Page 60 of The Fire Line

Harris’s hand stopped, something in his face shuttering before Jay could identify it. His eyes remained on Jay a second longer than the statement required, then returned to the valley.

“Anyway,” Jay continued. “My turn.”

“That how this works?”

“Oh, absolutely. You interrogated my failed relationship, I get one personal question.” Jay brushed the crumbs from his palms and stretched his legs out in front of him, buying himself a second to choose one that Harris might actually answer.

“Did you always know you’d stay here?”

The defensive set of Harris’s mouth eased. He looked across the slope as though the answer sat somewhere on it.

“No.”

Jay gave him a few seconds before prompting. “What did you think you’d do?”

“Didn’t think that far.”

“You strike me as a man born with a five-year land-management plan.”

“I was seventeen at the time.”

“So?”

“So I was stupid.”

Jay smiled. “College?”

Harris picked at the folded edge of the wrapper, though there was almost nothing left to fold. “Two years. Ag business.”

“That is… disappointingly on brand.”

“Dad got hurt.” Harris flattened the wrapper beneath his thumb and tucked it into the bag. “Came back home to help. Ended up staying.”

Jay could have asked whether Harris had intended to return, or whether staying had simply happened because enough people needed him, but he decided not to. Harris had already offered more than he’d expected.

They packed lunch and rode higher. Beyond the north ridge, the trail narrowed across loose rock and steep timber. Jay put the camera away and allowed Red to make most executive decisions.

Harris stayed closer now. When Red slipped half a step in the loose ground, Harris had already turned in the saddle.

“Stay with him. Give him his head.”

Jay loosened his hands instead of grabbing for the reins. Red dropped his neck, found his footing, and climbed on as though nothing remotely dramatic had happened.

Harris remained alongside them until the gelding settled, then faced forward again. The distance between the horses stayed reduced afterward.

Jay chose not to assign emotional significance to this. He was a documentarian, not a conspiracy theorist. Harris riding six feet closer than necessary could mean any number of things, including terrain, safety, or a sudden and entirely professional interest in whether Jay remained attached to his horse.

His nervous system remained unconvinced.

By late afternoon, the line cabin appeared beneath a stand of firs, its boards weathered gray and its rusted metal roof sagging slightly toward one corner of the porch. Beside it, a small pole corral enclosed enough grass for the horses, with a spring-fed trough and a covered rack of old hay.

Jay looked toward the structure. “Luxury accommodations.”

“For the horses.”

“I understood that, thanks.”

“Did you?”