Page 94 of Sunrise & Serenity

“How tight are things?” I ask before I can stop myself.

Sterling’s expression shutters instantly. “We’re fine.”

When Chance looks away, a knot forms low in my stomach. That sure as hell doesn’t feel fine. And Sterling’s reaction to a potential delay has me wondering what else I’ve missed. But the set of his jaw tells me now isn’t the time to push.

He checks his watch. “Culvert’s overflowing near the lower road,” he says. “If it backs up any farther, it’ll flood the east pasture.”

Chance heaves a sigh. “Perfect.”

Sterling eyes him, then me. “You coming?”

“Let’s go.” I follow them down to the lower road in my truck. It curves beside the creek, which has swollen wide and fast from the overnight storm. Muddy water churns violently through the culvert beneath the crossing.

Or tries to.

Branches, weeds, and debris have jammed against the opening, forcing water over the road instead of under it.

“Well,” Chance says as the three of us assess the situation. “This looks like fun.”

Sterling kicks at a rock, then turns away. “Let’s grab the chains.”

The water in the culvert roars so loudly I can barely make out his words.

Chance crouches near the blockage. “There’s a whole damn cottonwood limb in there.”

“Can you hook it?” I ask.

“Probably.”

Sterling hands me one end of the tow chain and steps away. “Once he secures it, we’ll pull it loose with my truck.”

Simple enough.

Except nothing stays simple on a ranch after a storm. I wade closer to the culvert opening, mud sucking at my boots, and a rush of cold runoff slams against my shins hard enough to shove me sideways.

“Careful,” Sterling barks.

I grit my teeth. “I’m fine.”

Chance grins at me over his shoulder. “Aw, he does love you.”

Sterling huffs, though as he turns away, there’s a hint of a smirk on his face rather than irritation, and weirdly, that tiny distinction sticks with me.

Since I’ve been back on the ranch, I’ve been telling myself that coming home meant trying to wedge myself into a place where I don’t fit anymore. But standing knee-deep in freezing runoff while my brothers bicker beside me feels painfully familiar.

Like muscle memory.

Once Chance secures the chain around the lodged tree limb, he climbs back up the embankment. “All right,” he calls, getting out of the way. “Try it.”

I move as well, keeping clear of the chains, and Sterling gets behind the wheel.

He hits the gas, and the truck strains forward. For a moment nothing happens. Then the entire blockage tears loose. Water explodes through the culvert in a violent rush, carrying branches and debris downstream.

Chance lets out a sharp laugh. “There she goes.”

But the sudden release rips part of the muddy bank loose beneath my boots, and the ground disappears.

Chance calls my name just as I hit the water hard enough to knock the breath from my lungs. The current shoves me sideways, icy and brutal, but before I can go anywhere, I’m being pulled up by the back of my shirt. My brothers haul me toward the embankment while muddy water slams against our legs. By the time we scramble clear, I’m soaked, hunched over on all fours, and coughing up creek water.