Envy creeps up on me.
Not the fucking time. Not the fucking place.
I lock down anything east or west of neutral.
“It seems small town gossipcanbe used for good.”
I imagine people have loud opinions on a woman as young as Harlowe leading search and rescue.
Fuck those people.
The incident commander clocks my approval, smirking back at me. “It almost seems like you want to compliment me.”
I run a hand over the stubble on my jaw. It’s too long, trapping heat against my skin, but I’ve barely had time to sleep and eat, let alone shave this season.“Do I look like I dole out praise?”
“No, but you look like you’ve seen enough to when it’s earned.”
Whether I give or or not won’t change anything for her. She’s not asking for it, she knows she deserves it.
“Quick thinking, James.” Even an asshole like me can give credit when it’s due. “Now, let’s hope he hurries the hell up.”
She glances back at the house. “He will.”
I point to the smoke column looming at our back, dark and menacing as it curls toward the sky, filling it with a thick haze. “We should get ready to move out while we wait.”
She looks around, her nose crinkling at the coppery edge in the air. “Yeah. Let’s load up. I’m not interested in pushing our luck today.”
Metal clangs as my Pulaski skids across the bed of the truck. Then I climb into the passenger seat beside Harlowe. We wait, engine running, as the homeowner gets in his own vehicle. Harlowe throws the truck into gear, dust kicking up as we lead him back down the dirt road and out of the path of the fire.
Halfway down the mountain, something catches my eye. Visibility is shit with the ash but I make out a house set back from the road that we didn’t clear on our way up.
“Stop.”
Harlowe jumps in her seat, startled by the command in my tone. She brakes hard, rubber clawing at gravel until we come to a jerky stop. She looks like she’s about to pull rank.
“Back up,” I say.
The rig jerks as she throws it in reverse, turning in her seat and backing up until we come to a narrow, poorly maintained driveway.
“Right here.”
I lurch in my seat as she stops then rolls down her window, waving the homeowner around and watching to make sure he continues on.
With him on his way to safety, I feel her stare burning into me, but I’m too focused to care.
The roof is covered in dropped needles and flanked by trees. Nothing beyond the anchor point has been cleared.
What a fucking nightmare. If anyone is inside they don’t stand a chance.
“What is it?” Harlowe asks, breaking the static buzzing in my ears.
I point to the house buried by overgrown brush.
“That house wasn’t on our list.”
“It should be empty,” she says, scanning the property. “I know this house. They’re snowbirds.”
The curtains sway. It’s all the proof I need.
