Jillian Hart (20 page)

She was so fierce. Affection for her ached in his chest. "Then we fight." He kicked out one spot fire with his foot. "Arcada. Haul up more water."

"Got it, boss." The ranch hand scrambled up the ladder. "McLeod is putting out the fires in the yard. See, the wind is pushing the fire fast."

"If we can keep the roof from burning, it will roll right past us."

"As long as it doesn't burn us, too." Arcada coughed, then handed over the full bucket. He disappeared with the empty one.

Jack looked again at the roof and saw the spot fires. Burning needles fell from the engulfed pine overhead, and his guts twisted. Only a fool would stay on this roof—or a man sworn to earn his wife's affection.

"Jack!" She struck him with her wet blanket. "Your shirt's on fire."

"Watch your hair." He smothered the ember caught in her curls with his fingers.

Flame and heat and storm rolled overhead, jumping from the pines on the front side of the house to the pines and maples at the side. Heat scorched the air. Jack felt the hair on his arms sizzle, and the skin on his face stretch tight. With a roar the ball of fire overhead leaped away, driven by the gusty wind.

"More water." Lissa, face dark and streaked, dunked her blanket into the bottom of the bucket.

"Arcada." Jack tossed the bucket to the ground. Coughing, he choked on smoke. "Over there."

She saw where he pointed in the confusion of smoke and fire. Flame licked at the roof around the stone chimney. "Quick."

Jack beat at the tricky fire until his arm muscles cramped, until only smoke remained. Sweat poured off his face and back. He stood up and looked around. The roof still smoked, but there was no fire.

"We did it." Lissa launched into his arms, his aching, exhausted arms.

Numb, all he could do was hold her, breathe in the dank scent of smoke and ashes. Fires glowed down below where the men were putting out bushes and grass, but they'd done it. They'd saved the house.

"Jack." Arcada called from down below. "The fields."

"Damn." The wildfire had skirted the house—only the flames jumping from treetop to treetop had been a threat—but the wind was driving the wall of greedy flames directly toward the oats and corn.

"Can we save it?" McLeod's shout rose from the darkness below.

"We can try." Jack glanced around the roof.

"I can help—"

"No. This roof was dangerous enough." He saw her jaw tighten, knew he'd made her angry. He touched her cheek, so soft despite the layers of grit and soot. "Keep an eye on the roof. Some of these embers might reignite."

"You be careful." Her fingers wrapped around his wrist. Her touch was a connection that tugged at his heart that made him remember every night in her arms, every way he'd loved her. "I'd rather lose the crops than you."

"If I have my way, you'll lose neither." He kissed her quickly, sealed his promise to her. He hated leaving, hated that the fire could shift back as the fickle wind gusted again, raining charred, smoking pine needles over her and the roof.

She was capable, his wife. He tried to remember that as he left her, as he raced to help the men beat back the licking wall of flames in the grass, fed by the fire overhead, rolling and jumping between the crowns of the trees.

"You're damn lucky the wind blew this away from the house," Arcada said, welcoming Jack to the line of men at the creek. "With this wind, I don't know if we can stop the fire."

"We can try." Jack grabbed two empty pails and sunk them into the dark creek. He wet the grass and earth, then filled his buckets again. "We have to watch the trees."

"One of Johanson's men is chopping down the pines. It's a gamble, but worth a try."

"If he can fell the trees before the fire comes." The wind gusted again, shooting tongues of flames.

Arcada grabbed a shovel. "If we don't stop it here, it hits more ranches."

"Then we stop it." Lissa's voice, firm with resolve. Jack's heart jumped out of his chest at the sight of her, slim and delicate, determination strong in her stance. "You shouldn't be here," he reminded her.

"And we can't lose this ranch." In the noise and confusion, she looked as calm as heaven. Soot stained her face and dress, blackened her hair. The eerie light cast from the fire shimmered over her form, limned her in orange and black.

"There's no time to argue about it." Jack felt the embers shiver over them, saw their red gleam as they fell from the sky. "Look, there's the rest of Johanson's men."

"I had word sent. Men from other ranches should be arriving." Arcada sank another bucket into the deep creek.

Jack took heart. They weren't alone. The fire roared larger by the minute, flames reaching higher than a man stood, fed by dry grass.

"We can't let it cross the creek." He sloshed water on the ground. If they didn't succeed, then the fire would spread uncontrolled toward town. "If we get this wet enough, it won't burn."

"We've still got the wind." Arcada, both feet in the current, filled bucket after bucket for the men.

"We can do it." Lissa snatched up a heavy bucket and ran.

Reinforcements arrived. They dug and watered and beat at embers, then at the wall of flames without end. Heat scorched skin and hair, embers set shirts and trousers on fire.

Hell couldn't be any more hot or dangerous. The grass ignited without sparks, simply from the heat. The wind snapped balls of flame into one of Johanson's ranch hands. Jack grabbed the man and dragged him into the creek. "Lissa!"

No answer. He'd lost track of her in the confusion. "Lissa!"

There was only the darkness and fire. The trees moaned from the force of the wind, and a chill snaked down his back. A quick shift in the wind could trap them. Already the fire was licking backward, then shifting forward.

"Get the men out of here. We can't hold it." Jack left Arcada in charge. The burned man moaned, reached out and caught Jack's hand. "Hang in there, Busby. I'll get you some help."

Busby nodded, shivering in the cool creek, his head resting on the muddy bank.

"Lissa!'' Smoke and fire blended with the night choking the air. "Lissa!"

"Over here." Her voice came thin above the explosive crackling fire. "It's blowing back toward the house. If I can just—"

"We need you," he interrupted, reaching out to feel the silken heat of her flesh, know that she wasn't an image or a dream. It was too damn dangerous out here, and he wanted her safe. "We have a hurt man."

"Who is it?" She raced beside him, stumbling along the uneven ground, her hair wet and hanging in strings at her shoulders. Orange light and black shadow shivered across her face, streaked with soot, the concern in her eyes genuine.

His pulse jumped as he admired her, who she was, the kind of woman who fought who cared.

"Sam Busby." The words scratched in his raw throat.

She dropped to her knees in the mud. Her hand shot out, brushed alongside the man's jaw. "Oh, Sam."

"I've been better, Lissa," the burned man moaned. "Jack, thanks for rescuing me like that."

"Are you burned, too?" Alarm widened her eyes. Concern drew her soft mouth tight.

"Don't worry about me." He couldn't take his mind from the crackling fire consuming their land, threatening all they'd worked for. "I'll get one of the men to carry Sam to the house. You two should be safe there. The wind is blowing southwest for now."

"Arcada!" Lissa stood. "Tell McLeod I need him. Is Sophie staying in town?"

"She was going to leave her baby with Blanche and come help us out," the ranch hand answered, working non-stop, sweat sluicing off his brow.

"Good. I'll need her." She knew little about treating burns, but for Sam she would do her best. "Help is on the way."

"It's already here." Jack pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. Her heart turned over as she gazed up at him. He looked like a hero etched in stone. Light danced off the planes of his face, off the hard, rounded curves of his shoulders.

"McLeod will help you to the house. Just wait for him."

"I will." She was strong, but she wasn't strong enough to carry a two hundred pound man. Lissa brushed her hand over Sam's forehead, speaking low to him.

Jack disappeared in the smoke and grit. The fire was rolling closer. The heat was unbearable. Sweat ran off her skin, wet her corset and petticoats. The wind gusted again, blowing spears of flame and sparks of embers. Fire rained over her, and she squeezed out a few embers in Sam's hair, then a few catching in the fabric of her dress.

Where was McLeod? The crackling roar of the greedy fire filled the night until she couldn't see anyone, anything.

Then there was Jack, checking on her with a look that she could read as easily as if he'd spoken. He cared for her—truly cared.

The knowledge hurt down deep, where she swore nothing would ever hurt her again. Jack was a stranger, his identity unknown. She couldn't let down her guard, had to hold back her heart. He pulled at her with his kindness, his affection, his strength.

No matter what his name, what his past, wasn't he the same man she'd married, who kept his vows, who worked her ranch, who loved her son?

Hot air stung her face and arms. Where was McLeod? "Hold on, Sam."

"I'm trying.'' The strain in his voice was unmistakable.

He shouldn't stay in the creek much longer. The fire was advancing. She could feel the danger, taste it like the ash and soot in the air. "Jack!" She couldn't just sit here. She couldn't move Sam by herself. "Jack!"

The howling wind answered, bursting along the earth, blowing away the curtain of smoke. Red, hungry flames licked along the ground, skipping over clumps of bunch grass directly toward the creek—directly toward her.

"Jack!" Lissa saw in an instant that she was trapped. Fire fell from the trees overhead, igniting the far side of the bank. Walls of flame leaped high, fed by the building wind. Hot embers and radiating heat licked at her skin, thickened the air. No one could break through the wall of flame.

Sam. She had to figure out how to save Sam. Lissa dropped to her knees. The creek was deep enough, but would it protect them from the oncoming fire? Smoke choked her. She couldn't breathe. She dropped to the ground and took Sam's hand. He was half out of the creek. She had to immerse him completely. She had to—

"Lissa!" Faint but sure she heard Jack's voice, calling to her from the other side of the advancing flames.

"Jack!" She choked out his name, raw and raspy. There was no way he could hear it. Tears from the smoke streamed from her eyes, but from a deeper place inside her, too.

Already the air was burning the fine hair off her forearms. It scorched her as if it were flame itself. She wasn't certain the creek would save her or Sam, even as she stepped into the water. It was hot, reflecting the red-orange walls of flame.

She thought of the life she carried, thought of her son, who had already lost Michael. The flames were too high, too thick. Even if she could run through them, the burns she received would kill her. Besides, how could she leave behind an injured man just to save herself? Sobs tore at her chest. She hurt for Jack, too, for he'd been a man of dreams, a man any woman would be proud to call her own.

"Lissa, you leave me." Sam choked on the words. "You have a chance."

"There is no chance." She looked at the flames, felt the blast of heat. She would be dead if she tried. Without hope, she sank into the creek. The wetness climbed up her skirts and over her along with the certainty that she would die. Flames rolled overhead, gobbling up the cottonwood clutching the creek bank.

"Lissa!" Jack's voice. A black form, shadow against the bright fury of the flames. He reached out, and he was flesh and blood, real and substantial. He caught her hand, then shoved her hard into the creek water. She came up sputtering.

"Quick." He took her hand. His shirt was on fire.

She beat at the small flames licking along the cotton. He was wet, she realized. He was tugging her along the creek bank, his solid body protecting her from the wall of heat and flame snapping overhead, ready to consume them.

She choked and ran, choked and tripped. Jack ran with her through the smaller and less fierce flames along the edge of the creek.

She felt pain and fire like hell itself, and an orange brightness so brilliant that it seemed to reach inside her. Then she was past it, and in someone's solid arms—not her husband's.

"Jack!" she screamed, but he was already gone. She was on the ground. Men rolled her over to douse the flames in her clothes. Water sluiced over her, and it stung like no pain she'd ever known.

"Jack!" she cried, but knew he was out of her reach, knew he'd gone back to save Sam Busby, knew he might never return.

"Jack?" The blackness faded. Lissa felt pain and heat and softness.

"Shh." It was Blanche's voice, Blanche's touch at her brow. "You need to rest, dear heart."

Lissa opened her eyes and saw her friend's concerned face, saw her own bedroom, heard the thud of rain against the walls and window and roof. "Jack. Where's Jack?"

"Just lie back." Blanche's touch brought pain.

Lissa's head spun. Her leg and arm stung with a pain so sharp and intense that it stole her breath. "He didn't come back, did he?"

"Shhh. Sophie's tending him. He's burned, Lissa. I don't know how severely.'' Blanche's voice lowered with a sadness so real it tore at Lissa's heart.

The pain from her own burns faded, unable to compete with the horrible rending inside. "I have to see him."

"Sophie gave me strict orders to keep you in bed." A lifetime of friendship shone in Blanche's dark eyes, a sympathy sharp enough to feel. "If my Jeremiah were hurt, nothing could keep me from him. Come, I'll help you. He's in Chad's room. Sophie thought it best if he could rest alone."
A nice way of saying Jack is seriously hurt.

Burns could kill a man. Lissa's throat closed, and her leg hurt when she moved it, but it didn't matter. She didn't care.

All she cared about was the man of courage and strength who had risked his life for hers, and for a man he hardly knew.

Lissa stood on unsteady feet, clenched her teeth against the arrowing pain. She stumbled through the room and across the hall. She didn't need to ask to know Chad was safe in town with Blanche's husband. Lissa knew her friend well enough to know the Buchmans would care for Chad like their own.