We’ve got three horses out now, but I know we’re pushing it. The barn’s starting to fall apart. Pieces of timber are breaking off, falling to the ground in flaming heaps.
We move faster, and before the barn can give in completely, we’re dragging out the last horses.
Then I hear it. The unmistakable sound of sirens wailing in the distance. I let out a breath. They’re finally here.
I shout to Sawyer, “Fire trucks are here!”
He doesn’t respond, but I see the subtle shift in his posture, the smallest relief in his shoulders. He’s still worried. Hell, we all are.
The barn’s not going to survive this. But at least now we’ve got backup.
By the time the fire trucks pull up, the smoke is so thick I can barely see them. The firefighters jump out of their rigs, already in their gear, moving with purpose. The first one heads straight for us, looking around to get a quick read on the situation.
“You guys need to clear out!” he yells over the noise of the fire. “We’ll handle it from here!”
Clint doesn’t argue, but I can see the frustration in his eyes. He wants to stay, to make sure they don’t screw it up, but there’s no fighting the professionals. We’ve done what we can.
I lead the horses to the farthest corner of the pasture, trying to keep them calm, but the tension is intense. The fire’s still raging, and I can see it tearing through the remaining structure of the barn, inch by inch.
There’s nothing left to save.
“They’ll take care of it,” I say, trying to calm him down.
Clint doesn’t respond. His eyes are still locked on the fire. His fists are balled so tight, his knuckles white, he’s trying to hold the whole damn ranch together with sheer force of will.
And then he does the one thing I didn’t expect. He turns, his boots thudding on the dirt as he marches to his truck.
“Clint?” I shout after him, but he’s not slowing down.
“I’m getting a surveillance system,” he snaps. “Cameras everywhere. I want eyes on every damn corner of this ranch. Whoever’s doing this is gonna regret it.”
I freeze. We’re barely holding on as it is. The ranch is a business, and we’re stretched thin, especially with the repairs we’re already making. And now this.
A system like that wouldn’t come cheap. Not even close.
Sawyer looks at me, his brows furrowed. “I guess he’s right. It’s time to put an end to this.”
I glance back at Clint, his truck already pulling out of the driveway, heading toward town.
“Yeah, you’re right.” I let out a frustrated sigh, my breath turning into steam in the cold air. “We can’t just wait for someone to finish the job. We need answers, and we need them now.”
Sawyer’s gaze is fixed on the inferno. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. The only thing betraying the turmoil inside him is the way his fists are clenched at his sides.
“Sawyer,” I say quietly, walking up beside him, “there’s nothing more we can do.”
He doesn’t look at me, but I can tell he’s hearing me. He nods, just a slight movement of his head, and then turns toward the fire department.
This shit needs to stop. And it needs to stop today.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Dakota
The early morningsun is creeping through the kitchen windows, throwing warm light on the table where Violet and I are sitting.
The scent of coffee, pancakes, and bacon is so comforting. It’s the kind of morning that’s supposed to feel easy, right? Like, everything’s fine, and no one’s thinking about anything too serious.
Except I’m thinking about something serious. Or should I say, someone?
