Chapter Thirty Nine
A Public Claiming
“ T hanks again for coming out, guys,” I rasp, voice wrecked from smoke and shouting.
My body’s exhausted, hands raw, thighs burning, throat coated in ash, but I can still feel the adrenaline buzzing in my blood. The air around us is thick and acrid, wet from the hoses and still too hot in places—but the worst of it’s over.
The equipment barn is gone.
Everything inside—tools, fuel, irrigation systems, even the newer harvester we managed to finance two seasons ago, is now a steaming pile of blackened metal and ash.
And the small shed my mom uses for event prep—the one she sets up with decor and flower buckets every time the Honey Bea Bash rolls around? Gone. Collapsed in on itself, smoldering quietly near the tree line.
But no animals were hurt. The crops are untouched. No one was injured fighting the fire, thank fuck.
The guys from Summit County Rural Fire showed up fast, efficient, and ready to get to work. We hit the worst of it before it reached the horse barn, and with their help, we pushed the line back just in time.
“No problem,” Memphis Calloway says, shaking my hand with a strong grip. “You did damn good work before we even got here. Miss havin’ you out on calls.”
After I came home from the military, I needed an outlet. Needed to feel needed. That’s how I fell in with Iron Shield. The guys felt the same, so they followed me, but I needed more.
Working for JP was fine—but it was just that: work.
Some jobs I took were high adrenaline, and I actually got to help people, protect them from bad shit.
But a lot of times, it was just rich businessmen wanting to feel powerful with personal security for events or driving them around.
Hated that shit. One of the reasons I took less and less jobs away.
Also one of the reasons I ended up volunteering for Summit County Emergency Services. Spent many days with these guys, fighting wildfires, out on search and rescues, or responding to emergencies in rural areas where help is needed.
I have the training, the time, and fuck, got a hell of a lot more fulfillment from those un-paid jobs than I even have with Iron Sheild.
Good thing I quit.
“Know it’s been a while,” I say, glancing toward the dark shape of the big house in the distance. “But since I’m currently out of a job, you’ll probably be seeing more of me.”
“No shit,” Dallas, the Wildwood fire chief and youngest of the three Calloway brothers here tonight, claps me hard on the back. “Why don’t you join the department? You’re good with a hose.”
Memphis and Nash bark out identical laughs that echo through the steam and early dawn air.
I snort. “Nah, man. I’m living here full-time now.” My gaze drifts to the house again, jaw tightening, anxiety clawing at my veins. Wanna get back to them. “Got a little girl to watch out for now. Can’t be signing up for anything that dangerous on the regular.”
Nash, who teaches engineering over at the college and volunteers whenever he can, frowns. “When the fuck did you find the time to make a kid, Archer?”
My smile drops, throat tightening. “Actually, I adopted her.”
There’s a beat of silence, then Nash shakes my hand again, clapping my shoulder. “Well, fuck. Congrats, man.”
“Yeah,” Dallas says, tipping his chin. “Hell of a thing, Kade. Good for you.”
I nod, grateful for the simplicity of it. No questions. No pity. Just respect.
Dallas glances over his shoulder at the smoking ruin behind us. “Once it cools, we can do a full inspection for you. But first impressions?”
I step forward. “You three are the professionals. I’ll take your thoughts.”
Memphis gestures for me to follow, and I do, the four of us trudging across scorched earth, the mud sucking at our boots. The smoke stings my eyes, and steam rises in gentle plumes off what used to be the most valuable building on the back half of our land.
This is fucked and so bad.
Dallas crouches low near the barn’s side, running a gloved hand along the frame. “See this?”
I follow his finger. There’s a patch along the metal siding that looks… off . Warped in a way that doesn’t match the rest of the structure. Almost like it melted from the inside out.
“Burned hot, real fast,” Dallas says, frowning. “Too hot, too fast for a standard equipment fire. Especially one that started after midnight, when no one was working.”
He nods toward another spot where the earth’s scorched in a weird semicircle.
“That’s accelerant.”
Nausea hits me in the gut. “The fuck?”
“Sorry it’s not better news, man,” he says, standing and brushing ash off his pants with a pained look. Dallas has a small farm of his own. Knows the hit we’re about to take.
“We’ll get you something solid in a few days,” Memphis adds. “But first take? This wasn’t an accident.”
My blood runs ice-cold.
It’s one thing to lose a barn. One thing to face an act of God, or bad luck, or faulty wiring. But arson?
That’s someone declaring war.
“Hey, guys!” a voice calls.
We turn as Vander jogs up the hill, winded but grinning. Anger pulses through me at the sight of his smug, likely-drunk, ass.
“Your mom sent me to grab everyone for breakfast at the big house. Said she’s not takin’ no for an answer.”
My fists clench at my sides.
The fire’s still warm, ash still floating in the damn air, and this little shit has the audacity to show up with a smile like it’s just another day on the job. Like he’s not at fault for this gettin’ so bad, so damn fast.
“You good, Kade?” Dallas asks under his breath, clearly picking up on the shift in my posture.
“I’m fine,” I grit out, eyes locked on Van’s smug face.
The fact that Hazel put Vander and his brother in charge while Ridge was gone—and they spent the night drinking at the Saddle instead of checking on the animals or walking the fields—makes me want to put my fist through a wall. Or his teeth.
The fact that he doesn’t even seem to realize he screwed up?
Infuriating.
I jerk a nod and shove past him, calling over my shoulder, “Round up your crews, Calloways. My mom’ll lose her shit if you don’t stop by.”
I swallow hard, rolling my neck to relieve the tension, but it’s no use. I’m too pissed.
And it gets the best of me.
Stopping mid-step, I spin, damn near colliding with Dallas. He jerks his hands up and steps aside, blue eyes wide.
“And Van?” I bark, dragging his smirk from his phone.
He glances up at me and pales. “Since you weren’t here to do your fuckin’ job, you and your brother can skip breakfast and sober up.
On watch.” Growling, I point a shaking finger at his stupid face.
“Y’all move a damn muscle away from your posts, swear to fuck, you’ll be on your asses before the whiskey leaves your blood. ”
With that, I spin on my heel and stomp toward the Big House, the sound of the Calloway’s whistling and chuckling behind me.
“Hazel needs to fire every last one of these assholes,” I hiss.
Or maybe I do.
The guys laugh, clapping my back, but veer off, probably to collect the rest of the volunteers.
I kick off my boots and strip out of my jacket at the front door, the fabric soaked in smoke and sweat. The air inside the house is warm, the strong scent of coffee, breakfast, and home, permitting my frazzled senses.
Laughter echoes down the hallway. The sound of dishes clinking, of overlapping conversations and squeaky chairs on the old hardwood, rises up like a smothering blanket around me.
But I tune it all out and charge forward like a man possessed.
I washed off the worst of the fire outside with the hose, my hands still raw, my skin chilled, but I need a real shower. A full scrub. I need the heat to burn away what I saw out there—what I felt. The fear, the loss, the flashbacks that inevitably came.
But first?
First, I need to see my girls.
I round the corner into the kitchen and stop cold in the doorway.
The room is full. The long table’s packed tight with ranch hands, volunteers, and my family.
My mom's at the stove, flipping something in a pan while barking orders at Colby and Clementine. The twins are laughing, faces pink, hair a mess. There’s a whole crew of guys I don’t even recognize hovering near the back door, plates in hand, boots muddy, eyes heavy.
But all of that fades.
Because at the head of the table, tucked into the biggest chair we’ve got, Georgia is feeding Aurora.
She’s got the baby cradled in her arm like she was born to do it, one hand gently tilting the bottle while her mouth moves in a soft laugh at something my mom must’ve said. Her curls are falling down around her face, cheeks flushed, and her eyes—
Christ, her eyes.
They’re tired. But they’re alive. Brighter than I’ve ever seen them. She doesn’t even notice the way she kisses Aurora’s hair between sentences, or how she adjusts the blanket wrapped around her little legs every few seconds like she can’t stop checking to make sure she’s warm.
I lean against the archway and just stare. My body’s tired, my lungs ache, but in this moment… I’ve never felt more awake.
There’s a plate of untouched food in front of her.
My first thought is: Is it not safe for her? My mom’s careful, she always is, but Georgia’s system is tricky. It doesn’t take much. Then again, maybe she hasn’t eaten because she’s been feeding Aurora.
And that—fuck, that guts me.
That she’d put herself second so easily. That she already does it without thinking. That she’s already here, like this, like mine .
And that little girl in her arms?
She’s got me.
Tied me up in knots. Bundled my heart in her tiny little fists and squeezed until it started beating again.
The ache in my chest grows sharp. I rub at it, trying to breathe past the heat that rises up my throat.
Tonight, when I saw that fire, when I realized how fast it was moving, how bad it could’ve gotten, I couldn’t think past them. Yeah, my mom, my sisters, my friends—they were at the top of the list.
But Georgia and Aurora?
They were the list.