Page 96 of Wrangled Up

I’ve gotta try.

Christian looked for a path to the horses through the flames. Claire appeared in the wide double doors at the front of the barn, her face wild with terror.

“Get out,” Christian called, his throat a burning hell from the smoke. She shook her head and came forward.

Another shot rang out, this time from the front of the barn.

Claire whirled, a hand to her mouth. Then suddenly Letty appeared in the entrance too, a rifle in hand.

“Shot me a trespasser. Claire, go call 911 while we get these horses out.” The olderwoman started into the barn, but Claire bodily removed her.

With them safe and Dale obviously injured or dead, Christian threw himself into the water trough. Water filled his nostrils and every crevice of his jeans and shirt. He threw off his hat with a shake of his head and made sure his hair was saturated. Then he jumped back out of the trough and ran through the flames.

* * * * *

Panic seized Claire’s chest. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, think, feel, register anything she was seeing. Letty standing with her rifle like a geriatric gunslinger. Dale crumpled on the ground, bleeding from the upper thigh. The barn on fire and Christian inside, trying to save the remaining horses.

Crazed horses, running wild across the muddy turf to escape the smoke and fire. And alpacas roosting like chickens in every corner of the ranch yard.

Boom Boom was still in the trailer, safe and sound.

But a few important people were unaccounted for. Darcy, Leon…and Tucker.

“Call 911, Letty,” she cried as she ran past her aunt. She shoved her phone at her, knowing there was no hope for that barn. By the time the fire crews showed up, the structure would be ash.

Claire took off in a run around the barn, searching for Tucker. He should have shown his face at the sound of Letty’s gunshot, but he hadn’t, and that meant something bad.

With water in her veins and jelly knees, Claire searched through the rain for one of the men she loved.

At that moment, she caught a flash of a horse and rider in the far corner, on the other side of the corral. The dark hat and solid form were unmistakable.

Tucker and the horse jumped the fence and headed down the driveway as if the hounds of hell chased them.

Running again? Her heart lurched.

No, leaving them to deal with a harvest or a horse injury was one thing, but abandoning her and Christian at a time like this was unthinkable.

If Tucker was running, he must be chasing. And that someone must be his uncle.

With them accounted for, she ran for the barn. The entire back wall was gone, eaten by a monster of flames. Fear made her sway on her feet. She reached out to grab something but found nothing solid.

Her whole world was a movie scene. Where was the diner, her comfortable house, hell, even her neglectful father?

She was left with fire, blood, terror and tears.

But she had the people she loved more than life.

Drawing a huge gulp of smoke-tinged air, she threw herself into the barn. The roar deafened her, but through it she felt the horses’ screams. They pulsed in the atmosphere, as tangible to her as the heat.

Her curls waved wildly around her head in the air currents.

“Christian!” she tried to yell, but she couldn’t breathe.

Suddenly, a sleek body shoved her backward—a horse on its way to freedom. She lost her footing and rolled out into the rain.

Three horses, four, all ran past her. She curled onto her side to avoid getting trampled. Then a big hand clamped around her shoulder, and she was hauled up. Not to her feet, but being dragged.

She fought to get her bearings in this insanity. She was jerked against a soaking form and yanked across the yard, like a fresh kill. And the tiger doing the dragging was Christian.

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