Page 109 of Ignite

Shit.

Ethan:I’m parked next to you. Gone looking. If you get back before me, use your horn.

Ethan:Unless you can’t honk because of the horses. Shit. Woman. Talk to me.

I didn’t even know if the mobile towers were working or destroyed by fire.

I didn’t know anything at all … except I loved Rylee and wanted us both to live long enough for me to tell her.

Chapter 30

Intensity Burns

“Forthoseofyouleft in Meringa, the time for leaving town is over. The roads are being cut off in both directions. For those who can’t get to the beach, Old Man Hobbs welcomes you to the pub and you can even pour your own beer …”

Rylee

I couldn’t …

I couldn’t … breathe … couldn’t think.

Couldn’t act.

Curled up in a ball, my back against an empty stall of the stables on my property outside of town, I couldn’t bear to look up to the stalls opposite and see the fear in my horses’ eyes. They’d trusted me and I was about to let them down.

Because … I couldn’t save myself … or them.

I cupped my hands over my nose and tried to breathe in filtered air, tried to believe that I wouldn’t die of smoke inhalation.

Daddy died a year ago, today.

He’d died while fighting a fire and I chose to believe he’d died a hero no matter what the death certificate said.

For twelve months, I’d tried to be brave. I’d torn myself apart trying to keep his legacy alive and hoping like hell he would be proud of me.

I’d heard the weather reports getting worse this past week and knew the smart money would have been to get the horses to safety first thing this morning—or even yesterday.

Instead, I’d put my head in the sand and tried to believe that tragedy couldn’t strike twice on the same date. I’d wanted to believe life couldn’t be that cruel.

After Ethan had verbally torn me to shreds, I’d driven straight here, needing the calm of my sanctuary. This property had been in my family for generations and even though we’d destocked during the drought, I couldn’t bring myself to sell it.

Being here had always given me a reality check when my head was going in one thousand directions. Today of all days, I’d needed distracting and this place had called my name. After replacing half a dozen palings on the barn door and deciding I could probably turn it into a chicken coop, I’d whistled to my horses.

Of course, they came expecting apples and nuzzled me until they’d eaten the entire bag. When they looked at me with those soft brown eyes, I couldn’t deny them anything. I groomed and stabled Cider before taking Wildfire for a long ride, out to the end of the property and along the perimeter fence. I noted where repairs were needed before I could even think about getting more cattle and sighed at the state of the soil. After years of drought, there was little grass keeping the dirt from swirling up into a dust storm. At least we had one last dam with water left—proving the investment in dam covering had been worthwhile.

I loved the dam. Cradled between sloping hills, it always reminded me of an open palm, catching water that had been the difference between holding onto the property and losing everything during the drought. I’d grown up coming out here for summer camp-outs with all my friends. We’d gone fishing and diving off the pontoon, and raced horses around the edge.

Even though the dam levels were a fraction of what they once were, I’d texted Reece and Trey that there was enough water here for helicopters to grab if needed.

Wildfire had loved our usual ride, but my beautiful bay mare hadn’t been her normal self. Orphaned by bushfire, she’d been a gift from the local RFS and I’d camped out here for weeks building her trust. If she’d been skittish when I’d been grooming her after the ride when she smelt the faint wafts from the fires, now that the wind had changed and the stench had grown stronger, Wildfire refused to let me near her stall.

By the time I’d realized that ignoring the onslaught of flames wasn’t an option—as the daughter of a RFS volunteer, I should have known better—getting my horses ready for transport had become a monumental task. After chocking the wheels so the float wouldn’t move, I could have kicked myself for feeding them all the apples. How on earth did I expect to coax scared horses into a box without their apples?

I hadn’t been thinking clearly. I hadn’t been thinking at all.

But each time I tried to get near enough to Wildfire to slip on a halter, she reared and kicked until I had to back away so she wouldn’t hurt herself or accidentally kill me. Damn it, I wanted to cry but they’d only evaporate in the heat. In any case, I didn’t have time for self-pity—not if I wanted us all to survive the next few hours. I needed to get both of my horses to the dam. We could hide out and hope the firestorm would either circle around us or go over the top.

But needing to act and being able to force my body to respond, were two different things.

---