the warrant?”
“Doesn’t much matter at this point. We need to get moving.”
“What’s going on?” Callie asked, sensing his urgency.
“Just got a call from Deputy Cole. He’s with Emergency Services. They’re headed out to the Pritchard ranch.”
“Why? What happened?”
“It’s on fire,” Rusty said.
Chapter Eight
The house was still ablaze when they got there.
The security gate was hanging open, two fire trucks out front, hoses blasting, water arcing toward the flames.
The sky was pitch-black now, the surrounding area illuminated only by the fire, and as Callie pulled her cruiser to a stop, a piercing scream rose from inside the house like something from another world.
Before she could even set the brake, she saw Harlan emerge from his own cruiser and start running. He pushed past the line of firefighters like a man possessed, and headed for the front door.
Callie’s heart kicked up.
What on earth was he doing?
She watched in horror as a firefighter tried to grab hold of Harlan, but he spun and slipped away, then hurdled himself through the open doorway, ignoring the shouts of the men behind him, the house now looking as if it might collapse around him at any moment.
Oh, my God, she thought.
He’s gone completely insane.
The screams rose again, a woman’s voice begging—“Help me! Help me!”—and then Harlan disappeared entirely, swallowed by the fire.
Callie’s heart thudded uncontrollably as she and Rusty jumped out of their cruiser and moved quickly to the line of firefighters.
“Why are you just standing here?” she shouted. “You have to go in after him!”
“Are you nuts?” one of the men said.
Then the biggest of them came over to her—an old friend from high school, Phil Dunworth. “That’s a fool’s errand, Callie. Wind blows the wrong direction, this place is coming down and I won’t put my men at risk.”
Stunned, Callie looked at the house as the flames continued to grow, her thudding heart threatening to burst through her chest. She couldn’t quite believe that Harlan had gone inside there, but he’d once again proven that he was a cowboy and a reckless fool.
Before she realized it, her own feet were moving, heading in the direction of that door as Rusty shouted behind her—
“Callie! What are you doing? Stop!”
But she ignored him and pressed on, feeling a hot blast of air envelop her as she drew closer to the opening. She wasn’t quite sure why she was doing this, but some buried instinct was tugging at her, forcing her to move.
Then suddenly Harlan emerged from the doorway, his arm around Gloria Pritchard’s waist as she clung to him, desperately gasping for air. Her face was blank with shock and her right thigh was stained with blood, soaking through her jeans.
Callie rushed onto the porch and grabbed hold of Gloria, helping Harlan to keep her upright. Then several firefighters joined in, taking Gloria in their arms.
“I think she’s been shot,” Harlan said.
One of the men nodded as they whisked her toward a nearby ambulance. And as Callie and Harlan moved away from the house, Callie’s heartbeat started to return to normal.
Harlan was out of breath, covered with soot and sweat, holding his left forearm in pain.
“You’re an idiot,” she said sourly.
“And you’re in love with that word, aren’t you?”
“It was stupid to go in there. You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”
“Why do you care?”
She shot him a look. “Oh, come on, Harlan, that’s not fair.”
“I just did what had to be done,” he said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got some burns to attend to.”
Then he picked up speed and continued across the yard to the ambulance.
L ESS THAN AN HOUR LATER , all that was left of the Pritchard ranch house was a pile of charred rubble. A few hot spots still blazed, the fire boys doing their best to keep them down.
Callie stood with Rusty and Harlan, staring at the place in stunned
“Doesn’t much matter at this point. We need to get moving.”
“What’s going on?” Callie asked, sensing his urgency.
“Just got a call from Deputy Cole. He’s with Emergency Services. They’re headed out to the Pritchard ranch.”
“Why? What happened?”
“It’s on fire,” Rusty said.
Chapter Eight
The house was still ablaze when they got there.
The security gate was hanging open, two fire trucks out front, hoses blasting, water arcing toward the flames.
The sky was pitch-black now, the surrounding area illuminated only by the fire, and as Callie pulled her cruiser to a stop, a piercing scream rose from inside the house like something from another world.
Before she could even set the brake, she saw Harlan emerge from his own cruiser and start running. He pushed past the line of firefighters like a man possessed, and headed for the front door.
Callie’s heart kicked up.
What on earth was he doing?
She watched in horror as a firefighter tried to grab hold of Harlan, but he spun and slipped away, then hurdled himself through the open doorway, ignoring the shouts of the men behind him, the house now looking as if it might collapse around him at any moment.
Oh, my God, she thought.
He’s gone completely insane.
The screams rose again, a woman’s voice begging—“Help me! Help me!”—and then Harlan disappeared entirely, swallowed by the fire.
Callie’s heart thudded uncontrollably as she and Rusty jumped out of their cruiser and moved quickly to the line of firefighters.
“Why are you just standing here?” she shouted. “You have to go in after him!”
“Are you nuts?” one of the men said.
Then the biggest of them came over to her—an old friend from high school, Phil Dunworth. “That’s a fool’s errand, Callie. Wind blows the wrong direction, this place is coming down and I won’t put my men at risk.”
Stunned, Callie looked at the house as the flames continued to grow, her thudding heart threatening to burst through her chest. She couldn’t quite believe that Harlan had gone inside there, but he’d once again proven that he was a cowboy and a reckless fool.
Before she realized it, her own feet were moving, heading in the direction of that door as Rusty shouted behind her—
“Callie! What are you doing? Stop!”
But she ignored him and pressed on, feeling a hot blast of air envelop her as she drew closer to the opening. She wasn’t quite sure why she was doing this, but some buried instinct was tugging at her, forcing her to move.
Then suddenly Harlan emerged from the doorway, his arm around Gloria Pritchard’s waist as she clung to him, desperately gasping for air. Her face was blank with shock and her right thigh was stained with blood, soaking through her jeans.
Callie rushed onto the porch and grabbed hold of Gloria, helping Harlan to keep her upright. Then several firefighters joined in, taking Gloria in their arms.
“I think she’s been shot,” Harlan said.
One of the men nodded as they whisked her toward a nearby ambulance. And as Callie and Harlan moved away from the house, Callie’s heartbeat started to return to normal.
Harlan was out of breath, covered with soot and sweat, holding his left forearm in pain.
“You’re an idiot,” she said sourly.
“And you’re in love with that word, aren’t you?”
“It was stupid to go in there. You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”
“Why do you care?”
She shot him a look. “Oh, come on, Harlan, that’s not fair.”
“I just did what had to be done,” he said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got some burns to attend to.”
Then he picked up speed and continued across the yard to the ambulance.
L ESS THAN AN HOUR LATER , all that was left of the Pritchard ranch house was a pile of charred rubble. A few hot spots still blazed, the fire boys doing their best to keep them down.
Callie stood with Rusty and Harlan, staring at the place in stunned
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