"What about you?"
"I'll use the wagon horse."
"You'll never keep up."
"I'll keep up."
They worked fast. No wasted words. Rachel mounted Matthew's bay. He freed the stronger wagon horse and climbed on bareback.
Behind them, someone in Cedar Ridge began ringing the church bell. Not for worship. For fire. The sound carried across the valley.
Rachel looked toward the foothills. Smoke was already rising higher. Thicker. Blacker.
Matthew came beside her. "Which road?"
Rachel pointed south. "Old irrigation track. Faster than the main road."
"You sure?"
"I know that land."
Matthew nodded. "Lead."
Rachel kicked the bay forward. For the first time since he had entered her life, Matthew Hail followed her without knowing where the road would end. Ahead of them, the country Rachel had spent 27 years holding together was beginning to burn. The irrigation track cut south through low ground where wagon wheels rarely went.
Rachel knew every bend. She had ridden it as a girl when the creek ran high and the main road washed out. Now smoke blurred the foothills until familiar shapes became shadows. The bay beneath her tossed his head.
"Easy."
Matthew stayed several lengths behind on the bareback wagon horse. The animal was slower, but he pushed without abusing it. Another gust came. Ash moved through the air like black snow.
Rachel pulled her scarf over her mouth. The fire had crossed Miller's Ridge. Matthew looked west. "Can you tell from the smoke?"
A line of orange appeared through the grass ahead. "Not the main fire. A spot fire."
Rachel turned sharply downhill. "This way."
Matthew followed. They splashed through a shallow drainage and climbed the opposite bank. The Hart farmhouse came into view.
Rachel's stomach dropped. The eastern field was still clear. The upper pasture was not. Fire ran along the dry grass beyond the barn, bending low under the wind.
The horses were screaming. George stood at the corral gate with an axe.
"Lillian!" Rachel shouted before she reached him.
George turned. His face was blackened with soot. "What are you doing here?"
"Where is she?"
"Helping with the stock."
"Where?"
George pointed toward the far pasture. Rachel looked through the smoke. She saw a pale dress.
Lillian. She was trying to drive three frightened horses toward the irrigation ditch.
"She's too far out."
George grabbed Rachel's rein. "I told her to stay at the house."
Rachel pulled free. "Then why is she there?"
"I don't know."
Matthew reached them. "How many animals are loose?"
"Six. Maybe seven," George said.
"Forget the horses," Rachel snapped.
George stared at her.
"Rachel—"
"Forget them."