Chapter 13
Geared up, Ryder worked the fire line, cutting a firebreak as the blaze burned up a hill. A shovel dangled from one hand and a pickaxe from the other. He was exhausted.
“Ryder—” From the command center, Travis’s voice came over the radio strapped to his side. “You watching the weather? A front’s coming through. The wind is picking up.”
“I’m watching it.” After weeks of no rain, a storm seemed to be the answer. But a simple gust of wind could spark the hot spots over the firebreak. A crack of lightning could ignite the trees, which were nothing more than dry kindling.
The whole Wade Reed Road area was fire fodder. He’d seen a fire jump a firebreak once, but he’d also seen flames die out at an old, untended break as if it somehow knew thus far and no more.
Ryder scanned the area he and the others had just worked. Every officer in Cheatham WMA was called out, as well as the fire department and a crew of volunteers. He suspected the illegal loggers he’d spotted cutting down trees a few weeks ago were behind this, but the proof had become ashes.
He glanced down the line, checking to see if the wind would kick this thing up. Acrid smoke filled his nostrils, his eyes, his throat.
The Dorsey guitar pull, dancing with Elizabeth, listening to Buck, Aubrey, and the Oklahoma woman sing sweet hymns, was a world away. Moving on, Ryder continued along the top of the line, picking at hot spots, ignoring the ache in his back, arms, and healing knee.
His crew moved slowly ahead of him, but the wind, a force he normally loved, moved along with them. Ryder peered at his watch. Three a.m. More than six hours had passed since the initial alarm, and the fire still had life.
Pausing for a gulp from his water can, he studied the night sky. The moon and stars watching them at the Dorseys’ were now obscured by clouds, and an eerie feeling slipped through the air.
“Rick, Chet,” he called on the radio. “Pyle and Thompson. Let’s make this our final sweep for hot spots. I have a feeling this thing is about to shift on us.”
But he was too late. As they moved along the top of the ridge, they walked straight into a stand of spruce pines ablaze in a golden-orange crown fire.
“Crown fire!”
Elizabeth looked up from where she worked alongside Tina and the other volunteers manning the makeshift command post, serving sandwiches and water to tired firefighters and volunteers.
She’d been at Granny’s, stuck in a fret of “stay” or “go” when Tina called. “I need you. Meet me at the diner. We’re hauling water and supplies to the fire command post.”
Yes. Gladly. Thank you. She needed something to do. All she could picture was Pops, Will, Jeff, Ethan, and Julie, all volunteers, rushing off to fight a wildfire.
And Ryder. He would be in the thick of it.
“Crown fire?” Elizabeth offered bottles of water to firefighters coming from the edge of the forest. “Tina, what’s a crown fire?”
“Where the fire jumps from the treetops instead of running along the ground,” she said, inspecting the hands of a volunteer firefighter.
When he’d peeled off his gloves, the backs of his hands were slightly burnt.
Tina wrung out one of the cloths she kept in a tub of cool water and gently set it over the bright red spots.
“Get some running water on it, Shem. Not cold but cool.”
“Tina.” Elizabeth turned the woman to face her. “Burning treetops fall to the ground.”
“Yep, and on whoever stands beneath.”
Then Ryder must get out of there. Glancing back to the hectic command center, Elizabeth inched toward the man everyone was calling Captain, hoping, willing to hear an update on Ryder.
“Get the helitanker up. But find our men first.” The captain sounded frantic. “Donovan? Come in, Donovan.”
But Donovan didn’t come in, and Elizabeth half wanted to yank the microphone from the man’s hand and scream for him to answer. She’d never been this terrified. And by the expressions on the grimy faces standing around, neither had they.
“If we dump a thousand gallons of water on the fire line and they’re up there…” The captain adjusted the radio volume as if that might be the problem. “Donovan! Where are you?”
Yes, Donovan, where are you?
Minutes seemed like hours. Tina called Elizabeth back to the water and first aid station, but she kept her ear tuned to the captain’s radio conversation with the helitanker pilot.
“Any sign of them?”
“Negative,” the pilot answered. “The scene is engulfed. The fire is going to jump to the next stand of trees if I don’t drop water soon.”
The helitanker circled an enormous spotlight over the burned-black region. The captain continued commanding Ryder and his crew to get out of there. They never responded.
Suddenly, the far end of the camp erupted with cheers as two teams working the east ridge walked out of the woods having won their battle. Among them Will, Ethan, Bobby, and Julie.
Thank God. Thank God.
Ryder, you best be okay, hear me? Elizabeth had heard stories of wildfires and their intense heat and fast-moving flames overtaking men, but Ryder knew how to escape. Didn’t he? He’d fought wildfires before.
From behind, a strong hand gripped her shoulders. “How are you holding up?”
“Pops…” Elizabeth met his tender expression. “I’m not sure. This is intense. I’m scared for Ryder.”
“The Lord knows what’s going on.” He drew her in for a hug. “I believe everything’s going to be okay.”
Elizabeth rested her head against him, desperate for him to be right, then prayed to the God of Pops and Granny.
The fire had encircled the ridge, trapping Ryder and his team of four.
His weak knee nearly sent him to the ground more than once when his foot landed on uneven terrain.
The fire glowed a couple hundred yards behind them as the flames rolled up the hill and burning coals fell from the blazing treetops.
They’d exhausted their water bladders—which were no match for a crown fire anyway. Nor were their picks and shovels. What he had to do now was get the men out of here.
He’d worked hotter wildfires in Colorado, but this one seemed to chase them. Still on the ridge, Ryder swept his flashlight over the terrain, seeking a way down to the creek. Through the howl of the blaze, he heard sounds of a chopper.
Command wouldn’t wait much longer to drop the water. They had to get out. Now.
That’s when he saw it: their narrow way of escape—an old firebreak. Hot coals were dying on its edges.
“This way,” he shouted, shining his light on the path as he led his small company through the space, down the other side of the ridge, and toward the glorious sounds of the creek.
Hitting the stream, Ryder tugged off his headgear and splashed his face with the cool, clear water.
“I hear the helitanker,” Rick said, scooping a handful of water to drink. “Let’s keep moving, get out of the drop zone.”
“Head east.” Ryder reached for his radio as he started down the stream, kicking through burnt debris dropped by the wind. “Captain, come in. Donovan over.”
“Donovan, where have you been?”
“In a ring of fire. But we made it to the creek. We’re almost clear of the drop zone.”
“Then I’ll give the command to drop,” Travis said. “Good work, Donovan.”
“We owe you, man.” Pyle clapped his hand on Ryder’s shoulder. “You saved us. How’d you know the old firebreak was here? Or that it would work?”
“I didn’t,” Ryder said. “But I have a feeling Someone greater than I did.”
As twilight broke over the command post, shouts celebrated the death of the fire.
Weary volunteers headed to their trucks and cars, murmuring about the power of a thousand gallons of water hitting the burning trees.
Pops left with Granny, who came up with bowls of fruit and grab-and-go snacks around four a.m. Tina had packed up an hour ago, out of food and out of energy.
But Elizabeth couldn’t leave. Not until she had eyes on Ryder Donovan.
Was he really out of the drop zone when the helitanker let loose? That was over two hours ago.
Blackened by smoke and exhausted, the WMA officers and local firefighters stood around talking, discussing the fight, assessing, taking reports, worried a hot spot might ignite again. But she knew. They were waiting for Ryder and his crew as well.
Yet the five of them had not emerged.
She stood off to the side, out of the way, whispering the only prayer she knew, “God, please.”
Suddenly, a strong, moist wind whipped through the camp, and a sweet, drizzling rain began to fall. Rain. Much-needed rain. And five grimy figures walked from the trees and dim morning light into camp.
Ryder. Elizabeth ran toward him, pushing through the gathering crowd, and into his arms. “Thank God. Thank God.”
Covered in smoke and soot, he only knew one thing amid the cheering and applause—Elizabeth.
“I was so terrified for you,” she said, arms tight around his neck.
“I’m here now. All is well.” Ryder gripped her tighter, his fears and weariness evaporating. When she stepped back, she swatted at him playfully.
“Don’t ever do that to me again.”
“Never,” he said, roping his arm around her waist and pulling her close again. “Maybe now’s not the best time, but I love you, Elizabeth Dorsey.”
“Oh, goodness, Ryder, wow, I—”
“I think you love me too. Only you have your plans and—” Fire always had a way of drawing the truth out of a man.
“Donovan.” Travis tapped him on the shoulder, then shoved a bottle of water at him. “Need you over here.”
“Rotten timing,” he muttered as Elizabeth slipped away. But maybe it was for the best.
As Ryder gathered with the crew, half-heartedly listening to the debrief, hearing his name a few times, he was in another world. Never mind his throbbing knee, his burning eyes, or his aching body. Or all the speculation over how the fire started. Hikers? Campers? The illegal loggers?
He’d just exposed his heart to a woman who, in all likelihood, would never love him back.