He does things. He takes charge. He plans six steps ahead.
Jesse, on the other hand, talks more when he’s scared.
“Okay, worst-case scenario,” he says, leaning forward between the seats. “Fire hits the valley, jumps the ridge, heads toward the ranch. We’ve got time to move the animals, right?”
“Plenty,” I lie.
He narrows his eyes. “Is that vet Wyatt talking or emotional support Wyatt?”
“Both,” I lie again.
“Your left eye twitches when you’re lying,” he shoots back.
I glare at him in the rearview mirror. “No, it doesn’t.”
He points at my face triumphantly. “There! It just did it again!”
Marshall grunts. “Both of you shut up.”
But he says it softly, not harshly. He needs the bickering to keep from spiraling.
We round a bend, and suddenly the world is fire.
Not close enough to burn us, but close enough to feel the heat through the windshield.
Flames lick up dry brush on the hillside. Fire crews are stationed at multiple points, hoses blasting water, trucks pumping, people shouting orders over the roar.
The three of us get out of the truck and walk toward the nearest engine. It’s hot, too hot for late afternoon. My shirt clings to my back.
Mayor Hannah Richards is there, hair pulled into a tight bun, clipboard tucked under her arm, sweat streaking her brow. She turns when she hears us.
“Boys,” she snaps, clipped with stress. “Glad you came. It’s not good.”
Marshall steps forward first. “How bad?”
She exhales, gaze flicking toward the flames.
“Wind changed direction around noon. We’ve been trying to contain the spread, but the ground is dangerously dry. We’re considering evacuations for the homes closest to the valley edge. With the burn scar on the ridge, we’re at risk for debris flow if rain kicks up.”
A cold ripple goes down my spine.
Evacuations. Not a word anyone says lightly around here.
Jesse swallows. “You think we’ll have to leave Willow Ranch?”
“Not yet,” the mayor says. “You’re far enough that the fire would need to cross two natural breaks before it reaches you. But if the wind shifts again…”
“Which it might,” I finish quietly.
She nods grimly.
Marshall’s jaw locks. “What can we do?”
“Right now?” Hannah says. “Stay alert. Move your livestock as far from the tree line as possible. Prepare your go gear. And if you see embers or spot fires on your property, you call us immediately. No hero moves.”
Her eyes pause pointedly on Marshall. He looks away.
We stay for a while, helping where we can, carrying equipment, handing off water bottles, holding hoses while firefighters reposition commands. It’s hot, exhausting work, even in short bursts.
