Page 88 of Deadly Attraction
By the time he finagled the truck into position to provide some cover while allowing the barn doors to open fully, the heat had already busted out several of the windows on the east side and smoke billowed from them.
Get the horses.Protect Emma. The refrain beat in his head in time with his pulse. Grabbing a bandana from the glove compartment, he used it to cover his nose and mouth. Then he climbed out of the truck on the passenger side.
Keeping his body low, he used the truck to hide behind if anyone was watching from across the way in the smattering of trees. He breathed a sigh of relief when there was no padlock placed on the barn doors, and he threw them open.
Flames ate at the peeling paint. Smoke filled the barn, along with the screech of splitting wood. The horses screamed now in their panic and Mitch saw hooves flashing through the smoke as they reared and beat against their stalls with their feet. Overhead, the loft was completely on fire, pieces of burning hay and ash taking wing and fluttering through the air to alight on the stalls beneath.
Filling his lungs with oxygen, he held his breath and plunged inside.
The first stall he came to was Igor’s. The old horse quivered and trembled, baring his teeth. Mitch flipped the stall’s latch and threw the door open. Igor crashed forward and Mitch whooped at him, raising his arms to send the animal toward the open barn doors.
Igor, the good soldier, ran out.
Across the aisle was Twinkie. Eyes burning from the smoke and sweat running in rivulets all over his body from the heat, Mitch repeated the sequence, opening the stall and sending the horse toward the open doors, ears straining over the noise in the barn, waiting for the sound of gunshots.
He heard none, but didn’t dare hope that the men hiding in the woods weren’t gearing up for target practice.
Last, at the back of the barn, were Second Chance and her foal. Lungs bursting, fingers clawing at his throat as he suffocated a coughing fit, Mitch waved at the smoke clouding his vision. Three feet from the stall, he saw Second Chance rearing up and kicking at the stall’s gate, the whites of her eyes showing, her body covered in ash.
Sprinting forward, Mitch nearly met his end when a flaming board from the loft crashed down in front of him, cutting across his path. He jumped back and sucked in a breath, regretting it the moment his lungs began to burn. Forced to go around the board, he coughed into his elbow and wiped sweat from his eyes as he came at Second Chance’s stall from the opposite side.
He reached for the latch and pulled.
The wood had swollen with the heat, pinning the latch to it.
Jerking hard on the metal, he peered over the stall door and felt his hammering heart stutter.
Hope lay on the floor of the stall unmoving as her mother danced around her, kicking and screaming.
Coughing so hard, he could barely stand up, Mitch raised a foot and kicked at the latch. Once, twice, three times. The last kick didn’t budge the latch, but ripped the metal completely off the wood.
Grabbing the top of the stall door, Mitch yanked it open.
He sagged back against the stall wall, waiting for Second Chance to run out.
She didn’t.
His legs shook, his lungs failing him. Any second, he would be too weak to make it out of the barn, the old thing falling down around him and crushing him before the fire could burn him up.
Get out.
His eyes felt like sandpaper. His lungs were no longer working properly.
Peeling himself off the wall, he dared to peek inside. Second Chance was nuzzling Hope, desperately trying to get the foal to move.
He staggered in beside her, knowing that at any moment, Second Chance could turn wild again and kick him. She could kill him or knock him unconscious.
Fighting through the weakness in his body, he held a hand up and waved her back so he could drop to his knees next to the foal. Hope didn’t appear to be breathing and Mitch’s brain pleaded with him to leave the horse and get the hell out.
Instead, he shoved his arms under the foal’s body, lifting her as he struggled to his feet.
He thought about trying to chase Second Chance out of the stall ahead of him, but figured the mother horse would most likely follow his lead.
Nearly blinded and barely able to put one foot in front of the other, he staggered around the blazing board, through the smoke, and toward what he hoped was the exit. Good thing his internal compass worked in the middle of a fire, because he could no longer see the barn opening or even a smidgen of light.
As he forced his body forward, the heavy weight of the foal loading him down, he felt Second Chance speed around him. A moment later, in the wake of her breeze, the smoke lifted slightly and he saw the barn opening.
As he neared the doors, he lost his footing, turning his ankle and going down on one knee. He pitched forward, sending Hope flying across the threshold and onto the ground just outside the door.
