She guided him toward the ridge line, scanning the ground, divots in moss, a snapped sapling, a small, partial boot print where the soil had washed downward and there in the dirt were kid-sized prints, and they were running from something.
Blair’s pulse spiked. “Rev, take me down,” she said softly, squeezing with her calves.
“Wildcat, we can’t follow you down there on these vehicles. We’ll meet up with you on foot.”
“Copy, she replied.” Give her a horse any day. Noisy, unwieldy machines didn’t fare well in this thick and treacherous backcountry where the Mounties were the only law and order.
Jet slid into a controlled descent on the narrow slope, hooves finding impossible footholds. He might be an Arabian-Percheron mix, but she wondered if he was part mountain goat. Blair leaned back in the saddle, breath steady, eyes scanning every shadow. Halfway down, she spotted a splash of red fabric caught on a low-hanging branch. A child’s jacket. Jet stopped himself without her asking. “That’s it. Good boy.”
She slid off, pocketed the torn fabric, then paused. A faint sound rose above the wind.
Crying.
She froze, scanning. Blair dropped the reins and reached across to unclip the rifle from the scabbard strapped to the saddle. The backcountry was notorious for drawing predators closer to human scent, and children running meant something had spooked them badly. The last thing terrified kids needed was a stranger looming over them with a firearm.
Her operational jacket clung damp against her shoulders, the RCMP crest dulled by rain, and her worn brown riding boots were already streaked with mud. The brim of her field hat, a beat-up baseball cap, channeled the water away from her eyes. In the chaos of wind, rain, Jet’s breathing, and the engines higher on the ridge, she was a steady, unmistakable figure of authority.
The older child saw her first.
The girl was crouched over her younger brother, soaked through, shaking, her thin arms wrapped around him. When she spotted Blair through the curtain of wet branches, something primal flashed through her. She rose fast, shoving the little boy behind her small frame, and snatched up a thick, jagged branch from the ground. Her grip was clumsy but fierce. Her chin lifted in defiance. She was ready to swing with everything she had.
The little boy whispered her name, barely audible. “Sarah…”
“Stay behind me, Joshua,” she snapped, voice quivering but strong.
Blair held her position, lowered her center of gravity, and angled her body so the rifle stayed visible but harmless, barrel down, hands steady. “Hey,” she said gently, softening her tone without losing the authority that kept them anchored. “I’m Sergeant Brown, RCMP.” She pointed to her patch. “You’re safe now.”
Sarah’s eyes flicked from Blair’s hat to her jacket to the rifle in her hands, assessing every detail. She didn’t relax her stance. She didn’t lower the branch. She simply shifted her weight to keep her brother hidden fully behind her, fierce enough to break Blair’s heart in a single beat.
“That’s good,” Blair murmured. “Stay right there. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to take you home.”
Jet exhaled behind her, a slow, calming breath, and the little boy peeked around his sister, wide-eyed at the massive black horse waiting like a shadow at Blair’s back.
“Wow, he’s pretty,” the little boy whispered.
Sarah blinked, her face vulnerable for a second as she glanced at the horse, then her brother.
“What’s RCMP?” Sarah asked, her voice steadying.
Blair noted the American accent. “Royal Canadian Mounted Police,” she said. “We’re the law here. Where you from?”
“New York City,” she whispered.
“Ah, the Big Apple. You’re some of our American cousins. Clearly out of your comfort zone, but ready and able to protect your brother. Joshua, is it?”
The boy peeked again, nodded shyly, and then buried his face in his sister’s lower back.
Sarah never took her eyes off Blair, not even then, though her expression faltered for a moment. She was young, soaked, scared, armed with nothing but a stick and raw courage, standing exactly the way Blair used to stand behind her own classmates in studio corridors when someone smaller needed a defender. A girl didn’t need size to be formidable.
Joshua reached out with small, trembling fingers, his awe overcoming his fear for a brief, fragile moment. Jet stepped forward with a deliberate gentleness Blair had only ever seen him show around her, lowering his massive head until Joshua’s hand brushed the velvet of his muzzle. The boy let out a soft gasp and stroked him once, reverent and careful, his tiny palm disappearing against Jet’s dark strength.
Sarah didn’t flinch, didn’t relax her hold on the branch, but something in her gaze wavered for the briefest heartbeat as she took in the horse towering over them, steady as a wall, solid as a shield. She drew herself up again, fierce and unyielding, ready to defend her brother from anything that moved.
Blair’s throat closed for a moment. God, this girl had fire.
A sharp crack echoed through the trees behind them. Sarah’s grip tightened instinctively, her eyes snapping toward the sound, and at the same moment her radio hissed with static.
“Blair,” Holmstein’s voice barked, breathless and urgent. “There’s fresh kill here. Bear tracks. Watch yourself, he might still be in the area.”
