Page 78 of Sunrise & Serenity

“Hear that?”

As soon as I focus, I hear it—a metallic sound that comes and goes. “What is it?”

“A problem. Come on.”

I follow, and as we crest a hill, a smallish cow comes into view, tangled in a section of broken wire fencing. One back leg is caught tight where the strands are twisted together. Every time it jerks backward, the wire pulls tighter.

The rest of the herd shifts restlessly nearby.

The tangled cow panics, throwing itself sideways and rattling the fence, causing the sound we heard before.

Holden hops off his horse smoothly. “Easy,” he says, voice low and steady.

The animal struggles harder.

He digs into his saddlebag and pulls his pliers out. Oh god, he’s going to try to get the cow out. I shove my camera into my bag, then dismount carefully and stand beside Cozy, waiting for instructions.

“Don’t come straight at it,” he says. “You’ll make it worse.”

I nod.

The cow jerks again, breathing hard now, eyes wide enough to show the whites. Holden takes his time approaching, every movement deliberate, controlled.

“Be careful,” I say.

“I will.”

He goes wide, forcing the cow to track his movements rather than fight the wire. Little by little, the animal’s panic loses some of its edge.

Holden glances over his shoulder. “Can you move left? Don’t get too close. Just enough to stop it from twisting around again if it bolts.”

I swallow and nod, though he’s already turned back. Following his instructions, I ease into position. The cow notices me, muscles flinching, but when I don’t move closer, she stills.

“That’s it,” Holden says softly, crouching near the fence line. “Don’t crowd her.”

I stay where I am, pulse thudding harder than it should. Up close, the cow is more tangled than I realized. One strand of wire is twisted tightly around her leg, and another has snagged awkwardly beneath her body.

Holden doesn’t touch anything right away. Instead, he studies her, his eyes narrowed. “Okay,” he eventually mutters.

Then, moving deliberately, he uses the pliers to cut the first strand with a sharp snap. The cow lunges instantly.

“Hold—”

I react before I fully think about it, shifting just enough to block the direction she’s trying to throw herself. Not trapping her, just redirecting her enough that she hesitates. That split second gives Holden the opportunity to grasp the loosened wire and yank it free.

“One more,” he says.

Thunder rumbles in the distance, and wind sweeps across the pasture, carrying dust and the sharp smell of rain. Holden glances toward the sky, then quickly refocuses on his work. From here, the second strand looks even tighter.

I watch his hands as he works. Steady. Sure. Every movement patient, even when he’s working on an animal large enough to seriously injure him if things go wrong.

And he’s been seriously injured before.

“Are you always this calm under pressure?” I ask quietly.

One corner of his mouth tips up. “No.” He works carefully on the twisted metal. “You can’t rush when you’re dealing with animals. You panic, they panic. Then somebody gets hurt.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time I’m rescuing a cow,” I say dryly.