LITMIR.BIZ

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make it any better. It was like driving through a pea-soup fog that stank of burning pitch. It was as if he could have driven off the end of the world at any moment.

      The command center at the top of the pass was a hive of activity, but this morning almost all the faces were new. George Griffin was still there, though, handing over the reins to his replacement.

      Sam parked, letting the other guys out to go to their own cars. He went over to George and asked, “What’s the news?”

      “Not good.” George sighed. His eyes were red from the smoke, and his face had a gray cast to it. Most of the faces did. Soot was settling everywhere. “We’ve got four different fires burning now, maybe twenty-five hundred acres each. Hard to tell how bad it is right now, though.”

      It certainly was. Once again the pall of smoke concealed the fires and most of the valley.

      “Go on home,” George said. “Get some sleep. We’re going to need all the rested help we can get later.”

      That didn’t sound good, Sam thought as he headed back to his truck. Not good at all. He didn’t have any experience with forest fires, but he’d read some about them. Fighting them was never easy, and in a place like this, with no road access to the burning area, it was even worse. Everything out there was fuel.

      The air stirred a little, and fine ash sprinkled over him. He hardly noticed it; it had been happening all night. Right now he needed his bed and about ten hours of sleep. He figured he could only allow himself six or seven, though. He would have to get back up here as soon as he could.

      “Hi.” Mary stepped toward him, looking as gray as the rest of them in the dim morning light. Her eyes, too, were red-rimmed and watery looking.

      “You’re still here?” he asked.

      She nodded. “I promised your father I’d make sure you got back here safely.”

      “My father?” Cripes. Just what he needed to think about right now. Anger stirred in him, a not-quite-sleeping beast. “What the hell does he care?”

      “He seems to.” She shrugged. “Can I hitch a ride to town? No car.”

      “Sure. Yeah, sure.” He opened the passenger door for her, then slammed it after she’d slid onto the seat. His father. Of all the damn things…

      The man hadn’t given a single damn about him in fifteen years, at least. Why the hell was he concerned about Sam’s health now?

      A show, maybe? Perhaps it was uncomfortable for a minister of God to have people know he wasn’t even speaking to his son. That could well be. Make it look as if it was all Sam’s fault. As far as Elijah was concerned, everything was Sam’s fault anyway, and always had been.

      But it was way too late for the prodigal son routine. Way too late.

      Sam headed the truck down the winding road, taking the corners just a little too fast.

      “Sam?” Mary spoke. “Are you okay?”

      “Yeah. What kind of crap is he shoveling, anyway?”

      “I don’t know. Are you sure it’s crap?”

      He glanced at her, his eyes still burning. Just the smoke, he told himself. “Yeah, I’m sure. He’s the man who called me the day after my wife’s funeral and told me her death was a punishment for my sins.”

      “Oh, no!” Mary’s tone was full of distress. “Oh, Sam.”

      He took the next corner practically on two wheels and forced himself to slow down. Maybe he didn’t care if he died, but he cared that Mary didn’t. “I’m sorry I missed dinner,” he said, changing the subject.

      “It’s okay. Maggie told me you were up here. The fire’s more important.”

      “Thanks for understanding.”

      “There’s nothing to understand.”

      But he couldn’t leave the subject of his father alone. It was like a scab that itched, and he couldn’t ignore it. “What did he say to you, anyway?”

      “Elijah? Not a whole lot. He doesn’t seem like a very talkative man.”

      “Huh. That’s a surprise. Used to be he could never shut up. Always thundering about something and never listening.”

      “Maybe he’s improved with age.”

      Sam wasn’t even going to toy with that idea. Elijah was Elijah. Lions didn’t turn into lambs. “That’s about as likely as a leopard changing its spots. Besides, what’s one of the first things he said to you?”

      “Something about the books I use to teach literature.”

      “Exactly. Give him until the school year starts, then he’ll be out to cleanse the school library.”

      “I hope not.”

      Sam shook his head and braked for another turn. “Waste of effort. He’ll do it. He’ll also probably try to close down the X-rated video rental room at Baker’s Video Rental. Not that I like those things, but…”

      “I always thought it was good they put those tapes out of sight where the kids can’t find them.”

      “Me, too. It shows some responsibility, without interfering with people’s choices. And it’s all soft-core, anyway.”

      A little giggle escaped her. “You’ve checked it out?”

      He sent her a sour look. “Only in my official capacity. Somebody complained that they were renting child pornography.”

      “Were they?”

      “Of course not. The woman who complained hadn’t even been in the store. She’d heard it from someone, who’d heard it from someone else. You know how that goes. Anyway, the stuff they’re renting is pretty much on the level of an R-rated movie, just more of it.”

      “Well, I’ll be the first to admit I don’t understand the fascination for those things. But then, I’m a woman.”

      “I’m a man,” he said, stating the obvious. “I don’t read girlie magazines, either.” Then, unable to resist, he added, “Why settle for pictures if you can have the real thing?”

      He heard her gasp; then a deep laugh escaped her. “You are wicked, Sam Canfield. Wicked, wicked.”

      “So my father always said.” But this time he said it without bitterness. Somehow Mary’s laughter had taken the sting out of her teasing words—and the sting out of remembering his father. He wished it would last.

      As they approached her house, she said, “Why don’t you come in for breakfast?”

      “I don’t want to trouble you.”

      “It’s no trouble. I’m an old hand at fast breakfasts. I can microwave bacon and some sausage biscuits, and make coffee in a jiff. And you need to eat something.”

      He couldn’t argue with that. Nor, he realized, did he want to. Exhausted as he was, he was still too wound up to hit the hay. He figured it might take him an hour or so to wind down from working all night. It always did.

      “Thanks, Mary. If you’re not too tired.”

      “I’m as wired as can be. I got my second wind along about 5:00 a.m. And I’m hungry, too.”

      So he parked in her driveway. For an instant he wondered if his father was watching from across the street, then told himself he didn’t care. It made him uneasy, though, that Mary had intimated his father was showing interest in him. In Sam’s experience, Elijah grew interested only when he believed his son was messing up.

      The air in town was hazy now, not as bad as up in the pass, but the effects of the fire were reaching here, too. The morning sun, heralding yet another dry day, looked pale through the smoke, and yellowed.

      “It

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