Page 190 of Knotting the Cowboys

She nods, tears cutting fresh tracks through the soot, and I've never seen anything more beautiful than Willa James standing in hell itself, holding hope in her shaking arms.

The ladder appears through the smoke like salvation itself, Mavi's face grim with determination behind his mask as he braces it against the burning structure. Every second counts now—I can hear the building's death rattles in the groaning timbers above, feel the floor beneath us growing soft with heat.

"Luna first," I tell Willa, already reaching for the baby. Her arms shake with exhaustion but she resists for a moment, maternal instinct warring with logic.

"I've got her," I promise. "Trust me."

She nods, transferring Luna's tiny weight to my arms with infinite care despite the urgency. The baby's cries strengthen now that she's moving, and I've never been so grateful to hear a child scream. Crying means breathing. Breathing means alive.

I descend three rungs, just enough to pass Luna to Mavi's waiting arms. He tucks her against his chest with practiced ease, all those nights walking her through colic paying off in muscle memory. "River!" he calls through the radio. "Coming out with the baby. Need immediate medical assessment."

"Copy. Ready and waiting."

I turn back to Willa, who's swaying on her feet now that Luna's safe. Her left wrist is definitely broken, held tight against her chest, and each breath sounds like she's pulling air through wet cloth. But she's trying to climb onto the ladder herself, stubborn to the end.

"Let me help," I say, moving behind her to guide her onto the rungs. "Lean back against me. I've got you."

She does, and I feel the moment her strength finally fails. Her full weight sags against my chest as I basically carry her down the ladder, her good hand gripping the rungs while I support everything else. The structure shudders around us, a warning that time's up.

"Move, move, move!" Mavi shouts from below, and we're sliding more than climbing the last few feet.

My boots hit dirt and I scoop Willa into my arms properly, her head lolling against my shoulder. Mavi's already sprinting ahead with Luna, and I follow, feeling the heat chase us like a living thing. The barn screams its final protest—wood splintering, metal shrieking, decades of neglect finally claiming its due.

We burst through the exit into blessed cold air just as the world explodes behind us. The roof caves with a sound like thunder, sending a wall of superheated air and debris shooting out after us. I curl my body around Willa, shielding her as we stumble-run the final yards to safety.

"Medical!" I'm shouting before we even stop moving. "Need medical now!"

But Austin and River are already there, having set up a triage area by the trucks with the efficiency of long practice. Austin's got Luna, running gentle hands over her tiny form while she screams her displeasure at the world. River's reaching for Willa before I can even set her down.

"Don't put me down," she whispers against my neck, arms tightening around me with surprising strength. "Please. Not yet."

So I don't. I sink to my knees on the cold ground, keeping her cradled against my chest while River works around us. His hands are gentle but thorough, checking her breathing, her pulse, cataloging injuries with quiet efficiency.

"I did it," Willa breathes, and I realize she's not talking to me but to herself. "I protected Luna. Got her out. We survived."

"You did," I confirm, pressing my face into her smoke-scented hair. "You're the bravest woman I've ever known."

"Broken wrist, smoke inhalation, various contusions," River reports. "But stable. Both of them are stable."

The relief hits like a physical blow. I'm vaguely aware of sirens approaching—multiple vehicles from the sound of it. The real cavalry arriving now that we've done the hard part. Typical.

"Boys," Austin says, and something in his tone makes us all look up. "We've got company."

Chief Reyes's SUV leads a parade of law enforcement vehicles, lights painting the scene in reds and blues. But it's the chief's voice on the bullhorn that catches my attention: "Stand down! All personnel stand down immediately!"

That's when I see them. Blake Harrison and three of his Iron Ridge pack, emerging from the tree line in full tactical gear like they're playing soldier. The fury that rises in my chest is volcanic—they weren't just here to watch. They were waiting. Planning something.

"Cole," Willa whispers, and I follow her gaze to Blake's face. Even from this distance, I can see his rage at finding us alive, at being caught.

The chief's officers move with practiced precision, weapons drawn but not aimed, creating a perimeter that leaves no room for escape. "Blake Harrison, Marcus Webb, Thomas Chen, Jeffrey Park—you're under arrest for attempted murder, kidnapping, terrorism, and about fifteen other charges I'll enjoy reading at the station."

Terrorism. The word hangs in the air as the reality sinks in. The tactical gear, the timing—they were planning to ambush the rescue. To finish what the fire started.

"Set her down," Blake snarls as the handcuffs click around his wrists. His eyes are locked on Willa, promising violence even in defeat. "Should've burned properly the first time. Should've?—"

"That's enough," Chief Reyes cuts him off, nodding to her officers. "Get them processed. I want every piece of gearcataloged, every weapon documented. The FBI's going to have a field day with this."

But Blake's not done. Even as they drag him toward the patrol cars, he's twisted around, staring at Willa with a hatred that should burn. "This isn't over. You're still my?—"

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