"Your horses are good," I said. "All five."
He nodded. Squeezed my hand once more and went back to Beatrice.
I stood there for a moment.
Then I found Falon across the yard.
She was on the tailgate of Mason's truck, blanket around her shoulders, Melodie beside her. Still coughing on the smoke. She was watching me the way she'd been watching me for the last ten minutes. I'd felt it even when I was deep in the work and couldn't look back.
I held her gaze and smiled.
Then, raised my chin once. A silent question. “Are you all right?” I mouthed.
Her expression didn't change, but she nodded, a little subdued. It was either the adrenaline wearing off or something had upset her; I could tell by the set ofher shoulders. I’d have to find out later. Right now, we need to put this fire to rest.
Mrs. Winslow was directing two volunteers like a four-star general, which was standard. She’d been like that our whole life. The balloon shirt and tulle skirt were not standard for anyone but her. One of the younger firefighters actually saluted her.
She winked at Falon without breaking stride.
By eight-fifteen, the fire was out, and the volunteers were released one at a time as the chief did a quick head count. He’d gently redirected Mrs. Winslow back to town half an hour ago to order the crew some sandwiches for the station. She’d been happy to help, treating the job like a mission.
Falon and her parents had gone back to her house and had been there for some time. Which was probably for the best. She was going to need some rest and a good, long shower to wash off all the soot and clear her lungs of the smoke.
I sat on the back bumper of the fire chief's truck after, and looked at what was left of the Jenkins barn. The back was gone. The tack room was a loss. The hay storage was ash. But the horses were alive, and John and Beatrice were sitting together on the tailgate of John's truck, her head on his shoulder, both in emotional shock.
Mason dropped down beside me. He had soot on his face, and his jacket sleeve was scorched at the cuff.
"She was in there before you," he said. It wasn't a question.
"Five times," I said.
He nodded. Looked at the barn. "John doesn't know."
"Nope." I shook my head.
Another silence.
"You going to tell him?"
I thought about John's shaking hand, his wet eyes, and Beatrice crying at the fence.
"Not today," I said.
Mason nodded like that was the right answer, because we both knew it was.
Mason drove me back to the ranch, the morning still smelling of smoke even with the windows down. The adrenaline had drained out somewhere around the time the last hose was rolled up, and what was left underneath it were emotions I didn’t know what to do with. Fear that I could have lost her. Worry about what upset her. And the one I'd been running from for years. I loved her. I'd always known. I just hadn't let myself say it, even in my own head, until now. But after this morning. I knew that everything had changed, at least for me.
Mason pulled into the drive, and we sat there for a minute.
“You going in there, or do I have to call Sarah and let her know we have a house guest?” Mason joked.
“Ha, ha. But seriously, thanks for being there today.”
“It’s what we do,” he said. “Now get out. It’s time to go home.” I walked to the door, and I thought back.
Four trips.
She'd made four trips into a burning barn before I got there. Before anyone got there. With nothing but her own nerve, a wet flannel shirt, and stubbornness. She would never have left things behind.
