Cowboys & Kisses (31 page)

“Be careful,” Mom said.

Dad stood, following Wyatt out the door.

Dax was spooning jam onto his first biscuit when Dad came running back into the house. “Call the fire department, June,” he said.

Mom reached for the phone as Dax and I ran out the back door.

18 CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

It was already warm outside, the air thick with humidity. The roof still dripped from last night’s storm, and the peaceful call of the morning doves’ coo was faint, but the billowing black smoke breaking in the distance was the only thing I cared about. It was too far away to be a danger to us—

Then I understood.

My lungs felt like they were empty, drawing up, twisting painfully.
No
. The smoke was coming from the direction of Wyatt’s house.

“Wyatt!” My dad’s voice was stern.

“I’ve gotta go.” Wyatt’s voice was just as firm, his gaze locking with my father’s.

Dad frowned but Wyatt was already to his truck.

“Wyatt,” I yelled after him but he didn’t stop. “Dad…” I turned back. “He could get hurt.”

I could see the indecision on my father’s face as he said, “Let me get my keys.”

“I’ll drive,” Dax offered, pulling his keys from his pocket.

Panic reared up. Helplessness almost brought me to my knees as Wyatt’s truck bounced down the gravel drive, the tail lights fading too quickly.

Dad nodded. “Let’s go.”

We climbed into Dax’s truck, tense and silent. Dax turned the key but nothing happened. He tried it again but nothing happened. No engine noise, no AC blasting us in the face…just a grating click.

“Start, dammit,” Dax ground out, turning the key again.

“
Shit
,” I bit out.

“Come on.” Dad got out of Dax’s truck and ran back to the house. My legs felt wobbly as I climbed out of the truck.

Time was ticking away. We were here—Wyatt was there. Alone.

“Allie,” Mom called out. “It’ll be okay. The fire department is on their way. It’s probably nothing to worry about.”

I wanted to believe her. But one glance at the column of black smoke didn’t offer much comfort. What could I say to make her understand that the only thing that would make this
okay
was following Wyatt, making sure
he
was okay.

Time slowed as I dodged puddles and mud en route to Dad’s truck.

“Sorry, Allie,” Dax murmured.

“Not your fault,” I replied, watching my father run to meet us at the truck. Thank God it started right away.

It took us too long to get there—every bump and twist in the road pushing me closer to the edge. When Dad finally navigated the last bend in the road, I stared in horror.

The fire must have started a long time ago. The house was gone, the remaining walls smoldering red and orange. That was where the billowing smoke was coming from. The once-round hay bales, neatly lined up from the house to the barn, were flaming brightly—carrying the fire from the house to the barn. The side of the barn roared, literally. I could hear it from inside the truck.

Wyatt’s truck was there, the driver door closed. Pickett was running frantically back and forth on the truck seat. No Wyatt.

“Where is he?” I asked, pushing Dax out of the truck and jumping out. “Wyatt?”

“Allie!” My father grabbed my arm. “Wait. Wait a minute.”

I almost jerked my arm away. I pressed my lips into a hard line, refusing to cry or beg.

“Please.” Dad’s voice was so frantic that I paused. “Let me look, Allie. Let me look, okay?”

I nodded.

The barn groaned, a horrible creaking, followed by snapping and crackling. The back corner of the roof sagged, making the frame of the barn shift like it was leaning.

“Be careful, Dad,” I called, louder than I’d intended. But I couldn’t help it.

“Don’t worry about me, Allie. You two look for Wyatt…
away
from the fire.” Dad headed toward the barn.

Wyatt
. I wrapped my arms around myself. “Wyatt?” My voice was soft, choking. I cleared my throat, my eyes scanning the tree line…hoping. “Wyatt!”

“Wyatt!” Dax’s voice joined mine. I spun to face my brother, startled and comforted that he was with me.

I saw my father as he circled the barn, his arm up, shielding his face. He was yelling too, but whatever he was saying was lost beneath the roar of the fire. My heart was already thumping its way out of my chest; now it lodged itself in my throat. I knew Dad would be careful, he never did anything haphazard. But I didn’t like how close he was to the flames—flames that seemed to leap and jump higher every second.

“
Wyatt!
” I yelled, angrily.

More wood creaking, and the side of the barn shifted, the wall folding in on itself. The whole structure shrugged, the roof sliding forward dangerously.

“Wyatt?” Dax called again. “Wyatt!”

All of Wyatt’s neatly organized tools, his rodeo gear—I could see it hung with care on the pegboard walls inside the barn. It was all lost to the black smoke pouring out of the gaping hole, floating up into the murky morning sky and making the air heavy.

I was sobbing.

A lone fire truck arrived then. “Anyone in there?” one fireman asked as he jumped out of the truck, still shrugging into his volunteer fire department coat.

“There might be someone in the barn,” Dax said.

“Not certain?” the man asked.

“No sir,” Dax answered.

Wyatt, where are you?
I wanted to scream it, but I couldn’t force the words out.

“Stand back now, you two, hear?” the fireman directed.

“My dad’s over there.” Dax walked with the fireman, pointing to Dad as he went.

Everything seemed to slow down. I saw the firemen, saw the smoke and flames, heard the fire, but it felt hazy…disjointed—like life was moving frame by frame. The thudding of my heart and rasp of my breath seemed to muffle everything else.

With one huge groan, a deafening roar of the leaping flames, and a sudden burst of black smoke, the barn collapsed. I covered my mouth, holding back the scream. I saw my father, saw him run back, safe. But the barn, and anything inside of it, was lost.

Wyatt…No, please…Wyatt.
Fear choked me; panic closed in.

This was a nightmare. It had to be. This wasn’t happening. “Wyatt,” I croaked. Maybe I was still sleeping? Dreaming? I had to be… I could almost believe it if I didn’t taste the sulfur and smoke on the back of my tongue…If smoke wasn’t burning my eyes…If I could stop crying…“Dammit! Wyatt!” I cried out, emptying my lungs. “
Wyatt, answer me!
”

“Allie?”

I spun, slipping in the wet grass and landing hard on my butt in the mud. It didn’t matter—Wyatt was walking quickly toward me, his soot-smeared face worried.

I jumped up, running at him as fast as I could. “Wyatt.” No blood. No limping. No burns—that I could see. Just dirt and grit. He was okay. When he was close enough, I launched myself at him, wrapping my arms around him.

He caught me. I knew he would. “You okay?” His voice was rough.

I was sobbing. Yes, I was okay, I was wonderful. But I never ever wanted to experience this kind of fear again.

He held me close, his arms fierce around my waist. “You hurt?” His words brushed against my ear. He let me go, brushing my hair from my face and tilting my head back.

I shook my head, trying to breathe. I couldn’t let go of him, not yet. “I couldn’t find you.” I cupped his face between my hands. “
I couldn’t find
you
.”

He pulled me close to him but my canvas shoes stuck in the mud under our feet, and we went down—again. Somehow he managed to keep me from getting covered in mud, sort of, but he was coated from head to toe.

“He’s here, Dad! Wyatt’s here!” Dax was yelling. “With Allie…rolling in the mud.” He sighed.

“Dad…” I said against Wyatt’s neck. “Wyatt, Dad’s looking for you, by the barn.”

“Let’s go.” Wyatt took the hand Dax offered, pulling me up with him. “Thanks.” His gaze was fixed on the barn.

“Glad you’re okay, man.” Dax slapped Wyatt on the back. “Dad’s freaking out looking for you. Fireman made him go back to the truck now.”

Wyatt nodded, his gaze bouncing from Dax to me to the barn. My hand captured his in a death grip. His eyes searched mine but he didn’t say anything as he pulled me close and pressed a hard kiss to my forehead. He led us toward the fire truck at a fast jog.

Dad was standing by the hood, his face soot-smeared and dripping, and breathing hard and fast. His shoulders drooped, his eyes still scanning the area surrounding the barn. He looked so defeated.

Dax spoke up first. “Found him!”

“Mr. Cooper.” Wyatt shook my father’s hand but Dad pulled Wyatt into a strong, hard hug.

“Glad you’re in one piece, Wyatt.” The tone of Dad’s voice said so much more.

“All clear?” the fireman asked.

“Nothing’s in there,” Wyatt replied as Dad’s grip eased on him.

“Pecos and Daisy?” I asked, worried.

“They got out.” Wyatt pulled me against his side, his voice rough. “I had to chase them down—no animal’s fond of fire. Daisy got some burns on her rump.”

“Mom’ll fix her,” I promised.

“Allie’s right. June will take care of them,” Dad agreed. “We need to take care of you.” Dad’s eyes swept Wyatt from head to toe, then he looked at the ambulance. When had an ambulance arrived?

“I’m fine, sir,” Wyatt tried to assure my father.

Dad shook his head. “Wyatt…”

“Just to make sure you’re okay. Please,” I pleaded. I was siding with Dad on this one. I smiled up at Wyatt, wiping the last of the tears from my cheeks.

His gaze was warm as it traveled over my face. “Okay.”

“Holy shit.” Dax blew out the words. “Talk about a rough morning.”

I didn’t let go of his hand and Wyatt’s grip never eased, even when the medic gave him the once-over. He worked around our joined hands, quick and efficient.

“He’s fine. We’ll be home soon—with two patients for you.” Dad was talking to Mom on the phone. “No, no, Wyatt only mentioned some burns on Daisy. But you should probably check.”

“Worst Monday ever.” Dax sighed, hugging me with one arm. I nodded.

“Can’t argue that one,” Wyatt agreed, blinking as the medic used a flashlight on his eyes.

“I think it’s safe to say you’ll be excused from school today,” the fireman teased, standing upright. “Well, hell, Wyatt, you got a bump on your head and, from what I hear, sounds like you need a chest x-ray—make sure you didn’t damage your lungs. You went in there, didn’t you?” He nodded in the direction of the barn…what had been the barn.

“Had to make sure he wasn’t here,” Wyatt answered.

He?
Of course. His father…I froze.

I hadn’t thought of him. It wasn’t just the horses…of course it wasn’t. I hadn’t given a second’s thought to Travis Holcomb because he was an ass who didn’t deserve his son. The son who’d braved fire to make sure his dad was safe. I glanced at my father, swallowing back raw emotion, and moved closer to Wyatt. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him as close as I could. He turned into my chest, drawing in a deep, slow breath. His hold was fierce, easing after a few seconds.

My question was soft. “He wasn’t in there?”

“No,” he answered. “He wasn’t.”

I blew out a slow breath. “You hit your head?”

“I’m fine.” He sat back, his hand gripping mine as I stepped out of his embrace. “Dirty, but fine.”

I looked at Dad.
Help me
, I pleaded silently.

Dad looked at me, nodding once. “Wyatt, I know you’re not a fan of hospitals and I can’t make you go. But you should get your lungs checked out.” It was hard to miss the meaningful look he shot me.

Wyatt didn’t miss it. He sighed and nodded. I squeezed his hand.

“Oh, he’s going,” the medic said. “I didn’t mean to make it sound like he had a choice. Concussion and smoke inhalation means monitoring him. And you’re riding with us.”

Wyatt arched a brow. “I don’t need—”

“Boy, don’t be stupid.” The medic put both hands on his hips as he spoke. He looked at me, then stood as straight and tall as his five-foot-two frame would let him. “You want to start coughing up a lung in front of her? Or pass out? Get your ass in the ambulance and close your mouth.”

I blinked.

“George Montgomery.” The medic shook hands with my father. “My wife and Wyatt’s momma, Joanna, were good friends.”

Joanna. Joanna Holcomb. It was a good name.

“Come on now,” Mr. Montgomery nudged Wyatt. He sighed when he saw how tightly our hands were linked. “She can come too.”

I glanced at my father.

“Go with him, Allie.” Dad helped me into the back of the ambulance. “Where are the horses? June and I will come back with the trailer from the clinic for them.”

“In the south pasture.” Wyatt’s voice was hoarse. He coughed. “They’ll probably be a bit jumpy. Might call Hank, see if he can lend a hand.”

“Don’t worry.” Dad’s voice was low and calming. “We’ll be up at the hospital soon.”

“What about me?” I heard Dax ask as the doors closed.

I watched them clip the oxygen thingy on Wyatt’s fingertip. When Mr. Montgomery saw the number, he put an oxygen mask on Wyatt. Mr. Montgomery sat back and I leaned against Wyatt, sliding my arm around his waist and resting my head on his shoulder. Wyatt leaned into me, his cheek pressed against the top of my head.

“Feeling okay? Light-headed?” Mr. Montgomery asked.

“My head hurts, but that’s about it,” Wyatt answered roughly. He coughed again.

Mr. Montgomery asked, “Hard to breathe? Or talk?”

Wyatt shrugged.

“Don’t shrug.” Mr. Montgomery sighed loudly. “Yes or no.”

“No,” Wyatt said firmly, shaking his head.

Mr. Montgomery laughed. “Good.”

By the time we made it to the small hospital, Wyatt was restless. He wanted to take off the oxygen mask. He wanted to walk inside, not sit in the wheelchair. He didn’t see the point of an x-ray or getting any blood work done—he wanted to leave.