Page 38 of Light My Fire

She spotted him in her periphery, her father’s hands on March’s shoulders, wrenching him away. “Let her go!”

And then, glorious air as March abruptly released his hold, jerking to his feet and rounding on her father. She didn’t catch much as she sucked in wind through her burning throat.

“We should kill them both and let the fire burn them,” March said. He turned back and leaned over her.

She threw a punch, hoping to catch him in the jaw, but he pushed her away and picked up a gun. Her gun—the one she’d been lying on.

She heard it cock, the muzzle near her ear.

“March—don’t.” Her father’s voice sounded remarkably calm given the moment. But he’d always been that way. Calm. Even. Not prone to emotion and crazy bursts of impulse. “Let’s get out of here.”

The smoke had turned her vision hazy, but she could still make out her father standing a few feet away. Not looking at her as if he knew her, but angry, as if March was messing up his plans.

Maybe March didn’t know she was his daughter. Maybe—no, Tucker couldn’t be right.

“Fine,” March said and moved away from her.

She sat up just as March took off into the woods. Her father paused, just a moment, met her eyes.

“Sorry, Punk.” Then he fled after March.

Stevie stared after him, the smoke burning her eyes. Behind her, the fire crackled, hissing at her as she rolled over.

Tucker had gathered himself to his knees, groaning, and she crawled over to him. A hematoma rose on the side of his forehead. He touched his head to the ground. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

And then he was, retching right there, dry heaves, and she winced for him.

Turned away to give him privacy.

After a moment, he came up for air, wiped his mouth and collapsed on the ground.

She touched his back. “You okay?”

“I’ll live.”

Thank you.

Stevie spotted the gun Tucker had knocked out of March’s hand and scrambled over to it. Opened the chamber. “There’s one round left.” She stuck it into her belt. “We need to go.”

Tucker pushed to his feet, put a hand to his head. “We need to put this fire out before it grows.”

Already it had eaten up a ten-foot swath. She glanced into the forest. “But—”

“I know!” He rounded on her, his eyes thick with what looked like frustration and fire, reddened, tearing. “Iknow. I heard Skye scream as Rio grabbed her.” He leaned over, grabbed his knees. “I got her into this mess. If she hadn’t been doing my job, sitting watch—”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Stevie said.

He looked up at her. “Jed left me in charge. I’m the one who okayed the hand crew from the correctional facility.”

“Actually, the BLM made that call.”

“No. Don asked me specifically, and I thought—I’ll lick this and prove to Jed that I…” He shook his head, stood up straight. “Let’s get this fire out.” He gave her a look, something she interpreted as the end of the conversation, and she let it go.

“I spotted a couple shovels earlier in the shed,” he said and jogged over to retrieve them. “See if you can find a water source.”

“The McGintys have a pump,” she said and followed him, grabbing a tall bucket. She dumped out the debris inside and headed to the hand pump.

Tucker ran over to his pack and pulled out his bandanna, tying it over his nose and mouth. Then he cut a perimeter into the loam so fast that by the time the bucket had finished filling, he’d created a one-foot-wide line across the leading edge of the fire.

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