WILDFIRE
by Jessie Jayne Smith
Chapter 1

The fire’s banshee wail filled Althea MacTavish’s ears. Heat singed her hair and the burnt feather stench triggered a cough. Thea took that as a warning and rested for a moment. With one hand braced against a knee, her other clutched the blackened shovel handle. Panting breaths scalded her throat as a searing gust billowed over her. Ashes and sparks swirled, obscuring the blazing structure before her. One-handed, Thea retrieved the nearly dry towel now draping her shoulders and swaddled her neck and crown. After a lifetime spent in wildfire country, she knew better than to cover her mouth; superheated steam in the lungs trumped scorched hair. Through her gardening gloves, tender spots warned of blisters. Renewed purpose focused Thea on smoldering grasses nearer the flaming building.

“Dig in, MacTavish!” She scolded herself as anger fueled her. “How—dare—you—spoil—all—our—work!” Thea yelled at the flames as she pounded the shovel blade against flickering embers in time to her words. Acrid smoke burned her eyes as residue scattered.

Strong hands gripped her shoulders from behind. “Thea! Enough! The smoke-eaters are here. You’ve done all you can.”

She shrugged him off and snarled, “Back off, Dwaine!”

The deputy’s arms closed around her. “For crying out loud, MacTavish, your clothes are smoking! Don’t argue.”

He manhandled her to a rocky outcropping. The buckles on his turnout coat dug into her back. Fresh air acted like cold water in her face and she blinked. How long ago had the sun gone down?

“All right, all right! Let me go.”

He set her on a granite outcropping, none too gently. Her knees collapsed and she crumpled onto the rock.

“Whoa! You okay, Thea?”

She stared at the fire. Twenty yards away, the framework of Potshot’s new spa glowed and shimmered in a flaming maw. The roof trusses crashed down, scattering sparks and firefighters. A roiling smoke beast engulfed them. She wiped her eyes and teetered to her feet.

Was she all right? Hardly. “What do you think?”

He shrugged. “Looks like a total loss to me.” In true Dwaine Hollis form, he missed her point completely. “’Scuse me, Thea. Looks like Hulon’s in a bind.” She barely glanced at him as he headed toward the blaze.

Thea’s eyes stung, but she couldn’t tell if it was from smoke or her own reek. Even from here, the fire’s heat parched her face. Hunched into herself, she watched the holocaust devour eight months of bone-jarring labor, two years of planning, and thousands of volunteer hours. Never mind the shoestring funds gone up in smoke. Ash eddies danced around the remaining structure as firefighters shot pitiful streams of water from their hoses.

“Might as well spit on it,” she muttered.

Thea’s tired regard settled on the gaggle of townsfolk there for the pyrotechnics. Her son broke away from a group near the water tanker and pelted toward her. Thank goodness Alex had actually listened to her and run to Potshot. He must have caught a ride back with one of the volunteers.

With any luck, he hadn’t witnessed her making a spectacle of herself. Alex’s recent investment in the teenage code of parental shame hurt. Lately, almost everything she did embarrassed him. He would never forgive her for matching her puny efforts against the fire. Who did she think she was anyway? She grinned without much humor and her fire-dried lips cracked. Looking back at the blaze, Thea dismissed the irritating concepts guiding his thirteen-year-old brain.

A grimy hand tugged her bare wrist, disrupting the death grip she had on her ribs. “Mom? Why’re you crying?”

She glanced at her son. The top of his head reached her shoulders—he really had grown this last month. “I’m not crying, Alex. It’s this dratted smoke. Aren’t your eyes burning?”

“Nope.” Riveted on the inferno, his wide eyes reflected flame.

“Crying doesn’t accomplish anything anyway. What we need is a recovery plan.” Thea draped an arm around his shoulders. For once, he didn’t shrug her off. Complete devastation could draw people together. Or more likely, his fascination with the fire made him oblivious.

Edging closer to the two MacTavishes, other Potshot residents clustered in rapt groups. Watching money burn could be therapeutic, she supposed. In this case, stock options turned to ash. Potshot, Nevada would not be plush for some time.

“Look, Mom, there’s Sheriff Benton. Uh-oh. I think he’s heading up here.”

In the surreal glow of parking lot lights filtered through smoke, Thea watched as Sy leaned down to kiss his wheelchair-bound wife before coming uphill toward Alex and her.

“Hey, there’s Sherm. And Keith! See ya.” Alex hurtled away before asking permission. So much for his being grounded. Thea suspected the sheriff lumbering toward them had as much to do with Alex making himself scarce as wanting to see his best friends.

“Althea.” The bulky man nodded before joining her on the outcrop.

“Sy.” She trained her gaze on the volunteer firefighters, who wrestled an inferno.

“Hell of a setback. Looks like a complete loss.”

“So I’ve been told. Not to worry, though. We’ll have our insurance money for materials. I’m more concerned about the time crunch. With only three months left…”

“If we still aim to open by July 1st. Saw the ads in those swank leisure magazines at Jessie’s hair salon. Spa looked real good on paper, Thea.”

“It did, didn’t it?”

He shook his head. “Don’t see how we’re going to get this mess whipped into any kind of shape, though. Not before July and especially with volunteer labor. Since Bud Senior fell off that ladder, the upgrade on his hotel’s behind, too.”

“Nearly everyone’s lent a hand.” She flexed her fingers. Definitely blistered.

“Mighty fortunate you called in the fire when you did. This could have been a whole lot worse.”

Thea squeezed her eyes shut against a brief flash of Ricochet Mountain in flame.

Sy cleared his throat. “You said Alex discovered the fire?”

Queasiness hit Thea’s gut. “Yes. I let him come up here to soak in the springs after weeding. He came tearing down the mountain less than half an hour after he left, hollering about the fire.”

“Only thirty minutes? You’re sure?”

Thea faced the sheriff, whose weathered face flickered uncertainly in the firelight. “Sy, I know what you’re getting at, but Alex had nothing to do with this.”

“Now, Thea…”

“I know, I know. First the miner’s ghost, then the incident with the old sheepherder’s shack…”

“And the abominable snowman.”

She took a shallow breath, bitter with smoke. “You know it takes me a good twenty minutes to jog here from my place. Walking takes longer. With my car on the blitz, hoofing it was my only option. So after grabbing a wet towel, gloves, and a shovel, it took me nearly twenty minutes to get here and I was fueled by adrenaline. Even if Alex ran all the way, he couldn’t make a round trip in less than half an hour. No way could he have set this fire, Sy.”

Sy adjusted his cowboy hat. “You know I have to check all the particulars. Hell, Thea, that’s why you all voted me into office. My findings of fact will protect Alex as much as anyone else here.”

Her shoulders relaxed fractionally. “I know. And I suppose that since I called it in, you needed to start with me.”

“That’s right.” Another smoky surge made them step back a few paces.

“Sorry, Sy. With all the mischief Alex has been causing, I guess I’m feeling a little defensive right now. Has your wife found any sources for restocking Boondoggle Pond?”

“As a matter of fact, April did work out a deal with the Department of Fish and Wildlife. They’ll be here by week’s end with a truckload of fingerling trout.”

“Thank goodness!” Thea closed her eyes and recalled the faded rainbow hues of dead trout floating on the town’s lagoon. She opened her eyes to flame. “What could those boys have been thinking—tossing firecrackers into the lagoon like that.”

Sy grunted. “I don’t believe any thought at all crossed their hormone-rattled brains. Never have seen three boys more upset. They turned green as Granny Smith apples. There’s not a cruel bone in any of them and they sure as shootin’ didn’t expect their prank to kill those fish. Still, remorse isn’t enough for the infraction. I know for a fact, Sherman and Keith aren’t taking much joy in their lives right now.”

Thea cracked a grim smile. “Neither is Alex. I’ve consigned him to a fate worse than death. He’s grounded and weeding my beds. Now, instead of Sherm and Keith, he’s spending spring break with me.”

Sy’s snort covered a chuckle. “Can’t say I envy you, Thea.”

“What do you think the chances are of Marine recruiters in Reno sending a van for Alex?”

“Slim to none. Shanghaiing isn’t how they work, more’s the pity. ‘Sides, they’re not allowed to recruit thirteen-year-old hooligans.”

Thea’s peripheral vision caught Meg Connor a moment before the diminutive librarian slipped an arm around her ribs.

“Merciful God, Thea! What a mess! Thank goodness the people from Oklahoma were here to help fight the fire. No telling whether we could have contained it otherwise.”

“Oklahoma?”

Sy said, “Those university folks here on that grant. You know, the ones who’re doing the study on fire safety?”

“I’d forgotten. And they rolled into town today? Now there’s irony for you.”

Meg chimed in. “The plot sickens. The town commissioners told them the hotel would be ready. With Bud’s injury, we have only two rooms suitable for lodgers.”

“The rest are somewhere between hell and damnation,” added Sy. He dropped his voice a register. “I know things’ve been tight for you over the last months. Thought maybe you could rent out your basement. The head guy seems like a stand-up fellow; a safety engineer and all.”

A safety engineer, huh? Much as Thea despised stereotypes, a vision of pocket protectors and bifocals, the entire spectrum of buttoned-up and tucked-in, reeled through her mind.

“He’s willing to pay the same as he would’ve for the hotel. You don’t have to cook or anything.” Sy had eaten enough of Thea’s cooking to know her limitations.

“While I haven’t met the man, it sounds like a splendid opportunity,” added Meg.

Thea shook her head. “No way!”

“Althea MacTavish, this is not the time to let false pride stand in your way—” the librarian began.

“Whoa! Am I being double-teamed here or what?”

“Yes,” they harmonized.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “You know I’m working out of my home. I can’t afford distractions right now. This set of paintings has to be done by June when my sabbatical ends. Now with rebuilding the spa—”

Sy waved away her reservations. “We all respect your work habits, Thea. I’ve already read this guy the riot act. He says he won’t be any trouble. The room’s only his base camp. His team—that’s what he calls them—they’re planning on being out nearly every day. Pitching tents on the mountain when they have to. All Dr. Hayes needs is a bed, a shower, and a room to set-up his computer stuff.”

Thea studied the man-shapes stationed between fire and pedestrians. “Can you at least point the guy out to me?”

“Aw, now Thea, you know firemen all look alike in soot and turnouts.” Sy squinted into the fire, much reduced over what it had been.

Not much fuel left. Despair rolled in, thick as fog in Eden Valley.

“There! See the tallest one?”

“That’s our trusty Hulon Peabody,” Meg stated.

“No, the guy with the shovel—closest to the flames. I think that’s Dr. Hayes.”

Thea studied the man. Backlit by fire in the twilight, she could see nothing more than a silhouette. At least he looked more competent with a shovel than she had been.

“Whew! You’re not making this easy on me. Unfortunately, you’re right about my finances. My savings are disappearing nearly as fast as Alex when I ask him to clean his room.”

She swept a hand through her singed hair. “Oh, fuchsia! All right. Bring the good doctor over tomorrow afternoon, Sy. I’ll have to move my supplies from the room, but that won’t take long. I’ll wait until he agrees to stay—and I have veto power.”

“Good enough.”

Meg squeezed her arm. “Come along, Thea, you’re dead on your feet. Let me drive you home. It’s time to let the experts do what they do best and clean up this mess.”

“No, Meg. There’s too much to do. I’d rather help Sissy get the buffet ready. Isn’t she here?” Thea asked.

Meg answered. “Of course not. She’s at the club. There’s money to be made, after all,”

Thea shook her head. Sissy Peabody, town pharmacist and mother to Alex’s best friend Sherman, would be setting up the local eatery and gambling joint to feed the firefighters. While her husband and partner Hulon figuratively managed Peabody’s Bar and Grill, Sissy made the business profitable. Earnings were bound to go up when you fed the volunteer fire department. The town council always compensated her afterward from the city coffers, nearly empty now after underwriting the new spa.

She suspected Sissy claimed these post-blaze gatherings as donations on her income tax, too. Still, the smoke-eaters needed to eat and Hulon’s club provided. When a quick reconnaissance around the hot springs failed to unearth Alex, Sherman, or Keith Bodeen, Thea spread the word. “Have my son meet me in town at the Bar and Grill.”

She rode the winding road into Potshot with Meg. From three blocks away, Hulon’s neon sign captured the eye. Having experienced the fire, Thea decided the revamped sign looked somewhat less garish than it had yesterday, when Hulon installed it.

Sissy met them at the buffet tables. She gasped, “Thea?”

“No, Siss, Harrison Ford.” Thea gave her best lopsided grin.

“Oh, bosh! I don’t know why you all tease me so.”

Meg and Thea exchanged a look. Sissy wrote elaborate fan mail to the actor and, frankly, Thea couldn’t blame her. She might write to Mr. Ford herself if she was married to Hulon.

“I mean, Thea, you’re a mess! What did you do? Put out that fire by yourself? You’re covered with soot head-to-toe. And your hair—” With a gingerly nudge, Sissy aimed her toward the back. “Go hose yourself down. Use plenty of soap, mind you. You, too, Meg. You’re not as bad as Thea, but you both reek.”

After one unfortunate look in the bathroom mirror, Thea concentrated on changing the color of her skin from streaked black and gray to golden olive tones. Afterward she confronted her reflection. Her dark hair formed a botched nimbus around her head. Thea leaned over the sink and finger-combed it. Charred strands fell into the basin. She straightened.

Meg hugged her. “I’ll be over tomorrow with my razor. We can trim back the frazzled ends.”

“You think?”

“Just don’t tell Jessie I cut your hair.”

“Like I can afford her prices right now.”

“She’d do it for free. Like you, she’s an artist. Unfortunately, she’s booked solid for the next two weeks. I tried to get in for a trim yesterday.”

The two returned to the dining area. By then, more wives, daughters, sisters, and mothers had arrived. The noise level rivaled the fire scene, but with less order.

Sissy rolled her eyes. “Megan! Please will you organize these ladies? I have a crisis in the kitchen.”

Thea smiled. No one created order from chaos like Meg did. Even Sissy bowed to her greater abilities. Thea stationed herself behind a buffet table originally setup for tonight. Tying an apron over her cropped sweatshirt and jeans, now laced with charred holes, she slumped by the Joe Special, a savory concoction of eggs, spinach and ground beef steaming beneath the cover. Her location allowed her to observe her friends and neighbors. A contingent from Eden Valley worked alongside town residents, all differences aside.

Contentment spread through her tired body. Community. That’s what Potshot, Nevada meant to Thea.

Basking in her sense of belonging, it took awhile for her to intercept the looks. Odd moments of quiet overtook the room, too. At first, she blamed it on Meg’s efficiency in coordinating her neighbors’ efforts. Then she caught snatches of ‘Alex’ this and ‘Alexander’ that. Add to the murmurs the fact that no one attempted to include her in obvious discussion about her son and Thea’s defenses rose. Comfort evaporated as righteous anger buoyed her. She marched around her table with the vigor of any mother protecting her young, as indeed she was. Thea headed for the closest group, where April Benton presided over place settings from her wheelchair.

The older woman said, “Nonsense, Una. We’re lucky Alex went to the spa when he did. No telling the damage we’d be facing otherwise. The whole of Ricochet Mountain could have gone up.”

As Thea drew nearer, Jessie Moran caught her eye. “Oh, my goodness, Thea! What did you do to your face? You’re sunburned!” She spoke louder than necessary,

The gathering grew suspiciously quiet. Thea tamped down her ire and entered the fray. “I must have stood too close to the fire, Jessie.” Looking at Una Bodeen, she said, “Did I hear Alex’s name taken in vain?”

Uneasy quiet rippled to nearby clusters and further until only one person could be heard. Sissy Peabody’s voice carried across the room. “—expect from a fatherless boy. A wonder he didn’t burn the entire town down around our ears.”

Thea turned slowly. Siss had the grace to look embarrassed, but pitched her chin at a stubborn angle. Others shifted on their feet, faces hot with blushes. A few just looked confused. Only four moved closer and met her regard with clear gazes: Meg, Letty, April, and Jessie. So, that’s how it stands.

Thea said, “If you’d taken the time to get the facts, Sissy Peabody, you’d have learned that Alex didn’t have time to set any fires. None of you saw his face when he bolted into our house. I did. He’s as innocent as you of starting that fire.”

Thea held her hands wide. “Besides, why treat this like an arson? We won’t know what happened until the insurance people study the site. It could have been anything.

“Why just last year that folded electric blanket smoldered at the Donaldson’s hotel. If Bud Senior hadn’t found it in time, Letty and him would have lost their place. And what about the faulty wiring in your own house, Siss? When Hulon decided to save a few bucks and do it himself? As I remember it, you had a couple of close calls before hiring an electrician from Reno.”

Meg added, “You’ll note we didn’t let your Hulon help with the electrical wiring at the spa, Sissy.”

A few titters accompanied her pronouncement.

Siss huffed. “Well, there weren’t any electric blankets at the spa, Thea. And as you said, Hulon didn’t do the wiring. No lightning today, either.”

“But accidental fires do start all the time,” Jessie inserted.

“Why are you so eager to believe not only that someone started the spa fire, but that my son was involved? He’s gotten into mischief, yes, but he’s never set out to do damage.”

Before Sissy could mount another attack, Mayor Letty said, “Well now ladies, I’d say we’ve had enough idle talk for one evening. The crews should be coming down shortly. I suspect they’ll have to monitor the place all night, checking for hot spots and such. We have plenty of work to do yet. Not to mention figuring out a way to get our spa done in time for our grand opening.”

The talk grew animated with potential solutions and obstacles. Thea tried not to listen to the doomsayers, of which there were many, and faded back to her station at the buffet. Meg followed. The first rush of smoke-eaters pushed through the door, carrying with them the combined stench of smoke and sweat. Alex and Sherman, topped with oversized helmets, milled at their center.

Fatigue hit in a wave and Thea swayed beneath its assault. Fifteen years older than Thea at forty-seven, Meg steadied her. “You’re exhausted, Althea. We have plenty of help here. Why don’t you collect Alex and head home?”

Thea lifted her chin. “And let Sissy spread her poison?”

“You have good friends here. We’ll quell any slander.”

“I know you will. Maybe I’ll go after serving the first group. I don’t want it to look like I’m turning tail.”

Meg chuckled. “As though anyone could think such a thing.”

“Thanks, Meg. But I’ll stay, at least until Alex gets a plate. I’d never be able to pry him loose otherwise. Maybe I’ll get a look at my new tenant, too.”

So Thea stood her watch, dishing up a mountain of chow to the returned warriors. She nodded and smiled as they told of their exploits. Like fish stories, their tales grew with each recounting. Thea had no doubt that by buffet’s end, each fireperson would have single-handedly saved Potshot and the Sierra Nevada Mountain range. As Alex finished his third plate, she signaled to the sheriff’s wife, who rolled her chair over to take her place.

“Thanks, April.” Thea kissed the older woman on her cheek.

The crew from Oklahoma still hadn’t made their entrance. Tomorrow will have to be soon enough. Pulling loose her apron ties, where she’d wrapped them twice around her waist, Thea removed the smock. All the while she zigzagged through the crowd toward the table where her son sat with his friends.

“—weirdest looking guy. Really old and skinny. He was trying to put the fire out with his shirt. He had like really gross scars all over his back. He yelled at me to get help, so I ran all the way home.”

“Jeez, Alex, do you think he started the fire?” Sherman leaned forward.

“Hell, no. Why would he be trying to put it out if he did it?”

Thea placed her hands over her son’s shoulders. “Alex, it’s time to go.”

“Aw, Mom—”

“Come on, honey. I’m bushed.”

He tilted his head back and must have seen ‘irrevocable’ on her face. Alex gave a disgusted snort before shoving his chair from the table.

Stiff with tiredness and more pressing matters, Thea hustled him outside into a cool March night that revived her. She steered her son along the sidewalk until he evaded her touch.

“We’re walking home?”

“You don’t see the car, do you?”

“Jeez, just asking. You don’t have to be so cranky.”

“Sorry, but you know I took the path to the hot springs. The car’s at home.” And barely running.

“Oh, yeah.”

Thea frowned and gathered her thoughts. “Did you tell Sheriff Benton about the man you saw at the hot springs?”

“Didn’t have a chance.”

They passed Guinevere’s Locks, Jessie’s beauty salon. The mural Thea had painted for the grand opening looked fine by streetlight. For a long moment, she yearned toward Perceval, the hero of the fresco. Thea bet he had never dealt with ambivalence or needed to cajole a teenager. A life of garden-variety quests and requited love sounded good about now. She traced the back of her fingers along the painted wall to its end. The darkened bakery next door smelled of cinnamon and sweet breads. Her belly grumbled.

Alex edged away. “Jeez, Mom.”

“I’m just hungry. I haven’t eaten since lunch.” In the glow of the next street lamp, Thea clutched her son’s thin shoulder and turned him to face her. “Tomorrow, you need to tell Sheriff Benton everything you saw.”

“Ouch! That hurts!” Alex tried to shrug off her tense hold.

She released her grip. “Sorry, honey, but this is very important. You need to remember everything as it happened, and write it down when we get home. Okay?”

He shrugged and eyed her askance. “Sure.”

Walking again, she took a deep breath. The knot within her loosened. “You didn’t recognize this guy?”

“Duh.”

“Come on, Alex.”

“No! Never seen him before.”

“Well, he’s a witness now. Sy will need his account of the fire to get the facts straight.” She picked up their pace, even skipped a few beats.

“Mom! Someone’ll see you.”

“So.” She grinned at his mortified expression. On impulse, she sang, “Come on, Alex! Race you home!”

He left her in his dust within a block. At the town hall, he slowed, then trotted backward until she caught up.

“For a jogger, you sure can’t run.” He settled into her methodic pace.

“Tortoise and hare. I can go miles further than most sprinters.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Still, he stayed by her side. They reached home twenty minutes later, then he sprinted up the drive to tag the door.

“First!”

She hugged him. Please let Sy find the other witness. “You’re the best, honey.”