The stock waterer sounded wrong before I even saw it. At first, it blended with the morning noise, cicadas, a distant cow bawling, the creak of the old wind vane, but underneath it was a low rushing sound that did not belong. A constant, pulsing roar that set my nerves on edge.
I stepped onto the porch with a mug of coffee warm in my palms and paused, a strange pressure settling in my chest as the heavy, overheated air pressed in around me like it was waiting for something to snap. I started toward the barn, every step tightening that feeling. The gravel under my boots felt softer than it should have. Darker. My stomach dipped hard as I rounded the corner.
A geyser of water blasted sideways out of the hydrant like someone had taken a bat to the metal. Water sprayed in vicious arcs, drenching the yard and turning the dirt into a churning swamp of dark mud. The mare in the nearest paddock was losing her mind, trotting the fence line, tossing her head, eyes white.
“Oh, come on,” I muttered as I dropped my coffee straight into the mud and ran.
Cold water slammed into my legs and stole my breath as it soaked my jeans and pinned my shirt to my ribs. My boots sank deep as I reached the hydrant and fought with the valve, but the damn thing would not budge. I braced my shoulder against the post and hauled with everything I had, metal scraping under my hands as the water sprayed harder and slapped my face.
“Turn. Turn, you piece of shit,” I screamed.
“Step back.” His voice cut straight through the roar. Deep. Calm. Maddeningly steady.
I spun around and nearly lost my footing as Wyatt came through the spray like he owned the chaos. Black T-shirt, dark jeans, boots already coated in mud. His hat was pulled low, his eyes sharp and assessing, tracking every movement in the yard in a way that sent my pulse skidding.
“You scared me,” I snapped.
“Didn’t mean to,” he said, already closing the distance. Water hammered into his chest and soaked him through, but he barely noticed.
“You don’t get to just show up whenever something goes wrong.”
“I wasn’t planning to, but you can see this from the road,” he shot back. “That is not a subtle malfunction.”
“That’s not helpful,” I growled in frustration and shook the valve again like I could intimidate it into submission. “I’ve got it.”
“You don’t.”
“I said I?—”
He reached for me. His hand closed around my hip, firm and sure, and lifted me moving me to the side as if I weighed nothing. Heat shot through me, fast and dizzying, infuriating in how instinctive it felt.
He turned to the valve, planted both hands on the metal, and leaned into it. His back tightened. His arms flexed.Water poured over him. I tried very hard not to stare. I failed just as hard.
He shoved once with a low grunt. Metal shrieked. The valve finally gave, the geyser dropping to a violent sputter before cutting off completely.
Silence slammed down around us.
We stood there in the aftermath, both soaked through, chests rising and falling in uneven breaths. Wyatt pushed his hat back slightly, water streaming down his temples.
“You good?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” I lied.
He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the heat of him through our wet clothes. His gaze slid slowly over me, my hair glued to my face, my shirt clinging to my ribs, my scraped hands, my useless boots trapped in the mud.
“You’re shaking.”
“It’s cold.”
“It’s not that cold.”
“Maybe I’m pissed off,” I spat as I glared at him. “I think someone did this on purpose.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s all you’ve got? Yeah? Where’s the man with the answers? God, you’re impossible.” I threw my hands in the air, then let them fall against my wet jeans with a slap.
He crouched and ran his fingers along the cracked metal instead of taking the bait. “Impact. Not a failure. Someone hit it.”
