Free Sudden Legacy by Kristy Phillips Page B

grateful that I had thought to grab it on my way out.
    It went straight to voicemail. I didn’t bother to leave a message. Snapping the phone closed I stuffed it back into my back pocket. Once I got to the Johnson’s I could just follow the firebreak until I ran into them.
    The Dambacher house was a very interesting piece of architecture. It had been designed in the standard log cabin style, with river stones as accents, but all of the doors and windows had been framed with twisting Manzanita branches. The result always made me think of the fabled witch’s house in Hansel and Gretel.
    It was home to Doc Dambacher; a very sweet, eclectic man that had to be pushing a hundred years old if he was a day. He lived alone with only a handful of chickens and a few friendly goats for company. His great-grandson, Morty, would stop by every couple of days to check in on him.
    There was no sign of Morty today, but Doc was out by his goat shed looking rather upset. I waved to get his attention, knowing calling out would be useless as he was stone deaf. “Hi Doc. Is something the matter?” I said when I reached his side.
    “Oh, hello dear,” was his sweet reply. “I’m afraid my Milly has wandered off. She gets real nervous when the fires get so close...” He was shaking his head and scanning the edge of the tree line. The smoke was definitely getting thicker in the air, and I started getting uneasy, wondering if the fire had made its way closer than I thought.
    Wild fires were a common occurrence in our area. We were known for them. At least once a year we could be counted on to need the assistance of out of state firefighters to help put out a blaze started by a careless smoker or some idiot with a campfire. One year it was even discovered that a brush fire had been purposefully started by a firefighter in need of the extra work.
    “Well, she wouldn’t be foolish enough to walk into the flames, so I’m sure she’ll turn up.” I tried to sound reassuring. My words did nothing to comfort Doc however, and he continued to scan the woods for signs of his missing goat. “She’s due to kid any time now...” he murmured more to himself than to me.
    I was at a loss as to what to do in this situation. I felt like a heel leaving Doc to worry about his goat alone, but at the same time I wanted to find Pops and try and get some idea of how close this fire was getting. “I’m on my way to the Johnson’s place to see about the firebreak. I’ll keep a look out for Milly, okay?” was the best I could offer.
    He waved me away with a nod, and I continued across his field and into the trees. I stayed to the path until it opened into a meadow. The smoke hung thick in the air, and I caught myself questioning if I was headed in the right direction. The meadow was eerily quiet, as if the birds couldn’t sing through the smoke. I had just made up my mind to turn around and head back when I thought I heard a faint bleating from the far side of the meadow. Doc’s goat, Milly.
    Smoke does funny things to the way sound carries. It’s similar to fog, in that you’re never quite sure which direction a sound is coming from. When I reached the edge of the meadow the bleating was louder. “Milly?” I called. “Here girl!” I don’t know what I expected to happen. She wasn’t a dog. The bleating became more insistent at my voice. It sounded almost panicked. “Milly?” I continued on, deeper into the far woods until I stubbed my foot against a chunk of cement and stumbled forward gracelessly. Looking down I realized the cement was part of an old house foundation. I had never come across this place before.
    “Milly?” I called again.
    The foundation wasn’t large by modern standards, but it did sink down to form what must have been a basement toward the far end. I was grateful I had tripped over the shallow lip instead of the other side. Tripping over there would have meant an eight-foot drop. There were the remains of a fireplace and