Chapter One
Blaze Buckeye woke to the sound of horses nickering in the corral. Dawn light spilled through the cracks in the shutters, painting lines across the wooden floor. He swung his legs off the cot, pulled on his boots, and grabbed his hat.
By the time he stepped outside, the desert was already warming. Heat shimmered low on the horizon, though the air still held a bite from the night. He crossed the yard, stretching the sleep from his shoulders.
Rachel was already at the fence, brushing dust from the mare’s coat. She looked up, her twelve-year-old face shaded by a too-large straw hat.
“You’re late,” she said.
“I’m right on time,” Blaze answered. He reached for a comb hanging on the rail.
“Sun’s been up forever,” Rachel said.
“Forever’s twenty minutes?” Blaze replied.
She grinned but kept brushing. “I did more work than you already.”
“You always say that,” Blaze said. “You want a medal?”
“Wouldn’t hurt,” she said.
Blaze shook his head, smiling despite himself. He worked the comb down the mare’s flank in steady strokes, dust rising into the light.
From the porch, their mother’s voice carried.
“Blaze, Rachel, don’t waste the morning jawin’. Horses don’t brush themselves.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Blaze called back.
Rachel mimicked under her breath, “Yes, ma’am,” and flicked a bit of dust at him with the brush.
He gave her a sharp look, but his grin returned a moment later.
They worked side by side until the mare’s coat shone. Blaze stepped back, wiping sweat from his brow.
“She’s ready,” he said.
Rachel gave the horse one last pat. “Ready for town, you mean. Think Ma will let you go this time?”
Blaze shook his head. “Somebody’s gotta stay here.”
“You never go,” Rachel said.
“I’ll go when Ma says so,” Blaze replied.
Rachel pursed her lips. “You don’t want to?”
“Don’t make a difference,” Blaze said.
Rachel leaned her arms on the rail. “Mrs. Kane says people still talk about Pa in town. You oughta hear it yourself.”
Blaze’s jaw tightened. “I don’t need to hear it.”
“She said Pa stole gold from the Riders,” Rachel said in a rush, like the words were heavy on her tongue.
Blaze froze, then gave the mare a firm slap on the hindquarters, sending her trotting into the corral. Dust rose around his boots.
“She don’t know what she’s talkin’ about,” he said.
“She sounded sure,” Rachel pressed.
“People sound sure about a lot of lies,” Blaze said. His voice had an edge now.
Rachel glanced at him, eyes searching. “So, he didn’t?”
Blaze stared past the corral, toward the hazy mountains in the distance.
“No,” he said flatly.
His sister didn’t ask again.
***
Their mother came down the porch steps, skirts brushing the dirt. Her dark hair was pinned tight, though strands had slipped loose. She carried a basket in one hand and wore a weary look in her eyes.
“You two near done?” she asked.
“Done,” Blaze said.
Rachel nodded quickly.
“Good,” their mother said. “Blaze, I need you here today. There’s wood to split and fences to mend. Rachel, you’ll come with me into town.”
Rachel’s face lit up. Blaze nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
His mother set the basket on the wagon bench. “And, Blaze, mind what folks say if you hear ’em. I know you’ve got a temper in you, same as your pa.”
“I won’t pick no fights,” Blaze said.
“Don’t matter if you start it or not. Folks want reason enough to think ill,” she said.
He nodded again, though heat prickled under his collar.
Rachel glanced between them. Their mother’s mouth tightened.
“Words are wind,” she added. “Let the wind blow on by.”
Rachel kicked at the dirt. “I hate it.”
“Me too,” Blaze muttered.
“Enough,” their mother said, climbing up onto the wagon. “Load that basket, Blaze.”
He hefted it up beside her, then stepped back as she took the reins. Rachel scrambled up, grinning like she’d won a prize.
“Don’t burn the place down while we’re gone,” Rachel teased.
“Don’t boss Ma around while you’re gone,” Blaze shot back.
Their mother flicked the reins. “Both of you hush.”
The wagon rolled forward, creaking toward the road. Blaze stood with his hands on his hips, watching the dust trail fade.
The ranch yard felt too quiet without them. The chickens pecked in the dirt, horses shifted in the corral, and the wind rattled the dry grass. Blaze turned back toward the barn, rolling his shoulders.
Work waited. Always work.
He split wood until sweat darkened his shirt, then hauled water from the well. The sun climbed high, burning down on his neck. As he worked, his thoughts circled the same words Rachel had spoken.
Mrs. Kane says Pa stole gold.
Blaze swung the ax harder, burying it deep in the block. He yanked it free, chest heaving.
“They don’t know nothin’,” he muttered.
Still, the whispers clung like burrs. Every trip into town, every passing glance, every lowered voice. Folks might smile to his mother’s face, but their eyes always drifted to Blaze, measuring him against a story they’d already decided was true.
Blaze set another log, raised the ax, and brought it down with a sharp crack. He split the wood clean in two, but the ache in his chest remained.
“Pa weren’t no thief,” he whispered. “And I’ll prove it if I got to.”
“Yoo-hoo! Anybody home?”
“Reckon the boy’s out back.”
“Thought his ma handled the orders.”
“Maybe she’s in town. Don’t matter, long as we unload.”
Blaze straightened, ax still in hand. Sweat streaked his face. He leaned the handle against the block and stepped toward the barn.
Two men had pulled up in a wagon stacked with burlap sacks of feed. Their hats drooped low, dust coating their boots. One clambered down, grunting as he untied the ropes. The other sat on the bench, chewing a stem of grass.
“You Buckeye?” the man on the ground asked.
“Name’s Blaze,” Blaze replied.
“Close enough,” the man said. “Got twenty sacks for ya.”
“Stack ’em by the barn,” Blaze said.
“That’s the plan,” the man said.
The other man on the bench spat into the dirt. “Hot work for a boy.”
“Hot work don’t scare me,” Blaze said.
“That so?” the man asked with a grin.
“That’s so,” Blaze replied.
The first man chuckled, hefting a sack onto his shoulder. “Boy talks like he’s twice his age.”
“Folks say he’s got reason to,” the man on the bench said.
“Folks say a lot,” Blaze said flatly.
The men glanced at each other. One raised his brows.
“You hear the talk then?” the bench rider asked.
“I hear plenty,” Blaze said.
“Not from us,” the man said quickly. “We don’t mean nothin’ by it.”
The men fell quiet, muscles straining as they hauled sack after sack. Dust swirled in the yard. Blaze bent to lift one himself, piling it against the barn wall.
“Don’t take it personal, son,” the man on the ground said after a while. “Rumors get legs, start runnin’ whether you like it or not.”
“Some say your pa was a thief,” the other muttered.
Blaze’s head snapped up.
“Easy, Jed,” the first man warned.
“What? Boy oughta know what they’re whisperin’,” Jed said.
“I know what they whisper,” Blaze said.
Jed chewed his stem of grass. “Then you know they say his blood runs in you—same as him.”
“My pa weren’t no thief,” Blaze said.
Jed raised both hands. “Didn’t say I believed it. Just sayin’ what’s out there.”
“What’s out there’s lies,” Blaze said.
The men shifted uneasily. The last sack thumped down. Silence hung a second too long.
“Anyhow,” the first man said finally, “that’s the load. Same price as usual. Your ma will square up.”
The men climbed back onto the wagon. Horses snorted, stamping in the dust.
“No harm meant, son,” the first man said.
The man tugged his hat brim. The wagon creaked forward, wheels crunching over the dry ground. Soon, only a fading trail of dust marked their leaving.
Blaze stood alone beside the sacks with his fists clenched and his jaw tight. His chest heaved with the weight of words he hadn’t spoken.
Continue reading… Fire Made Him