A Rush of Wings (17 page)

“Sixty-five.”

Noelle glanced up. Not even the difference between cabin and room could account for that discrepancy. Sixty-five dollars a night for a mountain cabin was both reasonable and expected. What surprised her was the difference between that and what she paid. She hid her confusion, though, as she tallied on the calculator, then took Mrs. Elam's check and cabin key. “I'm sorry you couldn't stay.”

“No controlling Mother Nature. At the least we'll have a story to tell.”

A story. Rick was up fighting to save his land, and they'd have a story to tell. But of course that's all it was, not her home. Noelle smiled. “Good-bye.”

Before she'd left the room, the Johnsons came in. “Guess it's us next.” Mr. Johnson held out his credit card.

“I'm sorry. I don't know how Rick runs that.”

“Oh.” He glanced at his wife. “I suppose we can write a check.”

Mrs. Johnson shrugged.

“Sixty-five a night? Two nights?” Noelle asked.

He nodded as he flipped to the checkbook in his billfold. And she paid roughly thirteen dollars a night for a month at a time. A quiver passed through her. What did Rick mean by charging her so little? She had assumed it was commensurate with the cabins. Not the same, surely, but a fifty-dollar per night discrepancy?

She left both payments and keys on the desk and went back outside. The two family vehicles drove down while a tanker truck cut through the yard and up the meadow, leaving dusty tracks in the ground. All the crushed and torched vegetation, the serene beauty decimated. As was her peace. Noelle shook her head, depressed.

But then a sudden gust of wind blew down from the mountain and fear jumped inside her.
No. Not down
. She hurried to the stable and saddled Aldebaran, one of the horses Rick's friends had not yet evacuated. By the time they came back for the next four, she'd at least know her fate.

The wind picked up as she rode, and gray sky roiled above her. As she neared the stallions' corral, still far from the actual fire, she choked, wishing she'd tied on a bandana. She could make out the sound of a helicopter, but she didn't see it through the smoke.

There was a gash at the mountain's base, separating the slope from the meadow that led to the ranch and another farther along beneath the actual burn. Those must be the containment lines cut with bulldozer, chain saw, and shovel. The teams had talked about the line last evening. Giving the fire a continuous line of nothing to burn was not easy since it could burn up to two feet underground.

But trenching was the best hope for containment. Rain the best hope for extinguishment, and wind the worst condition for spreading the fire, especially when directed toward the ranch. And it was steady now, blowing into her face, blowing toward Juniper Falls. Rick's pickup was parked on the near side of the gash, but she didn't see him. The wind strengthened, and she drew close enough to see the flames flare up with each gust.

Something wet struck her cheek, and she raised her face to the sky. Had clouds moved in above the smoke? A thunderstorm? Another drop touched her forehead, then more. Had the wind brought rain?
Rain!
More drops fell.
Oh, let it be enough!

Fervently she wished for the clouds to burst open as they had that day with Rick at the corral, to drown the flames as it had drowned
the yard. Rick had warned her of flash floods, but now she hoped for nothing less. No fire could withstand that, could it?

The rain came in earnest as she turned the horse about. She pounded down the slope, the horse's hooves splashing water, the wind blowing cold spray. Before she reached the ranch it was a downpour as powerful as the other. She stopped the mare in the yard and held her face to the sky.

Circling on the horse, she let the water run down her throat, stream from her hair. She spread her arms wide and caught the pelting drops in her cupped palms.
Oh, come, come; keep coming
.

The heavy drops became pellets that stung, then tiny balls of ice. She hurried Aldebaran into the stable, then opened the gates and shooed the other horses into shelter. When she had them in their stalls, she gave them fodder. If this storm was enough, no more animals would need to be moved.

The hail struck the roof with the staccato raps of a million tiny drums. She looked out to see the stones bouncing like grasshoppers in the yard. The gravel was covered in white, piling up like snow. She didn't know if hail was effective against fire, but any precipitation had to be better than none. Then she thought of all the firefighters without shelter from the beating pellets. At least the stones were not large.

She snatched Rick's poncho, held it over her head, and ran for the house, bursting in upon Marta. “It's raining! It's hailing!”

“I know. Thanks be to God.” Marta was kneeling beside the couch, scrubbing the soot from where Rick had slept. How could she clean now? Noelle wanted to snatch her up from her knees and drag her into the yard, to show her, to soak her, to make her see. Then she noticed Marta's lips moving as she worked. She was not on her knees to scrub only. She was thanking God.

Noelle looked down at the puddle she had made on the floor. Silently she grabbed a cloth from the kitchen and swabbed it up. She glanced at the clock. Two-thirty. Then the hail turned again to rain. There was hope. Surely there was hope. Would Rick think his prayers and fasting had brought the rain? Was it possible they had?

She climbed the stairs to her room and stripped off her soaked clothes. Rubbing herself dry, she imagined Rick with rain pouring off his hat brim, soaking him to the bone. Had he, too, thrown wide his arms and exulted? She put on a dry blouse and denim shorts.

Marta tapped her door and called, “Noelle, you have a phone call.”

Noelle froze, heart pounding, euphoria seeping from her in a rush. A phone call? Who would call? Who knew where she was? A thought paralyzed her. Could he find her?

“Noelle?”

She couldn't answer. Fear snaked around her throat and squeezed.

Marta knocked again.

“Yes . . . I'll be there in a moment.” Noelle forced the words. If it was, she would race back upstairs and—She imagined herself throwing things into her tote and leaving. No. She would not leave! Not now, when they'd beaten the fire.

She finished zipping her shorts, then forced herself to open the door and went down. Her fingers were cold on the receiver. “Hello?”

“What's with having all the excitement without me?”

She almost cried with relief.
Morgan
. “You mean the fire?”

“I saw it on the news. Juniper Falls is on the tube, if you can believe it, though you didn't get top billing—hardly more than a blurb and a single helicopter shot—not when major real estate is burning up near Evergreen.”

“I guess not.” Noelle cleared the strain from her throat.

“How bad is it?”

“Bad enough. Rick's up fighting it. But it's raining now. Oh, Morgan, it's pouring like you wouldn't believe.” She saw through the window that the rain continued.

“Well, that's good. Are you all right?”

“I'm fine.” Now that her heart had resumed a normal beat.

His voice softened. “I wish I was there.”

“You'd have been pressed into service.”

He laughed. “Yeah, better Rick than me.”

Was there anything Morgan cared enough about to fight for, as Rick had fought for his land?

“Hey, I'm getting a call. Ciao.”

As she hung up, the shaking started. Of all the stupid times to panic. She held herself in her arms. It was nothing more than Morgan's curiosity. But the call could have meant too much. She closed her eyes.

“Are you all right?” It was the smokejumper she'd spoken with the day before. Others of her team came into the kitchen behind her.

Noelle nodded. “Is it out?”

“Only cleanup now.” She brushed dripping hair back with her forearm. “Then we're out of here.”

The woman took a bottle of water from the counter and drained it. “If the rain keeps on, it'll do our job for us. Oh, how we pray for rain.”

There it was again. Prayer. Had it brought the rain? Why would God start the fire, then send the rain? Just to prove He could? What was she thinking? Imagining some white-robed, hoary man on a throne tossing fire bolts, then pouring buckets to quench what he started.

“Oh,” the woman said, “I met your husband.”

“I beg your pardon?” Her shaking increased.

“Rick.” The smokejumper refilled her bottle and took a swallow. “Right before I came down.”

Noelle expelled her breath. “He's not my husband.” She pushed the platter of sandwiches toward the woman, trying to sound normal. She could stanch this attack if she tried. There was no need for panic, not now. “I'm boarding here at the ranch.”

“Oh. Well, thanks for the sandwich.” The woman paused. “Are you sure you're all right?”

“I'm fine.” But she wasn't fine. The shaking intensified, and she had to get outside, even if she only went as far as the porch. Rain gushed from the downspouts at either end of the porch, and she stood breathing deeply until the shaking stopped. Water soaked the yard where nearly all the hail had dissolved. A truck sloshed down and stopped to let the fire fighters take a pit stop.

“Is it over?” she asked them.

A tall man swiped water from his walrus mustache. “Not over, but a heck of a lot closer than before.”

Noelle bit her lip with another rush of gratitude inside. Yes. It was going to be all right. Juniper Falls might be on the news, but she was safe, hidden away on this ranch that had been threatened but hadn't succumbed. She stayed out in the storm for the next several hours; then the rain slackened and ceased, leaving ragged strips of cloud. The yard was a rutted mess, but she praised the rain anyway. The smoke had been washed from the air, though the rain scent was tainted with soaked charcoal. Yet even that much was a relief. She closed her eyes and let the quiet settle over her.

Then she heard a pickup and looked up the meadow. Her heart jumped. She gripped the rail as Rick parked his truck and climbed out, soaked and grimy. His gaze caught hers with an expression she'd not seen before, a look of pure triumph. Her heart raced. Yes, they had triumphed, had beaten the forces of nature.

He climbed up the stairs with more spring in his step than she could imagine. Two days of grueling labor and little sleep. But it was as Marta said. He had renewed his strength. Somehow.

Noelle hurried to him, almost reached for him. Her heart danced at what he'd done. His muscled body was outlined by the soaked T-shirt, victory in his face. If anyone had power over the mountain, over the fire, it was this man.

She gripped her hands together. “Is it out?”

“There are still hot spots, but the rain was a godsend.” His smile was totally without guile.

Godsend
. He truly believed his God had sent the rain. Rick's strength and tenacity, and that of the others, had been unfailing. Yet that wasn't what he credited. They couldn't bring the rain. And if it hadn't rained, would their strength and effort have been enough?

He wiped his forehead with his sleeve and looked up at the house. He was quiet a long time. “Sure makes you appreciate what you have.”

She sighed. His ranch was safe, and so was he. But now she saw through the triumph to his exhaustion. “You must be worn out.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I'll be a lot better after a shower.” The rain had turned the soot to grime, black circles of it beneath his eyes and lines between his fingers. “I'll just see to the horses first. Are they still here?”

“Except for the stallions, one gelding, and four mares that your friends moved out. But I've already stabled and foddered the others.”

He raised his brows. “You did?”

She nodded. “They'll be fine until morning.”

“Thanks.” He reached for the door.

“Marta has food.” Would he tell her he was fasting still? Or even that he had been? Would he say his fasting had stopped the fire?

He turned with a smile. “Good.” Then he went inside.

———

Rick scrubbed the grime and weariness from his body. Even accustomed to work as he was, his muscles ached. But inside, his spirit soared. He had stood at the top and looked down at his place, solid and secure. When the winds picked up, they'd come awfully close to losing the fight, until the rain came.

God's mercy.
Thank you, Lord
. He'd already said it again and again,
but his whole being swelled with gratitude toward the One who held all things in His hand. God had heard his prayer and answered.

Rick lathered the soap over his face. He didn't want to think how he had looked to Noelle, all bushed and blackened. She didn't seem to mind though. Seeing her standing on the porch was almost like coming home to her. For one crazy moment he nearly shared the thrill of victory by crushing her in a grip he might not have released for way too long.

He turned his face to the spray. No good thinking like that. It was relief in her eyes, relief that he'd saved her the trouble of moving on. The waiting must have been tough on her, worse than being in the thick of it. He wouldn't have wanted to stand back, watching.

He rubbed his hands over his face. She'd gotten the horses out of the storm and made sure they were fed. Marta wouldn't have thought of that, but Noelle had. All things considered, she was becoming a help. All things considered, he was getting used to having her around. He frowned, gave his face a final rinse, and climbed out.

He toweled his head, shaved, and dressed in clean clothes.
Ah
. A new man. He went downstairs to the beef tips and rice Marta had waiting. Broccoli steamed in the bowls, fresh rolls huddled in the baskets, and there was not a paper folding or embellishment to be seen. This meal was pure Marta. He would never discourage Noelle's culinary attempts, but the results were sometimes challenging to appreciate, especially on Marta's days off.