Yet, did he actually expect her to fight the fire with him? Did he think she would run toward that horrible smell of burning grass instead of fleeing it? Did he imagine she would fight the flames with nothing more than a single, solitary towel in her very vulnerable hands? He must see something in her that she was pretty sure simply wasn’t there.
Fear and safety aside, she wasn’t dressed to fight a fire. North Texas was experiencing a December heat wave, and she was wearing capris and flip-flops. She could get hurt. She lowered her hands to her lap and gripped the towel. But if she didn’t help, how many more might be hurt? People. Animals. Property. Timber.
She had to help. She glanced down and noticed stains on the towel from some long-ago picnic. She couldn’t ever have imagined using her towels to put out a fire. But if ratty towels and her shaky courage were all that stood between death and destruction, they would have to do.
Mindful of possible traffic, she put her SUV in drive, pulled to the side of the road, and turned off the engine. She stepped outside. Ninety degrees wasn’t a miserable one hundred, but still plenty hot, particularly for the holiday season. Christmas was bad enough. Christmas and a heat wave together was—well, it was like hell on Earth. Complete with fire. How about some brimstone next?
She slammed the door shut, blocking retreat, and forced one foot in front of the other as she edged around the front fender. The scent of burning grass grew stronger. And just like that, she felt the sharp edge of a flashback threaten to overwhelm her. She clenched her empty fist, driving fingernails into her palm. She used the pain to ground her in the here and now. And in her mind, she employed her safe words. “Be here now. Safe and sound. Be here now.”
She looked across the fence and took a deep breath, despite the stench. Not a wall of fire. Instead, a line of red-orange flames ate up the dry grass, leaving black stubble behind as the blaze sent up plumes of smoke. She watched Trey beat at the conflagration with a towel in each hand. He was making progress. She felt hope that her towels could actually make a difference. But he couldn’t completely stop the flames. The fire line was too wide. Without her help, he was going to lose the battle.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. She felt his gaze as an almost physical sensation, willing her to help, giving her strength, sharing his courage. She felt a surge of determination. She wouldn’t let him fight alone.
When she reached the sagging barbwire fence, she carefully stepped over it and quickly walked to Trey. “What do you want me to do?”
“Can’t let the fire cross the road or it’ll be hell and gone.” He pointed toward the other side of the fire line. “You take that end. Beat out the flames as fast as you can. We’re ahead of the blaze, and we’ve got to stay that way.”
“Okay.” With one simple word, she knew she’d turned her world upside down, but she wouldn’t back down.
As she moved into position, she saw that fire consumed the dry grass at an unbelievably fast rate. They were in the middle of a bad drought. Add unseasonably warm temperatures to the mix and everything was vulnerable. Up close, intensity ruled. Heat. Smoke. Smell. Fortunately, the fire hadn’t spread too far. She raised her towel over her head and whipped down hard, smothering the flames. Brief elation filled her. Maybe she—they—could fight this fire. And win.
Trey was slapping at the flames with everything he had, and she followed suit. Quickly they had a rhythm going—slap, lift, slap, lift, slap, lift—and with each slap a little bit of the fire gave way.
“Good thing I brush-hogged around here, so the grass is short,” Trey called out, without losing a beat.
“It could be worse?”
“You bet.”
“I can’t imagine.”
“Watch your feet!”
She felt heat sear her toes and jerked back. Black soot streaked her tangerine toenail polish and the crystal stones on her sandals. She suddenly felt dizzy and off balance.
“Are you okay?” Trey quickly stomped out the flames near her feet with his scuffed cowboy boots.
“Yes.” And strangely enough, she did feel better with him so close by her side.
“I’m buying you a real pair of shoes.”
“You don’t have to do that. These are fine,” Misty said, although she didn’t know why she suddenly felt defensive about her footwear. Maybe it was because she prided herself on being practical—usually—not one of those women who dressed in a way that made them appear absolutely helpless.
“Not out here,” Trey said as he looked at her in a way that made her suddenly self-conscious.
“I wouldn’t be here if not for your fire.”
“It’s our fire.” He moved back to his end of the line and beat fast and hard at the flames.
She simply shook her head as she struck the ground again with her towel while she carefully kept her feet back from the flames.