Rhett meets me at the gate, his face etched with worry, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
“Seth,” he says, his voice gruff. “Glad you could make it.”
“Rhett.” I nod, shaking his hand. “Show me what you’ve got.”
We walk his pastures, the earth dry and cracked under our boots. He points out a few of his cattle, their coats a little dull, their ribs showing just a hint more than he’d like.
“They’re just… off,” he says, his frustration palpable. “Not eating like they should. Losing weight. I was terrified it was the same thing you’ve got going on over at Copper Creek.”
I kneel, examining a heifer’s eyes, checking her gums. They’re healthy, pink. No signs of bloating, no labored breathing.
“I think you’re in the clear, Rhett,” I say, standing up and brushing the dirt from my jeans. “They look underfed, that’s for sure. This pasture’s been picked clean. But I don’t see any signs of the sickness.”
The relief that washes over his face is immediate.
“Thank fuck for that,” he breathes, running a hand through his graying hair. “I was about to start culling the whole herd. I was worried about the bulls from your ranch, too. Are they okay?”
“They’re fine,” I assure him. “We’ve got them isolated, just in case, but they’re showing zero symptoms. You made a good call keeping them separate.”
We walk back toward his truck, the conversation shifting to more mundane things.
“I’ve been thinking,” Rhett says, leaning against the driver’s side door. “About the future of this place. I’m getting too old for this cattle game. The market’s a rollercoaster, and it’s a young man’s work. I’m thinking of transitioning. Keeping stallions. Breeding. Less running around, more… well, more standing still, I guess.”
I can see it. The image of powerful, proud horses dotting these green pastures instead of cattle. It suits him.
“It’s a good idea, Rhett. You’ve always had a way with horses.”
“Yeah, well.” He shrugs, a modest smile on his face. “It’s just a thought. We’ll see.”
The meeting wraps up shortly after that, a sense of normalcy restored to his corner of the world. I’m back in my truck by four, the sun beginning its descent, painting the valley in shades of orange and deep purple.
I’m tired, a bone-deep weariness that has nothing to do with the physical work of the day and everything to do with the emotional weight I’ve been carrying since Sedona’s return.
What I’m not ready to find when I pull up to the house is Tex, sitting on the porch steps with a half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. Boone is lying beside him, his head on Tex’s knee, his tail giving a weak thump against the wood.
But it’s the dark, purpling bruise blooming on Tex’s cheekbone that stops me in my tracks.
I kill the engine and climb out of the truck, my own weariness forgotten, replaced by a cold, sharp dread. “What the hell happened?”
Tex looks up at me, his eyes unfocused, his usual golden-boy charm replaced by a messy, drunken sorrow. “Billy,” he slurs, taking a swig straight from the bottle. “Had a little… altercation.”
“With Billy?” I ask, my voice rising in disbelief. “What happened?”
“He ran her out of town,” Tex says, his voice cracking on the last few words. He looks away, staring out at the empty pasture. “She’s gone. She’s leaving, Seth. And it’s his fault.”
The words hit me like a physical blow.He ran her out of town.
“I know this is all about Sedona,” Tex continues, his voice thick with whiskey and pain. “He’s been a fucking monster since she got back, and now… now he’s won.”
I walk up the steps and sit down beside him, prying the whiskey bottle from his grip and setting it aside. I don’t say anything. I just go inside, to the kitchen, and wrap a bag of frozen peas in a dish towel.
When I come back out, I press it gently to his bruised cheek. He flinches, then leans into the cold compress with a sigh.
“Where’s our brother?” I ask, my voice quiet.
Tex shrugs, wincing at the movement. “Probably down by the lake. That’s where he goes to… to brood. To be a fucking martyr.”
Down by the lake. Of course he went to their special place.
