He runs for the phone.
I jam my feet into my boots without bothering with socks, grab my jacket, and rush outside.
The air smacks me.
Smoke.
Heat.
Wind pulling against my clothes.
The fire’s far enough that the ranch isn’t in immediate danger, but fire spreads fast. Too fast when everything’s this dry.
Wyatt comes running out behind me. “They’re on it already. Engines are on the way. They said it started from the storm. Lightning strike. Jesse knows, and he’s looking after the kids.”
Of course it was lightning. Always lightning.
“We need to check the animals,” I say.
Wyatt nods.
We move fast, toward the barn, toward the pastures, toward the horses that are already stirring uneasily. Their ears flick back and forth, their bodies tense.
I murmur to them, steadying them with my voice, my hands, my presence. I’ve always been able to calm them. Always known how to make them trust me, even when the world’s burning.
But not today.
We work in silence, moving methodically, checking stalls, checking fences, preparing just in case we need to move them all to the far fields.
The whole time, the fire burns bright on the horizon.
Too bright.
Too close.
When things settle, I pull out my phone with shaking fingers and text my closest friend.
Marshall: Fire on the ridge. Started overnight. Lightning. You hearing anything on your side?
The three dots appear almost instantly.
Sawyer: Yeah. We see the smoke from High Ridge. Clint’s already moving cattle. You all safe?
Marshall: We’re fine for now. Storm hit us hard overnight. Horses are on edge. You good?
Sawyer: We’re moving fast. Anything you need?
I hesitate. Then type.
Marshall: Not yet. Just… keep me posted.
Sawyer: Always.
I shove the phone back in my pocket.
Wyatt stands beside me, breathing hard from rushing between the barns.
He follows my gaze to the horizon. “Think it’ll spread this way?”
