“You okay?” Sunny’s face poked out from behind Brute, whose expression resembled something like constipation.
“Yep. Dandy.” I spat out a clump of hair.
“I’ll clean your Jeep tonight.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Dog smell didn’t go away.
“Where are we going, anyway?” She asked.
“Don’t worry about it.”
I took a slow and steady left turn onto an even narrower dirt road. After another five minutes, the woods opened up to acres of manicured fields in front of soaring mountains in the distance. Although it was almost midnight, the woods were flooded with light as bright as twilight.
The full moon was almost complete.
I stopped at a newly constructed iron gate just off the road and jumped out.
“No.”I snapped to the dogs, although Sunny was already controlling them.
After being denied on the first passcode entry, I tried another, then another, until finally hitting the jackpot. I shook my head as I walked back to my truck. After locking the fence behind us, we drove slowly through the field. Fireflies sparked above the silver grass. I picked up the gravel road and took a curve around the mountain, where I spotted him.
Mounted on horseback, my brother skillfully weaved back and forth behind his head of cattle, herding them across the field. A cattle dog was on his left, one on the right, and one barking feverishly at a calf who’d broken loose.
I accelerated, rolling to a stop along the fence.
“Stay here. Might be a minute. I’ll be back.” I pulled a stack of mail from the console, then jumped out and jogged over to the chaos.
“Take Duke and keep the herd moving while I wrangle this damn calf,” Ryder said, nodding to the horse next tohim as he slid off his own. No “well, hey there,” or, “good evening,” or “good timing, bro.” Pleasantries and small talk weren’t my brother’s thing.
I jumped on Duke, a gorgeous tan quarter horse with a white mane.
Ryder jogged toward the rogue calf, his silhouette cutting clean lines against the moonlit horizon. Cowboy hat low, faded T-shirt clinging to his back, jeans tucked into scuffed boots, he moved with quiet precision—arms out, low to the ground, the way I'd seen trained soldiers track hostiles in the dark. Only Ryder wasn’t military. Not technically. But he had the strength and presence of one—the kind of man who never needed to raise his voice to command a room. Or a wild animal.
While I kept the herd steady, Ryder flanked the calf from the side. The thing kicked and twisted with adolescent defiance, snorting clouds of steam into the air. Cattle dogs barked madly at its heels, the herd growing twitchy under the moon. Ryder’s precious trail was seconds from unraveling.
“Get it done, bro,” I called out.
He answered with a lifted middle finger—pure Ryder.
Moonlight glinted off the rope looped at his belt as he circled the calf, calm, waiting. Muscles coiled beneath his shirt, every line of him relaxed but ready. The calf was no small thing—easily five hundred pounds, nostrils flaring, hooves tearing up the earth. But Ryder didn’t flinch. He moved like a predator—controlled, patient. That’s where we differed. I’d have already charged in. Ryder waited until the moment was perfect.
Then—strike.
The rope flashed in the moonlight, slicing through the air like a whip. One throw. One clean catch around the calf’sthick neck. The animal lurched and fought, but Ryder held fast, bracing with his boots dug deep into the dirt, muscles flexing beneath the cotton of his tee.
I turned Duke and met him at the edge of the herd.
“I’ll tie her up,” Ryder said, already pulling the rope taut. “You take her to the field and close her in, I’ll tend to the herd. Make sure to shut the gate.”
“Which field?”
“Skywalker.”
“You got it.”
Twenty minutes and a bucket of sweat later, the calf was penned and pacing in Skywalker Field. Duke and I trotted back to the herd, where Ryder was already mounted, one hand resting easy on the reins, the other wiping sweat from his brow.
I tossed him a bottle of water I’d snagged from the mini fridge in the stable. He caught it without a word, cracked it open, and took a sip before sliding it into his saddlebag. I drained mine in three long gulps, the plastic crinkling in my grip.
