Page 19 of September's Bad Boy: Cooper
The heat is brutal. Even though the smoke curls inside my nose and throat through the makeshift mask, I push forward. The interior is thick with haze, the orange glow licking along the rafters, and the terrified cries of animals pierce through the roar.
I spot the calf in the back stall, wide-eyed and frozen. Her leg’s caught in a bit of splintered wood, and she’s kicking wildly, frantically.
"Easy," I murmur, crouching low as I approach. "I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m getting you out."
She jerks as I reach for her, but I manage to slide the jagged wood free. My gloves protect me from most of the splinters, but I feel the heat gnaw through the sleeves of my shirt. I loop my arms around the calf’s body and lift with everything I’ve got.
The barn groans. A beam above creaks like it’s ready to give.
"Come on," I grit out. The calf kicks once but doesn’t fight me. Maybe she knows. Maybe she can feel it too. That we’re on borrowed time.
I stagger back toward the door, the weight in my arms a strain on muscles already burning. The smoke blinds me for a heartbeat, then clears to reveal the outline of the open door—and Riley.
She’s there, pale-faced, eyes wide, racing straight toward me.
"Cooper! Oh my God!"
"Get the gate!"
She moves without question, flinging it open as I stumble through. After shoving off the calf into a ranch hand’s arms, I spin back to the barn, scanning for anyone else inside. Before I can go in, Riley grabs my arm.
"Don’t," Riley says, "You can’t go back in. The roof’s about to collapse."
"Everyone else out?"
"Yes," she says. "You got the last one."
Only then do I let her pull me away from the flames.
The next hour is chaos. The fire department shows up and gets the worst of it under control. We dig fire lines and drag hoses and kick dirt, doing whatever it takes to stop the spread. I barely notice the burns on my forearms until the adrenaline fades.
Out by the fence, Jason works a shovel, digging a fire line. He doesn’t call out, doesn’t step closer, but watches me, keeping his distance. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t come close. Somehow his silent presence hits me harder than I expect.
When the fire is finally out, I head back to my house. I need a shower, and maybe to pretend like the last few hours didn’t almost take everything out of me. Riley follows without a word.
Inside, she grabs the first aid kit while I run cold water over my arms in the kitchen sink. The burns sting like hell now that the adrenaline’s gone, and I grit my teeth.
"Sit," she says gently, guiding me to a chair at the kitchen table. She kneels in front of me with a clean towel and a bottle of antiseptic.
"You’re hurt."
"Not bad."
She doesn’t argue. Just wets a cloth and starts wiping soot from my skin.
The cool water stings. I grunt but don’t pull away.
"You scared me," she whispers, voice trembling.
"I had to get her out."
Her hands pause. Then she presses her forehead to mine.
"You could have died."
"So could she."
Her breath hitches, and I realize she’s crying. Quietly, but the tears slide down her cheeks unchecked.
