Fireworks

by songbird1970

Memories of an old foe rear their head as someone begins setting fires in the hills above the cabin.

Fireworks A cabin tale

This story follows "A Love for All Seasons"

Summer was in full swing and the lake was the place to be. Blue skies and seventy-five degrees welcomed late nights out and early mornings in. The lake was in frequent use, as were the hot tub and bar-b-que pit. With nothing but time on their hands, the family Flynn opened wide the doors of The Flying Monkey and made ready to welcome the throng.

June had been one of the best in recent memory. It was also more quiet and sedate than they could remember.

Following the wedding Lydia and Brian, and the subsequent extended visit with the groom's Jersey family, the newlyweds took a honeymoon camping trip to the far side of the mountain.

Children and grandchild returned to work and school and while Sharon and Andy missed them they reveled in the serenity of silence.

June, however, brought a new freedom. While the days grew steadily warmer, they were always tempered by the breezes off of the water. That made for inviting outings, afternoons in the boat, mornings fishing, and hiking. A world of simple pleasures beckoned.

Andy and Sharon, having always been active and on the go, had become avid hikers. From their daily morning trek up to the top of the hill to more challenging trails, they'd grown to embrace the outdoors.

Provenza, Andy's former partner and Sharon's second in command, stuck to the simple path around the lake and that he only endured to pacify his wife's never-ending quest to better is health.

Often they were joined by friends Mark and Anne, who lived next door. They had followed the others, leaving the mean streets of LA for a life on the lake.

While none of them had ever imagined such a retirement, they could envision nothing else now. After years of facing the worst humanity could muster, they felt rewarded with simplicity and quietude.

Evenings around the fire pit were a favorite. Often, the entire groups shared a meal, followed by a warm fire, a shared blanket, and cool mountain air.

This particular evening found them taking supper indoors. Maggie, Sharon's mother, was slowing down. At very nearly ninety, it was easy to understand. She still contributed daily, insisting on helping with the cooking. She spent more time on her own, however, preferring the seclusion of her room. Her memories were kept alive there.

On this evening, though, dinner was on the table as those assembled, the Flynns and Provenzas, along with Maggie, discussed the upcoming July Fourth visit from the grandchildren. Come the weekend, the house would be filled to the brim. The only thing better than Lakeside serenity, was the melody of a child's laughter. They could hardly wait.

Their youngest blessing, five month old James William Raydor would be making his first visit to the lake. Born on Valentine's Day, he was a tiny thing. His doting parents, Rick and Holly, and big sister, two year old Willa, had stayed close to home, avoiding the cold temperatures. His grandparents, both sets, had made the drive to Los Angeles more than once, including the occasion of his birth. This would, however, be his introduction to the others, including his great-grandmother, Maggie, who was quite moved by the tribute to Will.

Rooms were readied from fresh linens to fresh flowers. They'd purchased enough food to feed an army. Games and puzzles were laid out for the kids and plans were afoot for an epic display of fireworks.

After dinner and a visit, they scattered to their own activities. While the others preferred to retire to their rooms for a book or a movie, Sharon and Andy made their way out back for a quiet walk around the lake.

Before they reached the head of the trail, they spotted Lydia and Brian, returning from a stroll of their own. The older couple paused and turned toward the table, taking a seat, affording the newlyweds a bit of privacy.

"Way to go, kid," Andy said under his breath.

His nephew and his new wife were sharing surprisingly innocent kisses on the far side of the deck.

Sharon gave him a playful shove in admonition.

"Oh hush," she said. "They're newlyweds. They're young and in love. Besides, what did you have in mind once we got to the top of the hill?"

"Exactly what they are doing," he admitted. "Making some fireworks of our own. Which is why we need to get a move on."

She leaned in and pressed a firm kiss to his smiling lips.

"Think that will hold you?"

Andy snaked an arm around her waist and tugged her closer. He kissed her back, far more insistently before husking in her ear "or we could just skip the walk."

She hummed in appreciation.

"No need. They've gone inside."

He grumbled in disappointment.

"Short walk, long bath?" she offered.

"Now you're talking, Flynn," he said, sealing the deal with another short kiss.

"Alright, men," said Andy. "The spot we're looking for is about thirty minutes out. Are we up for the hike?"

A chorus of Yep's, You bets, and Let's go's came in reply, and they were off.

The first activity on order, according to grandson number two, Seth, was a hike up the hill to hunt for the trees and plants found in abundance around the lake.

Andy and Sharon had discovered a lush green meadow where the hillside plateaued. It was as high as they had managed to climb.

Seth, an avid scout, was eager to have a look. Thus, he followed his beloved Grandpa Andy, big brother Sam, cousins Flynn and Harold, and Uncle Drew, the high meadow their goal.

Since the family had begun to converge on the cabin by the lake, the boys had spoken of little more than getting outdoors. Andy was thrilled to oblige. Sharon, on the other hand, planned on little more than snuggling grand babies, namely the newest. Sweet Baby James, as he was called, was currently cooing in his grandma's lap, the pair of them as happy as clams. Between Ricky's parents and Holly's, little James would likely not be put down for the entirety of his stay.

Tucked closely into her sides were Willa and Sharon Rose, filling her in on their latest childhood adventures. While Sharon didn't absorb every word of their lightning fast chatter, she reveled in the music of their high, light little girl voices. It seemed like only a short time since Ricky and Emily had sounded just like them.

The little ones had been takeover by their grandmothers and great-grandmother Maggie, while Louie and Patrice put together a great pile of sandwiches and fresh veggies for lunch. The grown children got settled in, stuffing luggage and baby gear into their usual spots.

Nicole and Jeff hauled in bags of clothes, toys, and diapers, stashing it all in their suite of rooms at the back of the house. Emily and Greg did like wise. Rick and Holly left their two with Grandma and took their things up the road to Mark and Anne's place. With Lydia in a home of her own, they had the space. Sharon and Andy's was filling up. Drew's girlfriend, Melanie, would take the extra room, while Drew would bunk in his cousin Brian's guest room.

With Rusty, Lydi, and Brian working Hope House, Mark and Melanie volunteering for the day, and Ben working from home, then house was surprisingly calm. Andy and his boys weren't due back until late afternoon, having packed their own lunch for the day trip.

They assembled at the table when called. Maggie sat at the end, feeding little Andrew, while his parents, Emily and Greg, fixed their own plates. Sharon settled baby James into a rollable bassinet, situated beside her. With Sara in her lap, and Willa and Sharon Rose between her and Holly, she began cutting their food into bite-sized morsels for the girls and catching up around the table.

They were soon joined by Louie and Patrice, Greg and Em, Rick and Anne.

Sharon did love a full house.

They reached the meadow just over half an hour from the time they left home. The boys took off across the open ground while Andy and his son sat down and enjoyed the sight.

"Hey, Dad, I wanted to ask you about the house down the road, the rental you and Sharon fixed up."

Andy fiddled with his shoelace, smiling at the boys dashing across the meadow.

"Yeah? What about it?"

Flynn and Harold chased each other across the grass, tumbling and giggling, completely carefree. Ever the eldest of their generation, Sam watched over them as they played, as well as keeping an eye on Seth while he searched the environs for planets and leaves.

"Hey Grandpa," Seth called. "You should see this."

"Just a sec, pal!" he called, then turned to Drew. "What about the house?"

Drew laughed, "Nothing that can't wait, Dad. Go on."

Andy stood with a groan and shot his son glare when he chuckled at him.

"Funny guy," he said. "He better not have stumbled into Poison Ivy. I've already been through that with Provenza."

Drew laughed even louder.

Andy found Seth staring at the ground, hands on his hips, a scowl on his face.

They were just a few feet inside the clearing, surrounded by the bushes and foliage the boy sought. Scattered recklessly about the area were used matches and spent firecracker stubs.

"My Scoutmaster says you shouldn't use fireworks in the forest."

"Your Scoutmaster is right, pal. It can start a forest fire and those are hard to put out. Think of all these trees all burned up. Plus the houses at the bottom of the hill."

"Like our house," said the boy. "They didn't even clean up their mess. It's not good to litter."

"Nope, it's not," agreed his grandpa.

"Can you help me find my leaves?" Seth asked. "Then I'll clean this up."

Andy ruffled the boy's hair.

"You bet, kid."

With the little ones down for a much-needed nap, their parents finally had time to catch up. They visited about work, what their kids had been up to, their plans for the rest of the summer.

A buzz from her pocket alerted Sharon to an incoming text. Drawing her phone from the back of her jeans. She opened the message and smiled. Her husband had sent a number of pictures of the boys, from his son under a pile of small boys to a game of tag, a collection of leaves, a selfie with Seth under a tall pine. The last was of a pile of left behind trash, matches, a small yellow plastic bottle, and blackened cardboard rockets. He'd captioned the shot Some people.

Yes, they had seen that before. Their daily hikes, plus the longer ones they made from time to time, always afforded them sites worthy of a photograph. Unfortunately though, they also saw the occasional disrespect of their beautiful mountains. More than simple trash left behind, though, where the specific items in Andy's photo.

Fireworks, fire of any kind, were terribly foolhardy in the thickly forested areas of the mountain. More than one fire, sometimes deadly ones, where ignited by ill-placed campfires and fireworks. It was why they were prohibited in most areas of the region.

Shaking her head, she keyed off a response-That's a shame. Looks like you're having fun. Be safe, before showing Nicole the pictures of the boys.

"It's good to see them enjoying the outdoors," said Patrice.

"Yes," agreed Nicole. "During the school year, they are stuck indoors most of the time. After school, it's dance classes and scouts. At least the scouts get outside."

"Nicole and Jeff wisely limit their screen time, outside of school work," said Sharon. "Too many kids have their faces focused on a game console. Rusty used to be just as bad."

"It's all about balance, Jeff says," Nicole explained. "We can't pretend that the future isn't going to be tech-driven, but we can try to keep them well-rounded."

"Wise words," came Maggie's soft voice.

She carefully padded across the floor, a sleepy baby James against her shoulder. She gently patted his back.

"Someone wants his mama," she chuckled.

"He's hungry," said Holly. "Again."

Rick changed seats and settled behind her. When his grandmother set his son in Holly's arms, he wrapped his own arms around her to help support the baby. It was his way of being a part of the one thing only Holly could do.

She settled him at her breast, allowing his blanket to provide her a little modesty. As Holly preferred a quiet setting in which to nurse, they all lower their voices in deference to the little family. Rather old-school, Provenza excused himself, not that anyone cared. But he shuffled toward the kitchen.

The ladies quietly chatted, about nothing much, each remembering similar moments with their own babies. Sharon's grown son, with a boy of his own, was enough to leave her eyes brimming with tears.

Her mother took a seat beside her and reached for her hand. She knew the look in her girl's eyes. She felt the same, and then some. She was watching her daughter, watching her son with his own boy.

"What a legacy," said the old woman.

Sharon covered there joined hands.

"Thanks to you and Dad."

Baby James ate his fill before dozing off again. Anne crossed the floor and lifted him from Holly's arms.

"I'll put him down. Why don't you two go back to the house and take a nap of your own. I'll listen for the kids. You both look beat, and I'm sure you haven't had a moment to yourselves in months."

Rick pressed his lips to the back of his wife's head.

"What do you think? Just next door."

He knew she was loathe to be away from them, especially the baby. But her stepmom was right. They would rest better without listening for the baby to wake. Plus, they hadn't had any time alone.

"Okay. Thank you. That does sound good."

They stood and slipped on their shoes, slipping from the house hand-in-hand.

"Okay," said Ricky. "Our moms will look after the kids and will look after each other."

Pulling her toward him, he kissed her soundly, leaving no doubt about how he hoped to spend some of their time. After all, it was the season for fireworks.

Andy and the boys returned to the house with time to spare before supper. Louie and Mark were manning the grill and the family was scattered about the yard.

The boys found their folks, ready to tell them all about their day.

Seth took his leaf collection straight to his parents, eager to share what he found. He described the meadow, their picnic, and the trash they picked up off the ground.

Sam went right to his sister, Sharon Rose, and swept her into the air. She squealed with delight at his attention. He carried her over to where Nicole sad, little Sara resting in her lap.

"Trade you?" he asked, taking his newest sister from her so that she might enjoy the antics of Sharon Rose.

Lowering himself to the ground, he rested tiny Sara on his lap, making funny faces to coax a laugh from her.

Andy ambled toward wife and dropped to the ground beside her.

She had spread a blanket across the grass and was now playing patty-cake with her granddaughter.

"I take it the expedition was successful. Seth found what he was looking for?"

"He did," said her husband, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "He also cleaned up quite a mess up there. I don't know why folks can't just follow rules. They've got no business shooting off fireworks right in the thick of the woods. They're going to start a fire."

"We haven't had rain for a while either, which just complicates things. I don't know why they can't just be content with the fireworks display the town puts on. It's safe, controlled, and we can watch it from right here."

Agreed. It wasn't the first such discussion. The subject came up each year. Fireworks weren't sold in their part of the county, neither were they legal. Only controlled events by the town were permitted. There were simply too many hazards to sparks in the middle of the San Bernardino forest. Hopefully, things wouldn't get out of hand.

Brian and Lydia, and Drew and Melanie were taking supper with Rusty and Ben while the children enjoyed their grandparents' large lawn.

Steak and fish from the grill, along with vegetables prepared by Patrice, were on the menu, and the yard smelled terrific.

They stuffed themselves and, sprawled out on the lawn, watched the sun's slow descent behind the mountains. Then, under the weight of exhaustion of the very best kind, they deposited their trash on the way inside, smiling at the serenity of such a delightful day. Their beds were calling them. Without a doubt, they would slumber well.

Andy accepted their goodnights and thank-yous, as they passed him on the porch steps. He kissed cheeks, squeezed shoulders, and patted backs, all the while eyeing the horizon.

A quiet fell over the lawn as only the adults remained. Their children disappeared with their children, thoughts of baths and bed on their minds.

"Flynn," he heard and, turning his head, he found his old partner and friend watching him.

"Yeah?" he said, somewhat absent minded.

"What's on your mind? You're a million miles away."

And he responded with a nod of his head, eyes on the sky in the distance.

Provenza followed his gaze, spying a thick tuft of smoke rising from the wooded area across the water.

"Probably idiots playing with matches," and he muttered under his breath. "I don't have much patience with fire bugs, if you know what I mean."

Oh, he knew all right. They dealt with some of the worst minds in humanity, but Andy's own personal bogeyman, Bill Croelick, had enjoyed light his girlfriends on fire, from the inside out. He'd even targeted Andy's daughter-in-law, Holly, before he was put down.

"Indeed I do. It bears watching," said Provenza. "Go on, I'll be up a while still. Patrice is watching some chick flick in our room."

Andy stuffed his hands in his pockets and sighed.

"Yeah, all right," he mumbled. "Thanks old man."

He patted him on the shoulder as he turned and disappeared into the house.

Louie stepped off the porch into the yard, and flipped the lid on the cooler. Retrieving a beer, he sauntered to a lawn chair and took a seat facing the mountain, his watch to keep.

After a lengthy and enjoyable bath with his wife, followed by an equally enjoyable couple of hours in the bed, Andy easily drifted off to sleep, happy and spent. His wife spooning him from behind, in a rare reversal of their usual arrangement, he nestled into the cocoon of her embrace and let the day go.

The house was quiet, the children and their parents in bed. Brian and Lydi, Drew and Melanie had returned from their evening at Rustys and, depositing Melanie in the main house, proceeded to the home outback.

"Why are you out here all by yourself?" Lydi asked Provenza.

"Ah," he grumbled. "Patrice is watching some sappy romance. Can't stomach those things." His complaints held little heat. He'd do anything for his wife, including the romcoms that made him cringe.

"Uh," said Brian, suspecting more to the story. "And the real reason?"

Provenza eyed the trio in the yard. They were terrific kids, he thought, although they probably hate being called kids. They were young, yes, especially Lydi and Brian. Each had a good head on their shoulders, though, far more mature than he had been in his younger years.

"Well," he said, rising from his seat and ambling further into the yard. "There seems to be a fire bug up on the mountain."

His eyes rose to fix on the smoke still billowing above the trees.

"That's not very smart," said Drew, who had responded to more than a few fire-related injuries.

"I'll say it's not," agreed Provenza. "I told your old man I'd watch for a while. Make sure nothing comes of it."

The look they shared, all four of them, was one of aggravation and mild concern.

"Okay," said Drew. "If you need me, my cell is always on. If you think we need to stay up and watch, just call. I'll take a turn."

"Yes," said Lydi. "Us too."

Provenza smiled. Yes, they were good kids.

"Go onto bed. I doubt anything will come of it. Just some idiot that can't read a Burn Ban notice. Get some sleep. You two have work in the morning, then we have the party this weekend. I've got this."

They nodded to the older man before turning to the second house in the far corner of the property.

Brian took Lydi's hand and Drew followed them inside.

Provenza retook his post, eyes alert for any sign of a fire out of control.

Morning arrived and their Sunday began. Sharon and Andy were up and off to Mass, Lydi and Brian joining her parents at an early service before heading to Hope House for the day. It may be a Sunday, but it was summertime-all hands on deck.

After services, all for met up at the children's home to help with lunch. With two dozen youngsters out of school for the summer holidays, most Hope House volunteers stepped up their volunteer hours, helping where they could.

While the children dove into mounds of spaghetti, their caregivers sat nearby, enjoying the shade of the patio.

Sturdy wooden picnic tables, crafted by Andy, Mark, and Provenza, stood end to end on the grassy lawn.

Hope House sat on a large lot just a block away from St. Cecilia's. The lot, donated by an elderly parishioner, contained the original building, a large living quarters for the children and their caregivers, as well as an activity building and outdoor space.

All of it, plus the church, sat at the base of the San Bernardino national forest, southeast of the Ammon Pass Ridgeline. It was a picturesque setting, perfect for the peace and quiet the children so craved. A safe haven for all.

With their mouths otherwise engaged, and uncharacteristic hush fell across the lawn. While the children enjoyed their lunch, the adults visited, catching up on the latest news of the village. They raved about the bake sale at the church that morning, complained about the number of tourists in town, the upcoming annual fireworks show and the throng that would line the waterfront to watch.

Big Bear was a tourist destination year-round. While winter brought the skiers, summer summoned a rowdier crowd. College students and young couples descended in full force, ready to fish, boat, camp, and water-ski to their hearts content. Unfortunately, their youthful exuberance also sometimes included alcohol, drugs, noise, and all manner of bothersome behavior.

"Well, nothing will get by Drew and Mel," said Lydi. "They were on the back porch sipping coffee when we left around 730. Said it was their turn."

"Well, it's not a bad idea," said Brian. "Sheriff Goddard was at the church the morning. He said someone started a fire overnight."

"No," said Andy, shaking his head. "Anyone hurt? Major damage?"

"No one hurt," Brian assured him. "Just an abandoned structure on the edge of town. Construction site, I think. By the time the trucks got up the hill in the dark, it was a loss. Still, makes you wonder."

Sharon eyed her husband, who looked ready to climb out of his skin. Both of them knew it couldn't be his old nemesis. No, he was gone. Sharon had killed Bill Croelick herself. It was, however, enough to tug at his memory.

"Is there any chance it was an accident?" asked Lydi. "Maybe someone lit it out of necessity, if they were squatting in the building, and it got out of control. Homeless kids have been known to do that," she said, as if from experience. "Maybe they panicked?"

Brian sat back from the table and sighed.

"I guess we'll know more later. The sheriff said he had an arson investigator from San Bernardino headed out to look it over. He'd seen some things inconsistent with an accidental fire, but wanted an expert to take a look."

"Well then," Sharon said, her words measured in an attempt to calm her husband, "we'll just have to wait and see what they find. Perhaps the sheriff would like to join us for supper this evening?"

Andy's mind flitted from alarm to frustration to amusement as he processed how his wife planned to gain insight into an investigation which had nothing whatsoever to do with her. She certainly was something.

A large summer salad, filled with colorful chunky vegetables and a plate of grilled fish rested on the large farm style table. Glasses filled with ice set ready and waiting as the sheriff was welcomed at the front door.

Given the topic of conversation around the dinner table that evening, it was only set for eight. The others were dining in the backyard, where they could spread out and not worry the children.

Bob Goddard took his seat at the table and smiled appreciatively at the offering, as well as his hosts.

He liked these people and had almost from the beginning. Rather than brazenly bigfoot his cases, as he had experienced with other big city cops, they stayed on the periphery, offering but not forcing their expertise when certain situations arose. They'd been incredibly helpful, too.

No fool himself, the sheriff was well aware that his invitation to dinner was a thinly veiled press for information. It didn't bother him. Truth be told, he welcomed their input. They'd seen a lot more than he had. Perhaps they had ideas his own team hadn't considered. They had a vested interest in the safety of the community and, unlike many others, were willing and able to do something more than merely complain.

Maggie blessed food and began to pass the serving bowls and pitchers. Before anyone could strike up a conversation, the sheriff beat them to it.

"So I'm sure Brian told you all about the trouble up on the mountain last night?"

Sharon and Andy exchanged a look which wordlessly expressed That was easy.

"I had an arson guy come out from SBFD and do a walk-through. He faxed over his preliminary report, which I brought with me," he said with a knowing smile. "I thought we'd take a look after dinner. See what this think tank of yours can come up with."

Andy grinned and nodded.

"We'll certainly give it a go."

Dinner was enjoyed, along with pleasant conversation, before the table was quickly cleared. Patrice and Mark made short work of the dishes, allowing Maggie time with the baby before bed.

The Flynns, Provenzas, and Jameses returned to the table with a pot full of coffee and the sheriff began his rundown.

"The fire was contained in a twelve by sixteen foot trailer once used as an on-site office. While it was a total loss, we did find a toilet and sink, plumbing, that sort of thing. I spoke with the developer. He's retired now, lives up there still. He owns the lot the trailer's on. Name's Kiker. He assures me it was only used for storage. No reason at all for the accelerant found all over the place. Fireworks, fast food wrappers in the environs, that I get. Somebody's obviously been camping out. But there was lighter fluid everywhere. Container too. You know, the yellow plastic ones, the kind you use to refill the smaller ones. Plus, diesel. Kiker swears all that kind of stuff was properly disposed of when the project was complete and the site closed. He's seen colleagues fined for not taking care of it."

Andy shared with him their similar findings on the far side of the hilltop. Trash, spent fireworks and matches. Whoever their firebug was, he seemed to prefer the high ground. In an area at the size of theirs, that could mean finding a needle in a haystack.

All they could do was watch and wait. Be vigilant. Every man the sheriff had, as well as a large number of local volunteers, were charged with keeping their eyes open for smoke or flame. Their community was known for pulling together. This time would be no different.

A few hours more passed before the house settled down for the night. It was summertime, after all. Late nights would be expected. Evenings on the lake or the lawn, or perhaps in the treehouse, gave way to the nightly waltz of the fireflies, as Sharon called it. Granddaughters Sharon Rose and Willa twirled about the grass, grasping chubby fingers at the blinking bugs until they collapsed on the ground as if they were tipsy.

They boys favored a campout in the treehouse and after Uncle Drew and his girlfriend volunteered to chaperone, Sam, Seth, Flynn, and Harold gathered their sleeping bags and tromped up the ladder for the night.

With half of the grands taken care of for the night, Sharon and Anne offered to look after the others, allowing their parents a few hours away. Given the rare opportunity, the siblings and their partners, along with Brian and Lydi, freshened up and headed into town.

Mark and Anne took Willa and little James back to their place while Sharon and Maggie got Sara and Sharon Rose bathed and in bed. Andy and Provenza stood in the center of the backyard, eyes fixed on the horizon. Laughter from high in the treehouse balanced the heaviness in the air.

"Wonder just how much rest Drew and Mel will manage to get tonight," said Andy, smiling at the sound of the boys' belly laughs.

"About as much as the rest of us, I'd imagine," said his old friend.

"Nah," said Andy, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "We'll sit up for a while, listening for the girls until the kids come in, but then we'll hit the sack. I imagine I'll take a peek now and again throughout the night. Heaven knows I'm up often enough," he said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

Provenza chuckled in agreement.

"Ah, the joys of aging. Alright, I can agree with that."

Turning to go, he clapped his old friend of the shoulder.

"Rest well, Flynn."

Fortune was on their side. The coffee house was busy, but not full. Ben parked along the sidewalk and Rusty, Brian, and Lydi climbed out. Ricky found a space just across the street and after parking, opened the doors for his wife and sister, his brother in law bringing up the rear.

They met up just inside the entrance and scanned the space, locating an area in the far corner that would accommodate the eight of the them. As the sign at the door stated Seat Yourself, they proceeded to do just that.

The low murmur of hushed voices provided a muted accompaniment to the guitar playing from a raised platform across the room. A trio of servers dashed about with the ease of practice and experience. Parties, large and small, gathered around bistro tables or rested against countertops mounted along the wall, enjoying music, conversation, and the sweet ease of a summer evening.

They wove their way through those scattered about the floor, eyes on the grouping of sofa and club chairs in the corner when a hostess smiled and waved, tossed a Be right with you their way.

Turning back toward the kitchen, she deftly avoided being mowed over by a young man paying more attention to his phone than to where he was going. While the server managed to avoid him, Holly did not.

The young man walked right into her, dropping his phone and his to-go order, at her feet, as well as knocking her off balance.

Fortunately, her husband was right beside her, keeping her on her feet.

"Hey, better keep your eyes on where you're going, friend," said Ricky, retrieving the kid's phone for him then placing his palm protectively at Holly's back.

"Uh, yeah. Sorry about that," he said, grabbing his bag and leaving.

Through the window they saw him jump into an old red pickup and hastily drive off.

Rick rolled his eyes and led his wife to the corner to join the others.

"Some people," he muttered to himself. "You good, Babe?"

"Yeah, of course," she replied, though her eyes suggested otherwise.

They sat together and Rick pulled her closer.

"You sure you're okay? You know the kids are fine. They're probably already asleep."

"It's not the kids," she assured him. "I was thinking that kid smelled just awful," she said, keeping her voice low. "I really hope he's not living out of that truck."

Rick squeezed her hand.

"You're really something, you know. Always thinking of others."

"Well," she said softly so only he could hear. "Knowing your brother and my sister changes one's perspective."

Rick nodded, understanding.

The evening was pleasant. The music relaxing, the tea soothing. A few hours away, spent as young people, free of responsibilities, were just what was needed. They returned home relaxed and rejuvenated, and fell into bed for some much-needed sleep.

"Good morning. May we come in?"

They sat at the table, the Flynns, Provenzas, Maggie and Mel, enjoying coffee and little girls.

"Good morning, Anne. Please join us," said Sharon, rising to meet her at the door.

Anne parked the stroller, a double, by the door, and helped Willa to climb free. She then unbuckled baby James and passed him to his other grandma.

"Good morning, my angels. Some coffee, Anne?"

"Yes. Thank you," she said, taking a seat at the table.

"What has you up and out so early?"

Anne took a careful sip and sighed.

"Ooh, that's good. Thank you, Maggie."

She set the cup on the table and smiled at little Willa climbing into her Papa Andy's lap.

"We had a bit of a rough night. Holly had some bad dreams, of all things. Kept waking up terribly upset. Finally, oh around four, she settled into a more restful sleep. When the children began to stir, I decided to get them out of the house so Rick and Holly could sleep in. Mark stayed home. He's got some work he can do at the house."

"What on earth?" asked Sharon. "I wonder what brought all that on," she said as she snuggled her grandson.

"I've no idea. I don't think she's even talked about it with Rick yet. Maybe after they've gotten some good sleep."

"Bless her heart," said Maggie, shuffling to the kitchen. "Oatmeal's ready. Help yourselves."

Andy and Provenza fixed their breakfast and took it outside so that Drew could head inside and join the others.

"Get any rest at all?" Andy asked his son as he wearily descended the ladder from the treehouse.

"A little," he admitted. "Coffee?"

"Inside. We'll listen for the boys. Go on in," he said, clapping him on the back.

"He's a good sport," said Provenza.

"That he is," agreed Andy.

They sat on the porch steps and tucked into the breakfast, eyes frequently scanning the hillside.

By mid-morning, the rest of the large and growing family was converging on the house. Rusty and Ben arrived to pick up their boys on the way to spend the day at Hope House. Lydi and Brian were headed there as well after first popping in to pick up some baked goods Maggie and Patrice had prepared for the July fourth celebration at the children's home.

Inside, they found Nicole and Jeff and Emily and Greg seated around the table, helping the kids to color and cut American flags to decorate the table.

"Hello, young'uns," Maggie called in greeting. "Your treats are all boxed up and ready and the coffee's still hot. Lydi, dear, the tea's still warm," she added, knowing her preference.

Lydi smiled, appreciatively, remembering her first cup of hot tea. Anne, then her foster mom, had offered her a cup in comfort. Only a girl of fifteen, in a strange place, it was her first introduction to this extraordinary group of people, this family by choice, that chose her.

"Thanks, Maggie," she said, filling her cup. Sipping it with care, she hummed at the flavor, the warmth, and the memory.

"You guys all set for the party this afternoon?" asked Emily, an arm wrapped around Harold, helping to guide his scissors.

"I think so," said her brother. "I met the first wave of volunteers at seven. They got an early start setting up everything from shade tents and tables and chairs to basins for apple bobbing and finish lines for the races and such. The ladies will be there to set up the snacks and baked goods within the hour. Thanks again, Gram."

"You're most welcome. It looks like you've a picture-perfect day for your picnic," said his grandmother. "Not a cloud in the sky. It's been a month of Sundays since we had a good soaking."

"Truth be told, we could use a bit of rain," said Provenza. "The ground is awfully dry."

"Makes it scratchy," agreed Harold. "It itches me when I touch it."

"Well then, you'll just have to play on Uncle Rick's Slip and Slide to chase the itch away," said Ben.

"Yeah!" Harold enthusiastically agreed, much to the amusement of the others.

With the others gone ahead to Hope House, the party getting under way, Rick and Holly, Emily and Greg had offered to make a stop at the market to grab a few odds and ends which had been overlooked in the packing. Provenza was sure they would run out of ice, although Andy assured him enough had been set aside. Rick had also decided that a water war was in order. Thus, extra hoses were needed. That necessitated a stop at the hardware store.

Splitting up, Emily and Greg headed toward the green grocer's while Holly and Rick made their way across the street to the hardware store.

Holly steadied the cart as Rick tossed a pair of large, tightly coiled green hoses into the bottom. They then made their way toward the back of the store.

Metal shelving rose, floor to ceiling, holding gas canisters in various sizes, large bags of potting soil, and heavy tanks waiting to be filled with propane. The restrooms were along the far wall along with the rear exit opening to the outdoor area where tanks could be filled and gardening supplies could be loaded into trucks for delivery.

Fortunately, the store wasn't at all busy. The market might be another story, but the hardware store was practically a ghost town. Rick saw one lady, about the same age as his grandmother, puttering about a stand of marigolds, and a younger fellow bent low at the waist, closely examining the labels on a selection of oxides on the opposite wall.

"Hey," he said softly to his wife, placing a protective hand on her shoulder. "You sure you're feeling up to all this today?"

Leaning her head toward his hand, she exhaled.

"I'm sure. The extra sleep helped. Again, I'm sorry I kept you up most of the night. I've no idea what brought it all on. That's never happened before."

"Babe, don't worry about me. At all. As long as you're okay. That's all that matters, you know?"

"I do. Thank you. Now, are we almost done? What else do we need? They'll be expecting us."

"Yeah. Just about. I was thinking, Pop's been cooking out an awful lot. It might be good idea to get some more propane for the picnic. I'm just afraid we're going to run out at the worst possible time, you know?"

"Good thinking. Okay, lead on."

Rick took the end of the cart and tugged toward the far end of the outdoor area. It was stacked high with all manner of chemical agents from lighter fluid to quicklime, manganese to propane. Anything one might need for ceramics to insulation to cooking outdoors, could find it all in one place.

He parked the cart alongside another and knelt beside the twenty-gallon tanks in order to lift with his knees as his mother was always warning him.

"Pardon me, friend," he said to the other young man shopping in the same section. It may be only the pair of them, but they were in close quarters.

"Yeah, no problem," he replied, standing up, his selections in hand. He stepped away, barely even meeting his gaze, and was gone.

"Not much of talker, is he?" Rick said, mostly to himself, as he hoisted the tank off the ground and into the cart.

Turning, he found his wife gripping the basket, her fingertips white from the strain, her pallor grey.

"Baby, what's wrong?"

He laid his hands aside her face, which was clammy to the touch.

She shook her head, reticent to speak, then suddenly bolted from his side.

He watched as she passed back through the door they had just used to exit the main building, and followed her back inside. Seeing the door to the ladies' room closing and his wife nowhere in sight, he assumed that was where she'd gone and knocked on the entrance.

"Holly? Babe, you in there?"

He heard the telltale signs of her stomach emptying and entered the restroom, finding her crouched beside the toilet. Kneeling behind her, he reached around her and placed a hand against her brow to support her, and rubbed his other hand soothingly against her back. Then, he waited.

Finally, she sank heavily against him.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Shh," he said. "Stop that. Just breathe. When you're ready, we'll get up and find you something to drink. Then, we'll sit and have a talk. No apologies."

"Okay."

They retrieved their cart, made their purchase, which included a bottle of water from the cooler at the register, and made their way to the parking lot. As Rick was transferring the tank to the trunk of the car, he felt his wife's hand on his arm. He turned to her and followed her eyes.

Driving passed them toward the lot's exit was an old red pick up truck, with a familiar face in the driver's seat.

The party was in full swing by the time they arrived. Children and volunteers were everywhere. Games were manned. All the activities were covered. The sound of laughter was as pleasant as the cool breeze rolling off the hillside.

Rick sent Holly to sit with his mother and her step-mom, then unloaded the trunk of the car.

Mark saw them park and met them at the car to help.

"Everything okay? I thought you two would be here a little sooner."

"Yeah, I think so. We had a weird incident in the village earlier though. Holly's still not herself. Got sick at the store. Says she feels better now. Hopefully she'll just rest in the shade with Mom and Anne for awhile."

"Huh," said Mark. "Hope she's not coming down with something. That's definitely not like her. And you can't think of anything that set it off? She didn't eat anything that might have soured her stomach?"

Rick leaned against the trunk and rubbed the back of his neck as he thought. It was a habit he'd picked up from his Pop.

"I wonder. Can I run something by you and Pop in a bit?"

"You bet."

"Okay. Let me get all this unloaded and set out in case it's needed first."

"No problem. Let me help."

"Thanks, Mark."

Holly sipped a Ginger Ale and nibbled at the crackers on her plate, having forgone a hotdog or burger in favor of a grilled cheese sandwich. Her stomach had settled, her mind still troubled by something she couldn't quite put her finger on. A thought was coming together. She just needed another piece to complete the puzzle. One thing was for certain. She knew exactly what had turned her stomach so violently, so fast. The smell.

With the grilled manned and the grounds covered, Rick walked along the edge of the property, his Pop and father in law with him. He described for them the scene in the hardware store, exactly as he remembered it, leaving out nothing. His Pop was known for finding answers in the smallest of details.

He told them about the young man in the old red pick up truck, and how it was the second time in as many days that they had encountered him. He stood out in their minds, not only by his nervous demeanor, but by the old truck, and the fact that they hadn't seen him in the area before. That, and as Rick remembered from the cafe, he had an unpleasant aroma. Like he lived in his car.

"Last night, the nightmares, today she's sick to her stomach. Both time's you've encountered the same kid."

"The same one. I'm sure of it," said Rick. "Weird thing is, Holly got sick, even before we saw the guy's face today. No idea it was him 'til he drove past us in the lot."

"And you say he smelled bad?" asked Andy.

"Yeah, like he hadn't bathed in days, you know? It made Holly sad, honestly. Like she was worried about him. She said it made her think of Rusty and Lydia, and how they'd been on the their own for so long."

"Scent is a really powerful trigger," said Mark. "Every time I visit someone in a hospital, I'm taken back to Margaret's bedside in those final days before we lost her. Hospitals have a very distinct aroma. When I hold your kiddos, I'm completely content, another distinct fragrance, albeit a totally different one. When Holly was taken by that maniac and he poured that lighter fluid all over her, I couldn't get that smell out of my nose for weeks. Nor could she."

"Me either. She had nightmares then too," said Rick, realization dawning. Spinning in place, he faced the others. "That's it. It was the smell."

He found her in the kitchen, refilling a tray of glasses with ice. With her auburn locks swept up into a ponytail hidden beneath one of his old ball caps and her face scrubbed fresh and clean, she bore no evidence either of the difficult night before or the previous hour's trouble.

"Hey there, Fancy Face. Need some help with that?"

He sauntered toward her, his own face showing a tension that belied his casual greeting. When he reached her at the counter, he wrapped his arms around her from behind and perched his chin atop her shoulder.

Pausing her work, she turned in his arms and returned his embraced, humming at the safety she found there.

"You feel good," she sighed. "Thank you for taking care of me this morning."

"Thank you for letting me. I had a thought about what happened. This morning, last night. The bad dreams, getting sick earlier."

"Me too," she said, stepping back just enough to meet his eyes.

"The smell," they said in unison.

"That guy ran into me last night at the cafe and he smelled just awful, remember?"

"And you had horrible dreams all night long, yes. Then today, even without knowing it was him, you must have caught a whiff of him in the store, and it made you sick."

"It wasn't until we saw him leaving that I recognized him."

Rick took both of her hands in his and tugged her toward one of the tables where the children usually dined.

"Can you describe the smell, babe? You're a nurse. You've smelled it all. Was it just body odor? Was it chemical? Something you've smelled before at work maybe? Something made you sick. You had both a physical and psychological reaction."

At that moment, Sharon and Andy came inside looking for the pair.

"There you are. Is everything alright? Holly, are you feeling well?" asked her mother in law.

"Much better, yes. Thank you. We're just talking it through. Join us, please."

"I was just asking Holly if she could describe the smell that made her so sick this morning. She mentioned the guy smelled awful last night too and then had bad dreams throughout the night. It's got to be related."

Andy and Sharon looked from their boy to his wife. Rick was correct. The two incidents were no coincidence. The same man, the same bad aroma. Holly was present both times and reacted badly in both instances.

"Well, on the surface, there was definitely body odor, like we sometimes get with indigent care. He definitely isn't bathing regularly. But there's more. His clothes smelled like a gas station. You know Pete?" she asked her husband.

"The old fella who works at the filling station near the condo?"

"Yes," she said, nodding. "He always keeps that old rag tucked in his pocket. Takes it out to wipe things on, his hands, his glasses, whatever. Smells awful. Like gasoline. So everything it touches does too. The kid smelled like that. It reminded me of," she exhaled, eyes dropping to her lap, where her hands fidgeted nervously. "Of that awful man that took me into the woods. He smelled like that too. When he poured that stuff all over me, I smelled the same way."

Rick shifted his weight so that he could slide his chair closer to hers, and pulled her into his lap.

"You're safe. Whatever this guy is or isn't up to, it has nothing to do with you, baby. I don't know who he is or why we keep running into him. Dumb luck, maybe. But it's not about you. You are perfectly safe. No one will lay a hand on you. Understand me?"

"Listen to him, Holly," said Andy. "He's right. No one will even come close. I promise."

She took a deep breath, attempting to steady herself. She really didn't like appearing so fragile in front her in-laws, especially her husband's mother, who she tried so hard to emulate. Nodding, she offered them all a weak smile.

"Holly, honey, if you're comfortable, can you take us through what happened at the store, minute by minute? Don't leave anything out, even if you think it's insignificant."

"Maybe by talking it out, you can get it out of your head, so to speak," said Andy. "Keep it from eating away at you, kiddo. Always helps me to talk it out with her," he said, patting his wife's knee.

Rick squeezed his wife's hand and shrugged.

"It might help."

Holly nodded and took another deep breath through her nose, letting out through pursed lips.

"First we found the hoses, because Rick is convinced we can't celebrate the Fourth without a water war," she said with a half-hearted chuckle toward her husband. "He grabbed a pair of those and tossed them in the cart before we went outside to the patio where they keep supplies for gardening and pool maintenance and just general outdoor stuff, you know?"

They nodded in understanding.

"There weren't many people at the store, which was fortunate for us, as we'd gotten a late start today. My fault, I'm afraid," she'd said, knowing they'd all been filled in on her rough night. "There were only a couple of people in the outdoor area," she continued, closing her eyes, as if picturing it in her mind. "A lady looking at flowers and the young guy looking at a wall of fuels and solvents and such. Rick was thinking we needed an extra tank of propane, which was in the same area, so we went in that direction. The larger tanks were on the ground, and the kid was squatting, looking at something on a lower shelf, I guess. Rick needed to be pretty close to where he was, so he said 'Excuse me,' and grabbed a propane tank. The kid said 'No problem' or something like that and stood up to go. I guess that's when I got a whiff of him."

"The guy got out of there really quickly. He had a couple of bottles of something under each arm," added Rick. "Could you tell what it was?" asked Sharon.

"Bottles, from the shelf. Fuel of some sort. Yellow bottles with red caps," said Holly, eyes still tightly closed.

Andy fiddled with his phone, then held it up to show his wife, then the younger pair.

"Like this?"

Bob Goddard watched from the midpoint of the rise stretching from the hilltop to the valley below. Standing arms akimbo, he mentally ticked off his next steps as he waited for the crews from Big Bear and SBFD to arrive. Their trainees and probies would assist in creating firebreaks, as well as controlling the blaze on the mountain. The lack of rain over the previous months was contributing to a situation which had only grown worse by the hour.

The buzzing of the phone at his hip pulled him from that web of dark thoughts. Pulling it from the holster opposite from the one securing his sidearm, he checked the display and found the name Flynn. The name could bring another problem or, perhaps, a potential answer.

"Goddard," he barked into the cell.

Andy could hear the cacophony of mayhem over the line. Behind Goddard's voice, tinged with tension and frustration, was the bark of orders and the whine of machinery.

"Sheriff, what's going on? Where are you?"

"We've got a situation up here, Flynn. A fire, just east the ridgeline. Been here all morning. Had a handle on it, but the winds keep shifting on us. We've got recruits on the way out to help. What have you got?"

"Well, maybe a link to the blaze up at Kiker Construction as well as the one on the hill above my place. Remember the plastic yellow bottles found at both scenes?"

"Yeah, they checked out as Ronsonol lighter fuel. Why? What do you know?" asked the Sheriff.

Knowing his friend was in the middle of an emergent situation, Andy took him through what Holly and Rick had encountered that morning, as well as their run-in with the same young man the night before, omitting the nightmares and sickness which followed each incident, as they weren't germane to the issue at hand. He also gave him the description of the red truck driven away from each location.

While he couldn't leave the scene, he did agree to put out a BOLO for the vehicle. He also promised to give the Flynns a heads up should the winds again change, unfavorably, putting them in their sights.

Andy walked back to the patio, joining the others. They looked on, watching the children dash back and forth with astonishing energy, and no inkling that somewhere else in their community, there was someone looking to destroy their sanctuary.

"What's the word?" asked his son, his arm slung across his wife's shoulders.

"It's the same bottle. That much matches," said Andy. "There's another fire," he added, his eyes dark. "Up there," his eyes raised. "Just beyond those trees. If they don't get it under control, we'll be seeing it soon. He's got recruits arriving any minute to help."

"They'll probably be a group of volunteers gathering too, as soon as word gets out," said Mark.

"Oh, no doubt," said Rick. "That's how it tends to go around here."

Sharon worried at her lower lip, her habit when turning something heavy over in her mind. She reached for her husband's hand, her fingers creeping across his palm until it turned over and caught them.

"Why don't we go join them?" she suggested. "The volunteers, I mean. Let's go to the square. See who's there. Holly," she turned and found her eyes. "Are you up to joining us? You could stay back. Let us know if you recognize anyone in the crowd. Maybe someone who might want to go along to see his handiwork under the guise of helping?"

"Or maybe he wants to actually help put out the fire himself? Be the hero?" offered her husband.

"Maybe someone with something to prove?" she said to him, as if the rest of them didn't exist. "Perhaps he didn't make the cut? Or maybe he flunked out? So he starts fires so he can put them out, showing he does indeed have what it takes."

"Or maybe he was laid off due to budget cuts? Maybe he wants to show them what happens when you reduce your bottom line? When you don't have enough in the battalion?"

They stood, facing one another, thrown back in time. Gone were the mountain and the lake, grandchildren with sticky fingers and chocolate-covered smiles. Retirement thrust to the rearmost corners of their mind, they were once again standing, figuratively, in the middle of the murder room, bouncing ideas off one another.

"Uh, hello? Earth to Mom and Pop," he said in his trademark snark. To his wife he added, "I swear, sometimes it's like no one else is here."

"I call it goals, honey," she replied. "I think Sharon's idea is a good one. I think we should let Lydi and Rusty know we're going first, though, and I think we should try and get back here as soon as we can."

"And I want to call Patrice and let her know what's happening up on the mountain, so she can keep an eye on things. If that fire jumps the second marker, she and Mom can get the children into the car and bring them into town," said Sharon.

They found Lydi and Rusty and explained what was happening up on the mountain and where they were off to. As soon as they left, the young pair got to work organizing a plan to evacuate their young charges, should it become necessary, and brought out the scanner Provenza had gifted them after Sharon, Lydi, and the grandsons had found themselves in a dangerous situation there at Hope House the year before. They would be able to listen for news of the fire and its development.

Sharon and Andy, Rick, Holly, and Mark all made their way to the village square where, rumor had it, volunteers were amassing to gather supplies and make the trek up to the site of the fire to assist the firefighters in their efforts to control the blaze.

They stood on the edge of the crowd, among their friends and neighbors, ready to help the community on this sunny fourth of July. Holly stood beside them, hair swept up into her husband's old ball cap, eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses, allowing her to scan the crowd unnoticed. Rick, too, was wearing a cap and glasses, as both times his wife had encountered the young stranger, he had been at her side.

A forest ranger, volunteer fireman from the neighing county, and a deputy from the sheriff's department stood in an old-fashioned gazebo, just one of many examples of the charm that had drawn so many to the area, shouting instructions to the citizenry. They were told what was needed, what was allowed and what wasn't, who was in charge and how not make the situation far worse once they got to the scene. They were instructed to limit the number of vehicles going up the hill. The amount of water and sand utilized would make for an enormous mess and the fewer cars the better. A limited number of all-terrain vehicles were allowed, and then they would be left at a staging area. The rest of the trek would be on foot.

As the crowd dispersed to gather the necessary items and team up for the drive, Holly and Rick continued to search the group in vain.

"Anything?" he asked her.

"No," he husked, clearly frustrated.

The crowd was separating and they'd not spotted their guy. They were so certain Sharon's idea would flush him out. He would likely show up on the mountain, but they would rather spy him here first.

"Well damn," they heard from behind them. Even their folks were aggravated.

"Wait," she said, grabbing a hold her his sleeve.

Rick followed her eyes across the square. There, on the far edge, parked along the street in front of the market was an old, beat up red pick up truck. The driver's window was rolled down.

"There he is."

"Let's walk toward the car, casually, without drawing attention," said Rick, taking her elbow and leading her away from the thinning crowd. "Come on, Mom, Pop."

Just then, the truck's engine coughed and came to life, black exhaust spewing into the air.

"Damnit," he said. "We're gonna lose him."

"Our car is closer," said Sharon. "Andy, are the keys in your pocket? My purse is back at the center. I left it with Anne."

No answer caused them all to turn and look for Andy, but he wasn't there. They spun and searched the area until they found him only feet from his own car, parked in from of the church.

"Damn," Rick said again. "He must have spotted our guy even before Holly did."

"Andy," Sharon said under her breath. Shaking her head. Digging her cell phone from her back pocket, she punched a saved number and waited for it to connect.

"Goddard."

"Sheriff, it's Sharon Flynn. We've located our person of interest. We have a situation and could use a little assistance. I know you've got your hands full, so I'll get to the point."

"I can't believe I let her go up there alone. What was I thinking?" spewed Rick as he hoisted the propane tank back into the bed of his truck.

"You didn't let her go on her own. Provenza is with her. He has her back. He's never let them down before. There's no reason to think he'll start today," said his father in law.

Mark stood in the bed of Rick's truck, pulling the grill up inside and tucking into the corner along with anything else flammable they'd had on the grounds.

Anne, Holly, Lydi, and Mel had the smallest of the children, while Rusty, Greg, Nick, and Brian had the older ones in hand. Ben had his own boys to guide. The oldest, those who had left the program, but chosen to stay behind to live and work among them, were helping the volunteers to shepherd the children safety while trying not to make them even more frightened.

The winds had shifted and the fire had jumped the ridge line. Hope House was now in its path. A third battalion had been dispatched to try and beat it back from their side of the mountain, but the children would be taken elsewhere until they could be certain their safety was assured.

Sharon hadn't managed to get her husband to answer her calls, which didn't really surprise her. Andy would assume she was calling to try and talk him into turning around or waiting for backup, neither of which he was willing to do.

He had spotted the guy he was certain was responsible for starting the fires in the area. The red truck, the yellow bottles of lighter fluid, the stench of one living outdoors for days, not showering, playing with combustible fuels and starting fires. It all added up. He was sure the kid was headed up the mountain to watch he own handiwork, maybe even dive in and help put out the massive fire he'd started.

So, she'd sent a text, telling him in the briefest of terms what she intended to do, that she'd enlisted assistance from Goddard, that Provenza was with her, and what she needed from him. Now, she just had to pray he'd at least read the text. Then, she'd texted her boy.

"We should only be a minute or two behind them. Surely our guy wouldn't be driving fast enough to get himself pulled over. He'd have to answer a lot of questions I'm betting he'd rather not answer," said Provenza.

"Well, that's what we're hoping," agreed the deputy, seated in the backseat.

Sharon sat in the front passenger seat, eyes glued to her phone, willing her husband to call.

As the car rounded a bend in the road, the caught a glimpse of red.

"There!" said Provenza. "Red pick up. Perfect. Now, we hope Flynn read the text, stubborn mule."

Once the children were situated in the middle school gym, many of the volunteers scurried away to secure their own homes and families. Some stayed with the children, fully aware there was little they could do if the fire did indeed arrive on their doorstep.

Members of the family Flynn dashed back to Hope House to do what they could to secure the property they'd invested so much heart in, should it manage to escape the flames.

Rusty stood in the backyard of the home he'd spearheaded for the children he thought of as his own. It was a labor of love, to give these children a place of their own, a place he'd not experienced, a home where people loved and cherished the children in their care. They were not only fed and clothed and educated, but schooled in laughter and music and nature and love. They were given a family, an unconventional one, perhaps, but a family nonetheless. Would it all be lost?

"Hey, little brother," said Ricky. "The kids are safe. We've got people watching them, and people here to pack up everything we can carry, if necessary. There's nothing here that can't rebuilt. I'll be here the whole time, if it comes to that. You have my word."

He laid his palm on his brother's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Me too," said Ben.

"What they said," added Brian.

Rusty turned around and found Nick and Greg beside them, nodding in agreement. Whatever happened in the coming hours, or even days, he wouldn't face it alone anymore.

They kept their eyes peeled. Hanging back, lest they be too easily spotted, they kept a close eye on their speed, not too fast, not too slow. In order for it to work, the timing had to be on point.

At just the right time, the highway curved and with it, the truck. Just as it started to disappear into the turn, its brake lights flashed on and the back end of the truck jerked sideways as it came to a violent, unexpected stop.

Provenza sped up and quickly closed the distance between them, stopping just behind the truck.

The trio leapt from the car and paused to take in the scene.

"Stay right there, Sharon," called her husband.

Andy stood atop a large boulder, long used as a mile marker on the highway. Across the road was his now-battered four-wheel drive, T-boned by the red pick up truck. On the hood lay his cell phone. In his hand, the weapon he kept in the car at all times.

In the road was the younger man. In his hand, one of the large yellow bottles of lighter fluid, but with an odd attachment at the top. A nozzle with a spray pump. In his other hand, he held a pocket cigarette lighter. He wandered, as though lost, spraying the fuel on the ground, on himself, on the car.

When he noticed the newcomers, he aimed it at their feet and sprayed.

"That's enough," called Andy, in a voice commanding, but not alarmed. "Just leave them alone and talk to me."

He continued to spray his noxious smelling fuel on their legs, turning and coating the ground as he reversed his path toward Andy, as if unhearing.

"What's up with the fires, man? You like starting them or putting them out? Or maybe both? If you just want to help put them out, let's go. I'm sure they'll take all the help they can get."

His head snapped up and a snarl curved his lips. His eyes blazed with as much heat as any of his fires.

"You'd think so, wouldn't you? But no, not really."

He resumed spraying from his bottle, his own legs, Andy's.

Andy stayed focused, controlled his breathing. Holly was right. This guy smelled awful and the fuel didn't help. It made his head swim and his stomach churn. He noticed his wife moving slowly up behind the guy, inch by inch, dammit, but he dared not look her way. She was good. There was no one better. Lighter than air, she was.

"Turned you down? Why the hell would they do that?" he asked. "Stupid, if you ask me. Look at that contraption in your hands. Takes someone smart to make something like that."

"The evaluator determined that I lacked the overall psychological health for the job and had a bent toward hero tendencies. Can you believe that? What the hell does that even mean?" He spat. "Just because I want to save lives and rush into situations others aren't man enough to tackle."

Andy swallowed hard and blinked against the fumes that were starting to get to him.

"What do they know? You know yourself better than some crap psychologist. They're not even real doctors anyway."

Damn, his words were beginning to slur. What the hell was in that stuff? Andy did his best to keep any tremor out of his voice, relying on years of training and experience. He may be out of practice, but in moments such as this one, it all came flooding back. In the periphery, however, was his wife, creeping ever closer. He kept his gun trained on the man, all the while knowing any spark at all could ignite anyone of them.

The kid stepped ever closer and sized Andy up as if deciding whether or not he was really an ally. Suddenly, he knelt before him, raising the lighter toward the edge of his shirt. Just as his thumb flicked the switched, Sharon charged him from behind.

His thumbed rolled against the switch to ignite the flame, only for it to hiss and die within the same breath. Again he attempted to light it, and again still, to no avail. With his attention on the lighter in his hand, he was caught completely off guard when a weight thrown against his lower back sent him sprawling to the ground and a knee between his shoulders pinned him there.

"Sharon," she heard, and the hand at her shoulder had her looking up at the gun being passed into her hands.

Not a moment later, her husband collapsed beside her.

"Flynn!" called Provenza, as he placed his palm against Sharon's back and took over securing the man on the ground. "Take care of him," he nodded toward Andy.

She handed him the gun and while the deputy helped to zip tie his hands and get him to the car, reading him the Miranda warning on the way, Sharon dropped to the ground beside her husband.

"Andy, honey, hold on. Help's coming." I hope, she thought to herself.

Not five minutes later, a fourth car pulled up to join the others at the curve on the hill. Rick and Holly leapt from the SUV and found Sharon tending to her husband on the ground.

She'd removed his shirt, having smelled the same chemical stench of fluid that saturated her pants legs. Bottled water had been poured over his face and chest. The puddle nearby was evidence he had emptied his stomach. He was propped up against his wife and was conscious again.

"Pop, are you okay?" Rick called as he ran to him and dropped to the ground beside him.

Holly was instantly met by the smell and instead of being overwhelmed again, she attacked the situation as a nurse. The scent was familiar, but there was also something different, something altered. Picking up Andy's shirt, she gave it a quick sniff and shook her head, dropping the garment to the ground.

"Honey, can you get me the kit Drew sent, please? Pop, how long ago did you throw up?"

Andy took a few short breaths and spat out "Just a couple of minutes ago."

"How long was he out?" Holly asked Sharon.

"Long enough," she said, raking her fingers through his hair.

Rick reappeared with the large tackle box his stepbrother traveled with at all times. A paramedic, he'd learned never to leave home without it. It was a rule that had served him well.

"You just inhaled it, you didn't ingest anything?" Holly clarified.

"Right," Andy said in between breaths.

Just then, an ambulance raced toward them, spitting dust into the air. As it skid to a stop, every door opened at once, a familiar face emerging from the passenger door.

"Dad!"

He quickly made his way to the others, a pair of medics on his heel.

"What have we got?" said one, setting his jump bag down beside him.

"Seventy year old male. Exposure to lighter fluid, laced with something, butane or other hydrocarbon if I had to guess. Inhalation, no ingestion, and he was sprayed with it. He lost consciousness and vomited upon waking. Respiration is labored. Face and upper extremities have been washed down."

"Medic?" he asked in response.

"RN," came her reply. "And daughter in law," she added with a sad smile.

The second medic fitted Andy with a blood pressure monitor and an oxygen mask.

"I've got a stretcher, sir, if you think you need it."

Andy reached up and lifted the mask just enough to grouse.

"I can walk," he grumbled.

"Well then do it with your mask on, Andy. Let's get you checked out," said his wife.

"You've got this stuff on you too, Sharon," he said, his voice muffled by the mask.

"I do, yes, and so does the lieutenant. I'll have the kids swing by the house and grab a change of clothes for all of us."

She helped him to stand then allowed her son to take over, assisting Andy from one side. Then she walked behind them, Holly beside her.

"Do you know what's happening with the fire on the mountain? Is there any news?"

Holly took ahold of Sharon's hand and slowed her pace.

Sharon hung back a bit, turning to find the young woman's eyes. Had something happened? She was suddenly worried for her mother. For Patrice and the grandchildren.

"Sharon, the winds shifted. The fire is headed toward Hope House."

Her eyes widened in fear and concern. Before she could speak in response, Holly continued.

"The children are safe. We've moved them all to the middle school. They've a group watching them, and there's a team back at the house ready to grab what they can if the fire gets too close. It's all we can do."

Sharon's shoulders slumped at the news. Her boy's brain-child, his labor of love. "Oh, Rusty."

Soon, they were loaded up, Sharon and Andy in the ambulance, Provenza and the deputy with their suspect, and Rick and Holly in their car, headed back into town. They would have to make arrangements for Andy's car. It would have to wait.

While Sharon traveled with her husband to the medical center so that he could be evaluated, her son and his wife made their way home to pick up a change of clothes for their folks as well as for the lieutenant, then headed back toward town to check out the current situation there. The information available was confusing and, at times, contradictory. The fire was contained and it was out of control. The winds had shifted again, but they hadn't. No one was sure what they could believe.

At Hope House, they found their family- Rusty, Ben, Emily, Greg, Nicole, Jeff, Mel, Lydi, and Brian. Rick found himself smiling at that. His Gram used to say that cousins were your first best friends. He and Em didn't really have cousins, not like most of their friends. They had one on Sandra's side and a couple on their dad's, but due to that strained relationship, they didn't know them well. Their mom had taken them to visit with Jack's parents, without Jack, when they were small, and had sent them to see them when they were old enough to travel on their own, until they had passed away. They had a relationship with Jack's brother, who was quite fond of them both, and a passing one with his children. They hadn't grown up with them though. Sharon's brother was a priest. He had no children. So, these people, Rick thought, this group of siblings and partners, come together by the miracle that was his parents, were everything from his roots to his wings, and would be for his own children.

Then his eyes followed theirs, up into his hills. The crews battling the blaze had done a commendable job, but it wasn't enough. Without a miracle, the flames would be licking at their doorstep within the hour. The winds were doing them no favors either, fanning flames in every direction and sending sparks and embers flying into nearby trees, causing the fire to spread even further. Heat radiated all around them, toasting their faces. The flames were reflected in their eyes and ashes settled in their hair.

A strong gust of wind sent smoke and ash dancing wildly across the lawn, tiny bits of red shooting through the air. Suddenly the far corner of the living quarters was smoking.

"Quick, the hoses!" shouted Rick, as he clapped Jeff on the back and headed toward the patio.

The hoses were thin, just ordinary garden hoses, not nearly as powerful as fire hoses, but better than nothing. Perhaps if they worked quickly, they could keep the fire from spreading.

Rick, Jeff, Greg and Mel used every hose available and doused the corner of the house, saturating the roof, the wall, and the grass below. The others dashed inside and began removing whatever they could carry of the children's belongings from the effected room and those adjacent.

Brian, however, took a decidedly different approach, one that hadn't failed him yet. He simply dropped to his knees, lifted his eyes toward Heaven, and prayed.

Emily and Nicole gathered clothes and bedding, the occasional doll or toy, anything a child might have collected that made Hope House feel like home, any items that felt like theirs. The children didn't arrive there with much to their name. Rusty and Lydia had tried to change that once they were theirs.

As they worked, their thoughts, their internal struggles with the events of the day, were rudely interrupted by unfamiliar, by unmistakable sound of thunder. It had been so long since they'd heard it, they doubted their own ears.

Finding one another's eyes, they stopped cold, frozen in the moment, unable to breathe, let alone move. Could it be?

Lydi stood in the doorway, eyes on her husband, kneeling on the lawn, eyes lifted toward the sky, hands open and ready to receive. She was in awe of his faith, having often found it difficult to trust and believe. In the last few years, her prayers had brought her to this place, had given her a home and a family of her own and now, her husband.

He didn't simply pray and hope for the best. No, Brian Walsh laid out his petitions, or in this case, lifted them up, and waited to receive. Today, he waited, palms open and ready, for his miracle.

When the thunder began to roar, the sky churning as if gearing up for something mighty and awesome, Lydi shook. Whether with fear or anticipation, she couldn't be certain, but something was about to happen.

And then it did.

It began to rain. And not only did it rain. It poured. It was a torrential, thorough, soaking rain.

So sure was his belief, Brian began to smile his thanksgiving. Lydi began to weep.

Sharon sat at her husband's bedside, her fingers constantly threading their way through his silver hair, her eyes fixed on the television hanging on the opposite wall. In her other hand, she held Andy's, her very lifeline on the best and worst of days. In her lap, her cell phone delivered a steady stream of messages from her children and her friends, keeping her in the loop.

Andy was resting comfortably, receiving oxygen through a cannula and a solution to flush his system through an iv in his hand. He would be just fine. The lighter fluid, accidentally laced with butane, had been just enough to render him unconscious. Their suspect had unknowingly mixed the two when he refilled his pocket butane lighter with lighter fluid. The two didn't mix. Fortunately, it also kept the mechanism from lighting when his thumb rolled the switch. Otherwise, the results would have been deadly.

Provenza sat across the room on the vinyl sofa. Both of them had showered and changed into clothes brought to them by Rick and Holly. Beside him sat his wife, who finally managed to join them after being relieved by Anne and Mark.

Their kids, it seemed, were dividing their time between caring for the children, still housed in the middle school gym, and helping with the clean up and Hope House. The work there would take some time, but it would, at least, be minimal with the damage being limited to mostly smoke and water. They could handle that. In the end, no lives were lost and for that, everyone was very grateful.

She would hold onto that just as she held onto Andy, the very heart beating outside of her body.

By the end of the week, they had settled back at home and the children of Hope House had found a new kind of normal. Their room assignments had shifted around a bit, making room for everyone while staying away from the rooms affected by the fire. Some would have to make do in the living room for the time being, but the kids were resilient and thought of it as an adventure.

Sharon and Andy sat on the back porch swing, their favorite spot, sipping iced tea and enjoying the breeze off of the lake. Provenza and Patrice, Mark and Anne had joined them, and the lot of them were entertained by the younger set enjoying the water beyond.

Drew and Mel made their way across the lawn and took their seats on the porch steps, accepting Sharon's offer of tea and company. When Drew leaned against the porch post and Melanie reclined against him, Andy smiled at their openness. While they'd long seemed very comfortable together, they'd kept that part of themselves very private. It made Andy very happy to see them now sharing their relationship freely with those closest to them.

Sharon watched them as well, and she saw how happy it made her husband. She knew how content she felt, seeing her children happy and well, and knew Andy felt the same way. Drew was the last of them. If he was settling in, having found someone to build a life with at last, she wished them both the best. It looked like it might be the case.

"So, Dad, Sharon, Melanie and I wanted to float an idea past you both, regarding the house down the way. The one you guys renovated last year."

"Yeah, what about it?" asked his father. "Your sister was making noises about buying a place out here for a while. I think they're just as happy staying with us when they visit. Maybe when the kids are out of the house. It makes a great investment property anyway. What, are you interested using it, son?"

Drew looked at Melanie and shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, actually, I've been offered a job out here, heading up a new flight team with Big Bear Search and Rescue. Melanie's been granted a provisional transfer, provided I accept the position. It's a good placement, great money."

Melanie reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze.

"We were thinking if you all didn't mind, we'd like to rent the house until the repairs are completed at Hope House, and stay there with Celina and Ruben and the kids who've been displaced."

Sharon and Andy looked at the young pair. They were suggesting taking care of the half dozen children left without rooms along with the young adults who served as their caregivers. Celina and Ruben were siblings who had aged out of the system before joining the staff of the children's home. They had stayed with the Flynns over Christmas break only a year or so before.

Andy took his wife's hand in a curious mirror of the younger couple's posture.

"First of all, and I think I can speak for both of us here, you'll pay no rent while you're taking care of a houseful of children. Secondly, you're welcome to stay in the house for as long as you like. Third, if this means my son is coming to live on the lake, you've just made this old man extremely happy, son."

Drew extended his free hand to his father in offering.

"Dad, you've spent the last several years reaching out to me, trying to bridge the distance between us. We've done much better these last few. We really have. But I've always come out for a week or so here and there, keeping a couple of convenient hours between us. It's my turn. My move."

Sharon watched as her husband accepted his boy's hand. His boy who was now very much a man. How far the two had come. Years of anger, disappointment, and resentment not buried or glossed over, but learned from, grown from. Grace and forgiveness had been extended and accepted. Time. It had taken time, and patience. And Love. So much love. Always love, which was always found in abundance. A classic redemption story. A miracle.

Across the lawn, the children splashed in the water or dashed about on the grass, thicker and greener than in recent months. Another miracle, one that had saved lives and property, had restored the richness of the earth as well. The fires were out and the drought was over. For many, their belief that the earth could and would heal itself was restored. For those of faith, their own closely held beliefs were greatly strengthened all the more.

Their Independence Day celebration took on a different feeling. With fires threatening their homes and families, Andy's health endangered, the sanctuary they'd created for their most vulnerable imperiled, freedom was at stake. Their haven on the lake had been held hostage by fear and uncertainty at the hands of madman.

But the fires had been extinguished, the rains sent down to quench the earth. Andy was well. Hope House was well on its way to being repaired, its children well cared for in the meantime. Their refuge was still a place of healing and peace. Families still came together, were tested in the fire, and came out stronger for the flames.

Epilogue

The house was suddenly, deafeningly quiet. After nearly four weeks of constant togetherness, Melanie and Drew found themselves completely alone. With the repairs complete and the paint dry, Hope House was ready to welcome the children home again. Celina and Ruben had loaded them up and pulled out only moments ago. Now, their voices echoed off the walls as the empty house left them feeling alone.

"There were times I wished for just five minutes of quiet and now I miss them already," said Melanie, taking in the room emptied of all but the furniture. All of the children's personal items were gone.

"Same. Those boys were exhausting, you know. Now all I can think of is how much I enjoyed it. I never dreamed I would love having a house full of kids that much."

Melanie took a step forward and wrapped her arms around his middle, looking up at him.

"Does that mean your experiment was a success? Do you want some of your own now?"

He threw his head back and laughed out loud, before pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"Yes, and yes. I believe I do. But let's do things in the proper order, shall we?"

He stuffed his fingers into his front pocket and withdrew them again. Taking her hand in his, he cocked his head sideways, a fringe of dark hair sweeping forward into his face.

"Mel, I always said I'd stay a bachelor before I'd settle for the wrong girl just because I hit thirty and panicked. I'm really glad I didn't settle. I just hope you haven't, 'cause lady, you're just about perfect. Will you marry me and join this crazy, gun-wielding, trouble-chasing, wonderful family on the lake of mine? We're pretty much a packaged deal."

Melanie watched as he slipped the ring on her finger, then framed his face in her hands, kissing him soundly. When they finally parted, she smiled up at him, nodding.

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

The End