25. One of the Good Ones
One of the Good Ones
Kellan
I ran toward the cabins, my boots pounding against the packed dirt path.
Another explosion ripped through the night sky, illuminating the rooftops in pink and green.
My heart hammered against my ribs not from exertion, but from white-hot anger that was quickly overtaking my usual easygoing personality.
The horses were probably terrified. And Debra? She was most definitely losing her mind. She failed on all fronts when it came to our desensitization training.
I rounded the corner to cabin three in time to see a man lighting what looked like a Roman candle. Two kids watched with wide smiles while a woman filmed on her phone. They looked like they thought this was good, clean family fun rather than a potential disaster in the making.
“Stop!” I bellowed, my voice so harsh I barely recognized it myself.
The man’s head snapped up, the lighter still hovering near the fuse. I closed the distance between us in three long strides and kicked the firework out of range of the lighter, sending it skittering across the ground.
I’d spent years perfecting the art of being the charming host, the guy who could smooth over any awkward situation with a joke and a smile. But there was a line and setting off explosives near a stable full of horses during fire season? That line was about ten miles back.
“What the hell are you doing?” My voice came out low and commanding, nothing like my usual tone.
“Hey man, we were just having a little fun—” the father started, his words slurring slightly. The scent of beer hung in the air around him.
I cut him off with a look that stopped his words cold.
“Fun? You think setting off illegal fireworks near a barn full of thousand-pound flight animals is fun?” I swept my arm toward the stables. “One spark on that dry grass, and we’d have a wildfire that could destroy everything in its path, including you and your family.”
The mother at least had the decency to look concerned. “We didn’t think?—”
“That’s obvious.” I fought to keep my breathing and temper even.
“It’s fire season with drought conditions, and there’s a statewide ban on these types of fireworks.
Not to mention there are five other occupied cabins and all of the animals you’re scaring.
On top of that, the Fourth was last fucking week! ”
The father’s posture shifted into defensive mode. “Look, it’s not a big deal. We’ve got it under control.”
“Under control?” I laughed, but there wasn’t a trace of humor in the sound. “You’re drunk, and you don’t even have a bucket of water or a hose nearby to put anything out should something happen. And now there’s firework debris scattered all over causing a potential fire hazard.”
One of the kids, who looked to be in that awkward stage transitioning into a teenager, shuffled his feet. “We’re sorry.” At least someone was feeling ashamed.
“I need every single piece of exploded firework collected. Right now.” I pointed to the ground where bits of colored paper and cardboard were scattered. “And I need to see every other firework you have.”
The man scoffed. “You can’t make us?—”
“I can.” I pulled my phone from my back pocket. “I can call the sheriff and report illegal fireworks being set off during a burn ban. That’s a minimum fine of two thousand dollars in this area, possibly more given the proximity to a working ranch with livestock. Or...”
I paused, letting the threat hang in the air. “You can show me every remaining firework you have, clean up every scrap of debris, and be off my property within the hour.”
The father’s face flushed red. “Now wait a minute. We paid for three nights!”
“And we’ll consider refunding you for the nights you didn’t stay depending on the damage to the animals and the property, but you’re leaving. Tonight.” I crossed my arms. “The safety of our animals and our livelihood isn’t up for negotiation.”
The woman put a hand on the man’s arm. “Pete, he’s right. This was a bad idea.”
Pete looked like he wanted to argue, but something in my expression must have told him exactly how that would end. He turned to his sons. “Go get the rest of the fireworks from the cabin.”
The boys trudged off, the younger one casting a guilty look back at me.
“And the cleanup?” I nodded toward the scattered debris.
“We’ll take care of it,” the mother promised, already bending down to pick up a piece of colorful cardboard.
I watched as they began gathering the remnants, my jaw still clenched tight. The acrid smell of gunpowder hung in the air, and in the distance, I could hear the nervous whinnying from the stables. Reid and Enzo were probably there now, trying to calm the horses.
And Quinn. Moments ago, we’d been having one of the most important conversations of our lives.
She had admitted that she wanted to stay, and we’d been figuring out how to make this unconventional relationship work.
And now, instead of holding her close and making plans for our future, I was out here dealing with drunk people playing with fire.
Behind me, the boys returned with a crate filled with more Roman candles and something that looked alarmingly like actual dynamite. I took the crate from them, not trusting myself to speak for a moment.
The man glared at me as I picked up a few other unused fireworks they’d laid out, his eyes burning with the indignation of someone who isn’t used to being told no. This family had no idea how quickly their “fun” could have destroyed everything we’d built here.
“Is this all of it?”
They nodded, the father still fuming, the rest sheepish enough to pass for being remorseful.
“You have exactly one hour to finish cleaning up and pack your things.” I checked my watch. “At 11:15, I’ll be back to escort you off the property. If you’re not ready, I’ll be making that call to the sheriff.”
Without waiting for a response, I jogged toward the stables, the crate of contraband fireworks tucked under my arm. I stopped at a trough of water for the horses and dumped the fireworks inside it.
The stable doors were flung wide open, and inside, chaos reigned. Ranger was pacing nervously in his stall, while Tater Tot was munching on hay like it was just another night. Several empty stalls told me Reid and Enzo had already moved some of the horses to the pasture for safety.
Reid stood in Junebug’s stall, one hand on her neck, speaking softly to her.
The horse’s eyes were still wild, nostrils flared, but she wasn’t thrashing.
Enzo moved methodically from stall to stall, checking legs and flanks for injuries.
His jaw was set in that way that meant he was barely containing his rage.
“I handled the guests with the fireworks. Confiscated their stash and told them they have an hour to leave.” I tossed my hat onto a hook and rolled up my sleeves. “Need me to lead any more out to a pasture?”
Enzo glanced up, his expression hard. “Already moved the worst ones. Calypso nearly kicked through her stall door.”
“Any injuries?” I scanned the stalls, mentally tallying which horses remained inside.
“Nothing serious. A few scrapes from the ones that panicked initially. We’ll document and inform the owners if they aren’t ours.” Enzo ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end.
“Where’s Quinn?” The question hit me suddenly as I realized she wasn’t among us.
Reid’s hands paused momentarily on Junebug’s neck. “We sent her to check on the goats and chickens. Figured it was safer than having her in here with panicking horses.”
“When?” My pulse quickened.
“About ten minutes ago.” Enzo frowned, straightening up from where he’d been examining a horse’s legs. “She should have been back by now.”
I didn’t wait to hear more. I spun and sprinted toward the barn, gravel flying beneath my boots. The night air felt suddenly thick, making it hard to breathe.
Quinn was new to all this and didn’t know how to handle animals that were spooked. What if one of them had hurt her in their panic? What if she’d gotten kicked by Debra?
The barn door stood partially open, a slice of yellow light spilling out onto the ground. I slipped inside, my eyes scanning for her.
“Quinn?” I moved deeper into the barn.
In the goat enclosure, Jack and Chip stood together in a corner, unusually subdued. Maple lay in the straw next to them, chewing placidly as if explosions in the sky were an everyday occurrence. Surprisingly, Butters was drinking water in the opposite corner.
But Pancake was missing. The gate was slightly ajar, no doubt from Butters.
I turned toward Debra’s stall, finding it empty. I tested the door, and it opened to reveal it had been kicked where the latch was.
Damn it.
“Quinn!” I moved faster now, checking every corner of the barn until I got to the other door.
As I stepped outside, I turned on the flashlight on my phone and headed for the gate. I scanned the pasture beyond, the flashlight beam sweeping the tree line.
That’s when I saw her crouched near the far fence, crouched over what I assumed was Pancake. Debra paced nearby, her ears twitching and her tail flicking with agitation.
I exhaled hard and cut across the pasture, the light of my flashlight bouncing wildly over the uneven ground. My lungs burned with each breath, not from exertion but from the knot of worry lodged firmly in my chest.
“Quinn!”
She looked up at the sound of my voice, her face a perfect blend of relief and frustration in the harsh glow of my phone light.
Pancake was half-wedged under the bottom rail of the fence, her little body trembling.
Debra paced in tight circles nearby, braying occasionally as if she were personally offended by this entire situation.
Quinn’s shoulders sagged. “Debra kicked her stall door and tore out of there like her tail was on fire. I tried to catch her, but she was on a mission.”
I crouched beside her, our knees bumping in the damp grass.
“When I found her, she was standing over Pancake like she was guarding her. She must have known she was out here.” She gestured to where the tiny goat was wedged. “I was afraid if I pulled too hard, I’d hurt her.”
I ran the light along the fence line, assessing the situation. Pancake had managed to get her head and front legs under, but her little body was too wide to follow. Now she was stuck, bleating pitifully every few seconds.
Debra stamped an impatient hoof, braying loudly enough to make Quinn jump.
“Easy, girl.” I straightened and approached Debra, keeping my voice low and steady. “You’ve had quite the scare tonight, haven’t you?”
The donkey’s ears twitched, but she didn’t bolt as I reached out to stroke her neck. Under my fingers, her muscles quivered with leftover adrenaline.
“Is she okay?” Quinn whispered, not taking her eyes off Pancake.
I knelt back down beside her, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off her body. “She’s scared, but she doesn’t look injured. Let me help.”
Our shoulders brushed as we both leaned forward, working in tandem in the narrow space.
I wiggled the bottom rail, managing to turn the board enough for Quinn to guide Pancake’s trembling body backward.
The goat bleated indignantly the entire time, acting like we were the ones who had gotten her into this mess.
“There we go.” I released the rail once Pancake was free. “One baby goat rescue, complete.”
Quinn scooped Pancake into her arms, cradling her like an infant. The tiny goat immediately settled, nuzzling into her shoulder with all the drama of someone who had survived a near-death experience. The sight of them together under the moonlight made something twist in my chest.
It felt strangely intimate, this moment out in a field with a rescued goat and an anxious donkey. Not the romantic moment I had pictured earlier on the tailgate when she had told us she wanted to stay, but somehow perfect in its messy, chaotic way.
“You’re pretty good at this, you know.” I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
She looked up at me, her eyes shining. “At what? Chasing donkeys or rescuing goats?”
“All of it.” My fingers lingered on her cheek. “You fit here. With the animals. With us.”
She leaned into my touch, her skin soft beneath my fingertips. Pancake squirmed between us as if annoyed by this unexpected pause in her dramatic rescue story.
For a moment, we stayed like that, the night settling around us like a blanket, crickets providing a soundtrack that seemed oddly appropriate. Part of me wanted to draw her closer, but the goat between us said otherwise as she tried to bite one of my shirt buttons.
“Okay, okay. Let’s get back to the barn. Do you want me to carry her?” I held out my arms in offering, and Quinn handed Pancake over.
Quinn stepped toward Debra, which immediately made me tense. Reid had spent weeks getting Debra to merely tolerate Quinn’s presence, and that was on a good day without fireworks sending everyone into panic mode.
“Quinn, don’t?—”
But Quinn was already extending her hand toward the donkey, moving slowly like Reid had taught her. Debra’s ears flicked forward, then back, then forward again; the universal sign of a donkey figuring out whether to kick or cuddle.
“You were protecting her, weren’t you?” Quinn’s voice was soft, almost reverential. “Everyone thinks you’re so mean, but you knew Pancake was in trouble.”
To my complete shock, Debra lowered her head and bumped it gently against Quinn’s outstretched palm. The same donkey that had nearly taken Quinn’s head off last week was now letting her stroke between her eyes.
“Holy shit.” My jaw dropped.
She glanced over her shoulder at me, her smile triumphant. “See? She needed time to realize I’m one of the good ones.”
Something about those words hit differently, resonating beyond the donkey situation. One of the good ones. Yeah, Quinn definitely was.