She parked her white SUV with the sheriff’s logo at a deserted intersection, climbed out and rested her elbows on the front fender to steady her binoculars. Beyond a wide field that was green with the new growth of early spring, she could see the approaching wildfire.
Though the crimson flames were far away, barely visible behind a distant ridge, smoke consumed the landscape. A stinging haze draped the spires of pine and spruce at the edge of Swain County in the high Rocky Mountains.
When she licked her lips, she tasted ash on her tongue. Her pale blue eyes continued to ooze with tears.
Caleb Schmidt, a deputy who had been with the sheriff’s department for thirty years, one year longer than Sam had been alive, had followed her to this location. He got out of his vehicle and strutted toward her. A short, wiry man, Caleb thrust out his chest and swung his arms when he walked. Maybe he thought the posture made him look bigger. He pulled the dark blue bandana down from his mouth and squinted at her through his thick glasses.
“It’s time,” he said in a voice of doom, “time to start emergency evacuation procedures.”
“Not yet.”
“Doggone it, Sheriff, we gotta hustle and—”
“I’ve been in contact with the proper officials,” she interrupted. “Fire Marshal Hobbs will tell me in plenty of time if we need to evacuate.”
Caleb scoffed. Before he could say anything more, she stretched out her long arm and tugged on his bandana. “Where’s your smoke mask?”
“Where’s yours?” he retorted.
This morning when she’d started out, she had two boxes full of disposable ventilator masks that she’d gone to the trouble of ordering even though they weren’t in her meager budget. Before noon, she’d given them all away without saving one for herself. Her late husband, Wade, would have pointed to her behavior as an example of her too-too-responsible attitude. And, she admitted to herself, Wade would have been right. Sam knew she couldn’t take care of others if she didn’t take care of herself first, but the other way around felt more natural.
“The wind’s picking up,” Caleb muttered. “The fire’s on the move. I hear it’s already burned two thousand acres. I’m advising you to reconsider.”
“If I had reason to believe it might reach town, I wouldn’t hesitate to get everybody out.” Her five-year-old daughter was smack-dab in the middle of Woodridge at the sheriff’s office in the two-story, red stone Swain County Courthouse, where the dispatch/911 operators were keeping an eye on her. Sam’s regular babysitter had an asthmatic toddler and had driven down to Denver to get away from this awful smoke.
“We gotta be smart, gotta move fast.” Caleb would not give up; he was a feisty little pug with a bone. “It ain’t going to be easy to get some of these old coots to leave their houses.”
He was right about that. A mandated evacuation of Woodridge would be a nightmare. Her county was the smallest in the state in terms of acreage and population. They didn’t have a ski resort or a condo development or fertile land for farming. The entire sheriff’s department consisted of twelve people, including Sam.
She swabbed the moisture from under her eyes and stared at her deputy. “I’m not going to change my mind. No mandatory evacuation unless the fire marshal says there’s an imminent threat. Is that clear?”
Grudgingly, he said, “I guess you’re the boss.”
You got that right. None of her six deputies had been thrilled when she took over her husband’s job as sheriff. That was over a year ago, and she’d been duly elected last February for one big fat obvious reason: she was the best qualified. As a teenager, she’d done volunteer search and rescue. She’d been top of her class at the police academy. Not to mention her three years’ experience as a cop in Grand Junction before she married Wade. Still, her deputies second-guessed her at every turn.
“Deputy Schmidt, I want you to stay right here and keep an eye on things. That’s an order.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, properly chastised.
The two-lane asphalt road pointed south was one of the few direct routes toward the flames. “Except for firefighting personnel, no vehicles are allowed to pass.”
“And what are you going to do?”
She spotted the black Range Rover she’d been waiting for. “I need to go with Ty Baxter to check on a property.”
“It’s that FBI safe house. Am I right?”
“You know I can’t tell you.” Not that the location was a well-kept secret. “And you’re not supposed to say anything about the safe house, either.”
He mimed zipping his lips, fastening a lock and throwing away the key. Then he pulled up his bandana to cover his mouth and marched toward his vehicle.
FBI special agent Ty Baxter jumped from his Rover and came toward her with long strides. In his Stetson, denim jeans, snakeskin boots and white shirt with a yoke and pearly snaps, he could have looked as phony as a drugstore cowboy. But Ty pulled it off. After all, he was the real deal, the son of a local rancher.
He’d been her husband’s best friend. They’d gone to school together, played football together and dated the same girls. Ty had won the heart of the prom queen. The whole county had been heartbroken when he and Loretta moved to Denver to pursue his career.
He gave her a big hug. “Looking good, Sam.”
“Liar.”
She knew better. Her blue eyes were bloodshot. Instead of makeup, she had jagged smears of ash across her face. Under her beige cowboy hat, her long brown hair was pulled back in a tight braid that hung halfway down to her waist. Her boxy khaki uniform wasn’t designed to flatter. Not to mention the heavy-duty bulletproof vest under her shirt and the utility belt that circled her waist. On top of all that, she was fairly sure that she had pit stains.
“How’s Jenny?” he asked.
“Getting taller every day.”
“Like you.”
Sam was six feet tall in her boots. “I kind of hoped she wouldn’t inherit the giraffe gene.”
Ty grinned and his dark brown eyes twinkled. “Both her parents are giraffes.”
Wade had been six feet five inches tall. Whenever Sam was with Ty, her thoughts drifted toward her husband. The two men had been close. They even looked kind of alike. Both were tall and lean. Both had brown eyes and dark hair. Ty had been with Wade when he died.
She shook off the memories and returned Ty’s easygoing smile. “You got here from Denver really fast.”
“I was already on my way when I called about the safe house. Sam, there’s something important I need to tell you.”
She nodded. “We can talk on the way. We’ll take my SUV. I need to be able to hear my dispatcher.”
After reminding Deputy Schmidt to keep this route blocked, she got behind the steering wheel. When Ty joined her, he was
