He studies me for a long moment. “I’m managing things at Iron Horse for Samuel Brightwood. We can’t afford an outbreak. Not with the Spring Drive coming up. I need you to come out, take a look at our herd. Before panic starts to spread and we have every rancher in the valley burning their pastures to the ground.”
The request is direct, devoid of pleasantries. It’s not a favor—it’s a command. This is the reality of being the town vet. You don’t just work for one family; you work for all of them. You belong to them.
“Yeah,” I say, the word coming out more tired than I intended. “Of course. I can come out after I… after I get some things in order.”
“Appreciate it,” he says, already turning to leave. “I’ll tell the hands you’re on your way.”
He doesn’t say goodbye, just gives a short, sharp nod and walks toward his dusty truck. The engine turns over, and hedrives away, leaving me standing on the porch, the morning air suddenly feeling colder.
I close the door and head back to the kitchen. The coffee maker has finished its cycle, and the rich smell of it fills the room. I pour a mug, my hands still not quite steady.
“Who was that?” Clara’s voice asks from the doorway. She’s wrapped in a robe, her hair a mess.
“Clay Weston,” I say, turning to face her. “He works for Iron Horse Ranch. Remember Abby?”
“Who?”
“Abby Brightwood. She was like a year or two behind us, but everyone thought she was going to be prom queen. Green eyes. One of the smartest girls in school.”
Clara’s eyes widen. “Wow. Blast from the past. How is she?”
I feel that familiar ache whenever I realize just how disconnected I am from what happened in this town. I’m not even sure if half of the people I went to school with are still here. “I’m not sure. I didn’t even ask.”
“What did Clay want?”
“The same thing Tex wanted,” I say, leaning against the counter. “The cattle sickness. He’s worried it’s going to spread. Panic is probably already starting to ripple through the valley.” I take a sip of coffee. “We’re probably going to be very busy for a while.”
Clara comes to stand beside me, pouring her own mug. “Do you have any idea what could have happened? To the Carsons’ herd?”
I sigh, running a hand through my tangled hair. “It’s hard to say for sure without more tests, but my gut is telling me it’s something in the water or a specific type of forage they got into. Maybe a weed that’s toxic in high concentrations, something like prussic acid. It acts fast, causes bloat, respiratory distress. It explains why it hit so hard, so quick. If it’s in a water source thatfeeds multiple properties, we could have a real problem on our hands.”
Clara stares at me, a slow smile spreading across her face. “You’re a genius, you know that? You get all that from just looking at a few sick cows?”
“It’s my job,” I say, but a small part of me preens under her praise. It feels good to be competent at something, to feel like I have a purpose here beyond just being the ghost of Dr. Archer’s daughter.
“Well, you’re a genius at your job,” she says firmly. “And I’m ready to help. Just tell me what you need. I can be your incredibly unqualified but enthusiastic assistant.”
I manage a small smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
We stand in comfortable silence for a moment before she asks, the question gentle, “Have you talked to Cole yet?”
I shake my head, staring into my coffee mug. “Not really. He left me a voicemail, but I haven’t listened to it yet. I still can’t believe he’d just leave like that.”
Clara’s expression softens with sympathy. She puts a hand on my arm. “I know, Sedona. I’m sorry. That’s… that’s not okay.”
“I don’t know what to think about it,” I admit, my voice quiet. “Right now, I don’t have the space to think about it. There’s too much else.”
“I get it,” she says, pulling me into a hug. It’s a warm, solid embrace, the kind of hug that reminds you you’re not alone, even when you feel like you are. “One crisis at a time.”
I let myself sink into the comfort of her arms for just a second before pulling away. “Come on,” I say, my voice a little stronger. “Let’s have some breakfast. We have our work cut out for us.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Tex
The morning airis still crisp enough to bite, carrying the scent of damp earth and the sour, wrong smell of sickness from the holding pen. I wrap my hands around my coffee mug, the ceramic a fragile shield against the chill.
The cattle are quiet, too quiet. A few pitiful moos break the silence, each one a twist of the gut.
