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We ride back to the main trail when Briggs’ walkie talkie comes to life, Melinda’s voice on the other end.

“Briggs, the herd’s loose in the barn. Fence broke. They trampled the wedding decorations. Pretty sure if you don’t get down there, Hattie’s going to slaughter them all.”

“Got it.” Briggs says into the walkie, then clicks it off and groans. “It’s always something.”

“I can go to the barn if you want to check the fence,” I say. “I’ll round ‘em up and herd them back out to you.”

“All right,” he says. “I’ll call Quent and the boys.”

I nod and spur Jensen in the direction of the barn, anxious for the chance to show up for the person who matters most.

Chapter Fifteen

Hattie

I. . . I can’t even process what I’m looking at.

What should be containers of flowers, white tablecloths, and boxes of decorations are now just muddy hoof prints and half-eaten stems.

I’m standing outside the barn, broom in hand, numbly watching cows mindlessly eat flowers we planted a few weeks ago around the perimeter. I take the business end of the broom and push them away for a fourth time, feeling completely helpless.

The doors to the barn were left open. I didn’t think it would be a big deal. Normally, it wouldn’t have been. But a fence broke and more than a few cows got loose and wandered down the hill and inside the barn. I found them on the dance floor.

Not surprisingly, they weren’t dancing.

They trampled everything. Knocked over everything. Ate everything.

Tears sting my eyes. I think every single one of these big, dumb animals should be hamburger by the end of the day.

Ten minutes ago, the scene was far less serene.

Me running around, yelling, trying to push these stupid cows away from one of the only places on the whole property I didn’t want them to be.

I was scrambling around, trying to pick up wedding favors and stuff them back in the boxes, but every time I saved one, another one got pulled out and chewed. Helplessly, I moved toward one of the strewn tablecloths, thinking if I grabbed it and pulled, the cow on top of it would move. It didn’t. I finally coaxed it off, but the damage had been done. The tablecloth was a filthy, unusable mess.

It’s taken so much work to get this barn ready for the wedding, and of all the things I considered might ruin it—a flood or a storm—I never once expected our own cattle to be the problem.

I should’ve known. Things were going too smoothly. I should’ve predicted cows.

I’d gone to do errands in town, and on the way back, I was stopped on the gravel road by a cow blocking the way.

“Well, you’re not supposed to be here.” I stared at her. She stared back. I waited a few long seconds, but she clearly had no plan to move.

I got out, clapped and shouted, and finally, she got out of the way, but when I got back in the Bronco, it hit me. She wasn’t supposed to be there.

Seconds later, I found the rest of them. In the barn, the yard, on the road.

I immediately tried to radio Quent, but he and the boys went to the firehouse to eat lunch with Hudson, so I called Momma, frantic, and for the last ten minutes I’ve been running around, trying to force them back toward the meadow where they belong.

And now? Now I’m in the acceptance phase. The broom-holding, blank-stare acceptance phase.

I sped through denial, anger, bargaining, and depression in record time.

I hear a noise behind me. I turn to see Noble rushing toward the barn, steering Jensen, who is not an easy horse to ride, straight past where I’m standing and into the mess of cattle.

“Head out back and open that gate,” Noble calls out. “I’m going to move them all that way.”

I snap out of my stupor and do as I’m told, racing over to the gate behind the barn, which is not where these cows came from but is definitely the best place to put them for now. Noble rides into the barn and calmly starts moving the animals toward the door, careful not to spook them, and within a few minutes, he’s got them out into the yard.