Disclosure: The McCaffertys

  She grinned, placing a foot on the hearth and gently rocking as the baby cooed and gurgled and continued to stare up at her as he suckled. “I know what I see. You love her. She loves you. End of story. It’s simple.” Before he could argue she pointed a long finger in his direction. “But she’s not going to make the mistake of waiting around for you again. She did that once, and a woman like Jamie’s got too much on the ball to make the same mistake twice.”

  He frowned, thought about their brief love affair and the baby he hadn’t known existed. That was twice now that he’d lost an unborn child, and it hurt. It hurt like hell. Guilt, for living when his progeny had not, twisted his guts. He watched Randi play with her newborn and felt a pang. Would he ever have a son of his own? A daughter?

  Not if you don’t settle down, Slade. It’s time. Randi’s right.

  And his father—what was it John Randall had said to him? Don’t waste your life, son. It’s shorter than you think. Now, it’s time for you to move on. Settle down. Start a family. He’d given that advice on the front porch, in the very rocker Randi was now seated in, on the day he’d tried to give Slade his watch. Slade had been angry. Mad at the world. Sick of his old man trying to manipulate him. In utter disdain, he’d dropped the damned timepiece into the old man’s lap. He’d refused to take it; hadn’t accepted it until John Randall had died. And then it was too late. He reached into his pocket for the watch and realized it was gone...but where? Then he remembered. In the hayloft, when he’d kicked off his jeans...it must’ve dropped into the loose straw when he’d been making love to Jamie... Hell.

  As Randi swayed in the old rocking chair, Slade picked up his drink and tossed back the watered-down whiskey. It was smooth against his throat, but didn’t quiet the rage in his soul.

  “I don’t know what she sees in Jansen,” Randi said out loud. “He’s too old for her and so...nothing. But maybe she’s not looking for a spark, maybe she’s looking for security, maybe she’s tired of being alone.”

  “Are you talking about Jamie or you?” Slade asked, wiping the back of his hand over his lips and setting the glass on the table. “I know you’re used to being the one handing out advice, but I think it’s a waste of time with me. I know what I want.”

  “I beg to differ, little brother.” She lifted the baby to her shoulder and rubbed his back.

  “I’m not your little brother,” he reminded her.

  “You’re my youngest brother...you just happen to be older than me and bigger than me but surely not wiser.”

  “Tell me about it,” he mocked. “I don’t see that you’ve got everything all planned out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s start with your son.”

  “Let’s not.”

  “But, you have to admit, great as he is, it wasn’t exactly perfect family planning on your part.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Joshua gave up a loud burp. His little head bobbed, reddish hair glinting in the remaining firelight.

  “There ya go,” Randi said to her son, before settling him into her arms again. “You know, Slade, we weren’t talking about me, so don’t turn this around. Let’s talk about you. And our brothers. Look at Thorne. I always thought he was the ultimate bachelor. But he’s married now. Happy. He and Nicole and the girls are a complete family, even though technically the twins have another biological father.”

  At the thought of Paul Stevenson, Slade snorted and considered another drink. What a jerk. Paul had remarried, still lived in San Francisco, and aside from sending an occasional check that Nicole deposited for the twins’ college account, he never acknowledged his daughters. He didn’t call, he didn’t visit, he didn’t ever have them come to spend time with him. Nicole had once called him a sperm donor and Slade agreed with her.

  “Yeah, so Thorne’s married, so what?”

  “And Matt will be soon. He and Kelly are so happy—”

  “So happy they’re sickening.”

  Randi chuckled. “They’re in love.”

  “I guess.”

  “I know. So, that leaves you.”

  “And you,” he reminded her, and saw her bristle.

  “I’ve got the baby. I don’t need a man, and don’t argue with me. I see it in your eyes. You’re one of those guys who thinks every woman needs a man. Or wants one. Or can’t get by without one. But I don’t. I can take care of myself.”

  “Well, you’re doin’ a helluva job of it. So far someone’s tried to kill you twice.” He pushed out of his chair and crossed the room to the rocker. Smiling, he reached down and patted the baby’s downy little head. “The next time the creep, whoever he is, tries to nail you, you might not be so lucky. And, whether you want to admit it or not, you’re not as independent as you like to claim. You’ve always depended on men.

  “First there was Dad and now, when you’re in trouble, you’ve got the three of us—half brothers—who think we need to do what we can to keep you safe.” She looked up, her eyes glistening, then turned to the fire. “Contrary to what you think, little sister, you’re not so tough, and maybe not every woman needs a man or vice versa, but sometimes it’s nice to have one around.”

  “That’s just what I was getting at.” Her voice was a little gruffer than usual. “You could have that same love that our brothers have found. With Jamie. If you’re not too stupid and bullheaded to throw it away again.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” he muttered, unable to hide the derision in his voice as she sniffed back the unwanted tears. “I’ll think about it.”

  His bad leg ached a little as he walked to the front door and snagged his jacket from a hook. Randi’s advice chased after him as he stepped outside and a gust of raw Montana wind slapped him. Ice dripped from the eaves and snow continued to fall and swirl, the wind blowing it around. Drifts piled against the barns and fence.

  Harold, the crippled old dog, trooped after Slade as he headed for the stables. He found his last cigarette in the crumpled pack; he swore it would be his last. No reason to let the filter tip go to waste.

  Pausing near the machine shed, he turned his back to the wind, cupped his hands around the tip of the cigarette, and clicked his lighter about five times before a flame sparked. He inhaled and felt the warm smoke curl deep inside his lungs as he and the dog slogged through the unbroken snow to the stables. He’d finish his last smoke, then go inside and find his father’s watch.

  As he smoked and looked at the vast acres of the ranch, the fields and paddocks, ranch house and sheds, he understood why his father had loved it here. Maybe John Randall had been right about other things, as well. Maybe it was time to settle down. He thought of Jamie. Damned if she wasn’t the right woman. If he hadn’t blown it with her.

  He took a final drag, tossed his cigarette into the snow and reached for the door.

  First thing tomorrow, he’d find her and tell her how he felt. He yanked on the door handle.

  Lightning flashed before his eyes.

  Bam!

  Slade flew backward. Landed hard on the snow.

  A ball of flames roared to life. Hot. Bright. Blinding.

  Horses squealed in terror.

  Flames burst upward, crackling hungrily through the old timbers and dry hay. Smoke billowed into the cold night air.

  Slade scrambled to his feet. Panicked horses kicked and shrieked. The entire building was ablaze.

  He didn’t have time to think.

  He catapulted through the doorway.

  And straight into hell.

  Chapter 12

  Bam!

  The sound was like a shock wave.

  Randi bolted from the bed, picked up Joshua Ray and hauled him to the hallway.

  “For God’s sake, call 9-1-1! Use the damned cell phone, we’ve got to get out of here!” Thorne burst from the master bedroom. He packed a groggy twin in each arm. Frantic, he yelled over his shoulder, “Nicole! Come on!”

  Randi struggled into sho
es, her heart drumming a thousand times a minute. “What was that? Did you hear it? An explosion.”

  “I don’t know what it was, but it’s not good. Everyone outside!” Thorne screamed. “Nicole! Come on!”

  His wife burst out of the bedroom. Her blond hair fell around her face as she struggled with the tie of her bathrobe with one hand. A cell phone was pinned to her ear with the other.

  They trampled down the stairs.

  “Where’s Slade?” Thorne said as they reached the first floor.

  “He was outside a few minutes ago. I just came upstairs,” Randi said. Where the devil was he? The interior of the house began to turn a bright, vibrant orange. “What’s going on?”

  “Oh, God.” Ushering everyone to the foyer, Thorne paused long enough to stare through the window. “It’s the stables!” He shouldered open the door and they all streamed onto the porch. The old building was ablaze, orange and gold reflecting on the snow. Smoke poured from the roof where flames ate the old shingles and shot skyward.

  “No!” Randi cried.

  “Oh, my God...” Nicole’s eyes were round.

  “Get away from the house!” Thorne ordered. “Everyone!” He reached back through the doorway and yanked every coat from the rack, then, still carrying the girls, kicked boots and shoes onto the porch. “Hurry!”

  The twins were crying now, clinging to his neck as Randi found a coat and dashed away from the house. Where was Slade? Where the devil was Slade? Not in the stables. No...it couldn’t be... And yet she’d seen him leave the house... Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God...

  “—That’s right, at the Flying M ranch, twenty miles north of Grand Hope,” Nicole was screaming into her cell phone. “We’ll need firemen and rescue workers and...and a veterinarian and God knows what else! This is an emergency! I repeat, an emergency at the McCaffertys’ Flying M ranch!”

  The twins, ashen-faced and wide eyes, wailed. They buried their little faces into Thorne’s shoulders and clung to his neck as if they would never let go.

  “Was Slade in the stables?” Thorne demanded, his harsh gaze centering on Randi as they hurried toward the parking lot, away from the buildings.

  “I don’t know...” Randi stared at the inferno as the first horse burst out of the flaming building. White-eyed and sweating, the gray galloped crazily through the snow. A bay followed after, whistling, hooves flinging up white powder as she tried to escape the blaze. “I don’t know where he went. We were talking in the living room, then, then...he went outside for a smoke.” She stared in horror at the burning building.

  “Well, someone’s letting the stock out. Idiot!” Grim-faced, Thorne shoved both twins at Nicole as she flew out the door. The girls screamed their protests.

  “No! Daddy! No.”

  “Here. Take the girls and don’t go inside any of the buildings. None of them. The stables might just be the first. And—oh, damn!” He glanced at the cars and trucks. “Keep away from the vehicles in case there’s some sort of chain reaction.” His jaw tightened as he herded them to relative safety.

  “I’ve got ’em,” Nicole said, peeling each girl from their father’s body.

  “Chain reaction?” Randi asked.

  His face was stretched taut. “You don’t think this is an accident, do you?” He yelled over the screams of the horses and roar of the fire. Timbers creaked eerily and thick smoke bilged outward. Thorne started for the stables.

  “Wait a minute. You can’t go inside there,” Randi cried. “It’s too late.”

  “Thorne!” Nicole was running after him. Packing her girls, frantic, she stumbled forward. “Thorne! No! No!”

  “Get back. Take care of the kids and call Matt!”

  “No! Oh, God no! Wait for the firemen!” she pleaded, distraught as she clung to her children. “You can’t—”

  “It’ll take too long.” Thorne took a second to turn to stare at her horrified face. As if to memorize her features. “I’ll be all right. You take care of the girls. Now!” Nicole took a step toward him, and Randi wanted to help. To hand the baby off to Nicole and brave the fire herself. Oh, God, was this her fault? Could this be because of her? Was it a freak accident...or a planned execution of some of the stock...and maybe a McCafferty or two?

  Thorne spun again and a few seconds later nearly collided with a wild-eyed horse galloping out of the open doorway. Other animals burst from a door on the west end of the building, a mare and two foals, their tails singed, their screams blood-chilling.

  The baby was crying, the girls screaming, and Randi tried to herd them all together. “It’ll be all right,” she said, though she didn’t believe it.

  “Daddy. Daddy! No-oo.” Molly was sobbing; Mindy ashen-faced as she stared after her father.

  Thorne disappeared into the doorway. Into the smoke and flames. Randi was shaking, but she said, “He’s going to be fine.”

  Nicole’s face was as pale as death, her eyes round with fear, but she visibly pulled herself together and held her daughters tight. “Daddy’s gonna be just fine. He has to help Uncle Slade and the horses...see there...some of them are getting out now.” She kissed each crown as Molly and Mindy cried all the more loudly. Nicole managed to hold on to her shivering children while punching the numbers of her cell phone frantically. “Matt? It’s Nicole.” Her voice was surprisingly steady. Probably from years of working in emergency rooms. Eyes fixed on the blaze, she said, “You’d better get over here. And bring help. There’s been an explosion in the stables. It’s on fire and it’s bad. Some of the stock might be injured. I’ve called 9-1-1, rescue crews are on their way, but the building’s in flames and...and both of your brothers are inside.”

  * * *

  Slade coughed, stumbled through the smoke. He’d opened the main door and was going down the aisles, unlocking stalls, forcing panicked horses from their boxes. “Go! Out! Hiya!” he yelled, his eyes burning, the cloth he used to cover his nose and mouth no insulation against the blast of heat that singed his skin.

  “Slade!” Thorne’s voice screamed from somewhere through the smoke. “Slade!”

  “You, out!” He held open a door but the frightened mare reared, her hooves flashing, her coat soaked in lather. “Now!” Slade bellowed, and pushed at her. She kicked wildly, her muscles quivering. He slapped her rear and a leg shot out, narrowly missing him as she bolted. He fell against the rail.

  Two more stalls. He flung himself down the aisle, aware of the creak of timbers, the crackle of flames, the roar of the fire itself. Moving blind, he made it to the next stall where Mrs. Brown, a spunky mare was shivering, the whites of her eyes visible. “It’s okay, girl...” he said, his lungs on fire.

  Timbers creaked ominously and the smoke...God, the smoke. He hacked and forced himself out of the stall.

  “Slade! Damn it, where are you?” Thorne’s voice was farther away. Slade tried to respond but his throat, filled with smoke and soot, wouldn’t work. He kicked open the door, flailed at the horse and she shot through the stall door like a bullet.

  One more. He stumbled forward. Saw the terrified animal. Diablo Rojo. Pacing. Rearing. Neighing in terror as flames crawled through the straw at his hooves. “Come on, boy,” Slade tried to say, but the words stuck. Coughing, he threw open the door to the box and Red Devil lunged through the opening, a huge shoulder knocking Slade off his feet. Crack. His head hit the floor.

  “Slade! Oh, damn—Slaaaaade!”

  He tried to pull himself to his feet. A spray of sparks showered from above. Rafters groaned and he thought of all the tons of hay overhead. He glanced up. A huge blackened beam began to crumble. Ah, hell!

  Slade dived toward the window.

  With a tremendous wrenching moan, the beam snapped.

  All hell rained down.

  * * *

  “A fire. What do you mean, there’s a fire?” Kelly demanded as Matt rolled out of the bed in her condo.

  “In the stables at the ranch. Thorne and Slade might be trapped inside.”

&
nbsp; “No.” Kelly couldn’t believe it. She shook off sleep. “But...why? How?”

  He was already throwing on clothes. “Nicole didn’t say. Probably doesn’t know, but I gotta get over there.”

  “I’m coming with you.” She grabbed her sweatpants and a sweatshirt, then reached into a drawer for her .38.

  “You don’t need that.”

  “I hope not.”

  Matt didn’t bother with a belt. “It might be safer for you to stay here.”

  “No way.” She pulled on work boots, then followed him out the door of the bedroom and down the stairs to the garage. They both grabbed jackets and climbed into his truck.

  Kelly hit the electronic opener. Matt twisted on the ignition. As the garage door opened, the wail of sirens split the cold winter air.

  “Fire trucks,” Matt said.

  “And an ambulance.” Before she could buckle her seat belt he’d thrown the pickup into Reverse. Cranking hard on the wheel, he backed into the parking space, then gunned it. Spraying snow and gravel, the pickup shot forward. Kelly grabbed her cell phone. “I’m calling Striker,” she said. “And Espinoza.”

  On the third ring, a clear voice answered. “Striker.”

  “There’s a fire at the McCafferty ranch. No one knows the cause, at least not that I’m aware of. Slade and Thorne could be trapped in the building. Emergency services have been called.”

  “I’m already on my way,” Striker said. “I was on my way over there when I heard the call on the police band.”

  Kelly hung up as the wipers slapped snow from the windshield and Matt glowered at the road. He drove as if his life depended on it. As if his brothers’ lives depended on it. “I should have stayed at the ranch.”

  “Oh, right. Then maybe you could be trapped in there, too.”

  “Maybe I could have prevented it.”

  Kelly checked to see that her pistol was loaded. “I don’t know, Matt. I’m starting to think no one can prevent what’s happening with your family.”

  “And you want to marry into it.” He slid her a questioning glance.