Page 119 of The Fire Line

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By four thirty, Harris had considered faking his own death twice.

The first time came during a forty-seven-minute discussion of easement language. The second arrived when a man from county planning said, “I’d like to circle back to subsection C,” and Jay leaned forward with genuine interest.

Harris glared at him from three chairs away.

Jay had been sitting through meetings since nine without any visible decline in function. He asked questions, took notes, and somehow learned the names of six people Harris had seen at county meetings for years and still privately identified as Dude with Glasses and Other Doug. At lunch, he cornered someone from emergency management about livestock evacuation routes and returned pleased because he had secured permission to film a map.

Harris ate a sandwich and wondered whether it was possible to drown himself in the decorative fountain outside.

Apparently there were different kinds of endurance. Jay could survive six hours beneath fluorescent lights and emerge energized. Harris could carry a calf half a mile. Everybody had gifts.

The fire-coordination session had at least confirmed what Harris already suspected. Conditions were bad, but neither incident nearest Shaw Ranch posed an immediate threat. There were no evacuation recommendations and no relevant road closures. The wind remained the part nobody could pin down; the forecast had shifted twice since breakfast, and the models still disagreed about timing and direction.

They were planning around possibilities rather than certainty. That, Harris understood.

The land-use session was less useful. When it finally ended, Jay remained near the front talking to a county planner about groundwater restrictions, one hand in his pocket and the other moving as he spoke.

Harris could personally confirm that groundwater restrictions were not sexually exciting. Somehow Jay made them look like they might be.

Jay glanced across the room and caught him watching. His mouth changed slightly—a private smile, there and gone.

Heat rose along Harris’s neck. Ridiculous.

Jay excused himself and crossed the room. “You ready?”

“Been ready since subsection C.”

“That was hours ago.”

“Exactly.”

Jay laughed as Harris opened the door for him. “You hated every second of this, didn’t you?”

“Considered dying.”

“Meanwhile, I had a fantastic time.”

“I noticed.”

“Some of us have intellectual stamina.”

“Some of us got actual jobs.”

Outside, the wind had picked up enough to drive dust in thin sheets across the parking lot. Harris checked his phone before they reached the truck. No calls from Evan. No county alerts. The northwestern fire had gained acreage during the afternoon, but the containment line on the relevant side continued to hold.

Nothing had changed enough to require him at home.

He called anyway.

Evan answered on the second ring. “Everything’s fine.”

“Wind?”

“Still holding west. Pete moved the fuel trailer behind the machine shed, and Dad wants the calves brought down.”

“County change the forecast?”