging fire and limit the damage to what had already been done, John
turned his attention toward Charlotte, grabbing her insistently by the shoulders. “This ain’t no place for you to be now,
young lady,” he firmly told her. “You need to head on out around this barn, follow the side wall till you reach the end, and
just keep walkin’ straight. Won’t matter if you can see nothin’ or not. ’Fore you even know it, you’ll get out of this damn
smoke and find yourself already headin’ for the ranch house. Stay there till it’s safe.”

“But surely there’s something I can do to help,” she argued.

“You can help best by gettin’ yourself out of here.”

“Maybe I could get to the phone,” Charlotte kept
on. “Maybe the fire department in Sawyer would be able to—”

“I’m sure that would have been helpful back in Minnesota,” John silenced her, a worn worried frown creasing his already blackened
features, “but here it won’t do any good. The town’s too far away, so we’ll have to do our own rescuin’.”

“But that doesn’t mean that I can’t—”

“Charlotte, listen to me,” John said insistently, his earlier warmth now nowhere to be seen. “I’m tellin’ you to get yourself
up to the ranch house and stay there. If I had time to take you there myself I would, but I need to find Del and get on top
of this, so I have to trust you to do as I ask.”

“But why can’t I—”

“Promise me you’ll go, Charlotte,” he demanded.

“Okay, I’m going. Just watch out for yourself. Be careful; be careful!” Charlotte answered, but John was gone, disappearing
into the smoke and leaving her standing alone.

Charlotte stood within sight of the corner of the tack barn, the route that John had told her would take her safely back to
the ranch house, unsure if she could go through with what she had promised. Chaos reigned in the midst of the growing fire,
matching her own indecision. Reluctant as she was to openly disobey orders she knew were prompted by John’s concern for safety,
she couldn’t go when maybe she could give help.

Around her, men worked frantically with blankets and
gunnysacks as they tried to put out the blaze; occasionally, bodies crashed into each other before righting themselves and
getting back to whatever task they had set out to do. Even over the crackling and roar of the fire, she could hear snippets
of voices.

“—over where we can do the most good!”

“If you ain’t careful, it’s gonna…”

“… the other bucket’s in the…”

As if her feet had a mind of their own, Charlotte found herself drifting away from the tack barn out into the swirling mess
of smoke and heat. In the end, she could not run away and do nothing.

Within her first few tentative steps, Charlotte was struck by the fire’s frenzied rage; pressing waves of blistering heat
washed over her as she ran to locate John, Hale, Del, or even Owen. The blaze’s intensity was hard to bear. Even with the
sleeve of her blouse pressed tightly over her nose and mouth, the heat burned the air from her lungs. She coughed, and coughed
again, but she kept moving on.

Once she was far enough away from the tack barn, Charlotte lost all sense of direction; she wasn’t even sure if she was walking
toward the fire or away from it. As she struggled to maintain her balance, each of her senses was assaulted; the black smoke
enveloping her, the never-ending sound of brush and wood burning, the acrid stench that it produced, the heat on her skin,
even the sooty residue that lodged in her throat, all fought to upset her balance. As the men periodically wafted into her
view, she
had the illusion that she was dreaming, a nightmare from which she desperately wanted to wake up.

Suddenly, a shadowy form loomed up before her through the smoke and she collided with it hard, falling back stunned.

“Watch where you’re goin’!” a voice thundered.

Even through the murky gloom of the fire, Charlotte had no trouble recognizing Hale’s hearty voice. When he saw who it was
who had run into him, his demeanor quickly changed.

“What the hell are you doin’ out here?” Hale shouted. Streaks of soot ran black across his sweaty face. His clothes were soaking
wet. He stood before the well pump, a pair of empty buckets on the saturated ground before it. Mud caked his boots and the
cuffs of his pant legs.

“I want to help,” she answered earnestly.

“This ain’t no place for you,” he growled, taking the same tack that John had when he had ordered her to leave. “Go on. Get
on out of here. Now!”

“Don’t go chasing me away, Hale!” Charlotte persisted, her back up and defensive, her voice rising in anger. “Just because
I’m a woman doesn’t mean I’m helpless!”

“You should be back at the ranch house with Hannah and—”

“I’m not Hannah! I’m here and I want to help.”

“But if something happens to you, then—”

“Then what?” Charlotte demanded. “Why is it all right for you to take all of the risk, but I’m just supposed to run
away and hide.” When it looked as if Hale would argue, she quickly added, “And don’t even think of telling me it’s because
you’re a man!”

Hale stared at her for a moment, then seemed to realize that there wasn’t any point in arguing.

“Once the buckets are full, they’ll be too heavy for you to haul as quick as they’re gonna be needed.”

“Hale, I told you that—”

“But that doesn’t mean that you can’t haul wet blankets up to the men who’re usin’ ’em to beat down the flames.”

Charlotte couldn’t help but grin that Hale had relented and was going to let her help. “Just show me what to do.”

Hale picked up a blanket from a pile that had been haphazardly tossed on the ground beside the well pump. With a few rapid
pumps with one hand, he drew cascading water from the ground below. Hale held the blanket under the flow until it was well
wetted, then handed it to Charlotte.

Pointing off behind him, Hale instructed, “Walk straight that way, but don’t go bein’ in any hurry, ’cause I ain’t sure how
far forward the fire’s come. You could rush into it before you know it. Once you see the flames, find the men who’re usin’
the blankets, give ’em a wet one, and bring the other back to me. You understand?”

Charlotte nodded.

“Then go,” Hale ordered, “but be careful!”

After she headed off in the direction Hale had pointed, it didn’t take long for Charlotte to see the edges of where
the fire blazed; through the thick, dark smoke, a crackling bright red and orange flame rose from the brush it consumed. The
roar of bushes, grasses, and even fence posts burning was overwhelming, the heat nearly the same. While the area that was
aflame wasn’t very large, mammoth effort was needed to contain it. Three men waved blankets over their heads before bringing
them crashing down to the ground. Another ranch hand poured water from a pair of buckets before quickly running back toward
where Hale worked the pump.