“So, what happened?” Crockett asked.
She coughed. “Beats me. Ben left early, and I rode out to look for a heifer that didn’t come in last night. About an hour later, I’m coming back, and I see smoke. Big smoke.”
He nodded.
“I galloped in and grabbed Pa. He was just standing in the dooryard, gawking at the house, and it was all aflame.”
“Where is he now?”
Jane looked over her shoulder. “There’s a cave up on the hillside. I dropped him at the foot of the path and came back to do what I could.”
“Come on.” Without further warning, Crockett jumped off the lean-to roof. “Slide down to the edge and jump,” he called. “I’ll catch you.”
She could just picture that—her landing in the arms of the Hart boy she’d had a crush on for years. Except he wasn’t a boy anymore.
“Can’t I climb down the pig fence?”
“I sort of wrecked it when I thrashed around, getting up there. Just jump, Janie.”
He used to call her that when she was a kid. She hadn’t heard it in years from anyone but Ben. She slid down, pulling her damp, smelly feed sack with her, and let her feet dangle over the eaves.
Crockett, with a wide grin on his filthy face, stood directly below.
“Fly, little bird.”
Jane pushed off and flew. Crockett caught her, but her momentum swept him off his feet, and they landed breathless in the dead weeds. Crockett held her close to his chest for a moment.
“You all right?”
“Yeah.” Jane pushed away from him and clambered to her feet, though she hated to. His arms felt good around her. How long since anyone had hugged her, even for practical reasons like this? Her brother, Ben, was the last, she guessed, and he wasn’t much of a hugger anymore. Pa hadn’t touched her for years, except when he was drunk and she didn’t get out of his way fast enough.
Crockett rolled over and scrambled up. He snatched his sack from the ground and headed for the well with long strides. Jane hurried to keep up. Flames licked at the scraggly grass between them and the well, and they had to beat them down before they could get to the brink.
“Wet the sacks again.” Crockett turned his attention to more flames that had strayed through the dry grass, and began stomping them.
Jane quickly hauled up a bucket of water and soaked a sack. She carried it, dripping, to Crockett.
“I dropped some more sacks over in front of the barn,” he said.
An hour later, Jane collapsed against the barn door. The flames were out, except for a few stubborn flare-ups in the remains of the house.
“Let me get you some water.” Crockett’s eyes were bloodshot above his bandanna, and his voice was raspy. He plodded to the well and hauled up another bucket of water.
For the first time all afternoon, Jane felt shame. Why couldn’t Pa have built a stone berm around the well, or at least a well house over it? She’d seen the Harts’ yard before. Their well had a round masonry wall wide enough that you could sit on it, and a little roof above. The rope coiled up neatly on a windlass. The Haymakers’ well was a disgrace, as was everything her father had made.
Crockett pulled the bucket awkwardly out of the hole in the ground by the rope attached to the bail and poured some water over his bandanna. He wiped his face with it, smearing the soot and grime worse than before, then untied the bucket and carried it over to her.
“Sorry, no cups.”
“It’s all right.” She scooped water with her hands and brought it to her mouth. It bathed her fiery throat. “Thanks.”
He nodded. “You’d best come stay at our place tonight.”
“No, I can’t.”
“Jane.” He fixed her with a stern look that said, “Be reasonable,” and put his hands on his hips. “You have no house. Where will you sleep?”
“In the barn, I guess, or the cave.”
“We’ve got room for you at the ranch. All of you.”
She shook her head. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer, but I should be here when Ben comes home. And Pa—” No, taking Pa to the Harts’ homey, comfortable ranch house would not be a good idea. Jane was sure Crockett’s father had nothing but disdain for hers. Most people who knew Boyd Haymaker pegged him as shiftless and lazy. And they were right. Since Ma had died, he’d gotten worse. Jane and Ben kept the place going, if the truth were told. Without their hard work, Pa would have starved to death—or wandered off to find an easier way to get his hands on some money. Jane figured she was doing Texas a favor by keeping her pa on the ranch.
She hiked her chin up and met Crockett’s gaze. “We’ll be all right.”
His eyes held hers for a long moment. “All right, then I’ll head on home. But I’ll be back later with some vittles and stuff. I warn you, your neighbors will want to help.”
“I told you, we’ll be fine,” Jane said.