“Lucky man,” Cash says, glancing my way. “Miss Evie doesn’t usually get to cook anymore. Since Delta came back, Miss Hattie’s been handling meals full-time. It’s been a while since I’ve had one of her breakfasts.”
“I’m glad I got the opportunity,” I say.
He gives a small grin. “She must like you. Miss Evie doesn’t cook for just anyone.”
We pass a few grazing horses before the road opens into the pasture. A couple of hands are already out fixing a section of the fence. Cash nods toward them. “That’s Gabe and Luis. They’ll be out here most days working alongside you. Nothing complicated, just replacing old rails and tightening the wire. Gets you moving and helps you get used to the place.”
“Sounds good,” I say. “Same type of work I was doing at the other ranch.”
He nods. “Glad to hear it.” He hands me a pair of gloves and a walkie. “If you need me, the radio’s on channel two. Lunch is at noon over at the main bunkhouse. Miss Hattie usually makes extra for the crew, so you’ll eat good. There’s cold water and snacks in the cooler under that big oak if you need a break.”
“Got it,” I say, slipping the walkie into my back pocket.
“All right then,” Cash says, adjusting his hat. “Get through this stretch, and I’ll come check on you before we wrap up. Holler if something gives you trouble.”
He heads toward the cattle pens, leaving me with the others. Gabe gives me a nod before going back to work, and Luis follows his lead. It doesn’t take long to fall into a rhythm. The work is steady, cutting, measuring, fitting, hammering, moving. The repetition keeps my mind clear, which is more than I’ve managed in a while.
By quitting time, the sun is still high, and sweat has soaked through my shirt. My arms ache, but it feels good. There’s no noise in my head, no second-guessing, and nobody’s life depends on my next move; it’s just work.
Cash comes back around five, wiping his hands on a rag. “Good work today. You holding up alright?”
“Yeah,” I say.
He nods. “We’re calling it for the day. Supper’s at six if you’re up to it.”
I nod again, but I don’t head straight for the cabin. I know if I go there first, I won’t come back out. The shower and bed will win, and skipping dinner on my first day doesn’t seem like a good idea. So I decline Cash’s offer of a ride, deciding on a leisurely walk back, and take my time looking around the ranch.
The fields stretch wide, fences running straight and clean. Horses move slowly in the heat, tails flicking, coats catching the sunlight. I stop near one of the pens where a few mares are grazing. One, a pale reddish-gold gelding, comes close enoughfor me to rest a hand against his neck. His skin twitches under my palm, but he doesn’t move away. For a minute, I just stand there, feeling him breathe.
I don’t realize how much time has passed until it’s close to six, and I head toward the main bunkhouse. The smell of food hits me before I get to the door. Inside, the noise is easy, voices low, laughter scattered, plates clinking. Gabe and Luis wave me over, and I take a seat with them.
Dinner is roast chicken, potatoes, green beans, and cornbread. Miss Hattie can cook, no question. Cash stops by the table to introduce me to Paige, who’s sitting a few seats down. She gives me a genuine, open smile and tells me she’s the equine program director.
“I want you to get comfortable being here at Copper Ridge, and then we’ll start slow with therapy. If you need anything or have any questions about the equine therapy, let me know,” she offers before getting pulled away.
Everything about the meal feels comfortable; it’s ordinary and exactly what I need. The walk back to the cabin is slow; my body is sore, and now that I’ve eaten, all I want is sleep. My head stays peaceful; the ghosts that usually hover close feel farther away. They aren’t just memories of combat. They’re the anger wired into me no matter how calm I look on the outside, the resentment of being forced out of the military when I wasn’t ready, the shame of wanting active duty again even after everything went wrong, and the nightmares and daymares that drag me back to that final mission whenever they want.
After discharge, I told myself I would rebuild my life. I got a cramped apartment because I was ashamed. I kept telling myself all I needed was a job and a fresh start. But I couldn’t keep either. The anger cost me every position I managed to get. Supervisors kept their distance. Coworkers looked at me like I was a bomb that could go off at any time. Every time I lostanother job, the apartment slipped further out of reach until I simply couldn’t keep it anymore.
I moved back home at my big age because I had no other choice. My parents tried to treat me gently and not push too hard, but every day in that house felt like they were waiting for me to fall apart, and truthfully, I was waiting too. Mark stepped in because he refused to watch me go under; he called in a favor and got me a job as private security for an up-and-coming artist. It should have been a fresh beginning and a way to stand on my feet again.
It actually worked for a while, until the night a fan rushed my client. I reacted before I could think, and by the time anyone realized the fan had a knife, the damage had already been done. Charges were filed for excessive force. I had to get a lawyer and fight to prove that I was defending someone and used the appropriate amount of force. That job disappeared, and any confidence I had left disappeared with it.
Somewhere in the middle of trying to prove my side of things, I tried to act like everything was fine, until one night I woke up standing in my parents’ bedroom holding my gun. I was sure I was clearing a room in that final mission again. They never woke up, they never knew. But I knew. And I knew that if I stayed in that house any longer, I was going to destroy whatever was left of my life. When Mark told me about Silver Creek, I took it because I couldn’t keep living the way I was and after that last incident, something in me just… shut down. I went through the motions, but I wasn’t there. I didn’t care if I stayed or if I disappeared.
I drivethe last nail into place when Cash’s voice comes over the walkie, letting me know it’s quitting time. I’m farther out thanyesterday, working a stretch of fence that runs along the west side of the property. The heat still clings to the air, heavy and dry, and even though the sun has started to drift lower, it still burns at the back of my neck. I take my hat off, wipe my forehead with the back of my hand, and set it back on before loading my tools into the back of the side-by-side.
Grabbing a bottle of water from the cooler, I drink until it’s nearly empty, jump in the UTV, and head to the bunkhouse. It’s been a week since I arrived at Copper Ridge, and the days have started to fall into a steady rhythm. Breakfast comes early, sometimes I eat at the bunkhouse with Miss Hattie, but most mornings Miss Evie sends for me to eat with her instead. After that, it’s work on the fences, lunch, more work, dinner, a shower, and sleep before starting the next day. The pattern suits me, the men are good, the work was steady, and the noise in my head stayed quiet.
Paige has introduced me to a few of the horses and explained more about the therapy program. Lena has a sharp mouth and a quick wit that keeps everyone around her on alert, but she makes the long days lighter. Still, the one person I keep hearing about and haven’t met is Delta Whitmore, I overheard she was out of town for a while, so maybe I’ll get a chance to meet her soon.
Starting the side-by-side, I head back toward the main bunkhouse. The road cuts between the open pasture and the low hills that frame the horizon. As I get closer to the stables, movement out in one of the side fields catch my eyes. I slow down, squinting against the sun until I can make sense of what I’m seeing. Someone is crouched in the grass beside a horse that has gone down.
Pulling off to the side, I kill the engine and sit for a second, watching. When she lifts her head, I realize I’m looking atDelta Whitmore. She’s kneeling beside the mare, talking to her in a calm, low voice while her hand moves in slow circles along thehorse’s neck. Even from where I sit, there’s something about her that calls to me. I only saw a picture of her before, but whatever it was that caught me then… it’s here again, only stronger. I haven’t felt pulled toward anyone or anything in a long time, not since Jersey. I don’t know what to do with it, so I don’t try to analyze it or shut it down.
The mare strains, pushing, and I catch sight of two small hooves before they slide back when the contraction eases. Delta doesn’t panic; she shifts behind the mare, her movements sure and practiced, waiting for the next contraction before gripping the hooves and pulling with steady strength. I swing the SxS door open and move toward her before I even think about it. “You need another set of hands?”
Her head snaps toward me, eyes sharp but not startled. A quick assessment: stranger, tall, capable, and then she nods once. “Hold her steady., If she tries to try to roll, keep her from shifting off her side.”
