By the time Abby burst out the front door, rifle in hand, the barn was already half gone. Orange light licked at the night sky, flaring against the snow like the world had turned upside down. Smoke billowed into the stars, thick and choking. She didn’t think; she ran.
Caleb came pounding across the yard from the bunkhouse, half-dressed, hair damp with sleep. He shouted something, but she didn’t hear it through the roar. All she could think was the goats. The feed. The tools. The boys’ future burning down one beam at a time. They met halfway.
“I checked the house. Luke and Levi are safe,” he shouted, grabbing her arm. “You can’t go in.”
“The animals!”
“It’s too late, Abby!”
The roof gave way with a sickening crack, collapsing into itself in a burst of heat and sparks. Abby screamed, raw and furious, not with grief, but with rage.
“They did this,” she hissed. “That bastard sent someone.”
Caleb didn’t argue. He just pulled her back from the searing heat, wrapping his arms around her shoulders as if he could shield her from more than just the fire.
“They don’t burn barns to send messages,” she growled, tears cutting through ash on her cheeks. “They burn them to erase proof.”
Caleb pulled back, staring at her. “Our records,” he said.
She nodded grimly. “All our notes. Crop counts. Seed tallies. Gone.”
They stood there watching the fire devour everything they’d built, the blaze swallowing beams and leather tools and hay until there was nothing left but red-hot ruin.
When the flames finally began to die down, the wind shifting what remained into smoke and glowing cinders, Abby turned toward the house.
“I want him gone,” she said. “Royce. I want him out of this town.”
Caleb didn’t move. “You think he did it himself?”
“No,” she said. “He’s too slick to smell like smoke. But he ordered it. Or he let someone else think they were doing him a favor.”
They walked back to the porch in silence. Inside, the twins were still sleeping, unaware, blissfully untouched by the destruction outside. But the house smelled like loss. Abby sat down at the kitchen table, still in her boots, ash streaked across her face. Caleb poured her a glass of water then sat across from her, staring at the table.
“I should’ve left,” he said.
She looked up sharply. “Don’t say that.”
“They’re targeting you now. Because of me.”
She slammed her palm on the table. “No. Because they want power. Because they think I’m weak. You didn’t bring that—you’re just the excuse they’re hiding behind.”
“But it’s still burning because of me.”
“No,” she said, quieter now. “It’s burning because they’re afraid, and cowards burn what they can’t steal.”
He let that settle. Then she stood, walked to the cabinet, and pulled out the last two jars of honey she’d been saving.
“I need to ride into town at first light,” she said. “Talk to the judge. Talk to Sheriff Thorne. This can’t be ignored.”
Caleb nodded. “I’ll come with you.”
“No. You stay with the boys. They need one of us close.”
He hesitated.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’m mad enough not to be scared.”
But they both knew better.
Dawn broke slow and gray, the sky thick with smoke haze. Abby saddled the mule herself; her horse had been in the barn. The smell of burnt pine clung to everything. Ethel met her at the crossroads, riding hard.
“Jesus,” the old woman muttered when she saw the smoke. “It really happened.”
“They wanted proof gone,” Abby said.
“They’ll want more than that next time.”
Abby tightened the reins. “Then they’ll find a different kind of fire waiting.”
They rode into town together. The sheriff’s office was quiet when they arrived. Sheriff Thorne, a lean, red-faced man with a limp and a long memory, met them on the steps.
“I heard,” he said. “Was on my way out there next.”
“You won’t find much but ashes,” Abby said. “And tracks, maybe.”
Thorne nodded, rubbing his jaw. “I’ll take a look. But you know how it works, Abby. No witnesses, no names.”
“Royce Keller,” she cut in. “He’s the only thing that’s changed in weeks. He’s the match.”
Thorne frowned. “He’s got papers, Abby. Legal ones. He hasn’t broken a law.”
“He doesn’t have to. He just talks in shadows and lets others do the burning.”
Ethel stepped forward. “Then charge whoever lit the match. You let one barn burn without justice, and the next fire will be a house.”
Thorne looked between them and sighed. “All right. I’ll dig. But it’s gonna take more than smoke and fury to hold this.”
“Then we’ll bring more,” Abby said.
They didn’t go to Royce directly. Not yet. Instead, they made noise. Ethel whispered to the preacher’s wife. Abby spoke with the feed store owner. Thorne asked questions down at the saloon. By sundown, half the town was talking. About the fire. About Doyle’s money. About the man in the black coat, staying just long enough to leave a scorch mark.
That night, back at the ranch, Caleb chopped the remains of the fence post for firewood. He moved like a man who’d been punched and hadn’t felt it yet. Abby came out with two mugs and stood beside him.
“They’re listening,” she said.
Caleb didn’t answer.
“I know you want to run.”
“I don’t,” he said. “But I’m tired of hiding.”
She set a hand on his back. “Then let them come,” she said. “Let them see what kind of man you are.”
He turned to her slowly. “I’m not sure that’s enough.”
“It is,” she said. “Because I’m still here. And I see you.”
He breathed in deep. The night air was cold and clean, finally clearing of smoke. Inside, Luke cried once and Caleb went to him. No hesitation. Just love. Abby watched through the doorway, her heart a knot of hope and fear…
