Ronnie crossed her arms, blowing out a steaming breath, trying to lessen the knot of anxiety in her chest. As if she didn’t have enough worries with Lyle’s laundry list of lies and schemes, not to mention the diamond killer threat, Deborah’s drinking problem seemed to have gotten worse since the visit from Ronnie’s dad. Claire was right—an intervention might be in order sooner rather than later, before their mother passed the point of no return.
If Deborah hadn’t already.
The approaching vehicle seemed to be picking up speed the closer it got to the RV park. Ronnie watched it, her heart accelerating, too.
What the hell? Was it some drunk coming back from The Shaft? If they didn’t slow down, they were going to take the curve after the bridge too fast and slam into the porch.
The vehicle went airborne when it hit the other side of the bridge, just a little, but still … “Slow down,” she whispered, stepping out from the shadows.
Holy shit!
She should run.
She should go back inside.
She should try to stop them somehow before they crashed …
Or maybe just run.
The vehicle rocketed into the RV park, skidding sideways across the gravel drive as it came to a hard stop.
She coughed, waving and blinking through the swirling dust, and saw the Cholla County Sheriff’s Department emblem on the side of the white pickup.
The window rolled down.
“Get in!” Grady yelled, the CB mic in his right hand. He pointed out the windshield with it. “Fire!”
For the first time since she’d walked out on the porch, she looked back toward the RV park. Beyond the smattering of nearby campers, she could see an orange glow in the sky.
Fuck!
She opened the door to the General Store. She’d left Chester and Harvey inside drinking beer in the rec room while a western played on the television.
“Chester!” she yelled from the threshold. “Campground fire! Keep Henry in the house! Call Claire!”
Slamming the door, she leapt down the porch stairs and climbed into the cab next to Grady, who was rattling off codes into the CB mic, giving orders for fire crews and backup. He hit the gas while he talked, sending gravel flying as he raced toward the fire.
Ronnie crossed her fingers, hoping it was one of the restroom buildings on fire and not a camper.
When they reached the fire, she covered her mouth. “It’s Gramps’s Winnebago,” she cried through her fingers.
She leaned forward, squinting through the windshield at the sight of somebody pounding on the Winnebago’s bedroom window. The woman was wearing a robe that looked like Ronnie’s. What was she …
“Natalie!” Ronnie was out of the truck and running toward her cousin by the time Grady yelled for her to stop.
She didn’t listen to him.
“Natalie!” She reached her cousin as the window around the back of the Winnebago shattered. A lamp flew out and crashed to the ground.
Natalie frowned at Ronnie. “Coop was inside sleeping,” she explained and raced around the back of the Winnebago in her shower flip-flops.
Ronnie followed her, rounding the camper as a billow of smoke poured out through the broken window.
Coop draped Gramps’s bedspread over the broken windowsill and leaned out the window, coughing. “Get back! This place could blow if the flames hit the propane tank.”
Ronnie grabbed Natalie and tugged her back toward the trees lining Jackrabbit Creek. In the meantime, Coop slid out the window legs first, dropping to the ground next to the lamp. His face was lined with pain when he joined them, his shirt missing.
Natalie rushed up to him, framing his smoke-blackened face. “God, Coop! I was afraid you’d passed out from the smoke. Are you okay?” She went on her toes and kissed him, not giving him a chance to answer for several seconds.
When Natalie pulled back, Coop ran his hand through his hair. “I’m lightly toasted, but still in one piece.” He frowned at the burning Winnebago. “Natalie, when you said you’d wake me in a way I’d never forget, this was not what I was expecting.”
Natalie let out a weird cackling-sob sound and buried her face in Coop’s bare chest.
He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and looked over her head at Ronnie. “You two should head back to the General Store to be safe.”
“Screw safe,” Ronnie said. “We need to evacuate the nearby campers, if they haven’t already heard the commotion.” She didn’t wait for him to agree, jogging back toward Grady’s pickup as she peered through the smoke for the sheriff. Where was he?
Halfway there she heard someone call her name. She slowed, looking toward the burning camper. Manny rushed toward her with what looked like a big wrench in his hand.
“You need to move Deborah to safety. She’s passed out in our bed.”
“What about you?”
“I’m going to unhook the portable propane tank before it blows and lights this whole damned RV park on fire.”
“What? No! Manny, that’s too dangerous.”
“Veronica! Su madre. Ahora.” He pushed her toward his Airstream and then raced toward the flames.
Where in the hell was Grady? After one last worried glance toward Manny as he rounded the back of the Winnebago, Ronnie raced around to the door of Manny’s Airstream. “Mom!” she called, bursting inside.
Snoring came from the bed in the back. Ronnie found her mother sprawled out on top of the covers still wearing the silver lounge outfit she’d had on while playing cards earlier. One of her red feather slippers was on her foot, the other missing. The camper reeked of stale liquor and even staler cigar smoke.
“Mom, wake up!” She shook her mother by the shoulders. Deborah moaned and rolled away from Ronnie.
The fire next door made several popping sounds, flames crackling louder for a few seconds. Ronnie flinched, her heart performing a drum solo in her ears.
“Damn it, Mom, get up!” Ronnie grabbed her
