We’ve had trouble with coyotes in these parts for a while, had a couple last week kill a youngling from the herd, and take out the chicken coop. I’m not about to lose more. Judge starts to follow and while I trust the dog with my life, he is not a working dog, and he’ll likely get injured if it came to a head with the coyotes.
“Stay,” I command sternly, forcing him to still. “Good boy.”
It’s cooled a little from the brutal heat of earlier, but it’s humid enough that the air presses to my skin, dampening the back of my neck with sweat. I whistle for the Heelers; the noise carrying through the dark and they pause, their noses pointed to where they heard the noise.
“What is it?” I say aloud. I find myself talking to nothing a lot. Guess that’s what happens when you live in the middle of nowhere and spend most of your time alone. Just how I fucking like it. Carter Cattle Ranch has been in my family for generations, though it’s nowhere near where it used to be. The big corps made sure of that.
I only have a few hands working for me now and I know two are meant to be on shift tonight, but where the fuck they are, I don’t know. With the loaded shotgun, I stop between the two dogs, watching the dark for movement. I see nothing.
I whistle again to let the dogs go and follow behind them, watching what they do and how they react. They head right for the barn, currently storingthe straw for the season, pausing by the outside faucet to sniff at the ground. Pulling the torch from my belt, I click it on and shine it into the puddle where the tap has recently been on, the head of the hose still dripping water and adding to the dirty puddle. Shining the light left to right, I look for the ranch hands, but the area is empty save for the cattle in the field at my side. Lettie trots to the barn door, her paw scratching at it.
What the fuck is up with them? There’s nothing out here. But I know better than to ignore their alerts so I’ll fucking bite. Heaving the door open, I let it swing until it bangs against the wall, the sound like a gunshot in the quiet of the night. Like sleeping giants, the Bighorn Mountains stand watch over the ranch, their dark, imposing peaks scraping the cloudless, starry sky above. With the torch in one hand and the gun in the other, I walk down the center aisle, bales of straw stacked to the ceiling on either side as Lettie prowls ahead of me. She comes to a dead stop, a low growl working out of her as she stares into a gap between the bales.
“Well, I’ll be fucking damned,” I growl under my breath as my torch touches on a woman currently laying — and bleeding all over my fucking straw. She is covered in dirt and blood, it’s caked to her skin, grit and mud in clumps but the fresh, bright red streaks that run rivers over the clean parts of her tell me she is still actively bleeding but I cannot see where from. Her chest is moving, so she’s alive, at least.
She’s in what was a tight dress, I couldn’t guessthe color, but it’s ripped and torn in places and she’s barefooted, her dark hair wet. The hose.
What the fuck is she doing on my property?
“Ma’am,” I touch her foot with the tip of my boot, but she doesn’t stir. At my side, Lettie creeps close, sniffing the air, and then she lets out a keening whine, the noise bouncing back to me.
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble. Placing the shotgun down, I step closer, lowering to a crouch and run my torch over her, trying to locate the bleeding. Her feet are a mess, that much is clear, and it looks like there’s a graze of some kind on her upper arm, but it’s barely dribbling blood. She remains still, her eyes closed, and lips parted. She’s pale though, her skin that sickly shade. There’s a darker patch of fabric at her thigh and when I touch it, my fingertips come away red.
“There it is.” I lift the hem to find a makeshift bandage made from the material of her dress, but it’s doing nothing to stop the bleeding. The wisest idea here would be to call the cops, but the last thing I fucking need is the police sniffing around this place. I ain’t risking no fucking cops on my property for a woman I don’t know.
People go missing all the time. These mountains are dangerous.
Unwrapping the bandage, I get a look at what’s causing the heavy bleeding, and can spot a bullet hole a mile away.
“Fuck's sake,” I grumble to myself, Lettie sittingbehind me, watching intently. Trouble. This only brings fucking trouble.
I’d leave her to bleed out if I couldn’t hear my own father turning in his grave at the mere idea. A Carter never turns a person in need away,especiallya woman.
If the bullet is still in there, she’s going to bleed out anyway. But I can’t do shit out here in the dark. Flicking the torch off, I let my eyes adjust enough I can make out her shape against the straw and move to pick her up, sliding my arms beneath her body.
“Get your fucking hands off me,” The cool touch of metal presses against my temple. Her voice is breathless, a little shaky, but determined.
“You come onto my property,” I growl. “Bleed out on my straw, and you’re the one pressing a gun to my head?” I’d laugh if I wasn’t so pissed off.
The metal presses harder.
“If you’re gonna shoot me, darlin’, get it over with,” I challenge her.
“What are you trying to do?” She asks instead.
“Move you so I can see your leg.”
“I was shot.”
“Can see that,” I grunt. “Is the bullet still in there?”
We’re at an impasse. She still has the gun to my head, but the pressure has eased. Her body istrembling despite the heat making sweat roll down my back. She’s a few hours from death, if that.
“I don’t know.” She answers eventually.
“If you don’t want to die, I need to move you.”
“Fine, but the gun stays.”
