The Patriot A Small Town Romance - Jennifer Millikin Page 0,104

two off-shoots on either side. Fire licks up the sides, about halfway up, but all the way around. My brain registers that as odd, but I don’t have time to analyze.

Warner and I run around the perimeter, spraying, and soon the cowboys run over.

“The shed,” I shout. “More extinguishers!” Rivulets of sweat snake down my body. It’s hot as hell, and it doesn’t feel like we’re making much progress. The equipment we have just isn’t enough. The pond is less than a hundred yards away, but we need the firefighters’ pump.

And then it hits me. The animals. Mom’s goats are inside. I sprint to the front and throw open the door. Smoke billows out, burning my eyes and throat. I cover my mouth and nose with my forearm and run inside. I can’t see more than a few feet in front of my face, but I know my mom keeps stacks of wool blankets on a shelf to my right. I stumble over, my free hand stuck out in front of me, feeling for the fabric. When I locate it, I grab one of the blankets and wrap it around me, using one hand to hold it cinched above my head.

I do my best, stumbling along, feeling for the latches on the gates my mom uses to keep the goats separated. Their bleating is nearly as loud as the splintering wood, and they sound desperate, as if on some level they know they are in danger. I do my best to open as many latches as I can, but I know I can’t keep going. The smoke is too much and I’m starting to feel sick. I run for the exit, and there are goats running every which way. A few feet in front of me, I spot a limping goat. It’s going so slow, it will never make it. I scoop it up on my way past. Behind me is a loud crack, and I sprint out of the barn holding the goat.

The relieved shouts of my name are the first thing I hear, but it’s drowned out by screaming sirens. A fire truck followed by an ambulance. Suddenly my mom’s in my face, running her hands over my cheeks, wide eyes checking me for signs of obvious injury.

I cough. “I’m fine, Mom.”

She gives me a long, heavy look, then takes the goat from my arms. “That was stupid, Wes,” she scolds, but her lips quiver.

Maybe it was stupid, but it was also innate. Inside me is a drive to serve, to protect, to save. It’s a biological instinct. I’ve always felt it, and then when it came time for me to choose a job in the military, the bomb squad seemed an obvious choice.

The firefighters jump into action, depositing one end of their pump into the pond and snaking the firehose to the barn. They yell to one another, and soon the pump is drafting the water.

I look around at who’s here now. When I’d run into the barn, it had only been me, Warner, and a handful of cowboys. My mom and dad, Gramps, and the remaining cowboys stand here now. Every single person who lives on this ranch, with the exception of Warner’s kids, and Wyatt and Jessie.

The amount of water the firefighters are using to handle the fire makes our use of fire extinguishers laughable. The first thing I’ll do when the ranch is mine is fill in the inadequacies in fire response.

My mom counts the goats. Tears fill her eyes and she floats into my dad’s waiting arms. “We’re missing six,” she tells him.

Dammit. My poor mom.

It’s not too long before the fire is out. One of the men approaches my dad, and when he removes his helmet, I see it’s Derrick, my friend from high school.

“Derrick? Hey, man.” I offer a hand. “I can’t thank you enough.”

But Derrick doesn’t look happy that he’s just put out a fire. He looks worried. “Wes.” He shakes my hand, then turns to my dad. “Mr. Hayden, my guys and I have reason to believe this fire was set intentionally.”

My dad’s head jerks back in surprise. “Why is that?”

Derrick gestures to another firefighter, who has also removed his helmet. He walks over with something in his hand. A gas can?

Derrick takes it. “This was found in the woods just beyond the barn. Like it had been tossed there.”

“Let me see that.” I motion for the object. Derrick gives it to me, and I turn it over, looking