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“But why? It’s a beautiful evening. And I’ve got the slickest team of horses in the county.”
“You don’t know my father. He’d punish me, and he’d probably find a way to damage you, too. He’s a good man, but you don’t want to cross him. Let’s just stand here and talk.”
“All right.” He nodded, leaning against the buggy. “So, is your mother here, too?”
“No, she took the wagon home early with my brothers and sisters. I wanted to stay for the dance, so my father remained with me. We were planning to ride home with a neighbor.”
“I could offer you both a ride. Maybe if he got to know me, he’d let me see you again. I’m not one of those cowhands that might take advantage of a sweet girl like you. I’ve got my own ranch—at least it’ll be mine when my mother passes away.”
“Don’t bother asking. My father would never accept.” Hanna was beginning to feel uneasy. What if her father were to catch her out here, alone with a man? “I’d better go back before he comes looking for me.”
She turned to go. Mason blocked her path. “Wait.” His hand cupped her jaw, tilting her face upward. “Lord Almighty,” he murmured. “Angel, I feel like I just stepped into heaven. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
Hanna’s heart broke into a gallop as he bent closer. His lips were almost touching hers when an angry voice shattered the spell.
“Damn it, Mason, let that girl go. Her father’s fit to be tied. If he finds her out here with you, he’ll skin you alive!”
Hanna turned. The tall cowboy she’d noticed earlier, the one with the blue shirt and leather vest, stood a few feet away from them. “Get inside and find your father, miss,” he said. “You can claim you went to the privy. If he asks, I’ll tell him I saw you coming from that direction. Meanwhile, I need to have words with my brother, here.”
Hanna gasped, shocked that a man would mention bodily functions to her. But at least he’d come up with a good excuse for her father. Hot faced, she fled back toward the dance floor, weaving her way among the buggies and wagons. That was when a cry went up from somewhere out of sight.
“Fire!”
Turning, Hanna saw a distant column of smoke rising against the twilight sky. The prairie was burning.
Chapter 2
“Come on!” As the fleeing girl vanished from sight, Blake leaped into his brother’s buggy, yanking Mason in behind him.
“What the hell—?” Mason sputtered.
“My horse is tied at the saloon. There’s no time to get him.” He grabbed the reins and released the brake. Around them, people were piling into buggies and wagons, some already racing toward the fire.
“It’s my rig, damn it! I’ll drive!” Mason snatched the reins away and slapped them down on the backs of the two matched sorrels. The buggy shot ahead, careening around a wagonload of settlers.
A narrow column of gray smoke rose to the west—a grass fire, judging from the color. Not too big yet, Blake calculated, but in this torrid July weather the dry prairie grass could flame up like tinder. Uncontrolled, the fire would race across fields and pastures, destroying everything in its path, including animals, homes, and even human lives.
Some of the settlers looked confused, maybe not understanding what needed to be done. But when they saw the ranch folks and townspeople rushing with breakneck urgency toward the smoke, they joined in. A prairie fire was everybody’s problem.
The buggy swung off the road and cut across the open grassland, jouncing over the rough ground. Blake could see the fire now, and the burned skeleton of the tar paper shack where it must’ve started. Coming closer, he could smell the acrid smoke and hear the hiss and crackle of burning grass.
Fires didn’t start themselves. Blake had his suspicions about who’d set this one. But nothing mattered now except putting out the blaze. And with no source of water nearby, that was going to be a dangerous challenge.
By the time Mason pulled the team up behind the wagons and buggies, Webb Calder had already taken charge of fighting the fire. The men he’d ordered into a line were beating back the flames with horse blankets and anything else that could be found. Those without blankets flailed at the flames with shovels or scraped away the grass to act as a firebreak.
Grabbing a wool blanket out of the back of the buggy, Blake vaulted out and raced to join the line. The smoke reddened Blake’s eyes and stung his throat as he beat the fire’s encroaching edge. The shortness of the grass kept the flames low, but the heat was searing, the fire spreading before the wind as fast as a man could walk. The dry blankets were losing the battle with the licking flames. Only water had any chance of quenching them before the blaze burned out of control.
Now more settlers were arriving. The men and older boys jumped off the wagons to fight the fire with whatever they had.
Some of the wagons carried water barrels that had been filled in town. As Webb began shouting orders, the women on the wagons took the blankets one by one, wet them in the barrels, and returned them to the men. As Blake passed his blanket up into a waiting pair of hands, his eyes met those of the girl he’d caught with Mason—the girl with the golden braids.
Her indigo eyes were reddened from the smoke. Stray locks of hair clung to her flushed face. Her white pinafore was wet and smeared with soot from handling the charred blankets. But even so, with smoke swirling around them, Blake was struck by her innocent beauty.
For an instant, their gazes met and held. There was a flicker of recognition before she turned away, dunked the lower part of the blanket in the water barrel, and passed it, still dripping, back down to him. Grasping it, he raced back to the fire.
The water-soaked blankets made a difference, but the flames were still burning. Glancing down the line, Blake glimpsed Hobie Evans and the Carmody brothers beating at the fire. If somebody had started it, Blake’s money would be on those three. But of course they’d be here, helping, to avoid any suspicion.
Webb Calder moved up and down the lines, stepping in where help was needed. Webb’s father, Benteen, who was well into his fifties, was on the fire line, too. Overcome by smoke, he suddenly doubled over, coughing. Webb seized his father’s shoulders, guided him away from the flames, and left him with Ruth Stanton, who’d come in the buggy with Benteen’s wife. Blake was grateful that his own parents and sister had left the celebration and gone home early. His father, Joe, was younger than Benteen, but even he had begun to show his years.
