Page 83 of Savage Rancher
"I’m sorry, sweetheart." I cup her face, wanting to put my arms around her.
But now wasn’t the time. "We need to get dressed and get over there, Emma."
She jumps out of bed and reaches for her clothes.
84
EMMA
The ten-minute drive to Circle H feels like hours.
Jake drives with lethal precision, his jaw tight, one hand on the wheel and the other gripping mine so hard it hurts. Mason and Luke follow in Luke's truck, their headlights steady in the rearview mirror.
I can't speak. I can't think past the roaring in my ears and the sick certainty settling in my gut that this isn’t an accident.
When we crest the hill and Circle H comes into view, I stop breathing.
The house is an inferno.
Flames leap from the windows, orange and red against the black Montana sky. Smoke billows in thick columns, blotting out the stars. The fire trucks are there—two of them—their lights strobing red across the chaos. Firefighters move like shadows through the smoke, their hoses trained on the blaze.
But it's too late—I can see that from here. The house is gone.
My dad’s evidence against the Turners? Also gone.
“Shit,” I say softly, gripping the door handle. I'm out of the truck before Jake’s fully stopped.
The heat slams into me, and I gasp.
Jake wraps me in his arms and moves me back behind the truck. “Stay back here. Let them do what they do.”
"My father's things—my extra camera equipment—our family photos—" The words tear out of me.
"I know. I know, sweetheart.” Jake holds me tighter.
Jim rushes over, his hair crazy with the flames reflecting in his eyes. "I'm so sorry. By the time I saw it, I couldn’t do anything but wait for the fire department."
“I don’t think you’d have been able to do anything,” I say, putting my hand on Jake’s chest. I can feel his heart pounding and the tension vibrating through his body.
"Who did this?" I whisper against his shirt, unable to stop staring at the macabre dance of fire. The question popped out without thinking, like it was an auto-response triggered by shock.
Because I already know the answer.
We both know.
85
JAKE
Cole Turner did this.
I know it the moment I see the house—the way the fire's burning too hot, too fast, consuming everything with methodical efficiency. This isn't an electrical fire or a kitchen accident.
This is arson.
This is a message. It’s a not-so-subtle warning to stop fucking with him and sell.
Emma's crying silently in my arms. It’s more devastating than if she were sobbing loudly.
