accepted the dinner invitation if Sam hadn’t said it wasn’t a date.
“Well,” Maggie said presently, then said no more.
Needing solitude, Mary walked away from the food tables toward an area from which she could see the fire better. In the darkness, a red fog seemed to fill the north end of the valley, and here and there tongues of fire burst above it. It was getting closer. Showing no mercy.
But then, the world, or the universe, or whatever you chose to call it, didn’t show mercy. Ever. It was a cold, heartless world, where bad things happened no matter how good you were.
“It looks like the fires of hell,” Elijah remarked.
Mary started, surprised that he had joined her. She wondered if he was going to stick like a burr to her. And if so, why. “It looks like a forest fire,” she said flatly.
His face, only dimly illuminated by the lanterns behind them and the glow from the fire, looked dark, a ruddy black. His shaggy white eyebrows seemed to glow with their own light. They lifted. “You don’t believe in hell?”
“Oh, I believe in it, all right. I just don’t think we agree on what it is.”
“I see.”
She averted her face, hoping he would take the hint and leave her alone. He didn’t.
She heard what at first sounded like the rush of running water. But then, as the pitch-black treetops began to sway against the slightly lighter sky, and as the kiss of the breeze nipped at her ears, she knew what it was. The wind was coming up strongly.
Not just the earlier occasional gust, this was strong, steady. Exactly what they didn’t need.
At first it seemed content to sweep the mountain-top and ignore the valley. Mary tensed as she waited, hoping against hope it wouldn’t sweep down the slopes and spread the fire. Beside her, she heard Elijah begin a low-voiced prayer. Almost instinctively, she reached out and took his hand, silently joining him. To her surprise, she felt him squeeze her fingers.
And she wondered yet again why Elijah seemed to be haunting her.
6
Dawn seeped through the smoky haze, bringing a dim gray light to the men who had struggled all night to build a firebreak below Edgerton Pass. Even though the fire was nowhere near reaching them yet, the area still looked as if it had been bombed out. Trees had been cut down, and during the night bulldozers had arrived to shove them away from the cleared area. Now there was nothing to be seen except a wide, barren strip they hoped the fire couldn’t cross. There was still more work to be done, more land to be cleared, but the crew that had worked all night was being dismissed as replacements arrived.
Sam was among those leaving. He climbed into his truck, offering rides to some of the other men. The air reeked of wood smoke, enough to make their eyes burn. All of them wore kerchiefs over their mouths.
Climbing up the pass didn’t make it any better. It was like driving through a pea-soup fog that stank of burning pitch. It was as if he could have driven off the end of the world at any moment.
The command center at the top of the pass was a hive of activity, but this morning almost all the faces were new. George Griffin was still there, though, handing over the reins to his replacement.
Sam parked, letting the other guys out to go to their own cars. He went over to George and asked, “What’s the news?”
“Not good.” George sighed. His eyes were red from the smoke, and his face had a gray cast to it. Most of the faces did. Soot was settling everywhere. “We’ve got four different fires burning now, maybe twenty-five hundred acres each. Hard to tell how bad it is right now, though.”
It certainly was. Once again the pall of smoke concealed the fires and most of the valley.
“Go on home,” George said. “Get some sleep. We’re going to need all the rested help we can get later.”
That didn’t sound good, Sam thought as he headed back to his truck. Not good at all. He didn’t have any experience with forest fires, but he’d read some about them. Fighting them was never easy, and in a place like this, with no road access to the burning area, it was even worse. Everything out there was fuel.
The air stirred a little, and fine ash sprinkled over him. He hardly noticed it; it had been happening all night. Right now he needed his bed and about ten hours of sleep. He figured he could only allow himself six or seven, though. He would have to get back up here as soon as he could.
“Hi.” Mary stepped toward him, looking as gray as the rest of them in the dim morning light. Her eyes, too, were red-rimmed and watery looking.
“You’re still here?” he asked.
She nodded. “I promised your father I’d make sure you got back here safely.”
“My father?” Cripes. Just what he needed to think about right now. Anger stirred in him, a not-quite-sleeping beast. “What the hell does he care?”
“He seems to.” She shrugged. “Can I hitch a ride to town? No car.”
“Sure. Yeah, sure.” He opened the passenger door for her, then slammed it after she’d slid onto the seat. His father. Of all the damn things…
The man hadn’t given a single damn about him in fifteen years, at least. Why the hell was he concerned about Sam’s health now?
A show, maybe? Perhaps it was uncomfortable for a minister of God to have people know he wasn’t even speaking to his son. That could well be. Make it look as if it was all Sam’s fault. As far as Elijah was concerned, everything was Sam’s fault anyway, and always had been.
But it was way too late for the prodigal son routine. Way too late.
Sam headed the truck down the winding road, taking the corners just a little too fast.
“Sam?” Mary spoke. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. What kind of crap is he shoveling, anyway?”
“I don’t know. Are you sure it’s crap?”
He glanced at her, his eyes still burning. Just the smoke, he told himself. “Yeah, I’m sure. He’s the man who called me the day after my wife’s funeral and told me her death was a punishment for my sins.”
“Oh, no!” Mary’s tone was full of distress. “Oh, Sam.”
He took the next corner practically on two wheels and forced himself to slow down. Maybe he didn’t care if he died, but he cared that Mary didn’t. “I’m sorry I missed dinner,” he said, changing the subject.
“It’s okay. Maggie told me you were up here. The fire’s more important.”
“Thanks for understanding.”
“There’s nothing to understand.”
But he couldn’t leave the subject of his father alone. It was like a scab that itched, and he couldn’t ignore it. “What did he say to you, anyway?”
“Elijah?
