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They buried people on the east half and animals on the west, and some of his favorite childhood pets had been laid to rest on the patch of land in the far eastern corner of the ranch, where the family cemetery sat.
His phone rang as he went past the homestead, his goal the front shed. He had barbells there he liked to work with in the mornings and evenings, and he wanted to check his schedule for the week.
Tam’s name sat on his screen, and his feet froze while his heart flopped. He’d texted her quite a bit the past few days, but he hadn’t seen her, and he hadn’t spoken to her. He quickly swiped on the call when he realized it had rung three or four times already and lifted the phone to his ear.
Tam was swearing, her voice loud, though he could distinctly hear a hissing sound in the background.
“Tam?” he asked.
“Blaine,” she barked. “Some idiot ran a stop sign and hit me. Can you come get me?”
His pulse sprinted now, and he jogged toward the homestead. “Yep. Where are you?”
A man said something Blaine couldn’t catch, and Tam yelled, “Yes, I called you an idiot. Stop means stop!”
“Tam,” Blaine said. “Focus, Tam. Don’t engage with him.” He could be anyone, and Blaine’s worry for his best friend doubled. Inside, he swiped his keys from the hooks inside the mudroom and retraced his steps.
Tam didn’t hear him or didn’t care what he had to say, because she said something else to the guy who’d hit her.
“You’re obviously okay,” Blaine said. “At least your mouth.”
“I called nine-one-one,” she said. “My back hurts.”
“Are you sitting down?” Blaine asked, jogging to his truck now. Half of them sat in front of the homestead, as four of the Chappell brothers lived there. The other four lived in a second house further west, and their parents lived on the road that ran along the front of the ranch.
“Yes,” Tam said. “I’m fine, Blaine. I’m not going in the ambulance.”
“But an ambulance is on the way, right?”
“They’re here already,” she said. “The police too.”
“Then why are you yelling at that guy?”
“He’s a police officer, so his buddies are just letting him go wherever he wants.”
“Okay, Tamara,” Blaine said, employing the use of her full name as he got behind the wheel and started his truck. “Do not yell at a police officer.” Especially some of the obscenities she’d been using. “Please.”
“I don’t feel good, Blaine,” she said, and her voice was half the volume and twice the pitch it had just been.
“I’ll be right there.” He went down the lane that led to the highway at twice the normal clip. “You never told me where you are.”
“The stop sign just down from my shop. I got new leather delivered yesterday.”
“Which way from your shop, Tam?” he asked, turning left onto the highway. Her shop was near downtown, so he knew he needed to go that way.
“Uh…I don’t know,” she said.
“Tam,” he said. “What’s your middle name?”
“Um, Presley?”
Why was she guessing? “Where are the paramedics?” he asked. “You need to get them. You don’t sound good, Tam.”
“I don’t feel good,” she said, her voice ghosting into a whisper by the last word.
“Tam,” he said, raising his voice. “Tam, which direction from the shop?” He could probably find her pretty easily once he got to her leather-working shop. The flashing lights and emergency vehicles in a small town wouldn’t be hard to find.
“Tam?” he asked when she didn’t answer. A loud clunk came through the line, and Blaine’s blood turned to ice. “Tam,” he yelled.
