Page 4 of Redwood Blaze
“Yeah, you do,” he says before throwing back the last of the lemon bar. “Let’s face it the facts speak volumes. Eighty-five percent of forest fires are caused by humans with their unattended campfires, improperly discarded cigarettes, and equipment malfunctions like parking their vehicles over dry plants so the hot exhaust catches it on fire. Not to mention the ones that aren’t accidental.”
Arson.
We hate the word.
Hotshots can understand that some humans make poor choices whether out of need, misinformation, lack of information, or plain laziness, and in the long run, they can be forgiven. But when someone starts a fire on purpose that leads toendangering others’ lives, well that isn’t forgivable. That’s a life sentence of shame and dishonor.
And of course, there’s one other, Mother Nature. She’s one factor that can’t be taught or trained to do better. She’s makes the rules when it comes to weather. And she gives and takes away— rain and lightning. Rain slows fires, but lightning starts them. We rarely talk about her because… well, we’re not necessarily superstitious, but we’re not about tempting fate either.
I grab my necklace and rub the chunk of petrified wood. Okay, maybe I’m a little superstitious and this is my talisman of good luck, but not all of us have these either.
He leans against the doorjamb and finishes chewing. “Damn fine lemon bars, Millie.”
“Thanks.” I push my blonde ponytail over my shoulder. I know we’re about the same age, but for some reason, I swear Rusty has a wiseness —and wiseassness— to him. “Did you say that your family’s been in firefighting?”
“Granddad, my dad, and now me.”
“Three generations.”
“And only one is not here because of it.”
My heart clenched. “Your grandpa?”
He just shakes his head once and then rolls toward me. “Nah, cancer took him from us when he was sixty. My dad was caught up on peak twelve when I was sixteen.”
I read about that fire. It wasn’t big, but the wind wrapped it around the hotshots. One of the worst feelings in the world to see a way out and five minutes later it’s gone and you’re just backing toward the other side of the fire. We’ve got equipment that can help, but probably almost twenty-years ago, it wasn’t what it is today. Our heat-resistant shelters can withstand fire for up to ninety-minutes but sometimes even that long isn’t enough.
Shifting winds… a hotshots number one fear.
“I’m sorry, Rusty. I’m thankful for his service and I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks.” He shuffled his feet a little.
I push to stand. “Well, I’ve got to get going.”
“Got a hot date?” he asks me and I still.
“No, nothing like that. I’ve got a meeting with the mayor about building onto the cabin for four more hotshots.”
“Forty isn’t enough?”
“Beckett, Wilson, Ian, and Juan have all put in for transfers to Diamond Ridge.”
“Oh…”
Losing that many just meant we’ll have to hire twice as many because the attrition rate in this field is almost thirty percent in Montana, and it’s higher in other states.
“It’ll be okay,” I say while grabbing a light jacket.
I still when I get close to him. The scent of his pine-scented body invades my nose. Any woodsy smell is a turn-on for me, probably some deep-seated neurosis from fighting for the trees.
I clear my throat. “I’m glad you like the lemon bars.”
“I don’t like them.”
I rear my head back. “I thought?—”
He moves in close. Too close. My heart starts pounding in my chest and I hold my breath.
