Page 36 of Total Jane Wreck

Chet neither argues nor hesitates. Rather, he charges into the stall, throws his arms around Miss Adele’s neck, and—using his full, broad-shouldered power—shoves both her and me through the smoke-choked haze. I lose a flip-flop in the scramble, toes burning against the floorboards.

There’s a sharp, wet crackle as timbers sweat and pop. Miss Adele bucks against the halter, nearly flattening me.

Chet’s face registers surprise, then frustration. “Forgive me, Jane, for what I’m about to do.”

He gives Miss Adele’s rump a slap so loud it echoes through the aisle. Suddenly she’s off—careening down the corridor and into the open. Chet and I are right behind her.

Once outside, I drop to my knees, sucking air. Chet sits beside me, rubbing circles on my back. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “Let it out if you have to.”

That’s when I realize—I’ve got no urge to vomit.

“She’s okay,” I gasp, pointing out to where Miss Adele sprints the perimeter, all legs and terror, but alive. “They’re all okay. I’m not gonna throw up.”

Chet reaches over, catches my hand in his, and squeezes it hard enough that my pulse hammers against my wrist. “I’m glad,” he says. His voice is rough, but the edge is gone. “And thank you, for saving them.”

Then, a cough wracks him—deep, wet, animal. I thump his back, and he hacks up a lungful of smoke. Miraculously, I hear sirens. Two fire engines pull up, and lickety-split, their hoses are set and ready to douse the flames. One firefighter approaches Chet and me.

He points to the horses behind us. “Any horses left behind, or did you get them all?”

“That’s all of them—oh, but your aunt Grace! She’s in the blue barn! Should she vacate?” I switch my gaze back and forth between Chet and the fire chief. “Is there any chance the fire will spread?”

“No,” Chet answers quickly. He points toward the blue barn. “It’s hundreds of feet away. I bet Grace slept through this whole mess.”

The firefighter shakes his head, grimacing. “Whatever you say. My crew has the fire contained, so I won’t argue with you. But it was foolish going in for those horses yourself. You should have waited until we got here and let us do it.”

“With all due respect”—Chet’s jaw is clenched so tight I can see a muscle twitching—“if we’d waited, those horses would be dead.” His hand finds the small of my back, pulling me slightly behind him as if the firefighter poses some kind of threat.

The chief seems unconvinced, but says, “Well, I’m glad everyone is okay.” He retreats, clearly sensing Chet’s bristling energy.

The crew makes quick work of the flames, leaving the stable damaged but standing. As we begin corralling the spooked horses, Chet stays nearby, his eyes darting between me and the animals like he can’t decide which needs more protection.

“We need to let the horses know that they’re safe,” I tell Chet.

“Let me,” he says, voice gravelly from smoke. “You’ve done enough.”

Chet moves toward Gatsby, who seems especially spooked. Chet’s shoulders are rigid, but his hands gently touch Gatsby’s muzzle.

“You’ve gotten good with them,” I say.

Chet’s eyes follow me, never straying more than a few seconds. “Thanks, but I wish I had your instincts.” He releases a tired breath and secures Copper Cash to a post, then moves immediately to help me with Tapioca. His hand steadies my elbow when she tosses her head. “You were so brave,” he says.

I search his face for sarcasm but find raw sincerity instead. My stomach flips. “I was just doing what I was hired to do. Caring for the horses.”

Something flickers across his features—pain, maybe? “Well,” Chet says, “you went above and beyond.”

He stands so close I can see the soot embedded in the lines around his eyes.

“Do you have any idea how the fire started?” I ask, suddenly needing to fill the charged silence.

Chet swipes at his soot-stained cheek. “No.”

“And the fire chief didn’t say?”

He shakes his head, still watching me with that strange intensity. “Just one of those things.”

I look toward the blue barn, suddenly suspicious. “Chet,” I say. “You don’t think—I mean, what if Grace—” I pitch myself forward, ready to charge into the blue barn. God help me, if Grace Poole is responsible for the fire, I’ll throw her out of here myself.

Chet yanks on my arm. “Grace had nothing to do with it.”