Return to Virgin River

mountains past Fortuna and the trees overwhelmed her, she began to feel hopeful for the first time in a long time. The place was filled with lovely memories that were coming back to her. She had been visualizing the cabin filled with old china, colorful quilts and solid hardwood floors covered with plush area rugs and knew it was the perfect escape. She remembered laughter and good food and long walks. She had fished in the river with Gerald and a couple of the Templeton kids.
She followed the directions as her GPS chirped them out. The road was narrow and shrouded by large trees. Every now and then she’d pass a break in the trees and the sunlight would blast her eyes. Off in the distance, she saw a curl of smoke. She hadn’t thought about the risk of forest fires and hoped that wasn’t anywhere near the Templetons’ house.
She remembered the house was perched on a hillside. As she drove upward, her desire to settle in and write grew and grew. Her writing was usually at its best in winter, when it was cloudy and damp and chilly enough for her to light a fire at six in the morning and hunker down for a long day of writing. Winter in Newport was usually mild and sunny, but when those dark, cloudy winter days came on, Kaylee burrowed in and lost herself in her story. It was August now so it wouldn’t be too long until the weather would start to change. Soon, with the changing of the leaves, she’d be entering months of cozy fireplace days.
Another twenty minutes and half as many miles brought her to the road on which she’d live. There were only a few widely separated homes, all sitting above the road with fairly long drives leading to them. She could see that one was surrounded by fire trucks, the drive blocked, rivers of water soaking the road. A lot of pickup trucks were blocking the road and there, at the end of the drive, was a house, or what was left of one. The firefighters were reeling in their hoses. The house, a two-story, was charred on one side, and it looked like flames had licked the outside from the dormer windows.
“Those poor people,” she said aloud.
The flowers that lined the front walk and what was left of a porch were trampled and drowned; mud flowed in rivers and a gang of men were standing around the front of the house.
“Your destination is on the left,” said the GPS voice.
She slowed to a stop and looked around for another house. But there wasn’t another house. And the number on the mailbox confirmed the bad news. Her getaway, her mountain villa. It was one big smoldering pile of ash.
“Oh shit,” she said.
She pulled over down the road, out of the way of the fire trucks. One was labeled Virgin River Volunteers and the other, bigger truck said Cal Fire. She walked up the drive and headed for that gang of men. Some were wearing yellow turnouts, those thick flame-retardant overalls. Others were in jeans and denim or plaid shirts and she assumed they were just observing.
“What happened?” she asked the first man she came to.
He was kind of grizzled looking, with a stubble of beard, thin hair up top and watery blue eyes. He scratched his chin. “Fire,” he said.
“Obviously! Was anyone hurt?”
“Nah, she’s been sitting empty since after Fourth of July. Heard someone’s gonna be renting it. But I guess that deal’s off...”
“Me,” she said. “I’m renting it. Holy God, what in the world caused it to burn up! I mean, if no one was in it...”
“I guess those Cal Fire guys will help figure that out. Wasn’t no lightning; we got clear skies. We’re just lucky the postman saw smoke and the whole damn hill didn’t take light!”
“Dear God...”
“We coulda been out here for days,” he said, giving his brow a wipe.
“The Templetons,” she said. “Has anyone called the owners?”
“The fire department will call once they get the number. You got the number? You can call ’em. It ain’t no secret. It’s just gonna be a while before anyone figures out what set it off and how bad the damage is.” He turned and looked over his shoulder at the charred mess. He shook his head. “I hope you have somewhere else to stay.”
“That’s going to be a problem,” she said. “I guess I could drive back over to the coast and look for a hotel or something. Unless there’s one around here?”
He was shaking his head. “I can give you a spot on the couch if you’re hard up,” he said.
A man in yellow turnouts walked over to where she stood. He was holding a shovel. “Did I hear you say you know the owners?”
“Yes, I’ve known them almost my whole life. I was renting the house from them and I just arrived to...to...this.”
“It’s pretty ugly in there,” he said. “It can be fixed, but it can’t be fixed fast. No way anyone’s staying there tonight. Or this month for that matter.”
“Do you have any idea what caused it?” she asked.
“I’m not an investigator, mind you. Just an old fireman. I suspect an electric blanket. It looks to me like the fire started in the bedroom. On the bed.”
“They left an electric blanket on?” she asked. “And that could start a fire?”
“It didn’t even have to be turned on,” he said. “It’s best to wait on the investigator to make a judgment, but I’ve seen it happen. I don’t think that house is for rent anymore.”
“What am I going to tell Mr. Templeton?” she thought aloud.
“You can start off by telling him there was a fire in his house, a pretty bad one, and the place isn’t a total loss but it’s uninhabitable. We’ll call someone to come out and make sure it’s locked and the windows are boarded up. Wouldn’t want anyone to go in there and get hurt. Wouldn’t want