Dorothy Garlock - [Tucker Family] (12 page)

Charlotte staggered; the soaking-wet blanket was so heavy! She wondered if hauling buckets wouldn’t have been easier.

“I’ve got a new blanket!” she shouted, but no one appeared to hear her.

What am I supposed to do now?

Tentatively, she took a few steps closer; all of the men had their backs turned to her, so she couldn’t tell who any of them
were. Grime and sweat caked their shirts, their hats low on their heads. So intent were they on their tasks that Charlotte
couldn’t get their attention.

I’m not just going to stand here and do nothing…

To the right of the man closest to her, the fire had gotten to a small sagebrush bush, lighting up the full length of its
small branches and the dry grass at its base. With the still-soaking-wet blanket clutched in her hands, Charlotte moved closer,
intent to do her part.

Tentatively at first, she began mimicking the motions
of the ranch hands beside her; with her hands at the blanket’s corners, she quickly brought it swinging over her head and
crashing down on the hot, burning grass. Water flew in a widening arc, dousing Charlotte but also tamping down the bright
flames. Over and over she swung, growing proud of herself as she saw her actions making a difference.

When one spot was taken care of, she moved to attack another. Soon her shoulders began to ache with the strain of moving the
heavy blanket. But Charlotte didn’t allow that to slow her down; she had actually begun to feel a sense of happiness course
through her.

Suddenly, she bumped into something. Her first thought was that she had moved too closely to where the other men were working,
but then a sharp pain flared in her elbow and forearm. Spinning, Charlotte was horrified to find that she had backed into
the burning sagebrush bush. Yelping, she jumped away fast, dropping the blanket and swatting at her bare arm.

Quickly, the pain subsided, but it was then that Charlotte grew truly afraid; backing into the bush hadn’t just singed her
skin.

It had set her skirt on fire.

C
HARLOTTE COULD NOT BELIEVE
what she was seeing; the hem of her skirt burned brightly, flame hungrily devouring the fabric. Even as the sharp, pungent
smell of her burning clothes rose to her nose, mingling with the dark clouds of smoke billowing all around her, she found
herself in such shock, such complete denial of the pain she began to experience, that she was incapable of moving.

Put it out, you fool! You’ve got to put it out!

Breaking through the fear that paralyzed her, Charlotte began frantically slapping at the growing flames with her bare hands.
Pain ran across her skin, a blistering heat, but still she kept on. Terrified, she saw the blaze grow despite her efforts,
as if fighting the fire only spread it farther across her skirt.

Without warning, Charlotte was struck hard from the side and violently knocked to the ground, the air nearly
driven from her lungs. A heavy weight fell on her legs, pinning her down. Hysterically, she began kicking her feet and flailing
her arms in a desperate attempt to get free.

“Hold still, dammit!” a man’s voice barked angrily. “If you don’t quit moving, I can’t help you!”

The gruff words stilled Charlotte’s thrashing movements. Rough hands started slapping at her legs. It hurt!

What in heaven’s name is happening to me?

Blinking rapidly through the thickening smoke, Charlotte tried to regain some semblance of control over what was happening
to her. The man’s weight and the way he was hitting her sent flares of anger rippling across her chest, so she began to fight,
kicking and flailing her limbs.

“I told you to hold still!” the man shouted. “It’s almost out, but—”

Lashing out wildly, she accidentally brought one of her knees up into the man’s jaw. The sound was horrible, bone against
bone. In an instant, he came crashing down on top of her, his chest landing squarely on her own, the brim of his hat bluntly
striking against her forehead.

“What in the hell did… you do that for?” the man gasped.

Even with his face shadowed by his hat and the dark, swirling smoke, covered in streaks of soot and drenched in sweat, Charlotte
recognized Owen, and her heart skipped a sudden beat. While he rubbed his aching jaw, his green eyes glared at her accusingly
and with… something else… Though she had sat beside him in the truck, she’d never
been
this
close to him before. Ridiculous as it was at this moment, she thought,
He is so handsome!

“Ow-Owen?” she stumbled.

“Is that the way you thank a fella for saving you?”

When Owen spoke, his face was so near hers that Charlotte could feel his warm breath upon her skin. Even though he was a mess
from fighting the fire, even though she had been burned and could have died in the fire, there was something about the situation
they found themselves in that triggered a feeling in her heart that was different, nearly impossible to explain.

Owen’s lips were so close to her own that Charlotte found herself in a struggle to resist leaning up and lightly, delicately
touching them. In that instant, Owen looked at her and she knew, she
knew
, that he had had the same thought. His normally rough exterior, made worse by the fire, softened, she saw it in his eyes,
but then like the flames all around them, it flickered before disappearing.

Before she could protest, Owen was up and off her, wiping his hands against his shirt as if to remove her imprint from his
body.

“Charlie! What in the hell are you doing out here?” he shot out accusingly, swatting his dirty hat against his thigh.

Just as she had been unable to act when she had found herself on fire, Charlotte found herself incapable of replying to Owen’s
biting, angry words. Lying on the ground, she was only aware of the scene around her; for the first
time since noticing her clothes were on fire, she saw the fire; the bush she had brushed against was now completely engulfed
by flame and all of the dried grasses around it crackled and roared, the blaze reaching higher and higher toward the obscured
summer sun somewhere above, the heat growing with every inch the fire consumed in its relentless march forward. She wondered
which was angrier, the wildfire or Owen.

“You could’ve been killed!” he snapped.

“I was only trying to help…”

“Catching yourself on fire ’cause you’re too damn foolish to stay away from a burning bush is a hell of a way to help out!”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“What you intended doesn’t matter a damn bit,” Owen snapped, cutting her off. “All that matters is what you did, which was
nearly get yourself burned alive, behaving like a stupid city girl who ain’t got the sense to stay away from where she shouldn’t
be!” With every word, he grew more agitated, stabbing an accusing finger at her as if he were a lawyer and she on trial, charged
with murder. “It’s enough that I’m fighting to save this godforsaken ranch without having to look out for you, too!”

“Then maybe you should have just let me burn,” Charlotte answered sarcastically.

Owen paused, only for an instant, before saying, “Maybe I should have.”

Unable to control her wavering emotions, Charlotte
turned away quickly, not wanting Owen to see the tears that welled in her eyes. Owen’s harsh words hurt as surely as if he
had slapped her across the face. Shame colored her cheeks; it wasn’t entirely sadness that wounded her, but anger that she’d
allowed herself to think him a better person, someone capable of feelings she couldn’t even fully describe.

But now that hope had been shattered.

The worst part was knowing that some of what Owen was saying was the truth; she had nearly gotten herself killed and, at the
same time, she had taken him away from fighting the blaze. If only she hadn’t been so stubborn, if she had listened to what
John and Hale had tried to tell her, she wouldn’t have found herself in such a predicament. All she had wanted was to help,
to do her part to save whatever she could for the people who had been kind enough to take her in and make her feel welcome
in Oklahoma. She’d made a mistake, that was all, but now it felt as if she couldn’t have made a worse one if she’d tried.
It would have been horrible enough to have had to be rescued by any of the other ranch hands, but for it to have been Owen
made it much, much worse. That he had to be so callous, unforgiving, made it nearly unbearable.

“Why did it have to be you to come to my rescue?” she muttered under her breath.

Seemingly unaware of Charlotte’s vulnerable state, Owen was relentless. “Get on back to the house before you cause more trouble.”

Without another word, he turned and headed back to fight the blaze. Charlotte stood on wobbly legs, didn’t even bother to
brush her smoldering skirt, and did as he said, heading back to the ranch house.

Her eyes watered, but not just from the smoke.

Charlotte sat on the steps of the ranch house porch, watching as the sun lowered toward the western horizon. Because of the
lingering smoke hanging in the evening sky, the colors were spectacular; the orange and reds were deep and vibrant, cascading
into a purple where the rays struck the higher, darker sky as parts of the night mixed with what remained of the day.

Usually, the first stars would have begun to shine, but they were obscured tonight, leaving only the swollen moon, already
at its zenith, to stand watch over her miserable mood.

For the most part, the fire had been put out. Enough of the black smoke had cleared for Charlotte to see the pair of small
barns and the corral that had been destroyed by the fire; only charred husks still remained, smoldering but no longer aflame,
save for the occasional flare-up that was quickly extinguished.

What little breeze there was carried with it the telltale signs of the wildfire’s aftermath: the sharp, biting smell of wood
that had been charred into ruin, the insistent shouts of tired men still pouring buckets of well water and dirt
onto flames that still fought to stay alive, and even the occasional laugh or two, now that the worst had past.

But for Charlotte, the shame of her failure still stung as freshly as if it had just happened, maybe even worse. When she
finally managed to return to the ranch house, she discovered that the women were doing all that they could: bringing food
and drink to replenish the firefighters’ strength, phoning Sawyer for all the assistance that could be mustered, and, particularly,
tending to the wounded as they straggled up from the fire. The women rushed Charlotte to the parlor and pressed a damp, cool
cloth to her burn. She briefly protested, claiming that she was capable of helping, but she was told to stay put and regain
her strength. Exhausted and downhearted, Charlotte hadn’t argued much, but just sat down. Eventually, she had made her way
outside.

“Looks like it’s almost under control.”

Charlotte nodded in agreement as Hannah sat down beside her. She had been one of the first to arrive from Sawyer after receiving
a call at the lawyer’s office and had worked tirelessly ever since.

“Once, when I was a girl, there was a fire in Colorado that nearly burned the whole town to the ground. It got out of control
so fast that there wasn’t time to react. We were lucky today. If there’d been a stiff wind…”

Charlotte could only stare into the distance, watching the men work.

Although Charlotte knew that Hannah desperately wanted to ask her what had happened, she never asked directly.

Ever since she had left Owen and begun trudging back to the house, Charlotte had replayed his words over and over again in
her mind, each time feeling a sting of shame and anger. How could he possibly speak to her in such a way? Confusion roiled
her thoughts. He had spoken to her so differently in the truck, with an understanding and compassion she couldn’t begin to
explain or understand, but then, after he had put out her burning skirt, he had behaved like an angry husband when all she
had been trying to do was help.

“I’m sure you were just trying to help,” Hannah said, reading her thoughts.

“I was, but…” she trailed off.

“You didn’t let anyone down because of what happened.”

“Other than myself.”

“That’s just ridiculous! Whether we want them to or not, accidents
do
happen,” Hannah argued, placing her hand on Charlotte’s. “All you wanted was to do your part. You didn’t plan to get burned.
For heaven’s sake. No one will hold that against you.”

“Someone does…”

“If that someone is my brother, you just go right ahead and wallop him a good one or”—she smiled mischievously—“I could just
do it for you.”

“I don’t think he deserves something that bad.”

“Then you don’t know Owen very well.”

Charlotte was struck by just how honest Hannah’s words were; she truthfully didn’t know much about Owen Williams. Everything
she had experienced so far was full of contradictions; he was rude and sarcastic one moment, then surprisingly kind and caring
the next.

It suddenly occurred to Charlotte that if there was anyone who had a chance of explaining Owen to her, it would be Hannah.
After all, they were twins, a fact that would undoubtedly give her special insight.

But just as Charlotte was about to ask a question, to begin trying to fathom whatever it was that was inside Owen, she saw
Del Grissom and Dave Powell making their way up the dirt drive to the ranch house.

While both men looked to have suffered injuries from the fire, Dave appeared to be much the worse for wear. Gingerly he cradled
one of his hands near his chest as he leaned on Del for support.

“Evenin’, ladies,” Dave called. “This where a fella gets fixed up?”

Hannah was up from the steps in an instant, hurrying to their side. She took Dave from Del’s shoulder, careful not to bump
against his arm, and asked, “What on earth happened to you?”

“You’d reckon I’d have learned that you pour the water out of the bucket, ’stead of lettin’ it try to jump in ’longside.”
He chuckled, wincing at his own macabre sense of
humor. “Just a dumb ole cowboy who don’t know no better than to stick his hand in the fire, is all.”