twenty
There was nothing like a hot coffee and silence first thing in the morning.
Boone’s mug warmed his hand as he stood in the bunkhouse, watching the morning light break over the frosted pasture. The quiet was his favorite part of dawn at Valor Ridge. No questions, no therapy sessions, just him and the horses grazing in the distance. He lifted the mug to his lips, but paused when movement near the far fence caught his eye. River stood at the pasture gate, working the latch, that familiar shit-eating grin plastered across his face. The mug slipped from Boone’s hand, coffee splashing across the floor as he bolted for the door.
“River!” The shout tore from his throat as he burst onto the porch. “Don’t you fucking touch that gate!”
Too late. The gate swung open, and the horses—always quick to notice freedom—moved toward it. River waved his arms, whooping, spooking them further, and driving them into the yard.
“What the hell are you doing?” Boone thundered, bootspounding down the steps. His breath clouded in front of his face as he ran, the frosty ground slick beneath his feet.
“Just giving them some exercise. They look bored.”
“Then put them in the fucking pasture!”
River laughed and spread his hands. “The whole ranch is a pasture. Go,” he urged the horses, “be free!”
Several horses bolted through—Dust Devil, Rook, and Sunny. Dusty and Rook didn’t surprise him, but he cursed when the golden palomino mare followed the others. Sunny was the sweetest, gentlest horse they had, but she was also impressionable. She’d follow the herd anywhere, and right now, the herd was thundering straight toward Ridge Road. Dusty led the charge, head high, tail flagged, the grulla gelding looking like freedom itself.
It would take all morning to round them up.
“You are a fucking pain in the ass.” Boone’s boots slid on the frost-covered grass as he changed direction to one of the ATVs parked by the barn. He’d never catch them on foot.
“Close the gate before more get out!” he shouted over his shoulder at River, and gunned the ATV engine to life.
River gave a mock salute and sauntered toward the gate, taking his time, like this whole situation was some kind of joke.
The horses reached the property boundary, where the ranch’s driveway met the road. Boone expected them to zag and follow the fence, but they kept going as if the fence didn’t exist, right out onto the road.
“Dammit, dammit, dammit,” he muttered, the words whipped away by the cold air rushing past his face.
As he pulled up alongside the fence, he saw a jagged gap in the wire, the metal cut clean through.
The grinding of an engine drew his attention to the road. A white pickup was coming around the bend, moving too fast for the icy conditions. Boone could already see how this wouldplay out—spooked horses, skidding truck, disaster. He cut hard across the pasture, trying to intercept the horses before they reached the road.
Dusty and Rook veered right, staying on the shoulder, but Sunny panicked at the approaching vehicle. She reared, hooves pawing the air, then bolted directly into the path of the truck. The driver slammed on his brakes, tires locking on the icy surface. The pickup fishtailed, sliding sideways toward the golden mare.
“Sunny!” Boone shouted, as if his voice could somehow reach her through the panic.
The truck fishtailed, narrowly missing Sunny before sliding into the shallow ditch with a sickening crunch of metal. The horses bolted back toward the fence line. Rook and Dusty made it back onto the ranch property without problem, but Sunny’s leg caught on the jagged wire as she tried to return to familiar ground.
The mare screamed—a sound that chilled Boone’s blood—and pulled free, but not before the wire tore a deep gash across her hind leg. Blood immediately darkened her golden coat, leaving crimson splatters on the frost-covered grass as she limped away from the road.
Boone bolted off the ATV and ran to her, grabbing her halter and steadying her trembling form. “Shh. Easy, girl.”
Blood pulsed from the wound, a clean slice across her gaskin that would need immediate attention. He pulled off his flannel shirt and wrapped it tightly around her leg to stem the bleeding.
Dennis Sharpe stumbled from his truck, red-faced and furious. “What the hell, Callahan? Your damn horses nearly killed me!”
“Someone cut our fence,” Boone said, his focus on Sunny. The mare’s eyes rolled white with fear, but she trusted him enough to stand still despite her pain. “You okay?”
“Okay? Look at my truck!” Dennis gestured wildly at the dented fender, a new scrape marring the door panel. “Your ex-con ranch is a menace to public safety! Wait until Sheriff Goodwin hears about this.”
“Shut up and help me,” he growled, keeping pressure on Sunny’s wound. He could feel her pulse throbbing beneath his palm, her muscles quivering with fear and pain. “She’s hurt bad.”
“Not my problem,” Dennis huffed, pulling out his phone. “I’m calling the sheriff.”
Boone swallowed the rage building in his throat. Sunny needed him calm.
