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The boar dropped. It had been moving so fast that it skidded through the snow for a few feet, coming to a stop so close to her that she caught snow spray in her face.
But Phoebe wasn’t in her wintery woods. She was in the heat of the desert. She crouched where she was, gun up, and scanned the area for enemies.
It lasted probably only a second or two longer, and then the actual world returned to fill in the space around her. As it did, actual awareness, memories she’d made without realizing it, returned, and she knew everything that had really happened. The desert broke apart like a dream upon waking.
Looking over her shoulder, she saw that Amos had bolted in the fracas, but he was only about twenty feet back. He’d held pretty fast for a boy who’d never heard gunfire before and had just had a wild boar charging toward him.
“Good boy, bubba,” she called to him. “Good boy.”
First, she made sure the boar was gone—it was; the second bullet had hit above its left eye. Then she trudged through the snow and brush to the downed oak and got a better look at the damage to the fence. Three posts pulled over, at least one of them broken. This was going to be a bitch of a repair.
But first she had to figure out what to do about the boar.
With no field-dressing tools—and no confidence that she could field dress a freaking wild boar—and no way to carry the carcass back, there was literally nothing she could do about it now. She had to go back and get the tools, and the help, she needed.
The cold would keep rot away, and probably slow scavengers for a little while. So Phoebe went to Amos, tied up the rifle again, mounted, and headed back to the house.
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~oOo~
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When she came in view of the house and other buildings, Phoebe drew up short. A bright blue Ford truck was parked near her weary GMC.
That Ford was Duncan’s truck. He was home? They’d texted a bit during his trip, more once he’d finally told her he wanted to see her again. However, he’d complained repeatedly that service was spotty where he was in California, so their contact had not been extensive. The last she’d heard, the Bulls were heading back home, which would take a few days.
Had that been a few days ago already? Apparently so.
Riding toward the house, she pulled out her phone. Service on the ranch wasn’t what anyone would call stellar, but she had a couple bars. She checked her messages—nothing from Duncan for almost two days.
As she returned her phone to her pocket, she saw Duncan and Margot at the fence of the front pasture, where the llamas, goats and Puff hung out. All the animals were lined up on the other side of the fence, obviously getting treats.
Margot was still a little suspicious of Duncan, and she tended to think of herself as House Mom. Phoebe hoped she wasn’t lecturing him about his ‘intentions’ or anything otherwise stupid and humiliating.
When they heard her coming up behind them, they turned. Duncan grinned brightly—and Phoebe noticed that his face was hurt. One cheek and eye showed a large, aging bruise, and he had a bandage across his cheekbone.
“You’re back,” she said as she pulled Amos to a stop.
Still grinning, he came up and stopped so close that when she swung from the saddle and hit the ground, he reached out and caught her arm without even having to stretch.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
She laughed and hooked her gloved hand into his coat, where the zipper was open on his chest. “Sweetheart? Pretty generic nickname, don’t you think?”
“Not sweetheart—SweeTart. Like the candy.”
“Oh my god.” She rolled her eyes. “Really?”
“Yep. Sweet and tart. It’s perfect. And I notice you haven’t said no yet. You knocked the others down right away.”
She thought this one was dumb, too, though maybe a little cute. Still, she didn’t need or want a nickname. “It’s a no.”
“Fine. Your loss.” His grin faded. “I missed you, you know.”
She’d missed him, too, but it felt dangerous to admit it so freely already. Like flying down a steep hill in a toboggan, toward a lake you’re not quite sure is really frozen.
Rather than reply, she gave his coat an affectionate shake and looked past him to Margot. “We met a boar in the woods. The fence is down along the back line, and he came through. I shot him, but I don’t know what to do with him now.”
