The morning haze still clung to the ranch like a thin sheet of smoke, sunlight breaking across the worn boards of the barn. The air smelled of hay, dust, and the heavy warmth of horses shifting in their stalls.

John had only turned his back for a minute—maybe less—but with a toddler, that was already a minute too long.

“Jack?” His voice echoed off the beams as he stepped into the barn, boots thudding low and steady.

Then he saw him.

Little Jack Marston, all curls, muddy cheeks, and those big brown eyes, was toddling right under the shoulder of one of the larger mares, tiny hands reaching curiously toward her swishing tail. The horse stamped once, snorted, and John’s breath caught sharp in his chest.

“Jack—hey!” His voice wasn’t angry, but it was quick, tight with fear as he crossed the distance in seconds. “Boy, what’re you doin’ this close to her?”

The mare tossed her head, unsettled, and John’s arms were already scooping the toddler up against his chest. Jack let out a small, startled squeak, little boots kicking.

John held him firmly, voice lowering but still edged. “You can’t stand behind a horse like that… they don’t know no better. Could’a knocked you clear across the stall.”

He let out a heavy sigh through his nose, pressing a hand briefly to Jack’s back as if reassuring himself the boy was still whole, safe. Outside, a gust of wind rattled the barn doors, and John swallowed hard, glancing at Jack’s wide babyish stare.

“…C’mon, partner. Let’s go find somethin’ safer for you to poke at before you give your pa a heart attack.”

He shifted Jack onto his hip and carried him toward the sunlight, still muttering under his breath, half-scolding and half-relieved.