Second Chance Pass (35 page)

“Hmm,” she said. “Maybe you’re just better at it than me.”

“I suppose that’s possible, too,” he said. Then he smiled at her.

The men fighting the fire grew dry and tired. They’d worked their way into the forest along a line that had grown
wide and deep. Jack leaned against his shovel as Mike Valenzuela passed by with a chain saw, headed up the line to cut boughs from more felled trees. He paused for a drink and took a few deep breaths before bending to his job of turning earth, tossing dirt onto a growing pile that formed a small dike against the forest. Mike moved down the line of men, out of sight. Jack wiped his forehead and put the shovel back to the ground.

Then something subtle happened. The slight breeze that Jack had been feeling on the back of his neck changed to a hot wind that hit him full in the face. Frowning, he began to walk up the line and around the curve in the direction Valenzuela had gone, looking for the source of that sudden heat. As the logging road went deeper into the trees, the volunteers thinned out and the professionals were the ones moving closer to the fire.

A murmur went up among the men and sparks filled the air. The line of men that had been winding around the hill to his left began to move toward him, then past him. Jack didn’t see Mike anywhere, so he walked a little farther. He quickly saw that there was no one back there. Behind him, from where he had been, he heard, “Move out, move out, move out!”

Firefighters who had been behind him were beginning to jog down the road. He heard a roar, sparks filling the air. The fire that they’d been chasing was coming toward them, hard and fast. In front of him was dense smoke, behind him—the logging road from whence he’d come, and to his left, a deep ravine. He turned to move out down the road when there was a blast—an ignited tree that had been burning exploded about ten feet into the forest and sent a shower of sparks and debris over the road in a huge flash. A two-hundred-foot sequoia was on fire not five feet away from where he stood. He took a dive in the direction
of the ravine and began to crawl madly toward it as a burning tree came down and flames shot over his head.

At the command to move out, the firefighters and volunteers were being quickly herded back down the hill to the road, where trucks were waiting to evacuate them. Paul was craning his neck, looking for Jack. He’d seen him move into the trees, but he wasn’t back yet. Then sparks began to fly and a roaring sound could be heard. Mike Valenzuela jumped up on the truck beside some of his boys. “Where’s Jack?” Paul asked him.

“Haven’t seen him.” He looked around. “One of the other trucks?”

Paul jumped out of the truck and started back up the road, but he was grabbed by the crew chief and pushed toward the truck.

“One of our boys is in there,” he said.

“There’s no one in there,” the chief said. “Everyone was cleared out.”

“I saw him go in that direction!”

“There’s no one back there, buddy.”

“I saw him!”

“If there’s anyone there, they’ll get him,” he said, pointing to a long line of firefighters making fast tracks out of the burning forest. Right at the back of their column was an explosion, sending debris and sparks flying over their heads. Paul found himself shoved into the truck, landing in a heap, while their captain yelled, “Let’s go! Move out!” And the truck jerked into motion.

Paul sat up in the bed of the truck and watched as all these yellow-clad, hard-hatted men scrambled into the next truck, and then a third, and as each one filled up, they drove pell-mell down the logging road to the asphalt. He had to be in one of those other trucks, Paul thought. He had to be.

Two planes flew in low, dumping retardant on the fire, a bright red powder. Flames leaped toward the aircraft as they disappeared over the forest.

When they got to the safety zone, the marines began looking for Jack, going to every truck, but he was nowhere. Paul told the captain what he’d seen, that Jack might still be back there.

“Buddy, if he didn’t get out with that last crew, he might not’ve gotten out.”

Panicked, Paul said to Joe, “We have to find him, man.”

“Where are we going to look, huh? It’s coming this way.”

“He’s got to be around here somewhere.” Paul grabbed the firefighter’s arm. “Was there any other way out?”

He just shook his head. “I’m sorry, buddy.”

“There has to be another way out. He wouldn’t do that—he wouldn’t go in there if it was too hot. He’s too smart for that!”

“Pal, the wind shifted and ate up acres in minutes. We’re just going to have to wait it out, see if he turns up. He’s not the only one unaccounted for. Search and Rescue is on it.”

“Aw,
fuck,
” Paul said. He got tears in his eyes. “That wouldn’t happen.” He looked at Joe. “After all we’ve gotten through? That wouldn’t happen, would it?”

“Nah. Couldn’t.”

The firefighters and volunteers moved down the line to a new location, but now that the fire was moving in another direction, away from Virgin River, other crews to the northwest were taking over. A few hours later, the sun setting, the chief was ready to pull his camp out of Virgin River, relocate the base camp and send the Virgin River volunteers home.

“Can’t leave,” Preacher said. “Not till we figure out where he is.”

“No one came out the other side, Preach. And he’s not here. I think maybe—”

“No,” Preacher said. “No. He made it out, we just can’t find him. We’ll just keep looking. We’ll go back to where we saw him last, as close as we can safely get, set up a perimeter, look for a trail. We keep looking. That clear?”

It was quiet for a moment until someone said, “Clear, Preach. That’s what we’ll do.”

By five o’clock, the firefighters were moving out of Virgin River, but the men had not returned. The acrid smell of smoke was dissipating, finally moving in the other direction. By six o’clock the town had grown eerily quiet and by seven, clouds began to roll in from the coast.

Paige, Brie and Nikki brought the children back to town and Mel was at long last able to nurse Emma and cuddle David for a while. She settled them into playpens and makeshift beds in Paige’s quarters. Walt and Muriel continued to work the kitchen and bar, keeping an eye on the TV for local news updates, convinced that the men would return soon, hungry. By ten o’clock, still no word from their men, Mel saw the first few drops of rain fall on the dusty street outside the bar. She leaned out of the porch with her palm up and smiled as it grew wet. She stayed on the porch and watched, the smell of rain like the answer to a prayer.

She sat in one of the Adirondack chairs on Jack’s porch and remembered the early days, before she married Jack, before the babies came. Back when she was alone and sure she’d never have love in her life again. Jack, so large and powerful, could have swept her up in his strong arms and devoured her, but he’d been patient, so gentle. He’d waited for her to say it was time, that she was ready to feel something that didn’t hurt. And then his hands on her, his lips,
had drawn from her the most amazing response she’d ever felt. A love so sure, so dependable, so constant. Jack didn’t do anything halfway. He’d been a carefree bachelor, a lover of many women, until Mel. And then he belonged only to her. A committed partner.

You should never be afraid of anything while you’re my wife. It’s my job to make sure you’re never afraid.

I’m a little afraid right now, Jack,
she thought.

At midnight, she stuck her head into the bar and found Muriel slumped in a chair with her head on the table while Walt still stood behind the bar, watching the news on the new TV. Ready. Waiting. “Go lie down somewhere, Mel,” he said. “I’ll call you the second they come back.”

“Have you heard anything on the news?” she asked.

“They’re saying the fire’s contained. And now, with the rain, they should be on top of it before long.”

“Then why aren’t they back?” she asked.

“Maybe they’re still needed for something,” he said. “Maybe cleanup or something. Go. Sleep.”

Jack never slept while she worked, just in case she needed him—which she sometimes had. She shook her head. “I won’t sleep until I have my man back,” she said. “He’s on his way.” Inside, she could feel each step he took toward her, though her heart was beating suspiciously fast. But she was sure. He was on his way. Maybe he was out there looking for someone…

She remembered the first time she’d met these remarkable men, these marines who would never abandon each other. She fell instantly under their collective spell—their humor, camaraderie, pure zest for life, these men who loved their women and the life they could bring forth. They were fun and lusty, brave and loyal. Jack had proudly sent Rick off to become one of them.

Jack had fathered Rick in every way he could, with as
much devotion and strength as he would give the fruit of his own loins. She remembered how he had held the boy against the grief of losing his own child, his heart breaking into pieces. Her man, he had so much love inside him, it was amazing his chest didn’t explode.

I’ll never let you go, Mel. I want you to trust me, you know you’re safe with me.

“I trust you,” she said aloud, though there was no one to hear. “I love you. I trust you. And I know you—you’ll never give up.”

He had saved her life when it was bleeding out of her after Emma’s birth. She was only semiconscious, but she heard his desperate, pleading words.
You’re my life! Don’t do this, Mel. Stay with me. Don’t you leave me!

“Don’t you leave me,” she whispered. “Don’t you dare!”

As if you could get rid of me now.

Dawn found her still sitting on the porch, alert. She had spent a very long night thinking about her husband. He had so many faces; a fierce and dangerous expression for an enemy, a threat. A soft and tender expression when he turned his eyes to her. A sweet pride when he held their children. A joyful gleam when he was with his friends.

She remembered when he had first talked her into those stolen kisses, deep and meaningful and passionate. It had been hard to resist him, his allure was so penetrating. And how fortuitous, because that same desire had given her the children—she just couldn’t say no to Jack. His love was blinding, it was so bold.

Finally, finally, a truck pulled into town, a farmer’s truck. In the back sat their men, dirty and exhausted. She stood on the porch and watched as one by one, they crumbled out of the truck. Mike came up the porch steps. The black ash on his face was split by damp tracks of tears.

“Where’s Jack?” she asked.

“Mel,” he said. “We can’t find him, Mel. We looked all night.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked with a nervous laugh. “You lost him?”

“They were evacuating the area and he didn’t come out. There was a sudden explosion. Fire swept over the road.” He grabbed her upper arm. “Mel, he might have been trapped. Three firefighters were lost in a blast of fire when the wind shifted.”

“But not Jack,” she said, shaking her head. Her eyes were perfectly clear. “No, Jack’s coming.”

“Baby, I don’t know.” He pulled her into his arms, but she kept hers at her sides. “I don’t think so.”

Preacher came up the steps. His eyes were bloodshot, weary and sad. His face was covered with soot, as were his turnouts. He stood before her and hung his head as if ashamed. She knew him so well—he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he thought he let Jack down.

“It’s okay. He’s coming,” she said. “He’s going to be pissed, but he’s coming.”

One by one they approached her, touching her, hugging her, some of them with tears running out of their eyes. Before long the general was on the porch and, seeing the men, went to rouse Muriel and the younger women. But Mel was unmoved. “No,” she said over and over. “You don’t understand. If anything had happened to him, I’d know it. I’d feel it. He’s coming.”

“We’re going back out there after some fluids and rest,” Paul said. “We’ll figure out what happened. No matter what, we’ll bring him back.” Then, hanging his head, he walked into the bar. It wasn’t long before the sound of Brie’s cry split the dawn and caused Mel to stiffen her spine. But she grabbed on to Joe’s arm as he passed and
said, “Tell her. Her brother’s all right. He’s coming. Tell her.”

Joe pulled Mel against him and held her. “Honey, I’m not sure about that.”

“You don’t understand,” she said. No one understood. If Jack were gone, she would feel it—there would be a deep, dark, hollow place in her. For just a second she was reminded that when her first husband, Mark, had been killed, she hadn’t had any kind of premonition. There had been no warning, no deep feeling. But she banished the thought—it was different with Jack. It had always been different with Jack. “He’s on his way.”

J
ack sat by the side of a deserted farm road at dawn, his ankle a mess, his face scorched. He was dehydrated, weak. His turnouts were covered with flame retardant, peppered with little holes from flying sparks, and he wondered how long he should rest before he just started walking again. Make that limping—he’d wrecked the ankle pretty bad. The area had been completely evacuated and it was unlikely anyone would be driving along this road until either Forestry or Cal Fire came this way. By that time he could be passed out, if not dead.

Then, against all odds, he saw the dust from a moving vehicle. He dragged himself to his feet, but he was dizzy and wobbly, his dehydration made worse by the dryness from smoke in the air. He placed himself in the center of the road. He decided he’d rather get run over than passed by. Who would pass someone in firefighter’s turnouts? Only the devil himself.

Then the devil himself in a dark pickup with tinted windows came to a stop just inches from him. “Son of a bitch,” Jack muttered to himself, his mouth dry as cotton.

The grower who’d crossed his path too often in the last couple of years opened the driver’s door and stepped out. “Jesus. You’re like a bad dream,” the guy said to Jack. “You look like hell.”

“Yeah? You’re not exactly my favorite person, either,” Jack returned thickly.

“How bad are you hurt?”

“Thirsty,” Jack said. “Just thirsty. Just let me siphon out of the radiator tank and you can go,” he said, insane though the notion was. He was insanely thirsty.

The guy, minus the Shady Brady and a little smudged with what could have been ash, sighed deeply and walked around the front of the truck. He opened the passenger door and said, “Get in.”

“You got water?” Jack asked.

“Yeah! I got water! Just get in!” Jack limped toward the truck. “You said you weren’t hurt,” Shady Brady said, eyeing the limp.

“I’m mostly just thirsty,” Jack said, walking very badly.

“You break it?”

“Nah. You ever hear a sprain’s worse than a break? We’re gonna find out…”

Shady Brady laughed in spite of himself. “Christ, you’re a piece of work. Get in.”

Jack wearily pulled himself into the truck, not easy—it was high, he was weak and the ankle was real bad. He’d hurt it right off, taking that dive into the ravine.

When the driver was settled behind the wheel, he reached behind him into the extended cab and grabbed a bottled water, handing it to Jack. “Take it slow or you’ll puke in my truck.”

“I know how to do this,” Jack said, then guzzled the water fast enough to make the concern a reality. In fact he
belched and hiccuped a few times and lowered his window. But it was okay; the water stayed down. He leaned his head back and said, “Oh man. Long night.”

“How’d you end up here?”

“I got separated from the crew. Wind shifted, a tree exploded, I had to take a dive and run for it. But with no stars because of the smoke, I have no idea where I am. I walked all night.” He guzzled more water. “What are you doing out here?”

The guy laughed. “Getting the hell out of here. Listen, I’ll leave you by the county road where you’ll get picked up. I’ll leave you water, but I can’t go back that way. I’m all done there.”

“I’ve heard that before….”

“Well, this time it’s the real deal. I’m so outta here. You’ll be all right. No one’s going to drive by a firefighter, even though you could just as easily be an inmate on the run. Especially the way you put yourself in the middle of the road—nice touch.”

They drove in silence awhile; Jack rehydrated himself and Shady Brady just drove at a dangerously high speed on the deserted road. It was only about fifteen minutes before he came to an intersection with the county road; it would have taken Jack most of the day to get this far on his ankle—if he didn’t collapse or drop dead first.

“There will be cars along this road, don’t worry.” He reached behind him and grabbed a couple of bottled waters. “Stay off the ankle, go slow, ration the water—”

“I’ve been in the desert,” Jack said irritably.

“Yeah, I know. Just wait for a ride. I have to go, man. That’s all there is to it.”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “Why can’t you be just a
hundred percent good or a hundred percent bad? Why do you have to keep me all confused all the time?”

He laughed. “My specialty—confusion. Listen—that fire was set. I can’t prove it, but all I’m lacking are the facts. People died. Far as I’m concerned, death is against the rules.”

“I don’t know what you are, man,” Jack said. “Half the time I see you, you really piss me off. The other half, you come through. And you’re a marine—I saw the devil dog on your arm. But there are shitty marines out there, so I didn’t let that influence me…”

“Just get out,” he said. “Stay off the leg as much as possible, I guarantee a ride will come along. Since we won’t see each other again, it would be better for me if you didn’t talk it around that I picked you up. I’d really like to go up in a puff of smoke right now. So to speak.”

“I should tell the police what you said, about it being set…”

“You know what? When they find the source of that fire, there will be a body. That body had nothing to do with me. You do what you have to do—but if you gossip a lot about this free ride, like I was there, and get some local growers looking for me, I’m going to die. And like I said, I consider that against the rules.”

Jack grinned. Okay—here was a guy who was an illegal grower, but couldn’t seem to resist saving lives like crazy, and didn’t mind if the police heard what he’d been up to, but didn’t want the other growers in the area to catch wind… He must be in deep kimshie with some growers. Now, what kind of guy would he have to be to fear the growers more than the cops? “No reason I have to say anything, pal. Appreciate the ride. Slow down a little, huh? You’re frickin’ dangerous.”

“I’m in a hurry.”

“Yeah. You wanna get there? Thanks for the ride. Try to stay out of trouble.”

Once the truck door was closed, he peeled out, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.

The drizzle continued, steaming up the ground; it was still so hot. The hottest summer ever, made hotter by the burning forest.

Mel wouldn’t leave the porch. Doc came to the bar, touched her forehead and asked her if she wouldn’t lie down for just a few minutes. “No,” she said. “I’m waiting for Jack.”

“The boys said Search and Rescue are combing the area and they’re getting ready to leave again, to look. We can wake you the second something is found.”

“Doc, it’s all right. I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.”

Muriel tried to press a brandy into her hand, but she shook her head. She wanted to be sure she could feel everything, because she could still
feel
him. He might as well have his arms around her. And then she remembered her very first night in Virgin River, the horrible cabin, the torrential rain, and the brandy from Jack’s bar that warmed her. She had snapped at him that she didn’t find him amusing, she’d had a terrible day. And he had only grinned and said, “Good thing I have the cork out of the Remy, then.”

And later, when he’d held her as she cried over her dead husband. Then he undressed her, dried her off, gave her that brandy. She’d had a huge emotional meltdown.
If you’re going to go down, go down big. You should be proud.

His pride in her was the greatest gift. He told her often he was proud of the care she gave, proud of her commitment to helping wherever help was needed. When a man
like Jack is proud of you, it means everything. She felt herself smiling.

The volume on the TV in the bar was turned up. She’d never heard it so loud. She knew Jack’s boys weren’t resting, but glued to the news, hoping to catch something about the lost firefighters. They took turns on the porch with her, afraid to leave her alone, because they thought she was losing it. Quietly and stoically, but losing it. “I’m fine,” she told them. “Really, I’m fine.”

Inside, the men were gearing up to leave again, stuffing down sandwiches for fuel, guzzling water to rehydrate. Mel accepted water, had her baby brought to her to nurse, held her son for a bottle, but she was determined. She stayed on the porch. She never once asked if there was any news of Jack.

The morning news reported there were three firefighters confirmed dead in the blaze, names being withheld pending notification. Talking quietly among themselves, the men conferred about how some notification could be on its way soon, and they would stay on in Virgin River as long as necessary, be there for Mel. They would help her lay him to rest and for as long as she needed them, someone would be there.

The men had had a break of a couple of hours, food and water, called their families to report that they were unharmed, and were almost ready to take their personal vehicles back to the area and continue the search. Joe and Paul each sat on either side of her, occasionally reaching for her hand. She stared straight ahead.

The sound of a vehicle brought her to her feet and she stood on the porch. The rain had stopped, the ground was wet, and an old pickup pulled into town, stopping in the middle of the street in front of the bar. “Holy shit,” Paul
muttered, rising to his feet. Joe stumbled running into the bar.

Jack spilled out of the back, a huge smear of red flame retardant staining his body. He balanced on one foot, his other leg disabled in some way. As he reached back into the pickup for his gear, Mel serenely walked down the porch steps toward him. He tossed his gear to the ground and the pickup drove off with a toot of the horn. His face was black with soot, his eyes red and tearing, his lips pink and cracked from dryness. The turnouts he wore were speckled with holes made by flying embers.

Mel walked right into his open arms.

“You’re late,” she said, looking up at him.

He lowered his lips to softly kiss her forehead. “Sorry. I was held up. Goddamn truck left without me.” He smiled down at her. “Do you have any idea what you look like in jeans? Melinda, you just do it to me in jeans.”

“Everyone thought you were dead and you’re talking about my butt again.”

He grimaced. “They’re going to wish I was dead. I’ve been walking for twenty-four hours and I’m in a real mood.” He brushed the hair back from her brow. “Were you scared, baby?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I knew you were coming.”

“You did?”

She touched her chest. “Your heart beats in here. If it had stopped, I would have known. It did beat a little fast sometimes. Was it close, Jack?”

He chuckled, tightening his arms around her. “It was so close, I have blisters on my ass.”

“I spent all night remembering every time you touched me. Every one.”

“You don’t have to make do on memories. I’m going to touch you for many more years.”

“I knew you’d never leave me.”

“Baby, I’d walk out of hell to get back to you.”

“I know, Jack. You hurt yourself.”

“My ankle. I took a fall into a ditch. I’m not as agile as I was. I might’ve really screwed it up, running on it. It really slowed me down—and I was so ready to feel you against me.”

“What’s this?” she asked, wiping at the gooey red stuff on his shirt.

“Flame retardant. It got dumped right on me. Knocked me down—but there was a path out. Then I had to run on this damn ankle. It was awful. And then I got lost. You can get even worse lost at night when you can’t see the stars because of the trees and smoke. I think I’m going to give up firefighting.”

She touched his face, which appeared to be sunburned beneath the soot and ash. He winced. Then he bent down and crossed his arms under her bottom and lifted her up to his face. “Kiss me. Gimme a taste.” She lowered her lips to his for a kiss that was deep and strong. Behind them, a cheer went up from all the marines gathered on the porch. But Jack took his time, moving tenderly over her lips, grateful to dive into her sweet love once more. He’d been wanting to kiss her for twenty-four hours and he wasn’t going to be rushed. Not by them, not by anything. He hated the thought of letting her go, as in love with her today as that very first day. More.

“You taste like soot,” she told him.

“I know,” he said. “You taste so good.” He jerked his head in the direction of his bar, his boys. “I hate when they do that.”

“I think I’m starting to get used to it.” She smiled. And she kissed him again.

As anxious as Jack was to get home, he needed a few minutes alone with Mike Valenzuela. They sequestered themselves in the RV behind the bar. Jack told only Mike the details of his rescue, and stayed there while Mike called the sheriff, repeating the story as well as the license-plate number. When Mike hung up, he slowly turned to look at Jack.

“Well, they were ahead of you. A couple of growers—partners—had a little lover’s spat. One was shot, the other set him on fire to conceal evidence, thus the fire. They’re investigating a drug-related murder covered by arson. A suspect was arrested trying to get away,” Mike said.

Jack swallowed. “Was it our guy?”

“I’m guessing here, but if it was our guy, he would not have stopped for you. In fact, he might’ve put a bullet in your head to keep you from talking to the police. He definitely wouldn’t have told you anything about the fire. Jack, that guy isn’t what we think.”

“What do we think?” Jack asked.

“That he’s an ordinary grower. He might even be law enforcement, and if he is, they’ll pull him in, relocate him and we’ll never know.”

Jack stood up. “Well. I guess that’s it, then. The way he was driving, he probably wrapped himself around a tree before he got out of the county. I’m going home.”

“Have a good sleep.”

“Long sleep. And, Valenzuela. Thanks. For looking for me.”

“It’s just what we do. What you do. I’m just glad we didn’t have to bring a crispy critter home to Mel.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

Jack, Preacher, Mike and Paul went to their homes, their wives, to their showers and then their beds for a long,
clean sleep. The others had too much of a drive ahead to think about just taking it on after no sleep in twenty-four hours. Phillips and Stephens were headed for Reno and went over the mountain pass with a big thermos of strong coffee from the bar and two sets of eyes to stay on the road. Zeke and Corny took the night in Jack’s guesthouse before tackling their long drives. Joe took Nikki back to the cabin.