Chapter Twelve
Wade
The crunch of tires on the gravel driveway pulls my attention from the fencepost I’ve been working on. I glance up just in time to see the school bus come into view, kicking up a small cloud of dust as it rolls to a stop near the end of the driveway. At almost the same moment, Sutton’s truck appears from the opposite direction.
Man, for a girl that used to hate running she sure is a fan of doing it. If she thinks I didn’t notice how quickly she ran out of here after our kiss, well she’d be wrong. I guess the good thing is that I don’t have to wait another ten years to see her this time.
I’ll have to figure out a way to wrangle that girl, keep her from being as skittish as a wild mustang next time I kiss her, because I do intend on kissing her a lot more. If I can tame a horse whose only instinct is to run at the first sight of human contact, I can do the same with her.
I straighten up and dust off my hands. Caleb sprints down the driveway, his backpack slung over one shoulder, looking every bit the energetic teenager he is. Sutton steps out of hervehicle with her usual air of efficiency, her boots hitting the ground with purpose.
“Hey, Dad,” Caleb calls out, waving as he heads toward me. “Hey, Doc Sutton.”
She gives him a quick nod, her no-nonsense demeanor firmly in place. “Caleb,” she says in acknowledgment, her voice neutral but not unkind.
I lean against the fencepost, watching as Caleb approaches. “How was school?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Same as always. But I did some asking around today. I learned the Nances up the road just started having issues with their herd, too. Our issues have been ongoing, as have most of the others. They thought they were spared.”
I’m about to reply when I notice Sutton’s attention sharpen. She tilts her head slightly.
“Say more.”
He grins, setting his backpack down on the ground. “I’ve been doing research. I’ve been paying attention to what’s going on with the other ranches around here—who’s having problems and what kind.”
She crosses her arms. “And what did you find out?”
“Before Clayton Nance was talking about their sick cattle. I’ve been visiting some of the other ranches, asking questions. I listen when I go with Dad to the feed store and listen in town to some of the ranchers when they’re talking to each other. Turns out, a lot of them are having the same issues we are—cows losing weight, strange symptoms, and even a few deaths. And it’s not just one ranch. It’s spread out, but there’s definitely a pattern.”
“You went to the other ranches?” I ask him.
He nods. “Yeah. Figured it couldn’t hurt to ask around. Most people were pretty open about it once I explained what we’re dealing with here.”
I glance at Sutton, who seems genuinely impressed.
“Sounds like you’ve got the best assistant you could ask for,” I say. “But this is all stuff we already knew, Caleb.”
“I know. Everyone who is having issues has similarities. All the ranches with sick cattle were on the flight path Demetri Davis used when spraying the local fields with pesticides. They all use the same feed from Marley’s. Remember that seed and fertilizer salesman came through, and then the insurance guy?”
“I remember them both, I thought they were working together.”
“All the ranches that ordered fertilizer from him and insurance are now having issues.”
“But I didn’t purchase from either of them.”
“You took samples, didn’t you?”
“From the fertilizer guy? Yeah, but we never used them.”
“Hmm,” Caleb said as he screwed up his face. “Back to the drawing board I guess.”
“Caleb, that’s all really good information. I don’t think Doc Lucy found any of those similarities.”
Caleb grins widely. Sutton strides toward her truck—a well-worn veterinary rig outfitted for ranch calls. I’ve seen plenty of vets work, but there’s something different about the way she moves, all business and purpose, like she belongs out here as much as the cattle do.
She swings open the side panel, revealing a neatly organized array of supplies—bottles of medication lined up in rows, syringes tucked into compartments, rolls of vet wrap stacked beside gauze and scalpels. She rifles through a drawer, grabbing a vial and holding it up to the fading sunlight, checking the label before tucking it into her vest pocket.
“This porta-vet on your truck bed is so cool,” Caleb breathes as he touches the top of it.
