July Thunder (13 page)

“I'm glad you're all right.” Her green eyes were wide, honest, as she looked at him. “I was so worried. More worried than I even realized.”

“All's well that ends well.”

“I suppose so.” She drew a shaky breath and smiled. “I'm glad you're okay. I'm glad Joe is okay, too. I felt so bad for Louis.”

“Me, too. A thought that probably would never cross my father's brain.”

“Don't be so hard on him, Sam. I think maybe he's changed a bit.”

He snorted. “I'll believe it when I see it.”

“Then maybe you should give him a chance.”

“Maybe he should give
me
one.” He was getting irritated again, and his legs were hurting like the devil. He wondered if the burns were worse than he thought, but when he glanced down at them, they looked just the same. Like a scald.

“I can't imagine anything worse than burning to death.” Mary averted her face quickly, concealing her expression. “I'm so glad it came out all right.”

“Me, too.”

It was time to go. He was very tired and suddenly wanted nothing so much as he wanted his own house, his own sanctuary, his own bed. “I've gotta go.”

She rose with him, looking at him as if there was something she wanted to say. He waited, but nothing was forthcoming, so he headed for the door. She trailed after him, and he turned around to say good-night.

All of a sudden he was aware of her in a wholly new way. Aware of the way soft tendrils of her red hair brushed her cheek. Aware of the misty green of
her eyes, a color almost like what he imagined Ireland must look like on a foggy morning.

Her scent. It suddenly filled his nostrils, a mixture of faint lilac with a hint of woman's musk. Her breasts filled the bodice of her dress, gentle mounds promising hidden delights. Her tiny waist…

His brain shut down the inventory as his body took over. Without even planning the move, he reached for her, surrounded her with his arms, and drew her close until their bodies were pressed together.

For an instant she looked startled; then her face softened and her eyelids fluttered, and she seemed to melt into him.

Her lips were sweet, tasting faintly of tea, soft against his, inviting. Everything about her was soft, a softness he wanted to sink right into, a softness he wanted to wallow in. Her mouth opened easily, eagerly, to him, inviting him into warm, moist places that made him think of other warm, moist places.

The burning of his legs was forgotten. The throbbing in his groin, as deep an ache as he had ever known, overrode everything else. He wanted this woman. He wanted to lay her down and open her like an anticipated gift, with care and tenderness and impatience all combined. He wanted to learn her secrets, every one of them, and fit himself into her world in the most intimate way he knew how.

He wanted to love her with his whole body, and feel her shudder with joy and release beneath him.

He wanted her.

And she seemed willing.

But just like that, the wounded part of him slammed on the brakes. No!

The word was as loud as a thunderclap. For an instant he thought he might have said it out loud. But it effectively doused his desire and snapped him back to his right mind. What the hell was he doing?

He dragged his mouth from hers and stared down into her flushed, soft face. Ripe for the plucking. But he didn't dare pluck.

Searching for whatever remaining grace he could find, he said huskily, “Good night, Mary.”

And skedaddled out her door as fast as he could go.

 

Mary stood where he had left her, stunned. She felt as if a whirlwind had just ripped through her life and left everything in shambles.

She was shaking, filled with a longing stronger than anything she had ever felt before. That one kiss could do this to her was terrifying.

She stumbled over to the couch and sat. The shakiness made her feel weak, as if she'd just run ten miles. Or as if something terrible had just happened. Maybe something terrible
had
just happened.

Because she didn't want to do this again. She couldn't bear taking these risks again. And worse, she knew it would only be doomed anyway. Once
he learned the truth about her, he would dump her like yesterday's paper.

She might try to tell herself that Chet had been weak, a useless excuse for a man. And in a lot of ways he had been. But she knew why he had left her. He had left her because she was responsible for the death of their child.

That was something nobody could forgive. Nobody.

Not even Sam, with his good heart and generous nature.

Most especially not Sam.

T
he valley burned. More of it was on fire now than not. Huge black scars marked the flames' passing, and the untouched green was diminishing hour by hour. The firefighters were exhausted. Supplies were arriving from all over the country, as were more firefighters, but everyone pretty much figured they were going to lose the battle in the valley.

They needed rain desperately. Heavy, drenching rains for several days, something that was all but unheard of at this time of year. Even a return to the regular afternoon thunderstorms would be an improvement. But the sky remained beautifully, stubbornly clear.

Nearly a week had passed since Sam had rescued Joe. During that week, victory against the fire had come close, then slipped away again. And now the flames were heading toward Edgerton Pass, toward the firebreak that had been built in the earliest days
of the fire. Would it hold? No one was betting on anything anymore.

“They're sacrificing the valley,” Earl told Sam when he came to work. “I talked to them just a few minutes ago. They're going to try to contain it there.”

Sam nodded and took a seat facing the sheriff. “I figured that was the tack they'd have to take.”

“Not many choices left. How are your burns?”

“They're fine.” Ugly, but fine. Apparently they'd been just a wee bit worse than he had thought, because now they had a brownish look to them. But it didn't matter. He was getting around with no permanent damage.

Earl leaned back in his chair. As usual, it creaked and protested.

“Ever hear of oil?” Sam asked, his sense of humor not at its best so early in the morning.

“Yeah, but the chair hasn't.” Standard response to the old joke. He sighed and looked at the contour map of the county. “We're in trouble.”

“Could be.” Sam didn't need it all explained to him.

“Fire danger's so high on our side of the mountains, all it'll take is a spark.”

Sam nodded.

“It's time,” Earl said, his voice heavy with reluctance. “We need to start telling people to get ready to leave in a hurry.”

“I agree. Tell 'em to pack the stuff they can't replace so they can grab it and run.”

Earl nodded and rubbed his eyes. “I've been worrying about it all night. I don't want to panic anybody, but…”

“I don't think they'll panic. These folks have figured out the risks by now. Especially the ones outside of town. Even if the fire doesn't leap over, one could start here from a cigarette butt or a spark from a chain saw. And from the looks of it, stopping it wouldn't be easy.”

“Or maybe even possible. They need to clear brush and dried wood for at least eighty feet around their houses. How many do you think will do it?”

Sam didn't know. An awful lot of houses were built right under towering evergreens. Thick layers of dead pine needles that could flash into conflagration in an instant, covered the ground. How was any homeowner going to manage to clean all that up, as well as clear away brush and deadwood for eighty feet around his house? And what was he supposed to do with it if he gathered it all up? He couldn't burn it.

“Let's just make that an advisory,” Sam said. “Let them that want to, do it. But with no way to predict if there'll be a fire, or if any particular home will be threatened by it…” He left the thought incomplete. “I guess we all need to pray.”

“Yeah.” Earl sighed and rubbed his temple with his fingertips. “I guess this must be what it's like to
wait for a hurricane. Go? Don't go? Will it hit here? Will it miss? Hell. Get together with the fire chief and figure out what we should tell people. Then we'll have our guys distribute fliers on their patrols.”

The fire department had its main office on the other side of the building. Sam strolled over there with a cup of coffee and found Matt Dunegan bent over a bunch of maps not so very different from the one Earl had tacked to his wall.

Matt was in his late thirties, a compact guy with plenty of muscles stretching his uniform. The minute he set eyes on Sam, he said, “Where's Earl?”

“He sent me over to see what you want us to tell people about the fire danger and possible evacuation. He's meeting with the county commissioners in fifteen minutes about the budget.”

“Yeah, I'm up for that next week. But right now we got bigger fish to fry.”

“Not as far as the commission is concerned.”

Matt made an impatient sound. “If we get a fire going here, that tune'll change.”

“Well, of course. So let's do what we gotta do.”

Matt pulled one of the maps over so that it was right in front of them. “First, evacuation routes. No surprises there. There's only three ways out of here right now, and two of them are to the north. I need you guys to plan on closing whichever routes we need to use to two-way traffic, so we can have all lanes headed out of here.”

“That's easy enough to do.” Pulling his notepad out of his hip pocket, Sam made a note of that. “I'll make sure the neighboring counties will cooperate.”

“Good. Now, it seems to me it would be wise to advise people to clear all combustibles from around their houses. Especially the folks living out of town in wooded areas.”

“Eighty feet, right?”

“That's the ideal. I'm not counting on it. But if they want to try to protect their homes, that would be the thing to do. Or as much of it as they can. We're living in a tinderbox, Sam.”

Twenty minutes later, they'd assembled a list of dos and don'ts and warnings to be handed out to everyone in the county. Sam threw it together on one of the station computers and headed out for the printers to have it photocopied. Two hours later, he was back at the office with five thousand fliers.

Earl returned from the commission meeting just after lunch hour. His face told the story. “Naturally they don't want to increase our budget, not even to cover cost of living raises.”

“Naturally.” It was an annual rite.

“I'll take another stab at it next week. As usual. What have you got for me?”

Earl reviewed the flier, nodding his approval. “Thanks, Sam. Let's have the day shift put in a little overtime tonight. I want to get these personally into the hands of as many people as possible.”

So it was that two-thirds of the deputies were out
around dinnertime that evening, knocking on doors and handing out the fliers. And somehow it came about that the end of Sam's route brought him into the neighborhood where his father and Mary lived.

He hadn't seen either of them in the past week. Mary had evidently gotten her car back, because it was parked in her driveway. Seeing it sitting there suddenly made him conscious of how badly he'd behaved.

What the hell was he doing? He'd asked the woman out to dinner, then he'd kissed her…and then he'd avoided her like the plague. At the very least he owed her a giant apology for acting like a slug.

In fact, he thought, as he parked his car and worked his way down the street on foot, he had no excuse for burying his head in the sand this past week. Worse, he couldn't understand why he'd done it. It was almost as if he'd gone into denial about what had happened, as if he'd forgotten it.

Except that he'd never forgotten it; he just hadn't been able to
think
about it. Not at all.

Now it was staring him in the face, and he was feeling like a major jackass. Time to face up to it and apologize.

He left his dad's house for next to last and Mary's house for last. It wasn't cowardice but a clear-eyed view of what was likely to happen. With one or the other of them, if not both, he was apt to get involved in some kind of protracted encounter.

It was nearly dark when he walked up to his dad's house and knocked on the door. The last few fliers were in his hand.

The door opened, and Elijah stood there, looking tired. “Is this an official visit?”

Sam handed him a flier. “We're handing out instructions for what to do if we have a fire outbreak nearby.”

Elijah nodded and took the sheet of paper. He scanned it. “Looks good. Come in, son.”

Sam was about to refuse, claiming business, but the way Elijah stood back and held the door wide seemed to offer him no excuse. As soon as he stepped inside, though, he knew he'd made a big mistake.

Both the easy chair and the rocker in the living room were mementos from his childhood. The easy chair in which his father had always sat was looking a lot more worn and battered these days, but the rocking chair didn't seem to have changed at all. It was still furnished with the pillows his mother had painstakingly embroidered by hand, claiming that busy hands made for a peaceful heart.

Sam felt his throat tighten with a sense of loss. He missed his mother. He'd been missing her since the day Elijah cut him off. Oh, Belle had called him on the phone regularly, keeping in touch, but he'd never set eyes on her again. And that was Elijah's fault.

His eyes felt hot as he looked at his father.

“I miss her, too,” Elijah said, as if he'd read Sam's face. He nodded to the rocker. “Every time I look at it I miss her.”

Sam didn't answer, because he knew if he did he was going to say something about how his father had cut him off from his mother. And he didn't want to get into that now. He was, he told himself, past it. But like any man dealing with a poisonous snake, he wasn't fool enough to give the snake another opportunity to bite him.

Elijah seemed to be waiting for Sam to say something, but when he didn't, he offered, “Would you like to join me in a soft drink?”

Sam suddenly remembered Elijah's passion for anything carbonated. The man would even drink club soda straight on occasion. And tea. Iced tea with heaps of sugar in it, so much that Elijah had to stir the glass every time he went to take a sip, and it would still settle a half-inch thick at the bottom. “Uh, no thanks. I have to finish handing out the fliers.”

Elijah nodded slowly. “I understand.”

Sam had the feeling that he'd said the wrong thing; but Elijah had always given him that feeling, and he was past worrying about it. Or so he told himself.

He hesitated a moment longer, feeling as if he ought to try salvaging something from this ruptured relationship, yet also feeling that there was nothing left to salvage. The old man hadn't changed. Look
how he'd reacted last week after Sam had saved Joe. More concerned about the type of person Sam had saved than about anything else. Elijah hadn't changed one little bit.

Shaking his head, he headed for the door. Some things could never be salvaged.

“Sam.”

Elijah's voice stopped him, but he didn't turn to look at his father.

“Sam.” Elijah repeated his name, sounding oddly helpless. “I didn't mean what I said. I was…upset.”

“Sure.” Sam turned. “You've always been upset with me from the time I can remember. I was never good enough for you. Never. And now you're going to expect me to count the value of a human life by whether you think the sin they've committed is beyond redemption? I don't think so.”

He heard his father call his name again, but he was already out the door, striding across the street to Mary's house. He expected no better from her, since she seemed to be on his father's side, for some unknown reason. God, he would never understand a woman's mind. All of a sudden he didn't feel so bad about not having called her in a week. Complications like this he didn't need.

He rapped sharply on Mary's door, an official sounding thud. She answered a few moments later and looked at him expressionlessly. “Yes?”

He handed her a flier. “Recommendations in case we have a fire in the vicinity.”

“Thank you.” She accepted the flier, started to close the door, then hesitated. “I'm glad to see your legs are okay.”

“They're fine.” Turn and leave, he told himself. But now he couldn't even use the excuse of work. He was done for the day. And for some strange reason his feet felt rooted to the spot.

“Are you always so unforgiving?” she asked.

That about did it. Something in him seemed to crack wide-open. “What the hell are you talking about? My relationship with Elijah is none of your damn business.”

“No, I suppose it isn't,” she said frostily. “But I wasn't talking about that. I was talking about you and me. You're still angry that I defended him, aren't you?”

Well, he was. And the realization didn't sit too comfortably on his shoulders. “You answered the door like you didn't know me.”

“How else was I supposed to act? You take me out to dinner, kiss me like there's no tomorrow, then walk away and don't ever call again. I'm not a disposable tissue, you know.”

Now he was feeling about two feet tall, and he didn't like it. But there was no question that this time he deserved it. “I'm sorry.”

“Really? Well, I suppose I can be about as forgiving as you are.” She started to close the door.

“Mary, please.”

She paused. After a moment she looked at him and sighed. “Oh, hell, come on in.”

Mary didn't swear. He'd already figured that out, and it had him minding his own language, at least when she was around. If she was swearing, she was
really
unhappy with him.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

“Have a seat,” she said, nodding toward the sofa. She didn't offer him any refreshment, and she took the rocker, well away from him. And then she didn't say a word. She wasn't going to make this easy on him.

He supposed he didn't deserve for her to. “I'm sorry,” he said again. “Can I plead confusion?”

“Sure, why not.”

Unyielding. He got a glimpse then of the steel in Mary's spine. He had to admit he admired it, even when he was in trouble because of it. The thing was, he didn't know how to begin.

With his father, he supposed. It was the one point of certainty in the midst of something that felt like insanity.