Page 17 of The Fire Line

The next two days, Navarro barely crossed Harris’s path.

The crew spent most of Thursday filming at a watershed project less than an hour from the ranch, close enough to return after dark but far enough that Harris saw little more than the production SUV leaving before breakfast and pulling back in after dinner.

That suited him just fine.

He noticed the vehicle both times because it crossed the main yard, where Harris happened to be working. Nothing more useful than that.

Friday belonged to the wedding.

By noon, every Shaw and half the ranch staff had been pulled into it. Harris moved horses out of the guest corrals, hauled tables, repaired a faulty breaker in the event barn, and spent forty minutes redirecting rental cars away from a service road clearly marked NO GUEST ACCESS. The sign had red letters, an arrow, and a locked gate visible fifty yards ahead. Four separate drivers still stopped to ask whether the road was open.

Human beings were remarkable.

Evan dealt with the caterer, the rental company, and a florist who had arrived short on centerpieces. Elise handled the bride’s family, three seating changes, and a flower girl convinced the horses were lonely. Walt drove the shuttle. Della moved between the kitchen, lodge, and event barn while insisting she was only checking on things, which in practice meant knowing the location of every serving dish, staff member, guest allergy, and missing boutonniere on the property.

Even the film crew helped once their own work was done. Eli and the assistants carried chairs and strung lights while Priya negotiated permission to film the outdoor ceremony. Navarro spent twenty minutes securing table linens before the wind could relocate them to Wyoming.

Harris saw that because he was fixing the breaker. He was absolutely not monitoring Navarro’s location.

By the time the last guests left the barn, Harris was too tired to care that it was nearly morning.

* * *

Saturday was his mom’s birthday.

It began with Rain cutting her leg. Harris heard the mare hit the side of the trough before he saw what had happened. Metal against wood, then the hard scramble of hooves on packed dirt. By the time he reached her, Rain had backed against the rail, the lead rope pulled taut and blood already running down the inside of her lower leg.

“Easy.”

He caught the lead close beneath her chin and brought her head gently toward him. Rain shifted once, then found his voice and stopped fighting long enough for him to take the tension out of the rope. Her nostrils were wide, and she was holding the injured leg clear of the ground.

“Easy, girl.”

Harris crouched without releasing her. A broken end of tie wire protruded beneath the trough where it had no business being. The cut along the inside of Rain’s lower leg bled freely, but not in pulses. He ran his hand above it, checking heat, swelling, and anything wrong beneath the skin.

“Somebody call Claire.”

Noah, one of the ranch hands, headed for the door. From farther down the aisle, Navarro spoke.

“Anything I can do?”

Harris glanced back. Navarro stood near the barn entrance with the compact camera held against his chest, well outside the stall.

“No. Just stay back.”

“Okay.”

He did.

Harris turned back to Rain. A few moments passed before he spoke again.

“Okay if I film from out here?”

“Better not.”

“Okay.”

He lowered the camera and stepped away.