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“We could’ve done it all twice as fast if she’d been here.”

Waylon grinned. “Ha! Agreed. I’ll tell her. My Pixie will appreciate that.”

Ben slapped the gate twice after the latch seated. “Good.”

The driver started toward the cab. Mac stepped back as the truck pulled away. He watched the trailer disappear into smoke, then turned toward the pens.

Ten horses down.

It looked like they hadn’t moved any at all.

Criminy.

A scruffy brown shape moved beneath the folding table where Jodie was working. Goblin poked his head out, sniffing the air. Mac shook his head, remembering the two enormous ears flapping in the wind he’d seen in the rearview mirror. How the sneaky little guy had gotten past him into the truck bed, he’d never know.

Smart critter.

They’d make a home for him when this was over. Mac could already see the three of them hunkered down next winter, or out walking in the snow together, running some errand or another, then hurrying home ahead of the weather. He didn’t care which house, hers or his, as long as they were together.

I’m going to marry her.

The thought didn’t scare him at all. It was the surest thought he’d ever had.

Jodie was bent over her board, writing as Dana shouted information to her from the trailers. She looked exhausted. Smoke had reddened her eyes, and strands of hair had escaped her ponytail and stuck to her face.

He wanted to go to her.

Instead, another group of horses entered the alley.

Work first.

“Mac.” Kyle approached from the trailers, radio clipped to his vest. “Dana wants the next stock rig ready as soon as this one clears.”

“On it.”

Waylon fell into step beside him. Behind them, Jodie called out a trailer number, somebody answered, and another engine started. The whole place was moving now, all of them trying to race against a fire they couldn’t see.

By the time the third trailer rolled forward, Mac’s shirt was sticking to his back beneath the smoke-darkened sky. The cloud cover had taken the worst of the sun out of the equation, but it hadn’t made the work cool. The air felt close and heavy, and every trip between the holding pens and the trailers felt longer than the one before it.

He finished swinging a gate shut and stepped back while Dana waved the driver forward. Another load gone.

Not enough.

Still counts.

He reached for the tube connected to his CamelBak water pack. It was nearly empty. He drained what was left, then stood for a moment with his hand on the trailer rail. His pulse was running harder than it should have been. Not bad.

Not yet.

He knew exactly where not yet could get him.

Waylon came around the trailer carrying two water bottles. “Need one?”

“Thanks. Electrolytes too, if you’ve got them.”

Waylon stopped and looked at him.

Mac met his gaze. “I’m fine. I’m also taking ten minutes before I stop being fine.”