Page 146 of The Fire Line

“All right.” She turned toward Eli. “Truck. Now.”

Jay watched the production vehicle disappear down the ranch road before turning back toward the barn.

Across the yard, Harris stood beside Della’s car while Evan secured the smaller stock trailer. Jay could not hear every word over the engines and wind, but Della’s posture supplied most of the conversation.

“You go now,” Harris told her.

“And you?”

“Right behind you.”

Apparently everyone who loved Harris had learned that those three words required independent verification.

“Not eventually,” Della said. “And you call me yourself. You do not make Evan call because you’re busy.”

“Ma.”

“I know you.”

Harris’s face softened. “I’ll call.”

Della touched his cheek, brief and firm, before getting into the car. Harris closed the door and stood there until she joined the line of vehicles leaving the yard.

Evan came over as her taillights vanished beyond the cottonwoods. He caught Harris’s shoulder once, hard enough to register without becoming a farewell. “You’re behind me.”

“Yup,” Harris replied, clasping his brother’s arm briefly.

A minute later, every vehicle except Harris’s had left.

For once, the plan really was simple. They were the last two people on the ranch because they had the last two horses. No additional work remained. No one needed rescuing. There was no final gate Harris had to close or piece of machinery worth risking a life to save.

Jay led Red toward the trailer. The gelding hesitated at the ramp, his body tight beneath Jay’s hand, but walked in when asked again. Rain stopped at the bottom while wind lifted her mane and carried another wave of smoke through the yard. Harris put one hand against her neck.

“Come on, girl.”

She followed him inside. Harris closed the divider, secured both horses, then checked the latches, tires, hitch, safety chains, and doors before walking the rig once more and looking toward the ranch.

Jay followed his gaze.

The silence was wrong. The place had never been truly quiet during the months Jay lived there. Even before dawn, horses shifted in stalls, kitchen staff arrived, a truck crossed the yard, or one of the twins called for somebody from the lodge steps. Now the corrals stood empty, barn doors remained open, hoses lay across the grass, and the lodge windows reflected the smoke-dimmed sky without anyone moving behind them.

It looked like a set after the people had left, except Jay knew what every empty space meant now: Della’s kitchen, the concrete where the girls drew horses in chalk, his room above the corrals, the path through the cottonwoods to Harris’s cabin.

“That’s everybody,” Jay called softly.

Harris nodded. “Everybody.”

They got into the truck. Jay checked the time as Harris started the engine. “Priya’s going to kill me if we don’t catch up to them.”

“She’ll have to get in line.”

For approximately four minutes, the evacuation worked exactly as intended.

Then Harris slowed at the lower bend.

Smoke sat low across the road ahead, darker and denser than the haze hiding the mountains. Wind flattened it against the ground and drove it through the drainage in fast, shifting sheets.

The radio cracked beside Harris.