THE WILD ROSE
He jogged down the slope, pulled what he needed from the wreck and the patrol car, worked fast, then came back up beside me with his face lit by trouble.
“Awful cold tonight, Rose.”
I looked at the wrecks below.
“I suppose it is a tad chilly.”
“Funny how fires start in weather like this.”
“Terrible mystery.”
Arthur grinned. He threw me a lighter and a rag.
“Would you like to do the honors?”
“And steal your good time, no way.”
Then the wrecks went up.
Fire roared through the ditch, bright and hungry, swallowing the patrol car and licking across the ruined truck. Heat rolled up the slope and washed over us. For a few seconds, we were nothing but two dark silhouettes standing against the blaze.
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