Chapter 9: Precautionary

Odette's ranch sat at the end of a gravel road, behind a white fence and forty miles of green.

The nearest smoke was a thin gray line on the horizon, and it hadn't moved all week.

Alec drove, and he kept both hands on the wheel the whole way.

"Remember the rule," he said, as we turned in at the gate.

"I remember."

"I'm only saying it so I do."

A helipad stood at the edge of the pasture, a faded white circle on a square of concrete.

Medevac 2 had set down there at 4:24 that morning.

There wasn't a scorch mark, a smear of ash or a bent blade of grass anywhere near it.

Odette came out onto the porch in a white shirt and jeans, with Biscuit trotting after her.

"You came," she said, with real warmth. "I made lemonade."

The kitchen had a long oak table, copper pots and a window full of oak trees.

She laid a folder in front of me with her own hands.

"Biscuit's records," she said. "Her checkup that week, the evacuation form. Take your time."

The checkup was dated two days before the fire.

Under *Reason for evacuation* it said *Precautionary: regional warning.*

There was no vet visit after the flight.

There was no note about smoke, or her lungs, or anything wrong with her at all.

I turned the page.

Alec stood by the sink, saying nothing.

"A precaution," Odette said. "I know it sounds foolish now. I've lived through two evacuation orders, and I panicked."

"A precaution," I said.

"I'd have flown her out in my own car if the road had been open. It wasn't."

"It was open. Alec flew over it."

"Honey, I wasn't in the cockpit."

She said it so gently that I almost apologized.

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