Lifeline Echoes (23 page)

Sean's sharp laugh rang across the yard.
"You've known her less than a week and you've managed to tick off
the most un-tick-offable woman I've ever met. You sure you're my
brother?"

Ryan pulled a hand down his face. Man, he
was tired. Blowing out a breath, he swung around and fixed Sean in
a pointed stare. "I saw a kid at the ball field today."

Sean's grin turned to a frown of confusion.
"What were you doing at the ball field?"

"I stopped the car so I could find out why
Sandy was prickly." He shook his head. Sean didn’t need the full
explanation. "Thing is, DC stopped by to talk and I saw this kid.
DC told me his name is Ricky Brody MacKay."

The name registered on Sean's face
immediately. Regret clouded his eyes and he looked away, a muscle
working in his jaw. "Oh jeez. I'm sorry, Ry." He swung his green
gaze back to meet Ryan's. "You shouldn't have found out about him
that way. I should have told you when you got here."

One side of Ryan's lip
pulled upward in a sarcastic half-smile. "Or, I don’t know, maybe
someone should have told me fifteen years ago. Or let Mac know.
He
is
Mac's son,
isn’t he?"

Sean shook his head slowly. "No one's ever
called him that out loud. Speculation on that stopped ten or twelve
years ago. Still, if I had to say one way or the other. . ." He
shrugged. "I'd say there's a good chance."

The conversation DC had held with Gloria
Pratt the day before began to make sense. Regardless of his
paternity, Brenda was his mother. Was the kid a troublemaker like
Bull?

Looking up at Sean, Ryan knew he should let
it all go, but he had to know. "The fire at Lantree's yesterday . .
. DC told Gloria Pratt witnesses saw a kid with red hair."

Sean rubbed the back of his neck, a pained
expression crossing his face. "I don't think he's a bad kid, but
there are rumors he gets into a bit of trouble now and then."

Ryan bent and picked up a stone. He held it
loosely in his hand, weighing it while he weighed his thoughts
before flinging it against the side of the barn with a curse. The
crack of stone on wood echoed across the stockyard. "Can things get
any more screwed up?"

"Ry." Sean's voice was soft but firm. "Folks
around here were aware we knew where you were, how to get in touch
with you. And that included Brenda."

Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose. "So if
this kid is Mac's, she must have kept quiet for a reason."

Sean inclined his head and shrugged. "Once
the subject dropped, Ry, I never thought about it again
either."

Ryan grimaced. "I probably wouldn’t have
either." He turned to look back along the trail Sandy had taken.
"Sean . . . are there any other surprises?"

When his brother didn’t answer, Ryan looked
over his shoulder to meet Sean's steady regard.

"No. That's about it."

****

Letting Domingo open up, she gave herself
over to the ride, the feel of the hot sun on her back, the bunching
of the horse's powerful muscles. After the horse worked off his
excess energy, he slowed back to a fast walk and she began to
think.

Her thoughts ran to Ryan. How could she know
him so well but know next to nothing about him? When had Ryan been
in the army? Had he run away to join? What else had he done over
the years he'd been away?

Her thoughts drifted to Walt's words about
Ryan fighting oil fires. He did carry himself like the firefighters
she'd once worked with. Confidence without arrogance. She suspected
something big had happened to him on the job. Something to cause a
posttraumatic stress reaction the night before. Yet, he'd refused
to talk about it. His life was a graveyard of mysteries and
secrets. She might never find out about some parts of his life.
Could she live with that?

****

"Did you always want to be a fireman when
you were growing up?"

His sharp bark of laughter ended in a cough.
"No, Angel, I was going to be a rancher. I never wanted the city
life. Stuff just happened."

"Stuff" as in the reason he'd left the home
he loved, she realized.

"What's it like? Fighting fires?"

"It's part physical, part mental, and part
emotional. Sometimes you have to get intimate with a fire before
you can kill it. But you can't let yourself get caught up in it or
you'll start making . . . mistakes." He gave a wry chuckle. "Like
being where you shouldn't be when the building falls in."

Okay, she had to change the subject.

"What was the weirdest run you ever
did?"

He laughed again. "This is L.A. There've
been a lot of weird runs."

"Tell me."

"I think the strangest was the time the
house began shooting at us."

Sandy almost choked on the sip of water she
was taking. "Um, yeah . . . that would be pretty memorable. What
happened?"

"We got a call about a trash fire. Nothing
big, so we only rolled one unit."

A spasm of coughing interrupted him. The
water stopped refreshing her. Sandy pushed the bottle away, acutely
aware of the myriad of things she habitually took for granted, like
drawing her next breath or taking a drink of water. She was about
to tell Mick to stop talking when his voice came over the radio
again.

"We pulled up to this house and there was a
trash can on fire. But behind the trash can, the house was shooting
flames out of one of the bedroom windows. We couldn't get to the
house because the driveway was filled with clay pots of huge
burning marijuana plants."

"That's one way of getting rid of the
evidence," murmured Sandy. "And a good way to get your local
firefighters stoned on the job."

Mick chuckled. "Even green it did have a
very distinctive aroma. We found out later the grower's girlfriend
had come home from work early and found her boyfriend bang—ah,
engaged in sexual activity with her best friend. So she dragged his
plants onto the driveway, poured lighter fluid on them, and lit 'em
up."

"I guess the grower would have been
upset."

"When he jumped up to save his precious
plants, he knocked over a candle, which caught the bed on fire."
Mick drew another labored breath. "Which his companion tried to
extinguish with the bottle of whiskey on the nightstand. This
caught the curtains on fire, and that left her in a quandary, since
she wasn't dressed."

"Did she run out naked?"

"No. She grabbed a blanket which,
unfortunately for her kind of. . ."

"Caught fire."

"Yep, and that led to her running through
the house to escape it, spreading the fire behind her. In
particular, some curtains in a utility room leading to the garage
caught fire when she breezed through. We were just on the scene
when she came running out of the garage. About then she managed to
lose the burning blanket. Kind of made all of us pause to
appreciate why the grower had been engaged in sexual activity with
the woman."

Sandy's laughter echoed across the dispatch
office. His words painted the picture so well she felt like she was
there.

"By that time our backup had arrived and
we'd dispensed with the burning pot plants. They, ah, didn't fare
so well. We were just moving into position to assault the house
fire when we heard popping sounds from the garage. Seems the grower
had been stockpiling small arms and ammunition with the idea of
protecting his little farm. The bullets were exploding. We had to
take cover and pretty much watch the house become fully involved
before that ammo stopped burning off. No one got hurt so we all
cracked jokes while we waited it out."

"What happened with the naked woman? Did you
give her your coat?"

"Me? Heck no! I wasn't going to spoil the
view. My partner did. He's always had a chivalrous streak."

****

Domingo snorted, bringing Sandy's attention
to her surroundings. The acrid scent of burning grass clung in the
air. Domingo began to dance sideways, shying away from the trail
back to the ranch. He half-reared and she nearly fell off. Sandy
looked ahead, expecting to see the barns in the distance. Instead,
the only thing ahead of her was a writhing black serpent waiting
for her to ride into its jaws.

"Oh, no! Fire!" She kicked Domingo into a
run for home.

****

Chapter Twelve

Another paroxysm of coughing tore through
Sandy's body. Her throat was raw from the smoke she was already
breathing. Ash fell like a hot summer snowstorm. Agitated horses
raced back and forth along the rear fence of the paddock.
Fear-crazed bulls bellowed in the stockyard. The fire was burning
at the front of the property, so the animals were frightened but
safe. She turned Domingo into the enclosure next to the stable
without unsaddling him. Then she sprinted toward the fire.

The blaze was low and mean. It crept along
with an evil sputtering hiss, consuming the dried grasses in front
of it. In the fire's wake lay the blackened remains of what an hour
earlier had been a lush field of hay nearing harvest.

The fire pushed its way along the fence with
nothing to stop its steady progression to the homestead. Justin was
using a garden hose to wet down the roof against flurries of sparks
being carried on the wind, but if the fire reached the house, he
wouldn’t have a chance of stopping it. Gus Hanson and Sean
frantically pitched dirt at the base of the flames beating them
back. Sandy's jaw dropped when she recognized Ricky MacKay working
alongside them.

She finally spotted Ry working with the
volunteer fire department, expertly moving equipment from the
pumper truck, directing the firefighters with an air of command. He
pulled more hose and pointed to the hot zone close to the house.
One of the younger firefighters grabbed the end of the hose,
waiting for the pump to start sending water along the line.

Snapping to life, Sandy picked up an
abandoned shovel and went to work next to Ricky. It felt like a
losing battle right from the start. With every shovel toss of the
dry dusty earth onto the fire, a flame sputtered out, only to find
a fingerhold in some of the dry grass a little further on. Sandy
coughed against the stench of the heavy smoky air, longing for just
one drink of water.

Thrusting the thoughts of cool water aside,
she resolutely attacked each tendril of fire as it danced hungrily
on to the next patch of dried vegetation. It was impossible to
orient herself. She was aware only of the onslaught of gluttonous
flames and knew she had to drive them back.

She never noticed the shifting wind. Or the
change in the fire's tone from snapping puppy to snarling wolf. The
rusty amber glow swirled into a vortex of smoke and flame with
Sandy in its eye. Promising exquisite torture, the monster fanned
her with its hot breath. Greedy licks of orange and yellow
stretched toward her, as if eager for a taste of tender flesh.
Invisible flames charred the tips of the dried grass at her
feet.

Sandy stood transfixed by the beauty and
power of the blazing entity. Smoke stung her eyes and tears blurred
her vision. Heat seared her lungs, scorched along her nerve
endings, the pain breaking the fire's spell. She spun frantically.
Which way was out? Pillars of flame blocked her path in every
direction. Sandy was in the devil's domicile, with no idea which
direction led to safety and which led her deeper into hell.

Gasping for each breath, her vision began to
film over with a purple-red mist. Thickened blood pounded hard
through her carotid arteries, struggling to carry oxygen to her
brain. Her arms and legs were clunky, hard to move. Her neck didn’t
have the strength to hold up her head.

She was going to die here.

He came for her on the gush of artificial
rain, pushing back the firestorm; her personal white knight
rescuing her from the grip of the enraged dragon. She felt his
confident touch as he pulled her into the safety of his embrace. He
used his own body as her shelter against the ravenous inferno.

She followed his guidance with complete
trust. His muscles contracted around her as he launched them both
into a desperate leap through the waves of heat. They landed with
breath-stealing pain and he rolled them over the muddied ground, in
the wash of spray from the pumper truck.

Ryan pushed to his feet, hauling Sandy up
with him, swiftly pulling her away from the fire. She clung to his
arm as coughing wracked her body, nearly knocking her back to her
knees. Once she had her bearings, she nodded and stepped away from
him.

"I'm good," she shouted over the angry howl
of the fire.

He pointed her toward Justin. Sandy barely
had time to register this new, all-business side of Ryan before,
with a last quick look into her eyes, he left her side.

Through eyes that burned, Sandy watched Ryan
work. Here was a man who was used to facing down fire. He knew this
beast, knew exactly where to hurt it the most. When the wind
shifted again, pushing the fire back toward the path it had already
taken, the flames sputtered. Ryan and the other firefighters moved
in for the kill and the beast was slain.

A glass of cold liquid was pushed into her
hand. Sandy looked up to see Justin. Covering her hand with his
own, he guided the glass to her lips. Tart lemonade flowed over her
sandpaper tongue and nurtured her irritated throat.

"A little more," he encouraged after she
took one long pull. Only after several sips did he set the glass
aside.

Ryan's father gently wiped her eyes with a
bandana soaked in cool water. When she struggled to see what was
happening, he simply moved with her so she could watch while he
continued wiping her face.

"We've got some eye drops in the house
that'll help." He handed her the bandana and was gone.