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“I’m going to tell Andrei you said that.” I rub the place beside Walter’s mane that he seems to like. His breathing slows under my hand. “I needed a reason to come out of the guesthouse.”

Mila rests the brush on the stall door. “Drew told me about Connor’s drive.”

I keep my hand on Walter’s neck. “There’s a lot on it. I thought finding it would tell me where he went, but I still have to work that out.”

“You found what he wanted you to find.” Mila offers me the brush. “That has to count for something.”

“It does.” I draw the brush along Walter’s coat while he watches the aisle. “I’m having trouble feeling it today.”

A radio sounds at Mila’s belt. She answers, listens, then looks toward the far paddocks.

“One of the young mares has cut her leg,” she tells me. “I need to see whether she’ll let us clean it. I’ll be back shortly.”

“I’ll stay with Walter.”

“Keep the stall door latched if you step out.” She checks it herself, then heads down the aisle. Her boots strike the concrete until the outside door closes behind her.

Walter turns his head to inspect my empty hand. I show him both palms, and he looks offended enough that I give him the second peppermint. I’m rubbing Walter’s neck when I smell smoke beneath the hay and clean bedding.

At first I think someone is burning brush outside. Then Walter raises his head and turns toward the rear of the building. A horse farther down the aisle stamps hard against its stall door.

I set the brush aside and step into the aisle. A thin ribbon of gray moves beneath the door to the hay-storage room. I take a step toward the door, but heat reaches me before I can touch the handle. That’s when I realize the haze beneath it is smoke.

“Fire!” I shout, backing away. “Mila!”

The alarm begins as I pull out my phone. I call the emergency number and give the dispatcher the vineyard address while I hurry to the nearest exterior door. She asks whether anyone else is inside. I tell her Mila went to the paddocks and that I’m opening the stable exit. As I push through the door, voices rise in the yard. Two stable workers run toward me from the workshop.

“Hay room,” I call. “The horses are still inside.”

One man takes the phone from my hand at the dispatcher’s instruction and moves clear of the doorway so he can keep talking. The other runs to open the wide gate from the yard. I go back in before either can stop me.

Smoke runs along the ceiling above the stall doors. Walter throws his head when I reach him, and the horses farther down the aisle strike their doors. I slide his latch open, clip the lead rope hanging beside it to his halter, and ask him to come. He takes two steps into the aisle, then plants his feet.

A dark mare stands across our route. Her stall door is open, but she has stopped sideways in the narrow passage, trembling with her ears pinned back. Smoke rolls over her, and she backs toward Walter each time a beam cracks in the hay room.

“I know,” I tell Walter, keeping my voice low as I put a hand against his neck. “We’re going the other way.”

He pulls toward his stall. The mare swings her head, searching for a way through, and I see the side exit beyond her. I can hear people calling from outside it. I can’t reach them without getting the mare moving.

I loop Walter’s rope over a post for one moment and approach her from the side. I remember Mom teaching me to let a frightened animal see where my hands are. The mare’s breathing is loud beneath the alarm. I speak to her while I reach for the short rope attached to her halter.

“Come on, sweetheart. There’s a door right there.”

She jerks back, and smoke catches in my throat. I pull my shirt over my nose and try again. The side exit opens from outside, letting in daylight and a rush of cooler air. A stable worker appears there, arms raised to show the mare a clear path.

“I’ve got her,” he calls.

I lead her toward him, moving with her when she hesitates. Once he catches her rope, I turn back for Walter. The heat has grown strong enough to reach us from the rear of the aisle. I take Walter’s lead in both hands and guide him toward the open door, keeping my shoulder beside his.

“That’s it,” I tell him. “Follow her.”

He walks, then hurries when the mare disappears into the yard. I let the rope run through my hands so he doesn’t pull me under his feet. We cross the threshold together, and I draw in a breath of outdoor air.

A heavy crack sounds above us.

The worker shouts for me to move. Walter bolts forward, pulling the rope free of my hand. I turn toward the sound and see part of the roof give way over the hay room. Broken boards strike the stable wall. One catches the edge of the doorway and sends me down onto the gravel.

I hear only a rushing noise, then pain reaches my forearm, and smoke pours through the damaged roof behind me. I push myself onto my hands and knees. Walter is gone. I can’t see whether he made it across the yard or ran back toward the road.