Cowboy's Special Woman. Sara Orwig
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the blonde talking to the man. She turned back to fight the fire.
Soon it seemed as if he had been fighting fire for hours. As sweat poured off his body, smoke burned his eyes and throat. Around him men yelled, and he could hear the rumble of the pumper trucks over the crackle and roar of the fire.
With his muscles screaming, Jake looked around and saw the blonde talking to Ben Alden again, the man who had carried the water around earlier. The man had his big, work-reddened hands on her shoulders.
Watching the man touch her possessively, Jake had an uncustomary annoyance and couldn’t understand his reaction. He didn’t even know the woman’s name and would never see her again after this morning, but he wished he could push Ben Alden’s hands off of her shoulders. Alden was probably her husband. Jake stared at the tall, rawboned man who was much older than she was. His brown hair was streaked with gray. He was solid muscle on big bones. He wore a T-shirt beneath coveralls. Then Jake noticed their profiles, the same straight noses and broad foreheads and he wondered if the man was her father.
Taking a deep breath, Jake returned to digging, throwing dirt on the fire, watching the flames spread with each gust of wind. Now three pumper trucks were working along the backside of the fire, but in spite of everyone’s efforts, they weren’t bringing the blaze under control. Long ago Jake had shed his shirt and sweat poured off his body. He thought of ice and longed for a cold shower and a cold drink.
The ranch house and other buildings were in view now. Choking and coughing, he felt on fire. His hands were raw, and he had to stop for water. He headed toward the flatbed truck with the water coolers, reaching first to pour a bucket of water over himself.
He spotted the blonde, still struggling to swing a gunnysack and he suspected she must be about to drop from the exertion. He picked up a paper cup and the cooler and walked over to her, catching her arm.
She turned, her face smudged with soot. Her T-shirt was plastered to her body from perspiration. Wordlessly he filled the cup and held it out to her. She looked dazed, and he took her arm to lead her to the pickup.
With shaking hands, she grasped the cup and gulped the water. “Thanks,” she said, staring at him while he tilted the cooler and refilled her cup.
“Maybe you should go up to your house and get your little girl out of there and save what you can.”
“Shortly after I left, my sister Patsy took Katy and Tuffy, our dog, to her house. She packed some of Katy’s things.” Maggie looked at the fire. “I’m needed more here.”
“We’re not going to stop it,” Jake said. “Go save some of your clothes and furniture. I’ll drive you up there and help. Come on. None of us can stop this inferno unless it rains or the wind changes and those possibilities look unlikely.”
When he took her arm, she hesitated. “Come on,” he urged. In silence she walked with him. “Which pickup is yours?” he asked.
She stared at him blankly and then looked around, pointing to a black pickup parked in a line of pickups. “Keys,” he said, holding out his hand.
“I can drive.”
“Give me the keys. You can catch your breath.”
As she handed over the keys, they walked to the pickup. He drove through a wall of smoke again until they were beyond it.
“Our house,” she said softly as they approached her home. “My grandfather built this house.”
“Was that your husband you were talking to?”
“No.” Her head swung around and she looked at him for a moment as if she had to think back to remember. “He’s my father. My husband and I are divorced.”
“Sorry.”
“I came back home last year to live with my dad when my mother died.”
“I don’t know your name.”
“Maggie Langford.”
“I met your dad when he brought me some water. He’s Ben Alden,” he said and she nodded. Jake pulled to a stop by the back door and climbed out. She was already out and sprinting for the back door.
“Anything in particular I can get for you?”
“Yes. If we can save it, there’s some furniture that has been handed down through the generations.”
When he followed her inside, all her dazed manner vanished as she began to briskly issue orders.
As he secured the last bit of a second load of scrapbooks, clothing and furniture, Jake glanced over his shoulder and his stomach knotted at the proximity of the blaze. The house, barn and all outbuildings seemed doomed. He heard an engine and when he looked around, the three pumper trucks came down the lane, and her father drove a tractor along the side of the road. Firemen spilled from the trucks and ran to the house with fire retardant blankets to toss over the furniture. In minutes Ben Alden plowed a broad swath on the south side of the house, and then he crossed the road to plow west of the barn and around the other structures.
“You get this pickup out of harm’s way. I’ll stay and help here,” Jake said.
“I want to get some saddles from the barn,” she answered. “Thank heaven the horses are out of there!” Jake jogged beside her as she trotted to the barn. When she stopped inside, her brow furrowed. “Dad’s stuff…” As her voice trailed away, she looked stricken.
“What do you want out of the barn?” Jake said briskly, knowing they were running out of time. Crackling and roaring, the fire was much closer. The wind was as high as ever and sparks constantly were caught in gusts, flying away to start new blazes.
“Everything,” she said quietly. She gave a small shake of her shoulders. “Those saddles,” she said, pointing, and Jake ran to get what she asked for. He carried out three saddles and put them in the pickup.
In minutes the blaze approached the barn.
“Get the pickup out of here,” Jake shouted to her. “If you don’t, you’ll lose everything and the pickup, too.”
She climbed in and was gone as more men came into view. Jake heard a shout and saw a fireman pointing. He turned and saw the first lick of flame curling on the barn roof. Jake swore, grabbing up a shovel.
Creating a barrier, the drive cut through between the house to the east and the barn, the garage, the bunkhouse and the sheds to the west, so firemen moved to widen the swath of wet, plowed ground between the barn and the house to try to save the house. Maggie’s father plowed furrows, riding in widening strips while everyone battled the blaze.
When Jake spotted Maggie back with the firefighters, he worked his way toward her. “You could still get another carload of your belongings out of the house if you want. I’ll help.”
She shook her head. “No, we’ll try to save the house. I’d rather—”
“Maggie, did you get the trunks out of the barn?” her father called, driving the tractor up beside them. Jake glanced at the barn and saw the whole building was burning now.
“No, I got the saddles.”
“I’m getting them,” her father said, sprinting toward the barn.
“Dad!” Maggie started after him, but Jake grabbed her arm.
“I’ll go,” he said and raced after her father who had already disappeared inside the barn.
Jake yanked down his bandanna and tied it over his nose. As he ran inside he put an arm up to shield his face, trying to hold his breath and not inhale the thick smoke. All around him, fire roared and he couldn’t see through the smoke.
Then a figure loomed up before him. “Take this,” Maggie’s father shouted and thrust a small trunk at Jake.
“Sir, this building is going to go!”
“Get