44. Chapter 44
forty-four
Ididn’t text or call her. She’s got to understand that.
She’s in that house with her son and his father.
And I’m—on the outside. Again.
Fuck.
I fumble with the wrong keys at the lock, hands shaking harder than I want to admit. Finally, getting the new one to work, I toss the old one in the trash and step inside. Chad will be here soon.
Three steps into the store, the door opens behind me. I look over my shoulder.
Jesus. How much can one man take?
“What do you want, Darla?”
“My check.” She’s blocking the doorway, arms crossed tight across her chest, chin jutted like she’s daring me to argue.
“Not payday.” I turn my back on her, walking to the counter.
“If you don’t want a lawsuit on your hands, give me my check. Now.”
I stop and turn.
She shifts her weight to one hip, tapping her nail against her phone screen like she’s bored.
I can’t get my mouth to work for a second.
“Lawsuit for what? Not showing up for work yesterday? Changing the passwords on the software?”
“I didn’t show up because I couldn’t. I was sick.”
“Phone didn’t work?”
Her eyes flash. She steps closer. “Just give me my money.”
“Be glad to. Wait here.”
“I want severance.”
I bark a wicked laugh. “I didn’t fire you. You quit.”
She hikes a shoulder. “Fine. I don’t quit. I’ll—“
“Get out, Darla.”
She doesn’t move.
I take one slow step forward, shoulders squared. “I said wait outside. I’ll bring you your check.”
Her chin lifts, our glares hold—but her fingers twitch around her keys. She’s weighing whether to push me—just to see if she can make me snap.
She doesn’t. She turns and walks out.
The door shuts behind her.
Good. I can finally breathe.
I call Tanner.
When he picks up, I ask, “Can you get to the store?”
“What’s up?”
“Darla’s here. Wants her money.”
“On it.”
Instead of heading to the office to write her damn check, I unlock the safe and load the cash register. Turn on all the lights and machines.
Glance outside. She’s sitting in her car. I’m half expecting her to gun it and drive through the plate-glass window when Chad walks in.
“What’s up boss?” Kid’s happy as he can be.
“Darla’s not working here anymore. I need you to man the register while I go to my office. I’ll be right back out.”
“Yessir.”
I stalk to my office, mad enough to tear up the whole fucking world.
Tanner walks in as I’m fishing for the checkbook. “What’s the deal?” he asks.
“She wants severance.”
“Give it to her.”
I aim my arm at the parking lot. “She’s the one who was a no show on a day when we’re fighting a fucking range fire!”
“Doesn’t matter. Give her a month’s severance, Calder. And have her sign a release of claims form. We’ve got some.”
I let out a huff. “You’re right. Guess I wasn’t thinking.”
“Understandable,” he says as he sinks into a chair. “None of us are.”
When I finish writing the check, Tanner stands, taking it from me along with the form I pull from the drawer. “I’ll deal with it,” he says, striding out of the room.
Jesus.
It’s not raining, it’s flooding—I wish.
I need to talk to Laurel. But how? School’s out. It’s Saturday. If I call her, he’ll be there. She can’t talk.
I settle on a text.
Calder: I’m here if you need me.
And something inside my chest cracks wide open. Fuck. I hope she does. I wish she’d text: I need you. Get over here.
I’d run all the way there, look this Grant in the eye. The paternity testing son of a bitch.
I’m leaning back in my chair, staring at the ceiling, my gut in a damned knot when Tanner walks back in. Before I know it—it comes out of my mouth. “Grant’s here.”
“What the fuck?” Loud.
“My thoughts exactly.”
“Shit. The universe has decided to take a dump on us. Mercy in the club. The fire. Mercy at school. Darla. Grant. Fucking hell.”
“How’d Darla take it?”
He tosses the form on the desk. “She signed it and left. Shot me the bird as she drove off.”
“Good riddance.” My stomach growls so loud you’d think I had a tiny man in there banging on metal. “Let’s go to the Red Wagon.”
“Gonna leave Chad with it by himself?”
“If he can’t handle the store for an hour, we need to give up. I’ll hire someone Monday. We’ve got plenty of applications.”
I’m bent over a platter of bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns, shoveling them in my mouth.
My stomach’s flat-ass empty. I didn’t eat the night before the damn fire or yesterday.
“What are you going to do about Mercy?” I ask, swilling my bite of biscuit down with coffee.
“Nothing.” Tanner’s hunched over his breakfast, brooding. Not himself. Hasn’t ‘Hey Joe’d’ anyone in the Red Wagon. That’s not like him. Mr. Never Met a Stranger. Barely touching his food—this the man who usually helps himself to his and mine.
“Come on, man. You’ll regret it if you don’t try. At least try—then it’s on her.”
“I did try.” He leans close, his normally shiny eyes as fiery as I’ve ever seen them.
“I’ve called her more times than I want to admit.
Not doing it again. Not texting, either.
” He shoves back in his chair. “Ball’s in her court.
” Tanner taps his chest, furious. “I didn’t do anything wrong either time, Calder. ”
It hurts just looking at him.
It’s more than his heart. His pride is wounded, her not believing in him. That cuts a man to the quick. I get it. It’s a punch in the gut.
“Jesus, Tanner. Fuck. How does everything go from perfect to shit this fast?” I shove back from the table, too. “Mercy talking about leaving. Laurel’s fucking ex in town—you and me back here alone. Dammit.” I toss my napkin on the table. “Nothing makes sense.”
“Tell me about it,” he mumbles around a drink of coffee. “I feel like I’m the one who needs to leave.”
“You can’t leave.”
“I’m a free man. Who says I can’t?”
“Me.”
Just like that—the godforsaken fire alarm goes off on our phones, that high-pitched tone that means nobody’s getting a break today.
Every head in the café swings toward us as dispatch crackles through the speakers: “Flare-up reported on the west line of the Llano Highway fire, past County Road 44. All units respond.”
Striding to the checkout counter, I tell him, “I’ve got to run by the store and give Chad the keys. I’ll meet you at the station.”
On the way, I check my phone.
Nothing from Laurel.
By the time we reach the Llano Highway, the horizon is on fire.
Christ, it looks like it’s hotter than it was yesterday.
We haven’t had rain in months, and this is cow country.
Even the stock tanks are going dry. There’s nothing but grassland, cedar, and oaks for thirty miles.
This fucker can chew up everything between here and Mason if we can’t get it under control.
Passing the new Mexican food restaurant, I remember. “Laurel asked if there was any place in town to eat besides the Red Wagon. I’ve got to take her there.”
It’s so new it almost looks unfinished. Cedar siding. Crowded parking lot.
“Grand opening,” Tanner says. “I haven’t checked it out, either.”
If she stays. If she doesn’t go back with that fucker, I’ll take her there.
Shit. We were supposed to go out tonight. Guess that’s off.
Get your head straight, Calder. Focus.
“Fresh fuel!” Chief yells as we unload a little more than half a mile down the road from the new café. Good for them—the wind’s pushing the fire away from the structure.
This pasture is thigh-high in dry sideoats—native prairie grass.
“Somebody better get the bulldozers!” Tanner shouts.
“I’m going to go ahead and call in reinforcements!” Chief yells over the roar of the flames. “Without fire breaks, there’s nothing to stop this until it gets to the river!”
“How’d it start?” Waddy’s tugging hose. Pound per pound, he’s as strong as any man here, and he never quits.
“Who the fuck knows?” Another guy answers. “We just need to pray for rain!”
We’ve got our fire hoses going full blast—creating a smoke screen of steam when a herd of frightened deer races in front of us, jumping the fence line—a bunch of them.
Someone yells, “Fuck!”
Then I hear it—the screech of brakes. Long and high.
I whip my head toward the highway in time to see an eighteen-wheeler fishtailing, the trailer whipping sideways like a damn scorpion tail.
He tried to dodge the deer and has one in the grill of his truck.
We’re close enough to see the driver fighting the steering wheel—eyes wide—fuck, I can see his hands jerking the wheel, the cab rocking—then he’s lost it.
“MOVE!” Chief bellows.
The rig skids across the oncoming lanes—tires smoking, the whole thing shuddering. Then the trailer swings too far, momentum takes over, and the cab lifts—slow at first, then fast.
It tips.
Metal screams. Glass explodes. The truck slams onto its side hard enough to shake the ground under my boots.
Then it starts to slide—sparks flying from metal on asphalt—smashing straight into the barbed-wire fence.
The fence snaps like a thread.
The truck keeps going, plowing through fence-line mesquite and dry prairie grass until it clips an electrical pole.
The pole cracks in half.
The transformer blows with a blinding white flash and deafening POP!
The lines drop—whipping and spitting blue-white arcs across the ground.
“LINES DOWN! LINES DOWN!” someone screams.
Everyone scrambles back as grass ignites instantly, every arc setting a new blaze. Flames race in all directions.
“Driver’s trapped!” Waddy shouts, already running for him.
“Stay clear of the wires!” Chief yells, grabbing him by the back of his coat. “You touch that metal, you’re dead!”
The cab is on its side, windshield shattered, smoke pouring out of the hood and from underneath.
The driver’s slumped against the windshield, blood on his forehead.
“Boone! Briggs!” Chief snaps, aiming his arm. “Go back to the gate and around! That fence is hot!”
The whole fucking fence line is arcing along with the downed wires snaking through the grass, igniting every blade of grass they touch.
Every time they arc and hit the ground, the fire jumps, spreading faster, hotter, hungrier. We’re going to be surrounded.
I scan the scene—calculating distance, angle, wind, flame. “Let’s go!” We sprint back to the gate. “Wait!”
I grab Tanner’s shoulder, pointing. “That cattle guard’s live.”
He backs up, runs—and jumps.
I’m right behind him.
He’s ahead racing for the driver. We’ve got to get him out before the cab catches on fire with him in it.
Reaching the truck, scrambling like a monkey—nimbler than I imagined he was— Tanner uses his boot, smashing in the passenger window of the cab.
I stand by as he lowers himself in and slices the driver’s seat belt with his knife. I hear him call out, “You okay, Buddy?”
No response.
He looks at me, nodding his head. “He’s got a pulse!”
With every muscle strained to the limit, Tanner pulls the driver up, lifting his dead weight as I reach in, pulling him up and through the passenger window, finally resting him on the hood.
Tanner scrambles free, leans his ear to the man’s face, checking for breath. “He’s alive. Hope to hell they’ve called an ambulance.”
I glance over my shoulder—“Fuck!”
With all the arcing electrical wires, the fire jumped. It’s not creeping anymore. It’s racing. “It’s headed straight for that fucking restaurant!” My stomach drops. “The parking lot was full when we passed!”
Tanner’s eyes go wide, looking below him. “Shit!” Gasoline snakes downhill in a shining ribbon heading for the burning grass. “We’ve got to get out of here!”
I hook my arms under the driver’s shoulders. Tanner grabs his feet. We haul him, boots slipping on asphalt, heat biting at our backs. The fence is live.
The world is on fire all around us.
All we can do is haul him down the middle of the highway, as far from that truck as possible.