Page 27 of Smoke Season

Emmett made a low noise of protest. Vivian cleared her throat and said, “Listen, True, why don’t you let me walk up there with you. I’d like to talk to the guy myself.”

True wavered. That ammo box burned a metaphorical hole in her pocket. Theyhadto spend another night out in the elements in order to stay on schedule, and staging a day here would keep them out of the worst of the smoke. They were at the mercy of the Martins’ hospitality, and maybe Vivian’s presence would smooth the way.

“All right,” she decided, and all three of them trudged up the riverbank.

The grounds were quiet as she crossed the lawn, the motion-detector light over the deck snapping on in the gloom as she approached the back door. Henry Martin appeared on the deck in his signature Carhartt coveralls, a halfhearted nod his only acknowledgment of her arrival.

“Hey, Henry,” True called once she was in earshot, forcing a lighthearted cheer to her voice. “Any room at the inn? We’ve had a long day of it.” Hopefully he could identify her through the haze. Though she probably stood a better chance of accommodation if he didn’t. True never sent business his way. She took away from it, really, floating guests right by his near-dilapidated lodge. But there was nothing she could do about this now. “I have two clients here who need to get out of the smoke.”

“We’re fixing to leave while we still got some light left in the day,” he told her flatly. Guess he recognized his least-favorite rafting guide through the thick air after all. “You oughta do the same.”

“Leave?” A quick flip of trepidation made itself known in True’s gut. Did Henry know something she didn’t? She hadn’t had any sat updates from Mel, and last she’d checked her radio, the only evacs had been ordered directly under Flatiron. “Think that’s necessary?” she asked. She tried to sound confident while checking that “bossy” tone he claimed grated so on his nerves.

“Wind is picking up,” Henry said, leaning back on his heels as though to illustrate this point, hands stuffed into the front pockets of his Carhartts. “The other rafting groups, they’ve all come through,” he added, even though he knew full well why True trailed last. “And like them, I’m not waiting around while this thing breathes down our necks.”

True’s mind spun through her options. “You taking the Tracker downriver, then?” It would hold six. Provided the Martins’ guests had already departed of their own accord, there would be room for True and the Wus. The outboard motor would shorten the journey to under anhour, putting them ahead of schedule, but that was better than being behind.

“And get stuck at the coast when they close our road? No thanks. We’ll drive.”

That trepidation turned to lead in True’s stomach. Next to her, Vivian seemed to tense as well. “Does he mean the road where we get picked up at the end?” she asked True.

She nodded, adding a muttered “But it’s fine.” Calling out to Henry, she said, “I haven’t heard anything about anyone closing the river road.” If they cut off access to the narrow, winding logging road that connected Carbon to Temple Bar, she could forget about her Friday handoff altogether. How would Fallows’s contact meet her?

“Just a matter of time,” Henry bellowed back. “Anyone with any sense in their head knows that.”

WouldFallowsknow it, then? The man was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of them.

Would he anticipate the closure of the road and have his contact planted at Temple early? Maybe True should do the same.

“Last I heard, they’d already ordered Level 3 evacs around Flatiron,” Henry carried on, as True’s mind spun, possibilities and contingencies leaving her dizzy. “Though nothing higher than a Level 2 anywhere around Carbon.”

True grasped at this last bit of intel. “You’re sure?”Pleaselet it be true, for the Bishops’ sake.Sam would make sure the girls got out, if it came to that, she told herself.

“That’s right. Fire’s headed west.”

Vivian filled in the rest for him. “Toward us,” she said, pivoting back toward True. She started to say something else, but Emmett cut her off.

“Do evacs mean evacuations? Does that mean wehaveto leave?”

They both waited for her answer, and when she couldn’t come up with a damned thing, Vivian gave her a hard look before shouting up to Henry, “So you’re driving out of here today?”

“Damned straight. And you should evac the river, too, lady.”

Vivian spun back to True. “Should we?”

Her tone made it clear that this time she required an answer. “I don’t ... let me think.” A low-grade panic had started to buzz in True’s ears. Fallows had made it abundantly clear to both her and Mel when they took on this nightmare partnership: the ammo box—and the Fallowses’ cash—was not to leave the Outlaw. Ever. But if what Henry was saying was true ...

“You keep going downriver,” Henry bellowed from the deck, finishing True’s thoughts for her, “you’ll be stranded at Temple Bar. No shuttles will be operating in this mess within a day, I can promise you that.” When Vivian didn’t answer, still looking to True instead, he shook a set of car keys in her direction. “You and the kid, you can follow us out in my old Ford. Bring Ms. Truitt, too, far as I care. But don’t let her tell you it’s all hunky-dory ahead. Not your problem if she’d rather string you along than return your deposit fee.”

That was it. Fury surged in True, snapping her back to attention. “Keep your truck,” she shouted, because she couldn’t sayFuck you, Martin, not with Emmett within earshot. “It probably won’t make it a mile anyway.” How dare he imply that she’d put her clients at risk just to save a buck?

She turned and strode back toward the raft, Vivian on her heels, protesting, Emmett behind them and near tears, from the sound of it. By the time they’d reached the river, True was no calmer.

“I wouldneverput you at risk,” she insisted. Too hard. With entirely too much emotion lacing her voice.

Vivian remained silent, because she didn’t have to say a word, did she? True, with all her protestations, was making it abundantly clear. Ofcourseshe had put them at risk ... had been doing so since the moment of the lightning strike. She could argue that she had no choice. She could tell herself that the task that carried her down the Outlaw for the Bishops was a current she couldn’t—wouldn’t—fight. But now it had caught up with her; she’d let Vivian down, had lost her trust, and thelevel of distress this caused True caught her by surprise, just like that odd surge of maternal instinct.

“Do you want me to off-load your bags?” she asked softly. Defeat had taken the wind out of her sails.

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