He hoped Cassidy would write it in her notebook someday.And when she did, she would be right.Because leaving wasn’t in his DNA.It was not a thing Grayson Lawton did.Ever.
20
The fire started on Saturday.
He was in the calving barn at ten in the morning weighing calves when Sully came through the door at a pace that was wrong.Sully moved through the world with the unhurried economy of a man who had spent decades working with livestock and understood that haste spooked cattle.But now he was almost running.
“Smoke,” Sully said.“West ridge.Big.”
Gray was outside in seconds.The chinook was still blowing—it had been blowing for four days now, relentless and dry, and the hills had gone from brown to the pale, brittle color of old paper.He’d been watching it with the bad feeling in his gut getting worse by the day.
The smoke was a dark column, rising from the ridgeline west of town, leaning hard to the east in the wind.Not thin.Not tentative.Already wide at the base and spreading.
“How long?”Gray asked.
“Spotted it two minutes ago.Wasn’t there five minutes before that.”
Two minutes old and already that big.Because of the wind.The chinook was pushing it, feeding it oxygen and drying the fuel in its path.
Gray pulled out his phone.First call: 911 for Apple Pie Creek fire dispatch.The automated system routed him and he reported the smoke, location, and wind direction.The dispatcher confirmed they’d already received calls and had a truck en route.Thirty-five minutes.Minimum.
A lot could happen in thirty-five minutes.
Second call: Bonnie.
She picked up on the first ring.“Hey.”
“There’s a grass on the ridge west of town.The wind’s blowing east.Pushing it toward town.”
Her voice changed instantly.The warmth of two seconds ago replaced by the crisp, focused competence of Bonnie Watson, the woman who ran the town in all but name.“How big?”
“Big enough.And growing.Apple Pie Creek dispatch says thirty-five minutes for their trucks to get here.”
“That’s too long.”No hesitation.No panic.She was already in motion.He could hear her chair scrape back, the rustle of her grabbing her car keys.“I’m calling the WoWS.They’ll call everyone they know.”
“Call Ruth and Walter,” he bit out as he ran for his truck.
Bonnie snorted.“Good idea.Ruth Sanger and her phone are the most effective emergency broadcast system in Montana.”
“Exactly.”
“What do you need, Gray?”
“People.As many as possible.Volunteers with pickups, shovels, and anything that holds water.Send them toward the west ridge road.I’ll take the fire engine out there.”
A pause.Brief.Loaded.“Gray ...”
“I know.”
“Be careful.”
“I will.Get the town moving.Evacuate the west side of town.Get the police to go door to door and make sure everybody leaves.No exceptions.And send every able-bodied person you can muster out to the fire.You’re the only person who can do this as fast as it needs to happen.”
He hung up.He could picture her already dialing the first number, her hand steady and her voice carrying the authority that would make people take the threat seriously andmove.She would do what needed to be done.
His third call was to Tucker.
“I see it,” Tucker said before Gray got a word out.“Molly and I are at the greenhouse.Smoke’s visible from here.How bad is it?”
