Page 20 of Guard Bear (Return To Fate Mountain #5)
Chapter
Eighteen
Joy’s hands throbbed where blisters had already risen on her palms. She'd tried to save them.
Beaten at the flames with her jacket until the fabric caught fire.
Reached into the inferno with bare hands, desperate to create an escape route for even a few of her girls.
The pain felt distant now, muffled by shock and grief.
The fire truck's red lights spun in endless circles, painting the scene in hellish flashes. Firefighters moved between the destroyed hives, their hoses sending streams of water onto frames that still glowed with embers.
A warm hand found her shoulder. Her mother's touch anchored her to the present moment, pulling her back from the edge of complete despair. Maria didn't speak. She didn't need to. The gentle pressure of her fingers said everything.
Tires crunched on gravel. Heath's SUV came fast up the drive, not quite sliding to a stop. Gabriel stepped out, already scanning the scene with detective's eyes. Her uncle's cop face hardened as he took in the destruction, then softened when his gaze found her.
"Joy." Just her name, but it carried the weight of family love and professional fury.
The EMTs approached with their kits, gentle hands reaching for hers. Joy had forgotten they were there, forgotten everything except the destruction.
"Let me see your hands, honey." The female EMT's voice was kind but firm.
Joy lifted her palms, surprised to see how bad they looked. Angry red burns covered both hands, blisters already formed and weeping. The pain registered then, sharp and throbbing, breaking through the protective fog of shock.
"Second degree burns," the EMT murmured. "We need to clean and wrap these."
They worked quickly, cleaning the burns with solution that made Joy hiss through her teeth.
The gauze came next, white bandages wrapping her palms and fingers until her hands looked like boxing gloves.
This was the second time in so many weeks her hands had been scarred.
The hands she used to practice her craft, to love, to care, to tend.
Her mountain lion paced inside her chest, making a sound Joy had never heard before. Not the cry of hunting or mating or even fear. This was grief, raw and primal, mixed with desperate concern for the confused survivors circling overhead.
Gabriel moved carefully through the scene, camera in hand. Each click documented another angle of destruction. Tire tracks in the dirt. Boot prints preserved in ash. Everything her home had become was now evidence of a crime.
"May I download the security footage for analysis?" Andre's formal tone made her look up. He stood a few feet away, jaw tight with barely controlled rage.
Joy nodded. The words wouldn't come, but he understood. He moved toward her workshop with careful steps, avoiding the worst of the debris.
Something nagged at the back of her mind. A memory trying to surface through the fog of shock and pain. She closed her eyes, letting it come.
Ryan Holbrook's face appeared in her memory. The way he'd studied her booth at the farmers market, that calculating gaze cataloging everything she'd built. Then last night at the lodge.
"The beekeeper didn’t seem interested, but that should change.”
The message hit differently now. Joy's eyes snapped open.
"I need to tell you something, Uncle Heath." Her voice was still scraped raw, but urgency pushed the statement out.
Heath turned from his conversation with Gabriel, immediately alert. "What is it?"
"Ryan Holbrook. From Pacific Northwest Investments." The explanation tumbled out faster now.
"He was at the farmers market, studying everyone's booths like he was cataloging inventory. Then last night at the lodge, Andre and I overheard him on a phone call."
She fumbled for her wallet with bandaged fingers, clumsy and frustrating. The business card was still there, edges crisp against the worn leather. She managed to pull it free and hand it to Heath.
"He said something about the beekeeper changing her mind. Talked about accelerated timelines."
Heath studied the card, then looked at Gabriel. Something passed between them, the wordless communication of partners who'd worked together for years.
"Professional accelerant. Multiple ignition points." Fire Chief Ash Bright's voice cut through as he approached, his firefighter's gear still damp from working the hoses. "Same signature as the orchard.”
More vehicles arrived. Police cruisers. A forensics van. Her small corner of the ranch transformed into a crime scene complete with yellow tape and evidence markers. Joy stood in the middle of it all, trying to reconcile this chaos with the peaceful morning routine she should have been following.
Andre emerged from her workshop carrying a small drive. His movements were careful, professional, but she could see the tremor in his hands. The barely leashed violence in the set of his shoulders.
"I've got everything downloaded," he said, holding up the drive.
His gaze swept the scene, lingering on her bandaged hands, the destroyed hives, the forensics team marking evidence. A muscle jumped in his jaw. His feet shifted toward her, an aborted movement that spoke of his need to touch her, to verify she was safe.
"I should stay." The words came out rough, his bear bleeding through. "You need protection. What if they come back? What if?—"
Heath's voice cut through Andre's spiraling. "We need to get that footage to the station.”
Andre's hands curled into fists. "I'm not leaving her unprotected."
"She's not unprotected." Heath's tone remained steady, but Joy caught the understanding in his eyes. "She's surrounded by family and half the police force."
"That's not enough." Andre took a step closer to Joy, his body angling between her and the open land beyond the bee yard.
"Andre." Joy's voice came out stronger than she expected.
His warm brown eyes were wild with fear and rage. His bear was so close to the surface she could practically see it pushing against his skin.
"The best way to protect me is to find who did this." She lifted her bandaged hands, ignoring the way they throbbed. "That footage is the only lead we have. You installed the system. You will understand what you’re looking at. I need you to go do your job. Now."
His jaw clenched so tight she heard his teeth click. "Joy?—"
Andre's chest rose and fell with harsh breaths. The internal battle played out across his face—duty versus instinct, logic versus the primal need to guard his mate.
For a moment she thought he might refuse. His bear was winning, she could see it in the golden tinge creeping into his eyes. Then he closed them, drew a shuddering breath, and when they opened again they were brown once more.
"Fine." The word came out like gravel. "But you should stay with your parents. And… text me every hour. And if anything—anything—feels wrong, you call immediately, and I’ll be here."
Joy nodded, not trusting her voice.
Andre stepped closer and wrapped her in a hug. "I'll find who did this," he promised, and the words vibrated with barely controlled violence. "We'll end them.”
She watched Andre climb into his truck, every movement reluctant. He looked back three times before driving away.
The morning had fully broken now. Sunlight streamed across the ruined bee yard, revealing every detail in harsh clarity. The twisted metal of hive tops that had melted in the heat. The wooden frames reduced to charcoal. The ground thick with tiny corpses.
Joy dropped to her knees among the dead bees, and she scooped up a handful of the small bodies with her bandaged hands. These creatures who had given her everything were reduced to weightless husks.
Above her, the survivors circled in desperate loops.
They needed homes. A queen. Structure. Her mind raced through options even as grief threatened to drown her.
Empty equipment boxes in the workshop could serve as temporary shelters.
She'd need to order new hives immediately, but delivery would take days. The survivors needed protection now.
Her mountain lion rose inside her then. The predator recognized that someone had declared war on her territory, her pride, her life.
Ryan Holbrook. The name burned on her tongue like acid. She could see his pale eyes. Hear his voice dismissing her life's work as a temporary inconvenience.
As she stood among the ashes of everything she'd built, Joy made a promise to the dead.
Not just to her bees, but to herself. To the woman who'd built a business with her own hands.
Who'd created beauty and sweetness in a world that wanted to reduce everything to profit margins.
And to the survivors still circling overhead—she'd rebuild. For them. For all of them.