Flames ran up one wall, feeding on old haydust and dry wood. The horses were loose in their stalls, some throwing themselves against the doors, others frozen with terror in the corners. Rose found Wyatt in the third stall, struggling with a yearling colt, who was rearing and striking out with his front hooves. The colt's eyes were white rimmed with panic foam flying from his mouth. Can't get him to move.
Wyatt coughed out. Smoke was getting thicker by the second. Rose threw the wet blanket over the colt's head, plunging him into darkness. The old horseman's trick, a blind horse will follow where you lead. She grabbed the halter and pulled.
The cult, unable to see the flames anymore, stumbled forward. Rose led him toward where she remembered the door being counting steps. One hand stretched out to feel for the wall. 10 does 15. Her lungs burned.
The wet blanket over her head was already starting to steam from the heat. 20 steps. Her hand hit the door frame. Out! She gasped to Wyatt, who was right behind her with another yearling.
"Get out now! " They burst into the cold night air, the contrast so extreme, Rose fell to her knees, coughing. Someone took the colt's lead rope from her hands. Lily pressed a wet cloth to her face. "How many? " Rose managed to ask between coughs. You got two out, six still inside.
Rose struggled to her feet. Wyatt was already heading back and another soaked blanket wrapped around him. Rose grabbed a fresh blanket from the bucket line, plunged it in water, followed him. Three more trips. Three more terrified yearlings dragged blindfolded through smoke and flame.
By the fourth trip, the heat was so intense, Rose could feel her hair singing despite the wet blanket. The ceiling beams were starting to crack, groaning under the stress. "One more! " Wyatt shouted, his voice, barely audible, over the roar of the fire in the backstall. They made it halfway down the barn aisle before a beam gave way with a crack like a rifle shot. It fell across the aisle behind them, cutting off their exit, sending up a shower of sparks.
Rose's heart hammered against her ribs. They were trapped. The fire was between them and the door now, and the walls were starting to buckle. "The back doors," Wyatt said, grabbing her arm. "Sto entrance this way. " They found the last yearling of Philly backed into the farthest corner of her stall.
She was bleeding from a gash on her shoulder, probably from throwing herself against the wall. Rose got the wet blanket over her head, while Wyatt kicked open the back door. It was barred from the outside. Wyatt hit it with his shoulder once, twice. The wood creaked but held around them.
The fire was closing in heat so intense it hurt to breathe even through the wet cloth. Again, Rose said, adding her weight to his together. 1 2 3. They hit the door simultaneously. The bar splintered.
The door flew open. They stumbled out into the snow, dragging the terrified Philly between them just as the barn roof collapsed behind them with a roar that shook the ground. Rose fell forward, hands sinking into snow that felt like heaven after the hellish heat. Beside her, Wyatt was coughing so hard she thought he might vomit. But they were alive, and the Philly was alive, trembling, but whole.
Seven yearlings saved, one they learned later, hadn't made it, overcome by smoke before they could reach her. The bucket brigade had managed to keep the fire from spreading, but the yearling barn was a total loss. Nothing left but smoking timbers and ash. Rose sat in the snow, watching it burn her lungs raw. Her hands blistered from the heat.
Wyatt collapsed beside her equally spent. "Birch," he said horarssely. "This was Birch. " "You can't know that. " "I know. " Wyatt's voice was flat with certainty. The fire started on the west wall, away from the house, where no one would see it right away. Someone said this deliberately.
Rose wanted to argue, but she couldn't because he was right. This wasn't an accident. This was sabotage. Hank approached his face grim. Boss, I found something.
He held out a silver pocket watch. The case partially melted from heat, but still recognizable. Engraved on the back were the initials CB Clayton Burch. Wyatt took the watch, turned it over in his hands. His expression was utterly cold, all emotion locked down tight.
He dropped this while setting the fire. Probably fell out of his pocket. That's evidence, Rose said. We can take it to the sheriff. Have Bur arrested.
The sheriff is Bur's cousin. Wyatt's laugh was bitter. You think he'll arrest family over a watch that could have been planted, over a fire that could have been an accident? Then what do we do? Wyatt stood slowly, painfully.
Every movement spoke of exhaustion and injury, but his eyes were hard as granite when he looked toward the east toward Birch's property. We make him regret this. We show him he can't break us. But even as he said it, Rose could see the desperation underneath. They'd saved seven yearlings out of eight.
But the barn was gone. The hay stored inside was gone. The tack and equipment were gone. The financial loss was catastrophic. And Bur knew it.
The next morning brought worse news. Rose was treating the burned Philly, cleaning the shoulder wound, and checking for smoke damage to her lungs when a writer came from town. Not someone Rose recognized. A clerk from the bank, young and nervous. "Message for Mr.
Thorne," he said, handing over an envelope. Wyatt opened it there in the yard, read it once, then read it again. His face went completely blank. "What is it? " Rose asked. The bank.
They're calling in my operating loan, the one I used to buy feed and supplies through the winter. His voice was mechanical, detached. They're giving me two weeks to pay it in full. $1,200. Rose felt the ground tilt under her feet. They can't do that.
You've never been laid on a payment. There's a clause. If the collateral is damaged or destroyed, they have the right to demand immediate repayment. Wyatt looked at the smoking ruins of the barn. The yearlings were listed as collateral.
With the barn gone and the horses scattered, they're claiming the collateral is compromised. Bir's brother-in-law, Rose said slowly. The bank president. Exactly. Wyatt crushed the letter in his fist.
Burch burns my barn, then has his brother-in-law call the loan. It's coordinated, calculated. He's not just trying to hurt me. He's trying to destroy me completely. Rose's mind raced through options, through possibilities.
They had maybe $300 left after paying the first loan. Nowhere near 1,200. And even if they sold everything, the horses, the equipment, they couldn't raise that much in 2 weeks. Unless my practice, Rose said suddenly, I can take on more patients, work around the clock if I have to. There are ranches I haven't reached yet farther out.
If I can bring in 200 a week for two weeks, combined with what we have, we could get close. Rose, you'll kill yourself working at that pace. Better than losing everything. She met his eyes. We fight Wyatt.
That's what we do. We fight until there's nothing left to fight with. Something shifted in Wyatt's expression. The desperation faded, replaced by something harder, fiercer. He cuped Rose's face in his hands, heededless of the ranch hands watching.
"I don't deserve you," he said quietly. "But God help me. I'm grateful you're here. " Then he kissed her. Not gentle, not tentative, a kiss that tasted of smoke and desperation, and something that might have been love if they'd had time to examine it. Rose kissed him back just as fiercely, her hands fisting in his shirt.
When they broke apart, both breathing hard, Wyatt rested his forehead against hers. "We survived this," he said, "Ogether, and then I'm going to marry you again properly this time with vows that mean something. " We're already married, Rose pointed out. Not the way I want to be. Not the way you deserve. He pulled back, looked at her seriously.
When this is over, I'm asking you to choose me. Not because you need security. Not because you have nowhere else to go, but because you want to. Rose's throat tightened with emotion. I already choose you, Wyatt Thorne.