My stomach drops, and I feel sick. Really sick. Like I’m going to explode out of both ends at once, and it’s not going to be pretty.

“Ryan says the vineyards… That he…”

“In all likelihood, the vineyards will survive,” Talon says. “Some experts feel they form a natural firebreak, but we’ve seen other vineyards destroyed, so we reject that train of thought. We take precautions far and above.”

“Yes, defensible space…” I murmur. If only I knew for sure there was a decent bubble of defensible space around Dale.

“So Ryan already told you.”

I nod.

“Then he told you that we’ve suspended the harvest for a few days to protect our property.”

I nod again.

“I’ve tried calling Dale. Wherever he is, there’s either no service or he’s turned off his phone.”

“He wouldn’t,” I say. “Would he?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about Dale, Ashley.” Talon rubs at his temple. “A lot I can’t tell you.”

“But…we’re in love,” I blurt out. “If something is bothering him, I need to know.”

Talon smiles weakly. “He’s in love with you?”

“Yes. He said so. He loves me and I love him.”

Talon smiles again. “Thank you, Ashley.”

“What for?”

“You just gave me hope.”

Chapter Three

Dale

I walk quickly, resisting the urge to run. If I run, I won’t keep the pace for long with the heavy pack I carry. Best to walk, but walk fast. Wind gusts around me, stirring up the dry leaves on the ground.

After about two miles, the brush crunches under my hiking boots. Dry. How hadn’t I noticed this when I hiked in?

Easy.

I was thinking only of myself. Of my birth father’s confession. I noticed nothing about the condition in the woods that reeked of fire hazards.

Damn.

Still, the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. My best bet is to go down the way I came.

I continue walking, twigs and leaves crunching with each step I take. I inhale. The scent of burning brush is stronger here, and the air quality sucks.

Still, I see no flames. I hurry.

Another mile down, and then another. I’m about ten miles out when the wind picks up.

A streak of flame rushes through the dry brush ahead of me.

An ember lands on my forearm, and I brush it away.

Fuck.

I’m walking right to the path of the fire.

I stop. This isn’t new to me. I’ve lived on the western slope most of my life, and we’ve dealt with fires before. I concentrate on the breeze. Which way is it coming from?

Shit. It’s blowing west. Toward the vines.

I need to go upwind—toward the wind—to escape the fire. But if I walk into the wind, I walk away from my vines.

Away from Ashley.

I turn, ready to do what any backpacker knows is the first step of escaping fire, but my feet don’t move. They stay stuck, leaves swirling around them, embers still flying.

Go, damn it, I yell inside my head. Is your life worth those vines?

I love those damned vines.

They’re such a huge part of me.

They are me in so many ways.

Move downhill.

Yes, that’s something. The hot air masses created by the fire will rise.

Downhill is against the wind.

Downhill is toward the fire.

Uphill will give me better chances, but downhill is toward my vineyards.

Downhill is toward Ashley.

I trudge downhill.

Streaks of fire still spark through the rough terrain, but they’re small. I need a natural firebreak—something I can follow all the way down to the ranch property.

There’s a small creek nearby. It’ll take me a mile out of my way, but the fire can’t get across it. I move slightly north to find it.

I gasp when another streak of fire surges by. I jump over this one, still heading toward the creek.

Embers fly around me, one singeing my cheek.

“Damn it!” I run now, backpack be damned. Nothing will keep me from the creek.

Except fire.

More streaks, and before me a wall of flame has risen.

Now what?

Pine trees. Big ones. They’re all around me. Some are dead from pine beetles. I need a live one to shelter under, and even that is far from a sure thing.

The creek is out of the question. The fire looms between me and the water.

I turn. Back uphill is my only choice. Uphill, to the east.

Away from the vines.

Away from Ashley.

I race back from where I came, grunting as I trudge upward. Except more streaks of flame ignite under my feet, more—

Ahead, a figure stands. Yellow fireproof coat.

A fireman or a forest ranger. I don’t know which. I don’t care.

“Help!” I yell.

He turns and runs toward me. “Dale Steel?”

“Yes. I’m Dale Steel.”

“Good.” He holds a device to his mouth. “Found him, but we’re surrounded.” Pause. “Got it.” Then, to me, “Let’s go. I’ll get you out of here.”

“How did this start?” I yell.

“Lightning strike, we think. Maybe a campfire, though.”

Campfire?

No, not my campfire. I put it out this morning, and the fire had already begun.

But my fire yesterday morning… My internal GPS whizzes. Where did I camp the night before last? Closer to home. Closer to the vineyards…

I push the thought out of my mind.

Can’t go there.

Not that it matters. Right now I’m with an expert, but flames surround us. How does he think he’s going to get me out of here?

“Here.” He hands me eye gear and an oxygen mask and tank. “Put this on.”

I obey, and he helps me get it set up. He sprays his extinguisher over several of the fire streaks and gestures for me to follow him.

The heat is all around me now. My parka is sweltering. My eyes are protected by the mask, and I inhale sweet breaths of oxygen.

Still, the air is thick, and embers land on my parka, burning tiny holes into the fabric.

We trudge and trudge, until finally, we find a natural break.