Welcome to Harmony (16 page)

“If it follows the pattern, it’s due to hit toward the end of the week, right about here.” He touched a place on the map just southwest of town. “Only our luck may have run out. The weatherman tells me there’s a strong chance of winds over thirty every night this week and no hope of rain. If someone sets a fire on a windy night, we don’t have the manpower to contain it. Even calling in every county volunteer fire department, around thousands of acres could burn before we could stop it. With all the grass around here in the government’s Conservation Reserve Program, a lot of the grass is long and thick. That kind of fire could jump a road.”

“We have to keep this quiet,” Alex reasoned. “And we have to prepare.”

Hank smiled. Despite hating his guts, she believed him. The four of them began to work on what could be done. The highway patrols could concentrate southwest of town. They might not be able to stop everyone, but they could keep an eye out for trouble. The deputy said he’d station men at high points to watch for smoke, and Hank planned to have a full team sleeping at the fire station. Alex remained silent.

He had his doubts about the location. The circle wasn’t exactly even. Some of the fires were closer to seven miles out, some only four. And if they were set, the guy wasn’t always moving the same distance around his imaginary circle. Two of the fires were within sight of one another. Then there was the slim chance this was just coincidence, nothing more. Fighting grass fires was their most common problem. They were a curse to dry land. Between lightning and careless folks burning off trash, grass fires kept them busy. Spring was on the way and with the wind and storms, their busy season was about to begin.

But this time it didn’t feel like coincidence. Someone was playing a game with them. Hank felt it.

If he was wrong, all he’d wasted was time. If he was right, he just might save lives. He didn’t care whether he was a fool or a hero. He had to follow his gut.

When he stood, Alex finally spoke. “If you have no objection, I think I’ll investigate each one of these fires.”

“I’ve no objection.” He looked at her, but she didn’t meet his eyes. “My files are open, and I’ll even go with you to talk to anyone.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she said. “If I get lucky, I might find a small clue that your firemen overlooked.”

Hank walked out with the other men, wishing he’d had a moment to talk to her alone. But . . . what would he say—that he was sorry about that Saturday night? Not likely.

He spent the day doing all he could to be ready if another grass fire sparked. When he left to pick up Saralynn, he had a headache bigger than Texas and he had to act like nothing was wrong.

Saralynn waited for him in her classroom as always. She could have used her crutches and made it to the front of the building, but he knew school always wore her out. Plus, she had to be very careful around other children and most animals. One bump, one fall could send her back to the hospital with another broken bone.

He always waited until the other children were gone before he picked her up. He knew she wouldn’t have liked them to see her being carried in and out.

She was waiting for him with a pirate hat on and beads made of macaroni.

“You a pirate today?” he asked as he lifted her.

“No. I’m one of the lost boys and we’re only pretending to be pirates.”

Hank nodded at the teacher, who was busy gathering up all the scarves and cardboard swords that helped fuel Saralynn’s imagination. “Mind if I take one of your pretend pirates home?”

“Go ahead and smooth sailing.” The teacher winked.

Driving home, they stopped, as they always did on Tuesdays, at the Dairy Queen for a chocolate-dipped ice cream. His mind was full of worries, but he listened to every word his niece said, figuring that today his mother wouldn’t be home to listen and his sister Claire would be too busy painting and his other sister, Liz, would just be too busy.

Sure enough, when they got home, Claire had locked herself in her studio to work on her new masterpiece called
Man on a Hook
. Hank didn’t even want to think about the finished product. Last week she’d frightened him with a pencil sketch of a work in progress called
Mr. Dismemberment
.

He carried Saralynn all the way to the back of the house, where his two great-aunts lived. They had separate bedrooms and shared a bath and a sunny sitting room. They welcomed him but didn’t stop their gin game. They played gin every afternoon, and at last count he noticed Aunt Pat owed Aunt Fat twenty-three hundred dollars.

He sat Saralynn in the sunny window seat and helped her pull out her coloring books. The aunts would take care of her, spoil her with sweets, and keep her occupied until Claire finished her latest mutilation of man on canvas or his mother got home.

Hank stood. “I got to go back to town,” he said. “I will not be back for supper tonight.”

They both nodded absently.

Saralynn said reassuringly, “I’ll remember to tell Grandma.”

He looked at her framed in the afternoon sun. Her blond hair almost looked like it was on fire, and the thought that someone was out there setting fires made him sick to his stomach.

Hank was at a full run by the time he left the house to get back to the fire station.

REAGAN CUDDLED INTO NOAH MCALLEN’S JACKET AND shivered as she watched one bull rider after another fall off. This Friday night was nothing like the last few rodeos. No families, no snack truck parked nearby with hot chocolate and hard, barely edible burritos. No friendly atmosphere.

Tonight, the wind howled out of the north and the air seemed thick with dust. She fought to keep her curly hair out of her face and stuffed it back into the hood of the wind jacket she had on underneath his coat. She should have brought something to tie her wild mop back because she’d never get a comb through it when she got home.

She’d taken to thinking of her hair as tumbleweed styled. The new hair products made it shine with health, but nothing seemed to tame it. In foster care, she’d always kept it short, like a fuzzy red football helmet on her head, but she hadn’t cut it since she’d been in Harmony. It almost touched her shoulders now.

Reagan swung her legs, trying to keep warm on the hard, splintery wooden bleachers. She couldn’t even remember the name of the town they’d passed through before they reached the rodeo grounds. A few of the same kids she’d seen last week, at the Guyman rodeo, were in the stands. She’d noticed Brandon Biggs smoking at the end of the rickety bleachers. He didn’t look in her direction, but she was sure he’d seen her. The crowd was so small it would be hard to miss anyone.

Most of the kids from Harmony hadn’t made the three-hour drive tonight. Noah said several of the guys thought the prize wasn’t worth the gas to come so far, but he took every chance to ride he could get.

He had tried to talk her out of coming, warning her that it was the worst school district in the state, and that half the time a fight broke out at the end.

Reagan had set her books on the hood of his pickup and faced him, or rather his chest. “Then you’ll need someone to cover your back, Preacher,” she said, her hands on her hips as if she’d fight him if he didn’t stop arguing.

Noah had laughed, bending down until they were eye-to-eye. “You’re right, Rea, I can think of no one else I’d rather have on my side in a fight than little old you. Come on along if you’re brave enough.”

That had settled it. They’d climbed into his truck and hit the road. She’d already told Uncle Jeremiah she would be late because it was Friday night, so he wouldn’t be expecting her.

Now, as she watched the sun set against a brown sky, she wished she were home. Noah was busy at rodeoing and spent little time sitting beside her. When he wasn’t riding, he was helping out in the chutes or talking to the other riders.

The announcer yelled that Preacher McAllen was up next, riding a bronc named Blue Thunder. Reagan turned to watch just as the gate swung wide.

Noah’s long body jerked and popped as the horse whirled. With one hand in the air and his hat crammed down, his body bowed as if boneless in the saddle. Reagan felt the pain with him as she clicked off the seconds in her mind. Five. Six. Seven. Another hard buck. His hat flew, but he held on.

She was on her feet when she yelled, “Eight,” just as the buzzer sounded and Noah dropped his arm and leaned forward on the powerful animal.

Pickup men moved in on either side of the still-bucking bronc. Their horses were big, well-trained animals, and despite the condition of the arena, the two seemed skilled at their jobs tonight.

Noah grabbed one man’s waist and hung on long enough to be out of stomping distance before he slid to the ground, stumbled backward, but stayed on his feet. The riders shooed the horse toward the open corral gate.

Reagan ran toward him as he picked up his hat and moved to the fence. “You made it!” she yelled. “You made the full time.”

He grinned down at her through the fence. “I do now and then, you know, Rea. Don’t look so surprised.” He stepped on the bottom board of the arena fence and swung himself over to stand next to her. “If I’m going to go pro someday, I got to start staying on. That’s my plan. Besides, I didn’t want to hit that ground. I’ve seen blacktop softer.”

Reagan laughed. “It was worth coming and waiting out in the cold to see that ride. You looked great. I was so worried I swear I could feel my heart pounding in my throat.”

Noah looked at the almost-empty stands. “I’m glad you were here. Nobody else was. Now I’ve got someone to back me up when I brag and tell what happened.” He messed up her unruly curls with his big hand. “I’m glad I let you talk me into you coming along.”

The rodeo came to an end and Noah collected the buckle, and then they piled into the truck and headed home.

As they passed back through the little no-name town, Noah asked, “Want to stop for an ice cream? I feel like celebrating.”

“Sounds good,” she said, still shivering. “As long as we can run the heater on the way home.”

They pulled into a hamburger place, and he was still explaining how he’d planned his ride tonight as they took the back booth.

“What are you going to do when school’s out?” Reagan asked after the waitress took their order.

“I got it all planned out. Hank said I would work part time at his place. With the money I make, I’m going to start buying stock for the ranch. When my brother was alive, he ran a hundred head on our land and had dreams of twice that. Mom says the ranch isn’t worth the taxes on the place, but I think if I had a stake I could make it work. We have a couple, Michael and Maria, living next to the main house in a place that used to be the foreman’s quarters. They stay rent free for watching over the ranch. Michael said he’d keep an eye on any stock I had grazing.”

“Why does your mother hate it so much?” Reagan didn’t care about the cattle; people interested her more.

“Dad told me once she hated the land more than she loved him. Whatever that means.” He shrugged. “Sometimes I think they just got married to fight. Everything about them is polar opposite. She’s from Dallas, never rode a horse till she met Dad. He said she thought the only cowboys left played football. I asked my brother once a few years before he died why he thought a rodeo cowboy and a Dallas cheerleader would marry, and his said he’d explain it to me when I was older.” Noah frowned. “I’m older now, but he’s gone.”

“Are your folks divorced?”

Noah laughed. “Hell, no. I guess they figure if they divorced and married someone else, they’d just make two more people miserable. Alex says Dad pays the bills on Mom’s house in town, and he sent checks regularly for her schooling. Mom works at the Lady Bug in busy seasons to make a little extra money, but she’s got a small trust fund that’s enough to keep her in new cars every few years.”

“Why didn’t your dad move back to the ranch after she left?”

“He’s got his life in Amarillo, I guess. He was from ranching folks, but I think the only part of it he really loved was the competition. Now, folks say he’s a workaholic. To tell you the truth, I don’t know him very well. I know he loved the rodeo, but he didn’t really teach me. I think it was just in my blood. I don’t remember him being around much.”

Reagan smiled. “He must have come home at least three times.”

It took Noah a second to figure out what she was implying. He looked down. “Yeah. I guess he thought he wasn’t needed after Mom had us kids. You should meet her; she turned into a supermom when it came to raising kids. Dad probably thought with all the relatives in town, he wasn’t much needed. I think of him as kind of a jack-in-the-box father. He pops up now and then.”

“You like him?”

Noah smiled. “I respect him. Since he’s never been around, I can’t say as I miss him.” He leaned back. “What about your dad?”

Reagan was saved from lying by the arrival of banana splits in tiny red boats.

As they ate, the place filled with high school kids, loud and traveling in small packs. While Reagan watched them, Noah stole every other bite of her ice cream.

“We’d better get out of here,” he said in a whisper. “Too many people around bothers me. I see a few of the guys I rode against tonight, and they weren’t happy about me winning the buckle.”