Grim-eyed, Charlie nodded, and ran.
Both men knew what would happen if the horses were not contained. They would try to return to the barn, their home. Where they felt safe.
It had happened before.
“Where’s Daniel?” he shouted above the pulse of the bullhorn.
“Inside!” Mac, another groom, answered. “He called 000, then went in!”
Tyler didn’t hesitate. The bush fire brigade was on the way, but there was no time to wait. Sucking in a sharp breath, he grabbed a flame-retardant blanket and ran into the darkness, veering left while Andrew went right. Flames greedily consumed the center section, where they kept the tack.
Trying not to inhale, he ran down the corridor until he found an occupied stall. Halters and lead ropes hung outside each, illuminated by glow-in-the-dark tape. Coughing, he lunged in and reached for the horse.
“Hey there, mate. No worries now,” he rasped, pretending everything was fine, that there was nothing to worry about. “How about a little nighttime walk?”
Whinnying, the colt shuffled deeper into the illusion of safety offered by his stall.
From the ceiling, flames curled downward. “Easy now,” Tyler choked out, and this time he used more force, draping the horse in the blanket and urging him from the stall.
The burning in his lungs demanded that he run, but Tyler kept his movements contained, measured. If the horse sensed his alarm—
On a fresh burst of adrenaline, he staggered into the night, tried to breathe. But it was smoke that he dragged into his lungs.
“I got him,” one of the young trainers said, falling into the assembly line evacuation plan they’d designed, but never thought to use. Only Tyler and Daniel and a few others were designated to be in the barn. That would keep the process as orderly as possible. Everyone had a place, a role. Rescue horses. Secure them. Fight the fire. If someone turned up missing—
Simultaneously Andrew and Daniel staggered from the cloud of smoke, each wrestling an antsy horse.
“Ty!” came an urgent voice, and then his brother, Shane, was there, running toward him. “I came as fast as I—”
“The pasture!” Tyler called. “Make sure none of the horses—”
A loud groan killed his words, followed by a long, tearing crack, then a crash somewhere inside the barn…and the panicked scream of a horse.
“No!” Charlie roared, but before Tyler found the groom, a thrashing Appaloosa broke from the direction of the pasture toward the barn. Charlie bolted after him. “Someone get him!”
Tyler started toward the horse, but Shane took off first, grabbing the horse’s lead as he reared up against the flames.
“Got him!” Shane cried, fighting to bring the panicked animal under control.
Tyler pivoted back to the barn where another trainer dragged two more horses into the marginally clearer air.
In the distance, the blare of the fire engines merged with the bullhorn. From the main road, the lights of several cars and trucks could be seen racing toward the ranch.
They’d never make it in time.
Running back inside, Tyler again veered left. That was his corridor of responsibility. Daniel had the right. When they ran their drills, he and Daniel blindfolded themselves to simulate the smoke and the darkness. But the absurdity of that ground through Tyler. There was no simulating the heat scorching through his clothes, or the acrid smoke choking off his breath. His body fought to breathe, but he pushed himself forward, toward the back of the barn where Lightning Chaser—
The fire roared, a living creature consuming the barn at a vicious pace. Coughing, Tyler dragged his damp shirt over his mouth and struggled to breathe…run.
But with another groan, the section of barn in front of him collapsed.
Tyler twisted into the side of a stall and out of the path of a burning beam.
“H-help!”
The cry barely registered over the hunger of the fire.
“S-some…one he-elp!”
Smoke stole visibility. Eyes burning, Tyler staggered into the stall and used his hands to find the side. There he could climb. On pure determination he made his way into the next stall and jumped to the hay below.
Hay. As a precaution, they stored it in another building, but there was enough in each barn to feed a fire into an allout inferno.
“Help!”
The voice was weaker now, but Tyler fought his way toward the far side of the corridor. “Who’s th-there?” he choked.
The sound that greeted him was not human, but equine. A big black shadow moved against the glow of the fire, gyrating frantically. “Easy.” Tyler coughed, reaching for the lead. “Easy now, boy.”
The horse reared away.
“Thank God,” rasped the voice he’d heard before, and through the suffocating darkness a hand closed weakly around Tyler’s ankle.
“Christ almighty,” he swore, dropping to his feet where he found the man. “What the hell—”
“B-broke away,” Reynard, one of Lochlain’s most recent hires, choked out. “Tried to get back to his stall.”
And knocked his rescuer down in the process. Reynard was lucky he hadn’t been trampled to death. “Come on,” Tyler said, easing the older man to his feet. “We gotta get you—”
“Preston!”With the new voice came the hard rush of water and Tyler knew the brigade had arrived. The flames devouring the beam that had blocked the corridor hissed against water as three uniformed firefighters surged toward them.
“Here!” Tyler shouted, handing off Reynard. Pivoting, he ran for the spooked Thoroughbred, finding a saddle blanket to cover the animal’s eyes.
“Got him,” called one of the men, reaching for the lead. Tyler released the horse, turned back to the far end of the barn.
“Preston! You gotta get out of here!” the firefighter called. “The whole place is about to come down!”
But Tyler was already lunging toward Lightning Chaser’s stall. He had to be sure. He had to check.
Staggering, he veered into the stall and, eyes burning, saw through the sickening red glow. The horse that had grazed so quietly just that afternoon, the champion Thoroughbred who’d run a breathtaking last leg of the Queensland Stakes. He fought against the back corner of the stall he equated with safety, literally trying to climb the wall.
The shadowy sight hit Tyler like a punch to the gut.
“Easy, mate,” he tried to drawl, speaking to the animal as a parent would speak to a child. But his voice was a choked rasp. Fumbling for a blanket, he grabbed the halter and lead and moved forward. “Howzabouta l-little midnight—” His throat burned. His lungs screamed.
His vision blurred.
He’d been in too long. He knew that. He’d done the research, consulted with the fire brigade. They’d run the drills. He knew how long he had, how long he could be inside before the smoke overcame him and he became useless.
But he pushed forward anyway. From his first days of training, Lightning Chaser had given Tyler his all. Just like his grandsire had, all those years ago. A Thoroughbred down to his hooves, the horse never said no. He never protested. He trained and he performed.
And now he was in trouble.
Tyler could no more abandon him than he could have left his father or brother.
Staggering,