There's no way I'm getting Big Boy from this trailer by myself. I'm going to have to go back to call Cash and admit what's happened.
It's then that I realize that I left my phone on my nightstand this morning, and I have no idea what Cash's number is.
I'm at the truck when it sinks in that I'm going to have to leave Big Boy in the hands of that brute and drive back to Hard Valley Ranch for help.
I just hope I can make it in time.
28
If the sheriff catches me driving this fast, I know I'll lose my license, but I have to risk it for Big Boy's sake. Dirt spreads behind me like a sandstorm, and the tires squeal in protest as I throw the truck off the highway and onto the road to Hard Valley. The sky is clear and bright, and I squint against the sun streaming directly through the windshield. The stupid flap on the sun visor is missing, and I swear under my breath in frustration.
Will Cash, Cary, Colt, Sawyer, and Scott be at the house, or will they still be dealing with the herd? Either way, if I can get a phone, I'll be able to talk to them. It's then that it hits me that my phone might have been stolen when Big Boy was taken. I swear again, blinking fast to help my eyes, squinting across the open land.
The open land that seems blurred.
Smoke.
I stamp my foot hard on the brake, lurching forward in my seat and throwing open the car door. As I hold my hand at my forehead, trying to shield my eyes, I follow the smoke trail to Cooper's Cottage. And then I see it. Yellow flames at the windows and a plume of thick smoke rising up into the previously clear sky.
My heart seems to stop, and my hand slaps my mouth as I gasp. The house is burning. I jump into the car and speed back around until I get to the entryway to the property that used to be mine, speeding down the track that I could map without even looking. My hands are shaking, and my cheeks are already wet with tears.
What am I going to do?
I can't fight this fire by myself, and I don't have a phone to call it in. The truck lurches out of a pothole that my father should have filled in years ago. My teeth clank in my mouth. I know this is pointless, but I can't drive away. This was my home. I won't leave it while it burns.
As I get closer, the air closes around the vehicle, shadowing the sun with smoke. The air is acrid as the fire crackles and splinters its terrible song. I don't get close. I'm not foolish enough to think that filling a couple of buckets will make a blind bit of difference. It's too late for that. Too late to save this place that is so much my heart.
A memory of my father chopping wood outside in the winter floods my mind. Memories of tossing those logs onto the open fire inside. The warmth of my home seeping into my veins as I snuggled up on my momma's knee.
It's as though the fire is burning those memories too.
This lovely house didn't deserve this. I didn't deserve this.
But maybe I did. Maybe the hatred I felt toward the Bradfords in the beginning, and my disloyalty to them when Jethro Flint threw around his accusations is why this is happening.
I was so close to getting this place back. So close to making my dream of turning this farm into something beautiful, and now that's all gone.
The Bradfords won't forgive me.
I saw the hatred in Scott's eyes. I saw the disappointment as the rest of them realized that I hadn't warned them about the Flints and when they discovered that I'd kept secrets. It's as bad as lying to them myself.
And now Big Boy is gone, and their investment has been torched. Their herd has been attacked. What else could happen?
I whip my head in the direction of Flint House as the realization that it could also be under attack hits me. Maybe they've hurt the horses? Maybe Lady?
A sob leaves my lips, the breath hitching in my chest.
Maybe they've hurt one of my boys.
Oh God.
I drop to my knees under the weight of it all.
I want to turn back the clock and be better. I want the chance to be the person my momma raised me to be. A person who doesn't hold grudges and who doesn't let hate and resentment cloud their decisions. I could be that person, and none of this would happen. The Bradfords would be prepared. They would secure the farms better and kept the Flint brothers out.