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“Trey—it’s Caleb. Someone is skulking around the calving barn.” Caleb’s voice is hushed, but he sounds panicked. “I smell gasoline, Trey.”
Also in the giant bed, my brothers rouse. Someone asks what’s going on, but I ignore them for the moment.
“You stay out of their sight, Caleb,” I order. “We’re on our way.”
Someone switches on the light, and I blink in momentary blindness. Tyler. He’s already half dressed, and a quick glance over my shoulder shows that my other brothers are nearly dressed as well. I grab Joshua’s cell phone off the nightstand and toss it to Joshua. “Call the Sheriff’s Department. Tell them somebody’s about ready to burn down our calving barn.”
“Motherfucker,” Tyler mutters under his breath. I agree, but there’s no time to get into it now.
“Be careful!” Jessa shouts at us as we head out of the bedroom. But I stop Joshua when he emerges into the hall, still on his phone to dispatch.
“Stay here with her,” I tell him. “Take care of Jessa.”
Joshua looks like he’s about to argue, but then he nods, his expression grave. “I’ll keep her safe.”
Secure in the knowledge that Jessa will be under Joshua’s care, I rush outside, barely catching Tyler and Clay by the time we reach the barn.
While somebody has knocked out the main floodlight in front of the calving barn, the bright, full moon and the remaining small lights in the area clearly illuminate a large man standing on the side of the barn. He has a gas can in hand, and a pissed off expression on his very familiar face.
Griz.
“Fuck you, assholes!” Griz shouts. “Think you can fire me? I’ll show you!”
“No—” I yell, but Griz has already thrown a match. And as we watch, the whole side of the building goes up in brilliant flames.
Shit. He must’ve had more than just the one gas can—God knows how long he was out here soaking the building before Caleb noticed him.
The doors to the barn fly open, and several ranch hands pour out, with what looks to be the entire barn of cows between them. Caleb is at the lead, a look of grim determination on the kid’s face.
“Get Griz,” I yell at Tyler and Joshua.
They take off to catch Griz. Seeing them, Griz drops the gas can and tries to run. I know he won’t get far.
“Just a few calves left!” Caleb gestures toward the barn. “Weren’t enough of us to carry them all. But we got the farthest ones from the door.”
Running into a burning barn isn’t something I’d normally do—cattle or no. But this one was just rebuilt a couple years before, and I know that Joshua had spared no expense when it came to the fire suppression system inside. The side of the barn was burning, no doubt. But it hadn’t made its way inside yet. If we hurry, we can get them out.
“Keep the doors open,” I yell at two of the hands. Caleb follows me and, and sure enough, no smoke yet. Nothing except for what’s coming in from behind us.
Caleb points to the four pens closest stalls closest to the door. I nod at him, and then we get to work. Less than five minutes later, between Caleb, myself, and a few other hands who rushed in, we’ve retrieved the rest of the animals from the barn.
By the time I’m carrying out the last calf, acrid smoke is rolling from the barn, making my eyes water and filling my lungs. A coughing fit hits Caleb once we’re outside and I hand off my calf off and help him to get farther away from the burning building.
Lights flash in the distant darkness, blue and red and white—emergency vehicles on their way. I hope that they brought a fire truck with them.
Tyler and Joshua hold Griz down in the dirt, face down with his hands behind his back and Tyler’s knee between the shoulder blades. My eyes are drawn back to the barn. Despite a couple hands’ attempt at putting some water to douse the flames from the well, it’s an inferno now. Joshua’s fire suppression system might have slowed it down—and the fire department will likely put a stop to it. But there is no saving the barn.
We’d saved the livestock, and no one is hurt. That is all that matters. Property damage can be fixed, lost lives can’t.
“You son of a bitch,” I say to Griz, my throat aching from the smoke.
The man sneers at me from the ground, but he doesn’t say anything.
Two Sheriff’s Department cars pull into the drive, halting a little ways out from the fire. The sheriff himself trots up to us, while still talking to radio attached to his shirt.
“Yes, I said more than one fire truck,” the sheriff says into his radio. “Hurry up before the rest of the damn ranch is on fire.”
“Sheriff,” I say with a nod. “Thank you for coming.”
