Summer of Fire - Linda Jacobs [144]
He shushed her by pressing two fingers to her lips. “Shhh.”
She gave up, for there was nothing left to say. They would promise to call and write and visit at Thanksgiving, but by then their separate worlds would have re-absorbed them.
“I’ve been thinking about a lot of things,” he said.
She’d been thinking, as well. Too much. This sweet ache had no place when the best thing that had happened to her would end when her plane took off.
Steve bent and pressed his lips to hers, setting her tears free.
“Devon’s not ready to travel,” he murmured at her ear. “Why don’t you both come home with me?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
September 9
Clare sat between Steve and Devon as he shifted gears on the long grade up from Yellowstone’s northern gateway to Mammoth Hot Springs. They’d driven the long way around from West Yellowstone through Bozeman, rather than the shorter route through the park.
The rushing Gardner River ran between steep cliffs where, on Steve’s advice, Clare kept an eye out for bighorn sheep. The higher mountains were barely visible through a yellowish haze.
“I don’t like the look of this smoke,” Steve said.
Clare pressed a hand on his arm, warning him not to disturb Devon.
He fell silent.
Talk of evacuation had been on the air in the Pic and Save Market in the park’s northern gateway town of Gardiner, Montana, when they had stopped for groceries. She had not reported it to Devon, who had waited for them in the truck. When the tiny village of Mammoth appeared, Clare could only see a few buildings, the rest obscured by drifting cottony tendrils.
By the stone barn housing the Mammoth Fire Cache, there were at least twenty fire engines. She swore under her breath at the long arms of the North Fork that now stretched from one side of the park to the other. They should have checked conditions at Fire Command before striking out, but she had so wanted to bring Devon to a safe refuge.
There was Steve’s place in the old stockade. He shut off the engine and limped around the rear to pull the passenger door open for Devon.
“I can do it.” Devon swung around and stepped out. Steve steadied her.
Clare scrambled down behind her. “Do you need another pain pill?”
“No.” She shrugged off Steve’s hand. “I can walk.” Clare suppressed a smile at her daughter’s pride.
Steve’s crutches lay in the truck bed. “Damned things are more trouble than they’re worth.” He snagged a bag of groceries and stumped toward his back porch. Clare plucked a second sack, aware that Devon followed slowly.
Steve’s porch was full of man stuff. Shelves lined with open toolboxes, cans of lubricant spray, and coils of rope covered one wall. Inside, the kitchen was as immaculate as when Clare had run out on Steve drinking coffee the other morning. Devon came in looking curious.
Clare helped Steve put away the groceries, passing canned goods to the pantry and items into the fridge. She and Jay used to do these simple domestic chores together. As she picked up a jar of basil and accurately opened the cabinet that housed the spices, Devon accused, “You’ve been here before.”
“I have,” Clare turned to her, “but it happens that was a lucky guess.”
Devon looked skeptical.
“Are you okay or would you like to lie down?” Please, don’t let Devon think she was trying to get rid of her.
“Down,” Devon agreed, although her eyes were clear, the last pain pill having evidently worn off.
Steve closed the fridge. “You gals take my room.” His eyes flicked to Clare’s, the barest glance that was swiftly gone.
In the living room, Devon trailed a finger across the shining surface of the grand piano. When they reached Steve’s room, she stopped halfway to the bed and stared at the picture of Susan at the same piano. Clare watched her give an appraising glance at shining golden hair and black velvet, and then look at her mother with butchered hair, rough yellow and olive fire clothes, and thick