Page 59 of Light My Fire

The crunch of iron against bone, Tucker’s brutal cry as March took him down ripped through her.

She fell to her knees. The gun—where was March’s gun?

“Stevie!”

She turned and spied a woman creeping around the back of the truck.Skye?

But her hard gasp, the “No—!” made Stevie turn.

March had crawled on top of Tucker, his knee in his chest, the tire iron above his head as if—

A blow like that could kill a man.

She ran straight for March with a scream. “No!”

He jerked, and she caught his arm just on his downward swing. She propelled him backward, off Tucker, and for a white-hot second, she landed on top of March, her hands around his neck, her gaze in his.

Dark. Cold. More animal than man.

He cuffed her across the shoulder with the tire iron. The pain dazed her, sent her into the gravel.

You’re not in this alone. And that day…that day when no one shows up? It’s not today. Because I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.

Tucker’s voice, maybe, although it sounded deeper, resonated in her bones, her cells, a fire that lit her from inside. Galvanized her.

Yes.

Because maybe she’d never been alone—not really.

Even when she’d chosen it.

Tucker had risen, grabbing at March, dragging him away from Stevie, his arm around March’s neck.

“You’re done, March! You’re done!”

March’s feet kicked, his hands scraping at Tucker’s arms. But Tucker had the arms of a man who spent hours slinging an axe, wrestling trees, and fighting fire. He pulled March down, wrapped his legs around his torso and held on.

Stevie sat up, glanced at her father unmoving in the dirt. Skye bent over him, her hands pressed to his wound, staring at the fight with her eyes wide, frozen.

“Call for help!” Stevie said and rolled over to her knees.

The sunlight winked off—yes—her revolver. She scrambled to it. Scooped it up.

Skye screamed. High and bright and horrified.

Stevie turned.

March was writhing and had gotten hold of the tire iron. He used the sharp end to stab Tucker.

Tucker howled, jerked back, and March broke free. He rounded on Tucker, swinging the iron back like a baseball bat.

Aiming for Tucker’s head.

No—no!

Stevie took a breath, aimed the gun, center mass.Shoot the bear, Stevie!

Please, don’t miss.

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