The truck fishtailed as we hit the gravel driveway, tires spinning and kicking up stones that pinged against the undercarriage. My heart slammed against my ribs as the homestead came into full view, black smoke billowing into the twilight sky.
The barn—our barn, the one Pa and I had repaired just last spring—was engulfed in flames that reached hungry fingers toward the darkening sky.
But it wasn't the fire that made my blood run cold. It was Collins, standing there casual as Sunday morning, leaning against his cruiser with a smirk that said he'd been waiting for us.
"Oh God," Dan muttered beside me, his injured arm still cradled against his chest, face gone pale beneath his tan.
I scanned the scene with growing dread, eyes jumping from the burning barn to the house. Ma and Newt stood rigidly on the porch, their bodies unnaturally still like they were carved from stone instead of flesh.
Ma's hands were fisted in her apron, her face a mask of terror I'd never seen before. Newt looked like he might throw up, his eyes wide and frightened as they darted between us and Collins. But it was who I didn't see that sent panic clawing up my throat.
Pa was nowhere in sight.
I slammed the truck to a stop about fifty feet from Collins's cruiser, the engine sputtering and dying with an ominous clank. Dan's hand shot out, grabbing my wrist before I could throw open the door.
"Stay in the truck," he ordered, his voice tight with pain as he reached for his service weapon with his good arm. "Collins is dangerous, Harlow. Let me handle this."
I looked at Dan—really looked at him. His face was drawn with pain, blood still seeping through the makeshift bandage on his arm. He was in no shape for a confrontation, but the determination in his eyes said he'd face Collins anyway. To protect me. To protect my family.
"No," I said, pulling my arm free with gentle firmness. "No one tells a McKenzie what to do on his own land."
Before Dan could argue, I pushed the door open and stepped out onto the gravel driveway, the heat from the burning barn hitting me like a physical wall even from this distance. Horses whinnied in panic from inside, the sound cutting through me like a knife. Pa's horses. Our horses.
"Well, if it isn't Deputy Do-Right and his pet giant," Collins called out, his voice carrying easily across the space between us. He rested his hand casually on his holstered gun, the gesture making my skin crawl. "I was beginning to think you boys might miss all the excitement."
Dan eased out of the passenger side, his movements careful and measured despite his injury. He positioned himself slightly in front of me, his good hand hovering near his weapon.
"Deputy Collins," he acknowledged, his voice steady despite the situation. "Want to tell me why there's a fire on McKenzie property and why you're standing here watching it burn?"
Collins shrugged, that smirk never leaving his face. "Just happened to be in the neighborhood when I noticed smoke. Came to offer assistance, as any good officer would."
Every word was a lie. I could taste it in the air like ash.
"Where's my father?" I demanded, my voice coming out deeper and rougher than usual, scanning the property for any sign of Pa. The fire had spread to most of the barn now, the wooden structure crackling and groaning as flames devoured it from the inside. A horse screamed in terror, the sound rising above the roar of the fire.
Collins tilted his head, considering me like I was some curious animal. "Your daddy? Think he went to check on something in the barn." He glanced over his shoulder at the inferno, then back at me with mock concern. "Right before it caught fire. Funny coincidence, that."
The casual way he said it—like he was commenting on the weather instead of suggesting my father was trapped in a burning building—made rage surge through me, hot and sharp as the flames consuming our barn.
My fists clenched at my sides, every muscle in my body tensing to spring forward and wipe that smirk off his face.
Dan must have sensed it, because his arm came up, not quite touching me but creating a barrier between Collins and me.
"Deputy Collins," Dan said, his voice shifting into something formal and official, "I'm placing you under arrest for suspected arson, assault on a law enforcement officer, and—"
The crack of a gunshot cut through Dan's words, echoing across the homestead like thunder. For a heartbeat, nothing happened—time seemed to freeze, the world holding its breath. Then Dan staggered backward, confusion flashing across his face before pain replaced it.
Blood bloomed across his shirt like a terrible flower opening its petals, spreading outward from a point just below his right shoulder. He looked down at it with almost comical surprise, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.
"Dan!" I lunged forward, catching him as his knees buckled. His weight would have dropped most men to the ground, but I gathered him against me, lowering him gently to the gravel. His breath came in short, pained gasps, his eyes wide with shock.
"DAN!" I roared again, panic burning through my veins as I eased him onto his back. Blood soaked through his shirt, warm and slick against my hands. Without thinking, I tore off my flannel, wadding it up to press against the wound.
"Pressure," Dan managed through gritted teeth, his good hand coming up to cover mine. "Keep pressure."
I nodded, pressing the cloth against the wound as gently as I could while still stemming the blood flow. My hands looked impossibly large against his chest, fingers stained crimson with his blood.
Dan was so pale, his skin ashen beneath his tan, but his eyes stayed locked on mine, clear and focused despite the pain etched into every line of his face.
