Change Rein (Willow Bay Stables #1)(35)

“He’s making it sound worse than it is.” London glares up at him. “They said I have a fever and gave me some medication for the pain and swelling. With rest, they don’t think it will have damaged my injury any further.”

“You need to be more careful,” I scold. “I’m taking you home.”

She has me help her stand and laces her fingers behind my neck. “No, Owen is going to take me home. You’re all worked up and you need the sleep.”

“No f*cking way!” I shout.

“Branson, stop.” She soothingly runs her hand down the side of my face. “The doctor said I need rest. You have a board meeting first thing in the morning, and we both know I’ll get no sleep if you come with us.”

“I can’t leave you,” I protest. “Not like this.”

“I’m going to go straight home and crawl into bed. You’re not missing anything, and I’ll call you first thing in the morning, okay?” She kisses me sweetly on the lips.

Once again, I’m inclined to give her whatever she wants. “Okay.”





THE AIR IS SO WARM.

Sticking one foot out from underneath the covers, I seek refuge in a cold draft, but come up short. I’m burning up. Sweat is beading on my forehead from the fever, which hasn’t let me rest since the accident yesterday. Each movement feels as if it’s taking place underwater. My backside protests as I roll onto my stomach, the swelling and pain barely manageable, even with the painkillers.

The air feels wrong. It’s too thick.

The sound of hooves repeatedly connecting with wood and a horse’s wild neigh combat their way into my muted senses.

Panic.

I recognize the anxiety in the sound of the horses’ strained cries just as my lungs heave, a violent cough assaulting my chest.

Smoke.

My eyes fly open as I move to all fours, forcing myself off the bed. It’s too much movement too soon after the flare-up of my injury, but fight or flight has kicked in and there won’t be much time. The room is heavy with the first billows of smoke coming from somewhere else in the barn. It’s so hard to breathe.

The barn is on fire.

I hold the sleeve of his shirt against my mouth, sucking in lungsful of air as safely and as frequently as I can muster. The long-sleeve flannel no longer smells like him, or maybe it does, but all I can smell now is fear. Fear and smoke.

Pressing the back of my other hand against the door, I sigh when it doesn’t feel hot. There’s no fire in the loft stairwell. I slide my feet into the work boots next to the door, forgoing the time to put pants on over my underwear.

The aches in my body protest wildly as I descend the stairs two at a time, gripping the hot steel railing as if it were a direct lifeline to my safety—perhaps it is.

Beneath the second floor, the barn is a maze of horror. Smoke has nearly engulfed the entire main floor, and the sound of horses’ cries threatens to buckle my knees. After stumbling to the barn doors, I pull them open one at a time. It occurs to me that fire needs oxygen to spread, so this could increase the burn, but I won’t have time to take the horses out one at a time. They’ll have to run, and they’ll need the space.

Looking up at Daddy’s house on the hill, I briefly consider calling for help, but the effort would be futile. They’d never hear me. The thunder is rolling in and I’m already short of breath.

Using the wall as a guide, I pad towards the stalls closest to me. Flames are licking the rafters above the aisle, and adrenaline floods my system at the sight.

Street is the first horse I reach. After sliding the latch on his stall, I swing the door open and scream at him with everything I have. “Run! Git! Go!” I choke on the air, banging on the wall simultaneously. The sound coupled with the burning fire scares him and he bolts from his stall.

I repeat the process with the other horses. Each time I move faster, the pain in my back increases steadily. In less than two minutes, I clear the right side and then move to the left. I hunch lower to the ground, where the air is still a little thinner, and hug the stalls tight. It makes it easier for me to find the latches, but also, the horses are panicking and they’d barely notice if they trampled me in their haste to save themselves.

I’m faster this time. There are less horses on this side of the barn, and the more wood the flames devour as they grow in size, the quicker the horses take off on their own without much encouragement from me.

Reaching Chil’s stall, the last one, I breathe in relief when I realize he’s right next to the second set of barn doors flanking the left side of the building. After unlatching his stall, I yank it open and stumble towards the doors.

Pull.

Nothing.

Pull.

Nothing.

The chains are rattling, but the door won’t budge. It’s locked.

But we never lock it.

Panic creeps up my throat as I lean against the wall for support to move again. When I pass the open stall, my eyes barely register what they see. Chil is standing in the middle of his stall, but he’s not making any attempts to leave.

“Run!” My muffled scream loses itself in the smoke. I muster everything I have into repeatedly kicking the wood door.

His large grey frame barely recognizes the sound of my voice, his ears pulled backwards.

“Achilles, please!” I beg him, tears streaming down my face.