My vision narrowed to a single focus. I slowed and shuffled through the carpet of loose straw. I didn’t want to see but couldn’t look away.

A foot extended from one denim-clad leg. The pants disappeared into the pile of motionless hay.

Reaching forward with a trembling hand, I brushed the dried grass from where I figured his face would be.

Riccardo Rinaldi. The young man’s white face was in stark contrast to the blood around his lips. I knelt beside him and touched his neck, feeling for a pulse I didn’t believe would be there.

He opened his eyes, then closed them.

I started to stand and go for help, but the light from the loft glinted on something. I stared at it, trying to figure out what I was looking at. Two pieces of metal. Pointed. Bloody. From the center of his chest.

Bile rose in my throat. Oh no.

Riccardo had landed on a pitchfork.

I jumped to my feet and ran, not stopping until I was out of the barn. I slid to a halt, frantically searching for help. Next to the lodge, Wyatt was unloading the last of the supplies from the wagon. I raced to him, gasping for breath. “Barn. Riccardo. Fell. Pitchfork—”

He dropped the box of fresh vegetables and grabbed my arms. “How bad?”

“Bad.”

“Go find Roy. He should be in the dining room. Tell him to get on the radio and get a medivac chopper here immediately.” He turned me toward the lodge and shoved, then took off running to the barn.

I found Roy just entering the dining room. I was still sucking in air but made an effort this time to make cohesive sense.

Roy blanched as I described what happened. Without a word, he ran from the room.

I turned and found myself face-to-face with Teddy and Nona. Heat rushed to my face.

“Miss Graham, have you seen our—” Teddy peered at my expression. “Where?”

I opened and closed my mouth before I could squeak out, “Barn.”

They rushed past me.

Turning to stop them, I found they’d already crossed the distance to the barn. I should have kept my mouth shut. I’ve probably made things worse—

They entered the barn. Shortly after, Nona let out a guttural scream.

The anguish in her cry cut through me, leaving me dizzy. I should go help her, help someone, do something. I couldn’t move.

The sound drew the others, who gathered around me.

“What’s going on?”

“Who screamed?”

“Is it another bear?”

“What’s happening?”

The questions flew at me like small darts. Their pressing nearness threatened a panic attack.