Firefly Nights

CHAPTER 14.99

Spice slammed against the pen again, and the wood gave a low, splintering groan. My body jolted, like the sound had struck something raw inside me. "And what if it's not?" I asked, the words breaking through before I could soften them. "What if this is more than it looks like? What if she's more?"

Colt's jaw locked—tight enough to strain the muscle there—but he didn't argue right away. His eyes drifted toward Spice, still circling the pen like a storm looking for a weak spot to split open. And when he finally spoke, his voice was low, but it wasn't gentle.

"Horses ain't like people," he said, each word measured, like he was laying down fence posts. "They don't come carrying secrets. Don't bring trouble unless someone's already handed it to them."

He didn't look at me when he said it, but I felt the distance in his voice, the push behind the words. Like he needed to believe them more than I did.

I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to feel the sting. It kept me from saying something I couldn't take back. Something I'd regret once the silence came again.

"This isn't about secrets," I said, quieter now. "It's about timing. About things showing up when they shouldn't. About the kind of coincidences that feel like more than that."

I turned my gaze toward the brand on Spice's shoulder—White Wood's mark. It gleamed like oil in the light, a perfect circle around a letter that still made something cold press up under my ribs.

"That brand didn't walk itself here," I said. "She didn't break out of their fences, cross half the state, and land on our porch by accident."

Colt exhaled, slow through his nose. Not quite a sigh—more like restraint made audible. "You think someone's out there playin' games with a horse?" he asked, and his voice wasn't mocking, but there was an edge to it. Like he didn't want to have this conversation. Like the idea scared him more than it should've.

"No," I said, and the word felt worn down, like I'd already used it too many times today. "I think someone didn't want to deal with her. So they sent her somewhere they knew she'd disappear."

He shook his head, the brim of his hat tipping just enough to shadow his eyes. "You're givin' them too much credit. Sometimes folks don't think that hard. Sometimes they just shove the problem away and don't look back."

Spice struck again—harder this time—and the board gave beneath her. The crack split through the air like a gunshot, sharp and final. I felt it in my teeth. My fingers clenched around the lead rope on instinct, useless and late. The sound echoed in the hollow space between my ribs, that quiet place where fear and memory meet. She tossed her head, wild-eyed and panting, her whole body a live wire, frayed at both ends.

I stepped back, breath caught behind my teeth, my boots scuffing against the dirt as I tried to make sense of the thudding in my chest. Spice's sides heaved. Her breath fogged in the cold, curling like smoke from a house already half-burned.

Before I could move, Colt did. Steady, measured, calm in a way that felt ancient. The way mountains are calm. He slid in front of me with a quiet kind of purpose, not a single wasted motion in his body. His hand rose, palm open, fingers steady, and when he spoke, his voice dropped low—low enough it curled around the tension in the air and smoothed its edges.

"Easy now," he murmured, coaxing, not commanding. "Ain't nobody gonna hurt you here."

And she listened.

I watched her ears flick, her breath slow, the twitch of her muscles starting to loosen beneath her skin. That fire didn't vanish, but it didn't burn so close to the surface anymore.