Page 120 of The Fire Line

“No. I told him moving them now only gives us nowhere clean to put them if the wind turns east, but apparently my agricultural reasoning lacks authority.”

Walt’s voice sounded in the background. “Ask him where he’d put them.”

“You hear that?” Evan asked.

“Yup.” Harris leaned against the truck. “Leave the calves where they are until the seven-o’clock update. Move the fuel trailer past the gravel cut.”

“That is almost exactly what I said.”

“Was it?”

“Close enough that I resent the question.”

The phone changed hands.

“That far?” Walt asked without greeting.

“Wind turns, you want dirt between the fuel and everything else.”

A pause followed while his father measured the advice against whatever answer he had already preferred. “Pete can put it along the south track.”

“That’s past the gravel cut.”

“I know where the gravel cut is.”

Harris let it go.

“What about the calves?” Walt asked.

“Wait until seven.”

“Could bring them down now and be done with it.”

“Then we’ve got nowhere clean to put them if the wind comes from the east.”

Another pause. “All right. We’ll wait.”

There it was: Harris’s recommendation turned once in Walt’s hands and returned as a decision carrying his father’s authority. Harris had stopped objecting to the ritual years ago. Mostly.

“How was the meeting?” Walt asked.

The question came late enough that Harris nearly missed its significance. “Fine.”

“Anything useful?”

“Some.”

“Good. You staying down there?”

Harris glanced toward Jay. He stood against the passenger side of the truck, studying photographs of the evacuation map with a convincing show of privacy, though Harris knew he could hear most of the conversation.

“Got another session early tomorrow,” Harris said. “Makes the most sense.”

“All right. Keep your phone on.”

“Always do.”

“I know.”