Page 72 of Rocky Mountain Cowboy Christmas
“Good.” Maya paused and then asked tentatively, “Do you mind if we watch him, just for a few minutes? It’s hard to believe he’s okay when I can’t see him.”
“Sure.”
Silence fell over them, and Camille thought about how, oddly enough, sitting in the pony’s stall with Maya was really very peaceful. As Maya’s head grew heavy on her shoulder and her breathing deepened with sleep, Camille watched Q doing contented pony things and enjoyed the small sounds of a horse barn at night.
* * *
A loud bang woke her, but the smell of smoke brought her back into her nightmare. She opened her eyes to a gray haze. The faint, flickering red light fighting to cut through the layer of smoke was uncomfortably familiar, but it took her too many seconds to realize why.
Fire!
Sucking in a terrified breath, she immediately choked as her lungs filled with smoke. It felt like a clamp was pressing down on her chest, making it impossible to inhale. The horribly familiar claustrophobic feeling overwhelmed her. Everything—the smoke and flames and bitter rasp of the smoke in her throat—was too horribly familiar.
The pony gave a sharp squeal and struck the stall door with a front hoof again. He nervously paced the far wall, adding to her growing panic. It felt like she was reliving the workshop fire, only this time there was a pony and she was in a stall and Maya was sleeping on her shoulder.
Maya!
Camille jolted. This wasn’t a nightmare. It was real. The barn was on fire, and she needed to get Maya out. The thought filled her with resolution, clearing her head of the panic that clouded it, leaving only a steady, anxious thrum of urgency.
“Maya.” Her voice came out too soft to hear, and she realized that the nightmarish roar of the flames was getting louder. Horses whinnied and paced in fear, and Q struck out at the door again. The resultingbangmade Camille flinch in startled reaction, but she forced the terror down. “Maya! Maya, wake up!”
She shook the girl with the arm still wrapped around her, panic gripping her again when Maya didn’t open her eyes, her head still a heavy weight on Camille’s shoulder. With shaking fingers, she pressed the side of Maya’s throat. When she felt the steady pulse of a heartbeat, she sagged in relief.
“Wh-wha?” Maya slurred, and Camille’s heart squeezed in panicked relief.
“Maya! Are you with me?”
Maya’s lids cracked open, but her face remained slack, her eyes blurry and confused. Fear choked Camille. Had Maya inhaled too much smoke? The dangers of carbon dioxide poisoning flashed in her mind, and a wave of dizziness rolled through her.Stop it,she commanded her brain. She couldn’t psych herself out now. She was their only hope at getting out alive.
“Can you walk?” Camille demanded as Maya’s eyes slid shut again. “Wake up, Maya!”
This time, Maya’s eyes stayed closed. Camille tried to force her thoughts into a logical order, rather than just spinning around uselessly in her head. Maya was alive, but she wasn’t coherent or mobile. They needed to get out immediately. That meant Camille had to carry her out.
The relief of having a plan was instantaneous, and she scrambled to her feet. Crouching down next to Maya, she gathered the girl against her chest and started to lift her. Her arms and back strained at the weight, but she managed to stand with Maya cradled in her arms. She was suddenly grateful for all the heavy lifting she did while sorting through scrap.
She rushed to the stall door, shouldering Q out of the way. With both of her arms cradling Maya, she didn’t have a hand free to reach over the door and unlatch it. A frustrated sob escaped, and she started to cough.
Stop it, she mentally snapped at her rising panic.Think!Crouching down again, she tried to ignore the way the pony was crowding her, as anxious as she was to get out of the stall and the blazing barn. Placing Maya down on the shavings, praying that Q didn’t strike at the door again and hit her instead, Camille shifted her to a sitting position and hauled the girl over her shoulders.
“Wha’s going on?” Maya’s words were barely comprehensible, but Camille was thankful that the girl was at least semiconscious.
“The barn’s on fire.” She tried to channel Steve, to keep her voice calm, but it was hard not to let her words quaver. “I’m getting you out of here.”
They both wobbled as Camille tried to balance Maya’s limp weight. Clamping an arm over the back of the girl’s thighs, she struggled to stand, grabbing the top of the stall door with her free hand to keep them from both toppling over into Q. Images of them being stomped under the pony’s nervous feet played through her mind, and she quickly cut off that train of thought.
Plan, she ordered her mind.Follow the plan. It’s simple. Get Maya out of the barn.
This time, she managed to unlatch the stall door. As it swung open, the pony rushed to get out, pushing Camille forward. She stumbled out into the aisle and twisted out of the way, letting Q thunder past her. As he galloped down the aisle, the other horses’ panic ramped up dramatically. They snorted and whinnied their distress while several kicked at their stall walls.
Camille rushed toward the closest sliding door at the end of the aisle, staggering under Maya’s weight. She saw the flames now, eating away at the tack room wall, and she felt a flash of relief that the fire hadn’t reached any of the stalls…not yet, at least.
The thought pushed her faster, and she moved through the choking, smoky dimness, fumbling to unlatch each stall as she made too-slow progress down the aisle. She heard hooves on the rubber mats, but she didn’t look behind her, knowing she wasn’t able to concentrate on the horses right now, no matter how scared they were.
First, she had to get Maya out, and then she’d return for the horses.
The tall sliding door was suddenly there in front of her, and she gasped with relief—and immediately regretted that when the smoke made her lungs seize. Fighting back her coughs, she reached for the handhold and pulled. All she had to do was slide open the door, and she and Maya and the horses she’d managed to free would be safe.
The door didn’t move.
