She blinks fast, and I pretend not to notice the shine in her eyes.
“You okay here?” I ask, stepping back toward the doorway.
If I stay in this room much longer, I’m going to do something stupid, like tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Yes,” she says. “Really. Thank you, Marshall.”
“Get some rest,” I say, and leave before the warmth in my chest gives me away.
The moment I step back into the main room, responsibility hits hard as a saddlebag full of rocks.
Jesse is up in the loft, tucking his kids into the bunk beds in their room, which was once mine. He whispers something silly that makes them snort-laugh even through their yawns.
Wyatt stands near the front window with his phone raised, the faint glow of an emergency map painting his features tired and tense. Every time the screen refreshes, my gut tightens.
I shouldn’t be here.
I should be at the ranch line, watching for embers, reinforcing fences, checking the wind. I should be doing something instead of hiding out in a fishing cabin while other people fight my fire.
But the mayor’s order was clear:Get the hell out of the danger zone. Don’t play hero.
And I have people depending on me.
My men. The twins. Abilene.
I can’t risk dying on some stupid, stubborn impulse.
Not again.
Not after Luke.
His name flickers through me like a match strike, too fast, too hot, and too bright. I shove it down before the memories can follow.
Wyatt steps away from the window, lowering his phone.
“They’ve got crews on the north side,” he says quietly. “Wind’s still in our favor. For now.”
“For now,” I echo.
“You should sleep,” he adds, giving me a look that says he knows damn well I haven’t even tried. “You look like you’re about to fight the storm with your bare hands.”
“I’m fine,” I lie.
He snorts softly. “You’re vibrating.”
I realize my leg is bouncing, foot tapping an agitated rhythm into the floor. I force it still.
“We need you functional,” he goes on. “If this gets worse. Or better. Or sideways. Whatever direction it goes, we’re going to need your brain online.”
He’s right. Doesn’t mean I like it.
“I’ll try,” I say.
“That’s all I’m asking.”
I nod once and head for the second bedroom.
Sleep doesn’t come.
