By the time we climb back into the truck, my lungs feel coated in smoke, and my hair smells of a campfire gone wrong.
The sky is darker now. Flames flicker in the distance like malevolent stars.
Jesse breaks the silence.
“We should move the animals tonight.”
Marshall nods. “Yeah. No waiting.”
“We’ll need to start early,” I add. “Before the horses get too agitated.”
“We can do that,” Jesse says softly.
For a beat, none of us speak.
The ranch is supposed to be steady.
Safe.
Home.
Tonight it feels fragile, breakable.
As Marshall drives us back, I catch sight of Abilene’s tiny house down the road from ours. The porch light is on.
Inside, shadows move, her with the twins, maybe setting out snacks, maybe calming them as the smoke creeps low.
The sight steadies me.
Life continues, even in the middle of fear.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Abilene
Monday
If there’s one thing more exhausting than worrying about a wildfire, it’s worrying about a wildfire while keeping two six-year-olds entertained.
I probably shouldn’t have agreed so fast.
But when Jesse showed up on my porch, smoke smudging the horizon behind him and concern carved into the corners of his eyes, asking if I could watch the twins while he, Marshall, and Wyatt went to see what was going on with the fire…
Well.
There are very few things I can say no to. Jesse asking, “Can you keep them safe for a little while?” is not one of them.
So now my living room looks like a toy store and a honey shop had a noisy baby.
“Okay, bees,” I say, hands on my hips as I survey the mess. “Roll call.”
Eliza pops her head up from behind the couch, a blanket tied around her shoulders as a cape. “I’m queen bee.”
Caleb is under the coffee table with my old wildflower field guide.
“I’m a worker bee,” he says solemnly. “I do all the work.”
Eliza snorts. “You do none of the work. You ate all the crackers.”
