Page 40 of When It Reins (Three Rivers Trevors Ranch #5)

mitch

My chest starts to ache as I drive home.

Something isn’t right. I just don’t know what it is.

I rev my bike faster up the mountain, needing some reassurance that everything is fine, that I am going to get to my cabin, make up with Starling, and convince her to take a shower with me.

Try as I might to complete that vision in my head, something keeps me from letting myself get through it, from moving past the part where we actually make up and get through the fight we are in.

Maybe it is intuition, maybe it is foresight, but whatever it is, it has me pushing my bike just a little more.

I smell smoke as I near my house, making the panic in my chest tighten, especially when the flames come into view just behind Juniper’s car.

I speed up closer, throwing myself off of the bike as I finally reach my destination. I yank my helmet off, bolting into the house. “Juniper!”

Flames are engulfing my cabin at a rapid speed, and she’s not answering my panicked pleas. “Juniper! Answer me!”

I cough as I inhale smoke and drop to my hands and knees to move faster. I nearly stumble on top of her when I find her lying face down on the living room floor. “No. No, no, no, Starling!”

Flipping her over, I’m careful with her head as I try to cradle her into my chest, standing in a crouch, and moving back to the front door. I try to stay as low as possible and get us out before the fire explodes further. It is going to. It is going to take every bit of my house with it.

But I don’t care about that. All I care about is getting the woman I love far, far away from it and hope that she’ll be okay.

I exit the house just as sirens fill the air, but I don’t stop moving down the driveway at a rapid speed, just telling myself all we need is some distance from it and everything will be okay.

A fire truck hauls ass past me on my driveway, and I keep going, only stopping when I see an ambulance pull in a minute later, followed by the local sheriff.

The ambulance screeches to a halt beside me, and I plead with them to help me, watching helplessly as they take her body down to the ground and start to check her out.

“She’s breathing,” an EMT says, and it’s like air is finally allowed inside of my lungs again at the news.

I pant, letting out a cough and putting my hands on my hips as I watch them place a mask over her face and give her air. Her eyes are still shut, and her face is covered in soot and dirt.

I hate seeing her like this, hate that she was here, thinking she was safe in my home, only for this to happen.

I think through all the ways it could have happened. Maybe I left the gas on the stove on, and she lit a candle. Maybe someone was hiking and threw a cigarette down. Maybe someone was out shooting, and a spark started a fire in the dry grass.

None of those reasons sounds right, and none of them stops the worry from seeping into my chest as I watch them load her onto a stretcher and into the ambulance.

“Son, can I ask you some questions?” I turn my attention to the sheriff, who is staring me down, no doubt recognizing me as one of the Iron Horse members.

“You can,” I say, then step away from him and wait for the paramedics to let me into the ambulance. “At the hospital.”

The doors slam shut, and I stay out of their way as they work on Juniper, her fragile, nearly lifeless body shuffling with the movement of the vehicle.

I place my hand on her ankle, the only part of her I can really touch, and for the first time in nearly a decade, I bow my head, and I pray.