Flashover

Chapter 1

Sophie Lamb should’ve never saidyes. Now she would have to stand here and watch someone get killed riding one of her horses.

The sunrise soared over the roofs of the staged western town and glistened on the camera screens, which failed to catch the scent of ash in the air or the two-week-old wildfire smoke still swelling behind them. Unlike the hushed crowd around her, Sophie wasn’t there to get a peek at Hollywood’s latest stars reshooting a scene. She was there mainly for Thunderbolt. Her most cantankerous black stallion. The one she’d for sure advised the director not to use.

“And…action.”

At the director’s command, Sophie curled her toes in the pointed ends of her dusty cowboy boots. “Come on, boy. Just one good take.”

Thunderbolt’s rider, the recently upgraded extra named Jonah, leaned forward in his saddle. Holding on to his Stetson with one hand and the reins in the other, he had Thunderbolt galloping in hot. Too hot. A trail of dust paraded behind as Thunderbolt’s hooves pounded the dry ground. The clouded air tickled Sophie’s throat, but she dared not make a sound to ruin the take.

They flew past the trading post, then the church. Another few heartbeats and they’d reach their mark beside two of her other horses tied to a wooden post out in front of the set’s bank.

Sophie squeezed past one of the production assistants sipping coffee and zeroed in on Thunderbolt’s movements. His front leg had healed quicker than Sophie’s weak ankle, but he still needed slow and steady just as they’d practiced a million times before everything blew up on set the two weeks before.

Literally.

But Thunderbolt’s ears weren’t pulled back. He wasn’t groaning. Wasn’t limping.

Sophie slowed her own gait and slipped in behind one of the assistant directors in the front row of the crowd.

Maybe this speed and paired rider would work. For one take.

Jonah yanked back on the reins. Hard. Thunderbolt stopped ten feet from the desired mark. Dust swirled and went straight for the other actors, making Kathryn Canary, the lead actress, cough.

“Cut!” Cosmos Ferguson, the director, stomped toward the filming scene. “Jonah! Didn’t I tell you to pull up closer to the other horses? This should have taken one take.”

Jonah dropped the reins onto his lap and lifted his hands. “You think this stupid thing listens to me?”

Sophie scowled. Great. She’d been assured Jonah was an experienced rider. Thunderbolt snorted and lifted his right front leg. Sophie pushed back her shoulders and marched across the boundary line toward Jonah.

However, Cosmos intercepted her. “Problem?”

In front of Sophie, Jonah fanned his face with his stiff Stetson as he laughed loudly into his cell phone.

Thunderbolt’s left ear twitched.

Sophie nodded her head in the direction of Thunderbolt and Jonah. “That pairing is never going to work. However, I think Jonah could ride Pudding or even Chestnut. Goldie too if?—”

Cosmos held up his palm. “Jonah’s character must be on the darkest horse. The animal he rides is more than his transportation. It’s the outer expression of the story’s mood at this point of the movie.”

No character’s mood was worth Thunderbolt getting hurt. Or worse. He’d already been through enough trauma before she’d rescued him. All her horses had in one way or another deserved a better life. “Right. I understand that. Except…”

From on top of Thunderbolt, Jonah moved his arm through the air to something he said over his phone, and his hat flew out of his grip. The Stetson twisted into the air and dropped. But gravity didn’t allow it to simply land on the ground. That would have been too easy.

Instead, it smacked against Thunderbolt’s lifted leg.

He released a neigh. He reared back, eyes wide and ears flat.

Not again.

Sophie raised her hands. “Whoa, Thunderbolt. Easy.”

But the only easy thing about the morning so far had been arriving on time.

The horse shot off, derby race style. Jonah hollered. His fingers reached for the reins but missed as he clung to his phone. His feet bucked in the air, as his boots weren’t in the stirrups. The man couldn’t even pretend to be a cowboy. “Someone stop this thing!”

If only Sophie could have pulled both of her horse trailers here and brought Daisy and Frank along too. Even Peanut. Then she could have galloped after Thunderbolt and Jonah.

Sophie put her fingers in her mouth and whistled. Thunderbolt twisted his ears back but sprinted on through the opening between two wooden set buildings.

Spencer Storm, one of the actors off scene, spurred Sophie’s horse Goldie into action and took off after Thunderbolt. At least someone hadn’t lied about his horse experience. Once he caught up to the pair, he grabbed Thunderbolt’s reins and steered everyone back toward the cheering crowd.

As Sophie ran to intercept, Jonah yelled something, but Sophie’s gaze snagged on a man wearing a navy baseball cap who walked behind the set’s bank building.

She stutter-stepped, and it had nothing to do with her old ankle injuries.

The man’s height resembled her brother’s. So did his dark hair and nose profile.

“Crispin.”

But the man didn’t stop.

She took two steps after him. “Crispin!”

The man’s shoulders seemed about the same size as Crispin’s. Though, the closer she got, the more he looked different from her memories. Too thin. He had a beard and wore cargo pants. Maybe it wasn’t her brother. But then again, anyone could change in three years.

She sure had.

Once more, he didn’t stop, and what was she thinking? Her brother had been declared dead. Even if she didn’t believe it. No matter that Homeland Security kept affirming it. Regardless of what she believed, her special ops brother wasn’t going to show up on the set of a movie. She didn’t have the power to wish him or anyone into existence.

However, it seemed her heart, rather than her head, was in control of her feet as she jogged in the man’s direction until Jonah and Spencer rode up.

Red faced, Jonah spat. He jumped down from Thunderbolt and blocked her view. “Your horse tried to kill me.”

Her fingers fisted, and she bit back a retort to Jonah while her gaze returned to the alleyway. It was empty.

She swallowed a longing that surprised her. Clearly, deep inside she still clung to a fragment of hope that her brother was alive.

Cosmos marched up beside Jonah and folded his arms. “Your hat spooked this horse, and I don’t believe cell phones are props for any of our western scenes.”

Jonah had the decency to look guilty.

The director didn’t ease his glare. “You either ride a horse, or you’re out of my movie. I don’t care that my godfather owes your great-aunt a favor.”

Jonah held the director’s gaze for three of Sophie’s thundering heartbeats before he said, “Not. That. One.”

Poor Thunderbolt. It wasn’t his fault. Sophie could load up all her horses and be done with the stress. But she wanted to be able to rescue more horses one day. Needed enough money to build five more barns. Or at least the one she had her bank loan application in for. For that, she needed this gig.

She slid next to Spencer and took Thunderbolt’s reins from the movie star. “Thank you so much. I’m so sorry. Thunderbolt likes to run from his problems.”

The slightest smile lit up Spencer’s face. “Been there, done that. In fact, it was pretty much just a couple weeks ago.”

Sophie nodded. “I heard about that.”

According to rumors around the town of Ember, Spencer’s now girlfriend, a hotshot firefighter, had been kidnapped and tied up in a burning house. But then again, rumors could spread quicker than the forest fire blazing in the distance. Sophie’s past was proof of that.

Jonah grunted.

Sophie stroked Thunderbolt’s cheek and then ran her palm down his leg. Nothing appeared broken, other than her latest attempt at fundraising for the ranch.

She took a deep breath. She should have also brought Daisy from the beginning, but she hated leaving Peanut and Frank alone at the barn. “I have one more horse back at the ranch that might work. Daisy is mostly black. Has white markings on her head and two spots on her feet.”

Cosmos studied Jonah. “Can Daisy handle a rider who will listen better to your instructions?”

Jonah snarled but didn’t deny anything.

“Daisy was a trail horse. She has a good and patient temperament.” Maybe a bit too dormant. When her owner passed, his son assumed there was something wrong with the aged horse and had wanted to ship her off to a meat-processing facility in Mexico. Sophie had gotten a tip about the transaction and drove hours to bring the malnourished horse safely to her ranch.

Cosmos checked his watch. “If the weather and fire cooperate, we’ll need Daisy here as soon as possible. We were already supposed to be heading to the backlot by now. I’ll make sure someone who knows what they’re doing looks after Pudding and Chestnut and the rest of your horses at the set livery while you’re gone.”

“That would be great.”

She spotted another familiar face behind the director. This time, her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her. A pile of auburn curls and a hot pink headband sat on top of Marley’s head. Her best friend carried an arrangement of flowers that seemed almost as heavy as Thunderbolt’s saddle. Marley’s oversized overall pants rubbed together as she walked, making whooshing sounds that harmonized with the water sloshing around in the glass vase in her arms.

When Marley spotted Sophie, her smile matched the cheerfulness of the yellow roses amongst the green foliage, which Marley always called the backdrop for the flower stars. “Do you know where the Kathryn Canary is?”

Sophie glanced over her shoulder for the actress. Her gaze snagged once more on the empty alleyway set beside the bank and then moved on toward the vacant casting chairs. “Maybe try her dressing room? Or I think I saw her assistant over by the food table before the last take.”

Marley’s eyes lit up over the top layer of roses. “An assistant would be way less intimidating.”

Sophie bumped her shoulder into Marley’s as they headed in the direction of both the food and livery. “Now’s the perfect time to meet your favorite actress. What have I told you?—”

“Yes, yes, movie stars are people too, I know. But knowing that still doesn’t make my words stop stuttering. I’m just glad you’re still here. I wish I’d known though; I would have brought you a smoothie.”

Thunderbolt blew out a breath, and Sophie patted his side as they walked. “Thanks for the thought, nonetheless. This one is in timeout, and I’ve got to go get Daisy.”

Marley wrinkled her nose, causing her freckles to bunch together. “Thunderbolt, you need to stop being a stinker. But everyone will love to meet sweet Daisy. I still can’t believe someone would send her to the glue factory.”

Sophie put her hands over Thunderbolt’s ears. “We don’t say G.L.U.E. around the horses.”

Marley laughed until her smile slipped away as they neared the food table where a group of extras dressed as cowboys pointed to the sky behind Thunderbolt.

Sophie turned along with Marley. Smoke soared above the tree line, blocking the mountain view in the distance.

Marley shifted the vase of flowers. “Hope they get the fire under control soon.”

“I’m sure the firefighters will.” They had to. Her ranch wasn’t too far from where the fire had been heading the past few days.

A laugh floated over to them from one of the massive production trailers with a door marked “wardrobe department.” Kathyrn tucked a section of her blonde hair behind her ear as she spoke to her assistant.

Sophie nodded toward the women. “In case you didn’t know, Kathryn Canary is the one in the pink dress. Her assistant is in the jeans.”

“Thanks, girl. Be safe driving back. Call me later. We’ll set dinner plans, complete with smoothies.”

“Perfect.” Sophie waved bye and weaved Thunderbolt around a section of lighting and props. As she neared her horse trailer parked beside the livery barn, a red convertible blocked her hitch. She would have sighed if it would have done any good. Instead, she glanced back to the parking lot. At least her truck wasn’t blocked in. She’d have to use her old trailer at home to bring Daisy back.

She pulled Thunderbolt toward the outside corral. “Looks like you’re not coming home with me quite yet, boy.”

A flash of blue over her shoulder in the parking lot stole Sophie’s attention. A man holding an orange—one of her brother’s favorite fruits—and a cell phone stood beside the Kalispell Sound and Light semi-truck.

“Crispin.” Her voice came out shakier than the yell she intended.

The man paused.

Sophie stopped walking, and Thunderbolt’s nose bumped into her. But the man in the navy T-shirt simply offered her a chin nod, slid his phone in his pocket, and peeled his orange before hopping into the truck. Perhaps she’d gotten less sleep than she thought last night, worrying about the smell of smoke lingering in the air when she had locked up her barn. The man was probably a film set worker.

Of course he was.

Thunderbolt snorted.

Sophie clicked her tongue and tugged his leads forward toward the set livery. “Yes, you’re right, a little scenery change will do me good. And you better be on your best behavior while I fetch Daisy.”

She needed to stop hoping. She couldn’t keep wishing to change the past. Even if today was the third anniversary of her brother’s supposed death.

* * *

Hotshot Houston James knew firsthand that fire played by its own rules.

The tops of the Ponderosa Pines bent toward the east at the crest of the hill as the wind hinted at today’s fire travel plans—and the fact the weatherman’s Red Flag Warning had been correct. With the persistent wildfire ever greedy, if Jude County Hotshots didn’t finish the protective trench along the sloped area and clear the debris, the land—and lives—in the valley were at risk.

Houston sank his Pulaski fire ax into the dirt. The sharpened point struck a tree root. He heaved out a breath and adjusted his collar that rubbed against the scarred skin around his neck. There was no time to take in the rolling areas of lush trees behind him. The brush and growing saplings under the towering pines had been removed and placed outside of the firebreak.

A piece of ash landed on his lip and tasted like bitter disaster.

With a grunt, he wiped his mouth and heaved his Pulaski all the way through the root. The crack echoed in accord with his fellow crew members, Charlie Benning and Orion Price, as they flanked each side, trenching out the best fire line. Anything less and the ranch just on the edge of the basin with its dry grazing field, had no hope of surviving the fire raging toward it.

Not a single hawk screeched in the smokiness above. No woodpecker drummed against a tree destined for destruction. Nothing over the rumble of the chainsaws up closer to the fire, clearing out for the firebreak. Yet another sound in the woods made Houston freeze mid swing.

Laughter.

His back twinged as he used the forward motion to twist around instead of striking the ground. There was nothing funny about saving someone’s property. Someone’s life. No hotshot would dare to find trench work humorous, which meant more trouble.

One day people might realize how much they put others in danger when they ignored evacuation orders.

A series of popping noises echoed in the distance and then more laughter rang from behind the trenching line.

Houston pointed back and to their left. “You guys hear that?”

Charlie finished the swing of his Pulaski and tilted his head. “Not quite gunshots.”

“Worse.” At least it was for a dry day like today. Houston turned toward Orion. “Price, I think someone’s setting off firecrackers.”

Orion might be close to fifteen years younger, but with this being Houston’s first year as a hotshot, or even as a firefighter, Orion, the second youngest member, nicknamed Ry, held seniority.

Orion grabbed his radio. “Chief, we’ve got some suspicious activity back here. Possibly some people setting off firecrackers, of all things.”

Their Chief, Conner Young, was located closer to the fire along with the two women on the crew. The other four guys—who everyone had dubbed ‘the Trouble Boys’ were further away down the line. “Take James with you. Report back.”

Houston took a chug of water and frowned down at his steel-toed boots.

Jogging over, Orion thumped Charlie on the back. “You sure you can handle this trench alone old man?”

Charlie laughed. “By the time you return, a line from here to the Canadian border will be trenched. You just worry about James outrunning you.”

Houston slipped his ax into his pack and double-timed it toward the trail. The laughter had come maybe thirty yards away, downhill. Orion was only a few paces behind him when another pop splintered through the air. It almost resonated like a gunshot until a round of crackling pops followed. Definitely firecrackers.

Houston slowed his steps and put up his hand. Orion crept up behind him.

In front of them on a plateau area, surrounded by a grouping of Lodgepole Pines that may not survive another day depending on the fire’s path, were three teens. Two older. One younger. All within the same age groups of the boys who had been in Houston’s old youth group.

The blond wore a white T-shirt with cut-off sleeves and had more freckles than muscles. He ran his thumb over a lighter in his hand and lit a firecracker, then threw it at a decaying tree with a hole in its center.

The firecracker ricocheted off the bark and nearly exploded back into the teens’ faces.

The tallest one had his head shaved, but it wasn’t just the cigarette sticking out of his mouth that snagged Houston’s attention, but rather the black caterpillar-type mustache gracing his upper lip. He blew out a bluff of smoke and then threw the stick in his hand at the boy who missed. “Preston, if you miss again?—”

“Shut up, Finn.” Preston spat. “I won’t. Just hand me another firecracker.”

The baby-faced boy sported camo cargo pants that didn’t match his brand-new red tennis shoes. He sat on a stump with a smirk on his face but remained quiet.

Houston stepped forward. “Are you out of your mind? There’s a fire raging a mile from here that could take out this entire forest, and you’re lighting firecrackers?” He marched forward until he held out his hand in front of Preston’s chest. “Hand over that lighter. You were supposed to have evacuated this area.”

None of the boys moved, except Finn, Mr. Mustache, who’d thrown the stick. He swayed his head back and forth like a snake preparing to strike. “You aren’t his father. And you ain’t mine.”

“Hand over the lighter.” Orion came up beside Houston. “Do you know how much more damage you could have caused?”

“Just having a little fun.” Preston shrugged.

Finn smirked. “They’re only baby squirrels.”

Houston locked his gaze onto Finn. “You’re lighting firecrackers in a drought, and you’re trying to hurt animals?”

Finn’s mustache almost curled up with his gummy grin as he took the cigarette away from his mouth. “I’m guessing it was a firecracker that carved up your skin.”

Finn’s remark about his burned body shouldn’t have mattered, but it made Houston rock back on his heels.

Preston spat on the ground and crossed his arms. “Nah, he was probably always that ugly.”

There was no remorse in either of the two teens’ eyes, but Houston didn’t have a chance to check out the silent one who had taken a few steps backward.

Houston lunged and grabbed the lighter. He secured it in his palm.

Preston scoffed, “Hey!” He reached for the lighter while his freckles on his nose grew red. “Harassment much?”

Houston slid the lighter into his pocket.

“Hardly.” Orion growled as he hooked his thumb back toward their crew’s fire line. “All of you, get to walking. You ignored an evacuation order for this area. We’ll see if the sheriff thinks you need to take the fire safety class at Wildlands Academy.”

Preston puffed out his chest and turned toward Orion. “You can’t make us do nothing.”

Finn pulled out a string of firecrackers he must have somehow lit behind his back with his cigarette. “Now!” He flung it right at Houston.

Houston swatted the firecrackers to the ground. The lit fuse singed the tip of his pinky. He squeezed his burned finger into a fist. Pops thundered against the creaking trees.

The boys scrambled away with Orion hot on Finn’s tail. Houston chased after them. There had been no firefighter training for any of this, but if he and Orion worked together, they could get Finn, the ringleader. The others would follow.

Except another noise canceled Houston’s plan. An engine started.

Houston skidded to a stop. The quiet boy sat on top of a camouflaged four-wheeler that must have been parked behind an overgrowth of bushes.

Houston pivoted and ran faster. Harder. If only he didn’t have his pack still on. But a hotshot never left his pack.

The boy gunned the four-wheeler. The engine roared, and he shifted, reaching Preston before Houston could even lunge for the kid.

Preston waved his arms at the quiet one. “Move, Lewis.”

Lewis scooted to the back of the four-wheeler. Preston hopped on and spun the wheels, dirt and dried leaves spit into the air. They did a one-eighty and aimed right for their ringleader, who Orion had grabbed, Finn’s shirt fisted in his hand.

Preston shifted into third gear. Lewis clung to the back bars under the rack. Houston tucked his chin and dashed after them. But the four-wheeler blazed away. Aimed right toward Orion.

“Stop!” Houston yelled.

But the boy shifted up a gear.

“Price!”

Right before contact, Orion jumped behind a tree. Finn yanked away from Orion, latched arms with Lewis on the back, and jumped up. All three of the boys rumbled away through the woods.

Orion heaved out a breath. “If I ever mention criminal justice as a career, remind me juvenile delinquents aren’t my thing.”

Houston sent a glare skyward. Working with juveniles, period, wasn’t his thing either. Not anymore. God had made sure of that when He took away Houston’s youth pastor position and gave it to someone else.

Orion pushed himself off the ground, but his eyes widened at something behind Houston.

A waft of smoke hit Houston’s nose. He fisted his hands.

Houston peered over his shoulders. Flames. Hot and angry. Devouring the leaves, fallen branches, and pine needles on the ground.

Orion sprinted for the hungry fire. “The firecrackers or his cigarette flamed up against the dry brush. It’s spreading. We’ve got to get it out now.”

Houston opened his pack and pulled out his shovel.

As the heat hit Houston’s healed skin, the past rushed back to him.

Orion heaped dirt onto the flames. “Dude, come on.”

Move.

But Houston couldn’t. Face to face with the fire moving fast, he couldn’t do anything. His heart thumped in his chest. His eyes locked on the shovel handle. Not on the ashes. The heat. Or anything that reminded him of the day that changed his life. His childhood home that almost burned to the ground with him inside.

Orion stomped his boot on another spark of flaming pine cone. “Whatever that was, don’t let Captain see it happen again.”

Houston swallowed, and his throat burned with smoke. How did Houston ever think he could be a hotshot firefighter?