I staggered the last few yards, every muscle screaming in protest. When my hand finally touched the wooden surface of the door, I nearly sobbed with relief. Old Blue pressed against my side, whether seeking comfort or offering it, I couldn't tell.
The latch was simple—a wooden bar that lifted to allow the door to swing outward. But with Pa across my shoulders, I had limited use of my arms. I braced one hand against the wall, using the other to awkwardly lift the bar. It stuck, swollen from the heat or warped from age.
"Come on," I growled, desperation giving me a final surge of strength. The bar groaned, then lifted, the door swinging partially open with the force of my effort.
Behind us, a massive crash announced the collapse of another section of roof. The sound was followed by a rush ofsuperheated air that surged toward us like a living thing, hungry and searching.
I didn't think, just reacted. Dropping to my knees, I curled my body over Pa's, shielding him as best I could from the wave of heat and debris. Something hot struck my bare back—an ember or burning splinter—searing my skin. I gritted my teeth against the pain, keeping Pa covered until the initial wave passed.
Old Blue shrieked, the sound piercing even through the roar of the fire. When I looked up, the horse was dancing in place, eyes wild, but he hadn't fled. A patch of his coat smoldered where an ember had landed, but he stayed with us, loyal to the end.
With a final surge of strength born of pure desperation, I kicked at the half-open door. It swung wide, revealing the blessed darkness of the night beyond. Cool air rushed in, creating a momentary tunnel through the smoke.
"Go, Blue!" I shouted, and this time the old horse didn't hesitate. He bolted through the opening, out into the safety of the night.
I followed, half-stumbling through the door with Pa still secure across my shoulders. The sudden absence of heat was shocking, the cool night air burning my smoke-damaged lungs in a different but equally painful way. I gulped it down anyway, each breath a blessing after the choking inferno behind us.
The hay door opened several feet above the ground, with a short drop to the field below. In normal circumstances, I'd have hesitated, worried about jarring Pa with the landing. But with the barn literally collapsing behind us, there was no time for caution.
I jumped, absorbing the impact with my knees as best I could, staggering but managing to keep my feet and my hold on Pa. The momentum carried me several steps down the gentleslope that led away from the barn, each step putting blessed distance between us and the death trap behind us.
In the distance, sirens wailed, drawing closer by the second. I kept moving down the slope toward the house, my legs on the verge of giving out but my will refusing to allow it. Not until Pa was safe. Not until I got him back to Ma.
Headlights cut through the darkness at the edge of our property, a truck skidding to a halt on the gravel drive. Even through my smoke-blurred vision, I recognized Knox's truck. The doors flew open before the vehicle had fully stopped, and Knox and Ransom leapt out, sprinting toward us with matching expressions of horror and relief.
"Harlow!" Knox reached me first, his hands immediately moving to take some of Pa's weight. "Jesus Christ, is he—"
"Alive," I managed, my voice a painful rasp. "Got a head wound. Not sure how bad."
Ransom appeared on my other side, supporting Pa's legs as we carefully lowered him to the ground. Behind them, I glimpsed movement by the house—deputies in uniform, wrestling someone to the ground beside a police cruiser. Collins, his face contorted with rage as they cuffed him.
"The bastard tried to run when we pulled up," Ransom explained, following my gaze. "Sheriff's department got here right after we called them. Seems Dan's reports about poaching had them already suspicious of Collins."
I nodded, too exhausted and smoke-choked to form words. My legs finally gave out, sending me to my knees beside Pa's still form. Behind us, a section of the barn roof collapsed with a crash, sending a plume of sparks spiraling into the night sky.
We'd made it out just in time. Pa was alive. Collins was in custody. But Dan had been shot, and our barn—generations of McKenzie history—was burning to the ground.
As Knox knelt beside Pa to check his vitals, I turned back toward the house, my heart clenching with fear for the man I'd left bleeding in the driveway. Through the swirling smoke and the chaos of emergency vehicles now arriving, I strained to see any sign of Dan.
Chapter Seventeen
~ Harlow ~
"Pa's hurt, but alive," I gasped as Knox reached me and took some of Pa's weight. Every word scraped my smoke-ravaged throat like broken glass, but I needed them to understand. ""Got a head wound. Not sure how bad."
Knox nodded, his face grim as he helped lower Pa to the ground. Ransom supported Pa's legs, then sucked in a sharp breath as he moved behind me. "Jesus, Harlow," he said, his voice tight with concern. "Your back..."
I hadn't felt it until he mentioned it, but now the pain registered—a burning, stinging sensation across my shoulder blades where embers had landed on bare skin. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except getting back to Dan.
"Ambulance is three minutes out," Ransom said, already pulling off his own shirt to place under Pa's head. His eyes kept darting to my back, his expression growing more worried. "You need medical attention too, Harlow. Those burns—"
"Dan first," I cut him off, my voice leaving no room for argument. I pushed myself to my feet, swaying slightly as exhaustion and pain threatened to drop me back to my knees. My lungs felt scorched from the inside, each breath a struggle, but I forced my legs to move.
Knox grabbed my arm, steadying me. "Harlow, you can barely stand—"
"Dan," I repeated, the single syllable carrying all the desperation and fear I couldn't put into more words. My brother's expression softened with understanding, and he nodded once.
"I've got Pa," he said. "Go."
