Page 61 of Until We Come Home

I turn to her, lowering my voice so the old man won’t catch it. “I stay to help him load. We hop in his truck, ride out, and catch the back of your line before you hit the main highway. Ten minutes, max.”

“Four panicked horses don’t go into a trailer in ten minutes, Mateo.”

“If I help him, it’ll go faster than him doing it alone. And he’s doing it alone either way, Rebecca. He’s not getting in that engine.”

She looks at me hard, then at the line of cars idling on the road with kids’ faces in the back windows, then at the old man, who hasn’t moved an inch. Callum’s now shouting something to Ollie, who’s running the hose back onto the reel. James climbs down out of the cab and jogs over.

“James,” she says, before he’s even reached us. “You know anything about horses?”

“My sister rides,” he says. “I know the basics. Enough to get one in a trailer.”

“You’re with Mateo. Help him load, ride out in the rancher’s truck, catch the back of the line. Can you do that?”

He nods again, catching my eye, and no words are needed between us. James and I have navigated plenty of tight spots over the years. I’d trust anyone on this crew with my life, but James is the guy I’d pick every single time.

“Callum, you’re driving. Ollie, up front with me.” She turns back to us. “Radio every five minutes. If you two are not at the highway checkpoint in twenty, I’m turning this engine around and coming back for you, and you don’t want to see what that looks like.”

“Understood,” James says.

“Damn it, you two,” Callum says, knocking a fist against my shoulder on his way past to the driver’s door. “Do not get yourselves killed, or I’ll crawl straight into hell to drag you back and punch you in the face. Got it?”

“Crawling to hell just to punch us, got it,” I tell him.

“Yep, and that goes for you too,” he says, pointing at James.

“Yeah, loud and clear,” James chuckles.

Callum swings up into the cab. The air brakes release with a heavy hiss, and the big engine pulls out onto the asphalt, the first civilian sedan following right behind it into the gathering gloom. James and I turn and sprint straight up the gravel toward the barn.

“We’re going to help you get these animals loaded, but we have to move!” I shout over the roar coming off the ridge. “We don’t have much time!”

The old man nods sharply and wrenches the sliding door open. James and I plunge into the dim interior, the horses rearing and snorting in terror as we grab their halters, guiding them out through the haze toward the open trailer ramp.

We haul them up one by one, securing the latches while the sky above the canyon turns a dark, angry orange, the wind whipping embers straight across the dirt. The rancher throws himself into his cab, while James commandeers a second farm pickup parked by the shed.

I hop into the passenger side next to James, slamming the door just as the rancher’s headlights cut through the thick dust behind us.

We tear down the driveway and throw the truck onto the main road, the fire running through the treetops along the ridge line and raining sparks across the hood, turning the afternoon light into a surreal, suffocating fog.

“Fuck this,” James mutters, gripping the wheel tight as he navigates the blinding smoke.

“Hey, come on now,” I say, laughing despite myself. “You’re doing great.”

“Yeah, and you’re the crazy bastard who talked us into staying,” he fires back. “I must be losing my damn mind.”

“Well, I needed the best driver on the crew,” I tell him as we push through the haze. “Wouldn’t want to go risking my neck with anyone else.”

He laughs out loud, the sound getting cut short as the road dips into a sharp curve, and then we see it—a wall of bright orange flame spilling over the asphalt directly ahead, cutting right across our path.

CHAPTER 16

Mia

Spin, turn, extend, hold. The warm afternoon sun pours through the tall arched windows of Studio C at Meridian, painting long stripes across the fir floorboards while I run through the choreography for the benefit performance until my muscles burn. Spotting the mirror on every rotation keeps the dizziness at bay, but my mind keeps drifting back toward Mateo.

“That entrance is looking clean,” Jada says from the sidelines, leaning against the barre while unwrapping a protein bar. “Your classical technique is showing. I always forget how intense you were about your lines back in our ballet days. I’m jealous of that extension every single time.”

I laugh, dropping out of the turn. “Please. I’d swap it in a heartbeat for your jump. You look like you’re floating, whereas I’m wrestling gravity every time I leave the floor. Turns, though? I can spin until the building closes.”