Montana Dreams

The boy nodded, too engrossed watching the fire to speak. The distant wail of sirens accompanied her across the road. She watched hay bales topple onto the concrete. Wild, the fire writhed like a monster, blackening the rafters and twisting in protest as the stack’s end cap tumbled into the gravel, raining flame and red ashes. She caught a brief glimpse of Hunter behind the wheel before the swirling smoke cocooned him and the tractor squealed into Reverse.

This was crazy, he really should get out of there. This wasn’t his battle, but she appreciated him for it. She grabbed her pitchfork and slipped around the inferno. Too many ashes were falling onto the haystack and igniting, causing a greater hazard. She had to get to them now.

By the time she’d scrabbled up the side of the remaining stack, little infernos had ignited everywhere. There were too many. Maybe it’s time to let the barn go. The tractor’s engine roared and more crackling bales gave way at the ramlike punch of the tractor’s bucket. She caught sight of Hunter shifting into Reverse, covered with soot and brushing burning hay off his forearm. Sparks rained on him, incinerating chunks tried to land on him and still he made another go at the fire.

Definitely time to admit they were outmatched.

“Step back, missy.” A voice spoke behind her. Milton drove his pitchfork into a patch of burning hay. “We’ve got a barn to save.”

“We?” Through wisps of smoke, pickups pulled to a stop across the road. Men leaped from them, shouting orders.

“Hunter called on his cell,” Milton explained, pitching the flames and hay outside onto the gravel. “I turned around and called a few neighbors. Don’t worry, we’ll get this licked.”

Emotion pricked her eyes and she had to turn away. Hunter. Why did everything always come down to him? She watched him behind the wheel, in control, lowering the bucket to scoop burning debris away from the remaining haystack. So close she could see the heat reddening his face and an angry burn on his arm.

Her only goal in coming here had been to avoid him. Impossible. Somehow she was going to have to figure out a way to deal with him. She risked a glance across the road, where Simon sat next to Whip. She caught the nasty gleam in her old man’s eyes. He was the sole keeper of her secret.

The problem with secrets was that they rarely stayed truly hidden.

This one had to.

* * *

“I told Whip that hay was still a mite too damp.” Milton looked worse for wear as he sat on the bumper of the fire truck, letting Jerry, the volunteer fire marshal, patch him up. “But no, he wanted the men to stack it. Wouldn’t listen to me. You know how he gets.”

“Everyone knows how he gets,” Jerry assured him.

“You put up hay that isn’t totally dry, those damp spots build up heat. On a day as hot as today, it can ignite.” Milton sent a stream of tobacco into the ditch. “Truth is, those were some tough days with Whip sick and in pain and takin’ it out on us. Not sure the men stacking the hay cared much, and I was busy jury-rigging the water pump, so my hands were full.”

Hunter nodded, leaning against the fire truck’s fender. No doubt working conditions had been tough here for a while and considering his obvious financial problems, Whip hadn’t wanted to pay the hands an extra day’s work to wait around for the hay to dry. He took a moment to notice the peeling paint and the missing shingles. While he’d worked in this barn after high school, he and Whip had parted ways long ago, before Millie left. He’d never had much respect for a man who treated people the way Whip did.

“The fire’s out, we’ve mopped up, but you’ll have a big cleanup.” Jerry gave Milton a pat on his arm. “You make sure Doc Littlejohn takes a look at that tomorrow. Hunter, you’re next.”

“I don’t need patching up.” A few blisters were nothing to worry about. “Did you take a look at Millie?”

“First thing. She refused, too.”

“I’m not surprised.” That woman could take stubbornness to new levels. He’d nearly had heart failure seeing her climb the stack, standing in the rafters surrounded by flames. Not that he didn’t admire her for it. “If we’re done here, I’m heading home.”

“That’s what I’m gonna do.” Milton staggered to his feet. “It’s way past my bedtime.”

“Nearly midnight. Sleep tight, Milt.” Hunter followed the light of the moon to the open barn doors, where the volunteers rolled up the last fire hose. The dank smell of smoke and charred hay overwhelmed him as his boots hit the floor.

A close call. No doubt about it. He wandered down the aisle past vacant stalls to the fall of light from the office door. The wise choice would be to hop in his truck and head home, but he had to check on her. Some habits were hard to break, regardless of how bad they were for you.

“Okay, I’ll be there in a bit.” Nothing was prettier than Millie’s voice soft with affection as she talked into a handheld radio. “Just close your eyes and think of home.”

“But there’s funny noises in the wall.” The boy’s words crackled across the two-way.

“It’s nothing to worry about. Think of being able to play with your friends again. What’s the first thing you’re going to do when we get back?” Leaning against the wall, she smiled over at him, gave him an in-a-second look.

He nodded, message received, and stayed in the hallway. He jammed his hands in his pockets, just glad to see she was all right. Well, relatively all right, as she was streaked with soot and her T-shirt riddled with little burn holes. What was she doing refusing medical treatment?

“Then just think about Alexander’s tree house and going back to school with your friends and you’ll fall back to sleep, kiddo.”

The boy’s sigh rasped from the speakers. “I’ll try.”

“Good boy. Call again if you need me.” She set the hand unit on the battered wooden desk. Heaps of paper, junk mail and bills with red past due stamps were piled as high as the cracked computer monitor. Millie shook her head at the mess and focused on him. Big blue eyes full of gratitude. “You. Not sure what would have happened if you hadn’t been here.”

“Anyone around here would have done the same thing. No biggie.” He didn’t want her feeling beholden to him. That was a recipe for disaster. “Just wanted to check on you before I head out.”

“I’m glad you did. I owe you a huge, ginormous thanks.” She pushed off from the wall. “What you did tonight—”

“Forget it.”

“I can’t. You could have been badly burned. The entire stack could have come down on you.”

“I used the bucket as a shield. Not my first time knocking down a fire.” The air in the room vanished. He pretended it didn’t. “Had a big wildfire last summer. Most neighbors were out fighting it by hand. We stopped it before it got a hold and ripped through every field and barn in the valley.”

“Why am I not surprised? You were on the front line leading the charge, weren’t you?” She eased in, smelling of charred wood, smoke and faintly of lilacs.

Lilacs. That jogged his memory, flashing him back a decade. Easy to remember standing right here in this barn, with the haze of midsummer sunshine and the horses huffing softly in the doorway, waiting to get going with the trail ride. How he’d taken his time, laying his hand against the satin softness of her cheek, his pulse kicking double time, gathering up enough courage to kiss her. His chest squeezed, wringing out an old drop of affection. Affection he’d be a fool to give in to.

“Better go. I’ve got an early morning.”

“It is technically morning. You’re not going anywhere until I take care of those burns.”

“They’re fine.”

“Don’t even try that on me.” She opened a squeaky cabinet and hauled out a flat gray box. “Not sure how up-to-date this is.”

“It looks like World War II surplus.”

“Tell me about it. The cobwebs are a little worrying.” She swiped them off and opened the tin, shoving aside the pile of paper on the desk to make room to set it down. “There are a few cans of pop in the fridge, if you want to get them.”

“Now that does sound good.” He was parched from the inside out. The rumble of the fire truck faded, the men were gone and he and Millie were truly alone. Not sure he was comfortable with that. He yanked open the ancient refrigerator and let the cool wash over him before grabbing two cans from the shelves.

“Here.” He popped the tabs, set Millie’s down next to the first-aid kit and breathed in the sugary scent of grape soda. “Guess Milton won’t mind. We haven’t broken into his stash in ten years.”