Austin’s hands found my waist, warm and rough. “It’s over, Milly.”
I watched the last spark fade above the blackened frame of the barn. He was right. It really was.
Chapter 22
Boom and Rescue
Austin
The night still smelled like smoke. Smoke was funny that way. It stayed with you long after the air cleared. Every time I inhaled, my breath caught, ending in a coughing fit, my lungs still fighting for air.
The winter barn was still steaming. Timbers blackened and bowed, the weathervane twisted from the heat. Closing my eyes, I turned my face toward the night, feeling the cool bite of the air. Water hit my face—mist from the fire hoses—but when I opened my eyes, snow was falling. Little drifting flakes in the ever-changing Montana weather. The heat kept the flakes from landing, so they hovered, melting before they touched.
Palmer’s men had strung tape around the site. Red and blue lights blinked over the pasture, catching on their coats and washing Milly and the others in color. Cassie had a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and slippers on her feet, while Sue was a commanding force. Mason and Levi dragged hoses through the mud, wrapping them up as part of the volunteer fire department. Everwood moved in sync, muscle memory born of a thousand small rescues.
I should have been moving too, helping, but I couldn’t. My legs were still shaking. The adrenaline had burned off, and whatremained was the tremor under my skin—the ghost of motion. My body hadn’t realized it was over.
Every few seconds, my mind replayed the same frame: the loud crack of wood, the roof coming down, flames roaring inward, Milly’s silhouette disappearing behind that orange glow. The sound it made. My heart shuddered. It was the same sound a helicopter rotor makes when it loses lift. I knew that noise all too well.
Afghanistan. A valley carved from dirt and rock. Our bird went down two klicks from the ridge. I was the second one out. My rope line melted from the engine fire. The pilot was already screaming when we hit the ground. I remember Meyers’ voice, and the smell. The same bitter mix of oil and heat. I took a shaking breath, remembering it all. I remember the way the world tilted, how I grabbed the med kit and didn’t think twice.
I’d saved three that night. The fourth had been Meyers. I’d gone back for him because that’s what you do. You watch each other’s backs and never leave a man behind. You go back until you can’t. When I went back, the flames had grown, and I couldn’t tell the plane frame from the fire. Then the roof of the cockpit caved as I reached for him. I still can feel the heat that rolled out, the sound it made when the air hit the fuel tank. The blast threw me clear. Everyone called it survival instinct. I called it cowardice for years after.
Command said it was a mechanical failure. I didn’t argue. But I left the service at the end of my term. That night, in the infirmary with blistered lungs and one man short, I couldn’t sleep. I’ve blamed myself for his death and still do. I never told them I still hear him sometimes in the dark, but Reaper knew. He’d been there that night.
The fire tonight had smelled the same. Oil and gas. It burned my lungs just the same.
The only difference was, this time, I didn’t pause. I wasn’t going to. Not when it came to Milly.
The barn was gone now, only the hiss of cooling embers. The snow fell heavier, reflecting the strobes in dull streaks of pink and blue. Milly sat on Mason’s tailgate, wrapped in a blanket, hair damp from the hose mist and melting snow. When her eyes found mine, she gave me a tiny nod. It wasn’t big, just acknowledging that we’d survived.I’m here. You’re here. We made it.
That look clenched my heart when I thought back to how I could have lost her.
Palmer walked over, rubbing soot from his cheek. “Both Thomases are in custody. Arnie was waiting on the county road with the engine running. Said he thought he was just picking Harold up for a drive.”
“He’ll have time to rethink that,” I said. “Reaper’s data packet came through, bank transfers, burner calls, messages. Enough to nail them both.”
Palmer grunted. “You and that spook friend of yours. Almost feel unneeded.” He eyed me. “You did good tonight, son. Stupid, but good.”
I grunted. “Don’t I know it.”
He clapped me on the shoulder, then walked off. I caught my reflection in the cruiser window: black soot smeared on my face, eyes tired. Beneath the grime, a cut along my jaw, barely visible.
A medic passed, pressing a bottle of water into my hand. “Drink. You’re still pink around the ears.”
I nodded and swallowed half the bottle. It tasted a little like the ash I’d just been breathing.
When I looked up again, Milly had jumped off the tailgate. She walked toward me, a little limp in her gait, her blanket trailing behind her through the wet grass. The sight of her upright and moving was a relief.
She reached me near the cruiser and stopped within arm’s reach, her eyes rimmed red from smoke. “I thought you were gone.”
A breeze blew the snow in swirls. We stood there until almost everyone left. Then we walked back toward the porch together.
The boards creaked under our boots. Snow was already sticking to the ground, reclaiming what the fire hadn’t. I sank onto the porch swing, elbows on my knees, and exhaled until my chest stopped shuddering. Milly stayed standing a moment, then eased down beside me, tucking a corner of the blanket over my shoulders.
“You scared me,” she said.
“You think you didn’t do the same?”
