Firestorm - Ellie Masters Page 0,97

took all their lives. But I see relief, resilience, and that dogged determination to stare death in the face and survive.

Nobody speaks about what could’ve happened. There’s no place for that kind of shit in our line of work.

“Okay ladies,” Smokey says, “we’ve got some dirt to put behind us. Base camp is sending a truck up to the fire road, but it’s still gonna be a hike.”

We hump well over two clicks. HQ guides us to a fire road where we meet up with our transportation and cram into the open bed. We bump and jostle our way down to base camp while the fire rages on the ridge behind us.

New men will hold the line.

For us, the day is done, but not the fight.

It takes ten more days before I get to head home. Two weeks since I left Evelyn. I’m both excited and nervous to see her again. I’ve been out of touch, with no idea how things are going.

27

Evelyn

To fill my time, and avoid thinking about Asher and the danger he’s in, I revert to my comfort zone.

Oddly, it’s a mix of old and new.

Some of my favorite memories growing up revolve around the horse camps I attended as a girl. There’s something wildly freeing about being on the back of a powerful animal yet completely in control.

Mostly in control.

There’s a fine balance between the will of the horse and that of its rider.

I spend the first four days of Asher’s absence working with Cage in the barn, taking care of the horses, mucking out their stalls, and spoiling Asher’s stallion rotten with treats of carrots, sugar cubes, and apple cores. He’s an amazing animal with a summer coat of the sleekest midnight black. And he’s tall, much taller than the horses I’m used to riding.

Mornings, we spend in the small fenced pasture behind the barn. Cage reminds me not to let Knight join the mares in the main pasture, and watches over me. I must pass some kind of test, because after the fourth day, Cage leaves me to tend to the horses alone while he and Brody meet with La Rouge Vineyard’s foreman to discuss the upcoming harvest and what to do with the burned acreage.

I’ve yet to see the damage and have been itching to explore for days. I spend most of my time outdoors, because the house feels like a cage. The call of the outdoors is too strong to ignore, and the new me isn’t one to let that go unanswered.

I’m getting a little stir crazy. It’s time to get out.

Knight gives me a look when I take him out of his stall and tie him up beside the tack room. It’s easy to figure out which saddle is his. It’s the one that’s most worn. He stamps his rear foot when I cinch down the saddle, but quiets to the soft cooing of my voice.

I’m comfortable around horses and can tell he’s a bit high-strung. That’s fine by me. I won’t push him and let him know I’m no threat. I’m also not so stupid that I take him for a long ride the first time out. We’re still in the ‘getting acquainted stage’ where we’re building mutual trust.

Knight and I get to know each other better in a small fenced ring. We begin the morning with him wearing his saddle and me encouraging him to trot in a circle around me. I spoil him rotten, more with verbal praise than the sugar cubes he can’t seem to get enough of. He knows where I hide them and nibbles at the pockets of my jeans.

By noon the fifth day, I mount him for the first time. His eyes roll and he stamps nervously, but I coo to him and rub at the soft spot he loves behind his ears. That first day, all we do is trot in circles inside that small enclosure. He tries to buck me off, but I hang on and keep up my soft cooing, reassuring him that I won’t hurt him.

The next day, I take him to the smaller field. He almost throws me again, but I continue in soft, reassuring tones telling him how amazing and wonderful and awesome he is. He eats it up and I’m confident he’ll let me ride him without him unseating me.

Today is the perfect time to put our new friendship to the test.

Brody and Cage aren’t around. They’re busy, waking at the ass crack of dawn and returning