Hidden Blessing

Now it seemed that her hopes of spending some relaxing downtime in Colorado were threatening to go up in smoke. Maybe she should pack up her things and get out of the area. Better to forgo a month’s rent than put herself under more tension worrying about a forest fire driving her out. But where would she go? Her finances were tight at the moment, and the added expense of seeking out another retreat wasn’t something she had planned on. Besides, she told herself firmly, the fire might never get within miles of her rented place. She decided that it wouldn’t hurt to hang around for a couple of days even though this mountain valley was isolated with only one two-lane road leading from the Junction to a major highway in Elkhorn, a town about fifty miles away.

As Shannon turned onto the narrow road snaking up to her mountain cottage and other dwellings built on the slopes of Rampart Mountain, she braked to a sudden stop.

“What in the world?” She couldn’t believe it. A wooden barricade was stretched across the road, and a man wearing a cowboy hat and Western clothes moved quickly to her car window. Under different circumstances she might have appreciated his strong masculine features and the way his brown eyes reflected a smile as he waited for her to lower the window on the driver’s side. She guessed him to be somewhere in his early thirties as he gave a polite tip to his broadbrimmed Stetson and acknowledged her with a polite hello.

“What’s going on?” she asked without returning his smile. Used to big city runaround, she was ready to summon any argument necessary to avoid wasting time at a roadblock.

“We have to keep all traffic off this road,” he replied in an easy, conversational tone, holding his smile.

“Why?”

“To keep it clear for the emergency vehicles.”

That slow easy smile of his was getting on her nerves, and she resented a deep, stroking voice that undoubtedly could play havoc with most females—but not her. She wasn’t some backwoods gal who was used to taking orders from any smiling man who happened to be around, nor about to meekly accept this inconvenience without a firm protest.

“I don’t see any traffic,” she said firmly, as if that should settle the matter.

“You will in just a few minutes. The first caravan of forest fighters will be here shortly with trucks and all kinds of fire-fighting equipment. They’re going to establish a base camp just a couple of miles from here. This whole area is going to be under siege before long.”

“Does that mean the road is going to be closed indefinitely?” Shannon’s sharp mind suddenly shifted into gear. What would this mean to her? She’d been a successful businesswoman because of her ability to handle unexpected situations. With dogged determination she had always made certain that she didn’t come out the loser.

“I couldn’t say how long it will be closed. It depends upon how fast the fire moves up the other side of Prospect Mountain.” His slow, unruffled tone increased her irritation.

“I don’t see why you can’t let me drive quickly up to my place.”

“Because I have my orders not to let anyone up this road.”

“Then you’re some kind of officer?” Her skepticism was obvious in her tone as she glanced over his Western shirt as if looking for a badge.

“No, just an ordinary citizen doing my duty,” he answered smoothly. “Ward Dawson’s the name. Now if you’ll back up to that wide spot and turn around, you can wait out the road closures in town.”

She glared at him. “How long will that be?”

“Well, let’s see.” He shoved his cowboy hat back far enough for her to see shocks of cinnamon brown hair framing his nicely tanned face. “Not more than a month, I reckon.”

“A month!” She echoed, horrified. Then she saw the twinkle in his eyes and gave him a glare that told him she didn’t appreciate his humor.

Ward silently chuckled. She was a testy one, all right, and he couldn’t help kidding her a little. The California license plates on her fancy sports car had told him a lot. She was a city gal, all right, and a downright attractive one with wavy hair the color of corn silk, petite features and flashing gray-blue eyes that snapped at him. He didn’t know who she was, but she sure wasn’t going to drive anywhere up this road if he had anything to do with it.

“Surely, you have to allow people to get back to their homes,” she insisted, not willing to accept his authority. She’d had plenty of practice confronting male superiors when they’d tried to tell her she couldn’t do something and had learned there were always ways to get around rules. “It doesn’t make sense to shut down a road when it’s the only one in the area.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, firmly. “But that’s the way it is.”

“Why all this inconvenience when the fire is miles away? If you want everyone to stay out of the way, just tell them to stay in their houses and off the roads until the firefighters are finished.” She mellowed her tone as if she was just offering a helpful suggestion. “That makes a lot more sense, doesn’t it?”

Ward searched her face, almost sure she was putting him on, but her steady gaze was clear. Didn’t she realize that it was anybody’s guess whether they could get a handle on the fire before it crested the ridge and threatened this hillside and all the scattered homes on it? The fire was moving at an alarming rate in three different directions. He was tempted to set her straight that there might not be any homes to return to if the worst scenario came to pass. He decided that frightening her wasn’t going to help anyone.

“They’re setting up some accommodations at the school gym for people evicted from their homes,” he told her with a firmness in his tone that didn’t invite any further argument. “Do you know where the high school is? You can’t miss it. It’s a redbrick building—”

“With a sign that says Beaver High School? I think I can manage to find it,” she said sarcastically. The small settlement of Beaver Junction would scarcely take up a three-block area in Los Angeles.

“Well, if you get lost you can always flag somebody down.”

Pulling her car in reverse, the woman made a quick turn and headed toward Beaver Junction.

Watching her car disappear down the narrow road, Ward let out a deep laugh. She was a fiery one, all right, might be worth getting to know if things were different. But in the developing emergency, he’d be surprised if he ever saw her again.

As Shannon drove to the Junction, she mentally rehearsed all the things she’d say to him if she ever got the chance. When she reached the high school, she saw with a sinking heart that the parking lot was nearly full. All kinds of vehicles were vying for parking spaces. She was lucky to find an end spot for her small car.

After turning off the engine, Shannon sat for several minutes, listening to a Denver radio news station giving details of the rapidly moving wildfire. She searched the sky and could see a haze of smoke beyond the front range of mountains that cupped the valley. The radio report affirmed that all mountain roads in the threatened areas were restricted to emergency vehicles.

After hearing the news broadcast, Shannon decided the irritating Ward Dawson policing the road had only been following instructions. She felt a little ashamed of her assumption that he was just some local throwing his weight around. She could even forgive him his little joke of telling her it might be a month before the road was open.

Surely, with a statewide alert, enough knowledgable firefighters would be able to put the fire out as quickly as it had begun. There was no reason to panic, she told herself. Sighing, she realized that she would just have to be patient and wait with the rest of these strangers.

Collecting her purse and bag of groceries, she left the car and followed the crowd inside the building. The Red Cross had arrived. Tables had been set up in the front hall with a cardboard sign that read, Register Here If You Are An Evacuee.

Am I? Shannon asked herself. She wasn’t sure just what the identification implied. As far as she was concerned, she was someone waiting for the road to clear so she could get back to her rented cottage.

When Shannon explained her circumstances, a pleasant, ruddy-faced woman handed her a form to fill out. “Your friends and relatives can contact us to know you’re safe,” the volunteer explained.

For the first time, Shannon felt a quiver of foreboding that the situation might not be as quickly resolved as she had assumed. She wrote her name on the form and handed it to the woman without filling it out.

The lady volunteer raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t there someone who needs to be notified about your safety?”

Shannon shook her head and walked away. Her insistence on independence and total privacy suddenly had a hollow ring to it. Even her closest former coworkers had no idea she had taken off for Colorado. She felt it was none of their business. No one would be waiting to hear from her. No friends or relatives would be inquiring after her safety.

Reluctantly, she joined the milling crowd in the gym where clusters of people were busily talking, looking out windows, trying to placate crying children or sitting silently on cots that were being set up as quickly as they were delivered.

A tall, angular woman wearing a Red Cross pin spied Shannon carrying her small sack of groceries. She hurried over to her and gave Shannon a grateful smile.

“Oh, good, donated food. Here, let me take that sack to the cafeteria for you. God knows, every little bit will help. We have no idea how many will need to be fed tonight.”

Shannon readily handed over the sack and watched the woman scurry away as if she held a treasure in her hand instead of a quart of milk, three bananas, a box of crackers and a six-pack of a diet drink. The idea of feeding all these men, women and children was more than Shannon could contemplate.

All over the crowded gym, people were talking quietly together. Others were fighting back tears or sitting silently as if in a state of shock. Most of the men were wearing work clothes, as if they’d been suddenly taken off some job, and the women wore casual summer tops with their slacks or jeans. Shannon felt more out of place than ever in her pale-yellow linen dress and matching designer sandals. Several puzzled glances came her way as she headed to a corner of the gym to sit down in a folding chair.

Announcements over the school’s public address system blared in her ears, but most of the information had no relevance for her since she was unfamiliar with the names of places and people. Although she had a detached sympathy for the milling townspeople around her, she felt alien to them. As the hours passed, she decided that as soon as the roads opened to general traffic, she’d leave the area and forget about losing her three weeks rent on the mountain cottage.

Ward had forgotten all about the attractive blonde in the fancy sports car until later that evening when he brought some supplies to the high school. The place was a madhouse. Growing numbers of evacuated families from threatened and closed areas had poured into Beaver Junction all afternoon, seeking refuge at the school.

A call had gone out for cots, food and supplies, and Ward had made a quick trip to his ranch, located twenty miles up the mountain valley. He and his young ranch hand, Ted Thompson, had stripped the house of some extra cots and brought them to the school.

“You’re God’s own angel, Ward Dawson,” the preacher’s wife, Laura Cozzins, told him with a broad grin on her round face as she accepted his donations.

“That’s what my mother always used to say.” Ward nodded solemnly.

Laura laughed heartily. She was a small woman with greying short hair and a ready twinkle in her hazel eyes. “Glory, glory, we must not be thinking of the same God-loving woman. As much as your parents adored you, Ward, I don’t ever remember them calling you an angel.”