Will’s grime-coated features creased in a scowl. “Looks like I’m outgunned,” he muttered. “All right, but this better not take long.” He strode to the ambulance and climbed inside the back without help.
A press van had just pulled up to the barn. Will gave the reporters a contemptuous look before the doors closed behind him and the emergency vehicle, siren wailing, sped off toward the highway.
* * *
Natalie wrapped the baby boy in a clean blanket and placed him in the arms of his sixteen-year-old mother. The birth, thank heaven, had been an easy one. The baby was healthy, and the mother was doing fine. But knowing what she knew, Natalie could hardly go off and leave them alone.
Vonda gazed down at her son as if she couldn’t believe he was real. Her fingertip brushed the small, perfect features, the little nub of a nose, the baby hands with their long fingers and tiny nails.
“He’s a beautiful boy,” Natalie said. “What are you going to name him?”
“Ralph, after his father. We talked about that.” Her eyes welled with emotional tears. “Where’s Ralphie? He’s supposed to be here! Why hasn’t he come home?”
Natalie had to look away. She’d received both messages Lauren had left on her phone—one saying that Will and Sky were alive, the other letting her know that Ralph Jackson had died in the fire. But how could she break the news to this poor girl? Vonda needed to hear it from someone she trusted. She needed her family to support her and soften the blow.
“Since he isn’t here, why don’t I call your parents?” Natalie offered. “They’ll want to know you’re all right, and they’ll want to see their grandchild.”
“No!” Vonda turned against the pillow, clutching her baby. “My folks kicked me out when I got pregnant. Mom said she wouldn’t stand for having a sinner in the family! Ralphie’s all I’ve got! Please, just find him for me!”
Heartsick, Natalie murmured an excuse and walked out onto the stoop with her cell phone. She knew the girl’s parents, of course, not that she had much liking for either of them. Vonda’s father, Sheriff Abner Sweeney, had been involved in last spring’s case against Beau. He’d also been the one to question and arrest Will. Her mother, Bethel, was a staunch, Bible-thumping churchgoer who’d birthed eight children, most of them girls. Vonda, her firstborn, had been the first to rebel and go astray. Natalie suspected she might not be the last.
But that was neither here nor there. As Natalie scrolled down the names on her cell phone, she could only hope that Abner and Bethel had enough Christian charity in their hearts to forgive the child who had nowhere else to turn.
The only phone number she had was the sheriff ’s. By now, he probably knew about the fire, and might even know that Ralph was dead. But unless she could reach him, Abner Sweeney wouldn’t know that he’d just become a grandfather.
He answered on the first ring. “What is it, Natalie? I’m on my way to a fire at the Tyler place. Goin’ by what I heard on dispatch, it might’ve been dee-liberately set. D’you think Will Tyler would be desperate enough to burn his own barn for the insurance?”
With effort Natalie held her temper in check. “The fire is out. And I was with Will, in the house, when it started. We were about to eat Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Oh.” The sheriff sounded disappointed. “So what was it you wanted? Can it wait, or is it an emergency?”
“It’s an emergency—yours. Your son-in-law is dead, and your daughter just had her baby, a little boy.”
She heard the squeal of brakes as he pulled off the road. “Say again?”
“Ralph died in the fire. I’m here with Vonda at their bungalow. She and the baby are fine, but she doesn’t know about her husband yet. You and your wife need to get here. You need to be the ones to give her the news and take care of her.”
There was a beat of silence. “I’ll come as soon as I can. But I don’t know about Bethel. She can be a hard woman once she makes up her mind.”
“Bring her! I don’t care if you have to hog-tie her to do it! This poor little girl needs her mother!”
Natalie ended the call.
* * *
Lights flashing and siren blaring, the ambulance barreled up the highway toward Lubbock. Will, riding in the back with Sky, had insisted on sitting up. Aside from minor burns, a raw throat, and smarting eyes, he felt fine. As he’d told the husky young paramedic, anybody who thought they could make him lie down was welcome to try. Since no one had challenged him, he’d taken a seat on the bench, where he could be close enough to look after Sky, and to talk to him.
Sky was awake. The oxygen was helping to revive him, but he was looking pretty rough. His scalp and face were pocked with burns where sparks had showered down from the blazing timbers. His hands had been burned as well, and his denim shirt was little more than scorched tatters. The burns would heal, but Will was more worried about Sky’s lungs. There’d been enough oxygen in the burning barn to keep him alive, but he’d inhaled a dangerous amount of smoke. There’d be enough damage to keep him on humidified oxygen for a few days, at least. Maybe longer if there were complications.
Sky had saved every last animal in the barn and damn near died doing it. He seemed unaware of what a loss his death would have been to the ranch. But Will knew. This stubborn half-Comanche was as much a part of the Rimrock as the earth, the grass, the water, and all the living things that called it home. He was Bull Tyler’s blood son, Will’s own half brother. And yet he asked for no praise, no recognition of any kind except the freedom to care for what he loved.
Sky stirred and made a low sound. His eyes were open above the edge of the oxygen mask that covered his nose and mouth. He gazed up at Will as if he wanted to speak.
“Take it easy, brother,” Will said. “You need to keep still and just breathe.”
Brother? Sky’s singed eyebrows twitched in an unspoken question.
“You heard me. I’ve been waiting for the best time to tell you I knew. I guess that time’s now.”