Another crack. Closer this time. Or maybe just louder in the silence that had fallen over the house.
Naomi’s arms tightened around Grace. The baby stirred against her chest, startled by the sudden tension and loud bark.
Naomi’s mom darted into the room, her eyes wide. “Did you hear that? What’s going on?”
“Gunshots,” Millie rushed. “From the back of the property.”
Her mom’s hand went to her throat. “Where are the boys?”
“Out there.” Naomi’s words came out thin and strained. “They went to check something. Micah, Caleb, and Wyatt.”
No one moved. No one spoke.
Silence stretched, taut and suffocating, broken only by Good Boy’s low growl as he paced near the door.
Naomi’s mind raced, spinning through possibilities she didn’t want to consider.
What if someone had been waiting out there? What if her brothers and Micah had walked into something? What if?—?
Her chest constricted. She couldn’t finish that thought.
Please, God. Please let them be okay.
She thought of Caleb—the steady, solid brother who’d stepped up when Sarah died. The one who’d held them all together when everything fell apart.
She thought of Wyatt—her younger brother, the one who blamed himself when he shouldn’t.
And Micah . . . Micah, who’d been showing up every day. Who’d driven her to appointments and walked fence lines and promised to dig into Richard’s family because she’d needed someone to. Who’d touched her elbow and grounded her when Dale’s presence had made the world feel unsteady.
What if he was hurt?
What if any one of them was hurt?
Her arms tightened around Grace, and she pulled the baby closer, as if holding her could somehow keep the rest of the world from falling apart.
Grace made a small sound and turned her face into Naomi’s chest.
Naomi’s mom moved to the window, her hand gripping the curtain as she stared at the back of the property. “I can’t see anything.”
Millie stood and crossed to her, pressing close. “Should we call someone?”
“Micah is the sheriff,” Naomi said, her voice barely above a whisper. “He’s already out there.”
The silence pressed in again.
Good Boy barked once more, sharp and insistent. His ears stayed forward, his body rigid, every muscle tense as he stared at the door.
Naomi had never felt more helpless in her life.
Please, God. Bring them back. All of them. Please.
