Smoketree - By Jennifer Roberson Page 0,11

place for either of us. But she followed.

I saw Cass running from the Lodge with a bulky cylindrical object in her hands. She wore jeans, boots and a pajama top. Her face, highlighted starkly by the flames, was so tense she looked older than her years.

I tripped over something in my path and regained my balance before I fell. It was a heavy garden hose writhing in the dirt as someone near the barn dragged it close, whipping kinks out of it. Glad to be able to do something, no matter how inconsequential, I grabbed a handful of hose and tried to untangle the coils. I felt the vibration of the running water in my hands. So little water; so big a fire.

I could see figures silhouetted against the flames. They shouted and ran back and forth, heaving bridles and saddles and other bits and pieces of tack. Most of the barn had been utterly engulfed, but it burned from the rear. The doors were still clear, and it was there I saw Harper laboring under the weight of two saddles. He dumped them in the dust some distance from the barn and went back for more. I dropped the hose and ran.

I heard the horses as I neared the barn. For an odd moment I wondered how a wrangler could so concern himself with gear as to forget the horses, then I realized there were no animals in the barn. They wheeled and circled in nearby pens, squealing with fear, but safe.

“Stay back!” John Oliver shouted as I approached. I saw Cass darting by with her fire extinguisher. Little help, unfortunately, against a fire of this magnitude.

“It’s the hay,” Lenore said from my side.

I had forgotten her. “What?”

“Hay is highly combustible.” In the weird light and without her makeup, she looked much older. “A cigarette or a match would do it in a minute.”

“No one would be foolish enough to smoke in a barn.”

She shrugged. “I’d still put my money on a cigarette butt.” She shivered, although we were close enough to feel the tremendous heat of the fire. “I’m going back to bed. There’s nothing I can do here.” A sidelong glance included me. “Are you staying?”

That much I was sure of, and said so. Lenore merely tightened the belt of her silk wrapper and disappeared. But as I watched her go I saw yet another person keeping his distance. Patrick Rafferty. And he made no attempt to help fight the flames.

He was still fully dressed. I wondered how long he had stood there watching, unreadable eyes alert behind the glinting lenses of his glasses. Our glances locked across the brief distance; the tightening of his face mirrored my own.

The makeshift firefighters retreated at last. There was little more anyone could do. A garden hose and a fire extinguisher, augmented with wet saddle blankets, were not enough to save the barn. They trailed away from the burning structure in attitudes of weariness and despair. Harper had one arm draped over Cass’s shoulders in a comforting gesture, face smeared with smoke. John Oliver coiled the hose and dragged it away; someone had shut it off. His gray hair stood up in spikes, but the robe did nothing to hide the power in his blocky body. Kramer and Chesley gathered their respective wives and went back toward their cabins, talking animatedly.

Oliver joined me. His robe was water-stained and blemished by tiny spark holes burned into the expensive fabric. He flattened his hair with a broad hand and paused by me, glancing back at the barn. “No way,” he said briefly. “It’s a goner.”

“Did anyone call the fire department?”

“So I was told. But Reynolds said they’d never make it in time. I must agree with him.” He shook his head. “Write it off.”

“It’s still burning,” I protested as part of the roof and one wall fell in with a shower of sparks and ash.

“We did what we could,” he said. “There’s not much left to burn. It’ll go out by itself.”

Another portion fell in. I thought it still appeared highly dangerous, but perhaps Oliver was right. There was no outbuilding nearby to catch fire; no trees. Just the barn, and it was already gone.

Oliver idly rubbed a smear of ash from his gold wedding band. “The authorities will investigate, of course. It’s routine.”

Nathan Reynolds approached. Every inch of the man screamed utter exhaustion and mental anguish. Like Oliver’s, his clothing was a mess. Unlike him, Nathan was not so calm.

Cass broke