“Big one,” he says, checking his phone with a frown. “We need to get some supplies before it hits. Sandbags, extra nails, storm shutters… things I’ve had on my to-do list for ages.”
I grunt in acknowledgment. Storms are a part of ranch life. You can’t control them, but you damn well better be ready when they show up.
“Reid’s still working with the herd,” I mutter. “I’ll let him know. We’ll get everything buttoned up.”
Sawyer nods, already turning back toward the barn. “I’ll check the feed. You focus on the fences. We’ll need to secure everything fast.”
I give him a quick nod and head for the back pasture, the wind kicking up the dust around my boots. The dry, cracked earth beneath my feet shifts with each step, and the heat coming off the ground is as hot as a furnace.
I catch sight of Reid a few hundred yards out, standing in the middle of the pasture with a couple of stubborn cows. Reid’s got that easy smile on his face, even as the cows nudge against him, testing his patience. He’s always the one to make light of things, even when they’re heavy.
“Reid!” I call out, my words carrying across the open field.
He looks up, his warm hazel eyes lighting up when he sees me. He tosses his rope over his shoulder and jogs over to where I’m standing, the dry grass crunching under his boots.
“You callin’ me, Clint?” he says, tossing me a grin.
His shaggy brown hair’s all over the place, windblown and wild, and it’s clear he’s been out here for a while. He’s got a natural ease about him, the kind that makes working with horses and cattle look effortless.
“Yeah. We’ve got a storm coming, and we need to get supplies.” I pull off my gloves and slip them into my back pocket, glancing over at the herd. “I’m gonna grab some of the supplies, and then we’ll get the fence tightened up.”
Reid squints up at the sky, then gives a slow nod. “Looks like we’ve got maybe a couple hours before it hits.”
“Maybe less,” I mutter, turning back toward the barn. “I’m headed to the feed store. Get what we need.”
“Alright, boss. You got it,” Reid calls out, giving the cows one last look before he heads back to work.
His hands move swiftly, guiding the cows with ease. The man’s got a gift for animals. Thank goodness. The cattle will be fine with him around, no matter the weather.
The ranch is quiet now, but that’s about to change. This time of year, the storms come fast, and if you’re not careful, they’ll catch you off guard.
I start the drive into town, the truck bouncing over the dirt road. The wind’s picking up, and a few dark clouds gather in the distance, rolling in quicker than I’d like.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, trying to ignore the way my pulse is ticking up, the anticipation of the storm mirrored in my thoughts.
I’ve done this dance before. Rushing to get everything secured while the clouds grow darker, knowing that a downpour could hit any minute.
The old feed store is on Main Street, just a few blocks away. It’s a small place, dusty shelves crammed with bags of grain, tools, and all the things a ranch could need. The place has been around longer than I have, and I’ve spent more time there than I care to count.
I pull into the lot, cut the engine, and climb out of the truck, the warm air pressing down on me. The sky’s getting darker by the second, and I can feel the first stirrings of the storm on the breeze.
The door to the feed store jingles when I step inside. Joe, the owner, looks up from behind the counter.
He’s got a weathered face, same as the land he’s worked his whole life, and he greets me with a nod. “You’re here just in time, Clint. Heard there’s a storm rolling in. What can I get ya?”
I glance up, noticing the way Joe’s eyes flick toward the window, his expression a mix of familiarity and concern. He’s been around long enough to know when a storm’s about to drop its weight on Colter Creek.
“Some sandbags, reinforced rope, and whatever weatherproofing materials you’ve got. Extra tarps, plastic sheeting, that kind of thing,” I say, already heading for the back to grab the supplies.
My boots tap on the wooden floor, creaks echoing as I pass by rows of shelves stocked with everything a ranch could need. Feed, tools, equipment for the horses, and a few odds and ends Joe keeps for anyone who needs a quick fix.
His footsteps shuffle behind me, but his voice cuts through the silence as we walk.
“Storm’s coming in fast. Reckon you’ll be able to button everything up before it hits?”
I grab a couple of feed bags from the shelf, pausing to glance out the window. The sky’s darkening, clouds twisting and folding into themselves.
The first heavy drops hit the glass, splattering against it. The wind howls as it rushes down the street, knocking into the old tin sign above the door.
