Billy thinks she just got cold feet, that she left him at the altar because she was scared. Maybe she did.
Maybe I crossed a line, made her uncomfortable, and she left.
I don’t know. I’ve never been brave enough to cross-examine that thought… and worse still, no one but me knows.
The guilt has been a constant companion, a weight I’ve carried for years. Now she’s back, and the secret feels like a live thing in my chest, clawing to get out.
I push the thought away, focusing on the road, on the task at hand.
My phone buzzes in the console, the screen lighting up with Dr. Morales’s name. I answer through the truck’s Bluetooth. “Seth Carson.”
“Seth, it’s Dr. Morales.” His voice comes through, crisp and professional. “Just got the preliminary lab results back from the samples you sent over.”
“And?” I ask, my grip tightening on the wheel.
“It’s not definitive,” he says, and I can hear the frustration in his tone. “The initial tox screen is clear for the common culprits. No heavy metals, no standard prussic acid markers. It’s pointing toward something more complex, maybe a mycotoxin from a specific fungus that’s only active under certain weather conditions, or a bacterial contaminant that’s harder to isolate.”
“So what does that mean for us?”
“It means we need more tests. I’ve sent the samples to the state lab. It’ll take a few days to get a definitive answer. In the meantime, keep doing what you’re doing. The electrolytes are good, but isolation is key. If it is a transmissible bacterium, you don’t want it spreading to other herds. Keep a close eye on them. Any change, any new symptoms, you call me. Day or night.”
“Will do, Doc. Thanks for the update.”
I end the call, his words settling in. A few days. A few days of waiting, of watching our cattle waste away, of wondering if we’re doing the right thing.
A few more days of Billy and Tex at each other’s throats. A few more days of Sedona being… here.
I drive back toward town, the familiar buildings of Prairie Pine coming into view. I pass The Dusty Boot, its lights already twinkling in the dusk. I pass Daisy’s Diner.
Then I see it. The Prairie Pine Veterinary Clinic, lights still on inside.
And there she is.
Sedona is standing by her truck, her back to me, struggling with a large cardboard box that looks precariously close to toppling over.
She’s wearing her doctor’s coat, unzipped over a simple white tank top that shows the strong, capable lines of her shoulders.
Her jeans are worn and snug, tucked into a pair of dusty boots. Her wildly curly red hair is pulled back into a thick ponytail, and a few stray curls have escaped to frame her face, clinging to the sweat on her temples.
The setting sun catches the sheen of perspiration running down the column of her neck, and something inside me, something I haven’t felt in years, clenches tight.
I’m so caught off guard, so completely mesmerized by the sight of her, that my foot slips off the brake and presses onto the accelerator just enough to make the truck lurch forward.
My hand hits the steering wheel, and my palm smacks directly into the center of the horn.
BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMP.
The sound is loud, obnoxious, and it shatters the quiet evening like a gunshot.
Sedona jumps, letting out a little yelp as the box in her arms tilts and crashes to the ground. Bottles, tubes, and packages of vet supplies spill across the pavement like a colorful explosion.
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath, throwing the truck into park and killing the engine. I climb out, my face burning with a heat that has nothing to do with the evening warmth.
She’s standing there, staring at the mess on the ground, her hands on her hips. When she looks up and sees me, her expression is a mixture of surprise and annoyance.
“Hey,” she says flatly.
“Hey,” I manage, my own voice sounding rough and clumsy. “I… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
