“How many head are we bringing in today?” Dante asked, adjusting the black hat that Evelyn had convinced him to buy. Ihated how good he looked in it. I hated how good he looked ineverything.
“About forty,” I said, keeping my eyes on the horizon. “Should take us a couple hours to round them up if they cooperate.”
“And if they don’t?”
“Then it takes longer.” I nudged Buck into a trot as we crested the hill and the cattle came into view, dark shapes scattered across the pasture. “Stay on the outside, push them toward the gate. Don’t get in front of them or they’ll scatter.”
Dante nodded, and I had to give him credit, he listened to me when it came to ranch work. Maybe that was what bothered me most. It would be easier to hate him if he was completely useless, if he treated this whole thing like a joke, if he treated me like shit. But he didn’t. He actually tried.
We spread out, Angelo taking the far side despite his obvious discomfort. The cattle lifted their heads as we approached, that wary tension that came before they decided whether to cooperate or make our lives hell.
“Easy,” I called out, keeping Buck at a steady pace. “Nice and slow.”
The herd started to move, drifting toward the gate like we wanted. Too easy. I should’ve known better.
That’s when I saw her; a new heifer, probably one of the ones Dante had bought to restock the ranch. She was skittish, eyes rolling white, and she was breaking away from the group.
“Dante, left side!” I shouted, but she was already bolting.
I wheeled Buck around, cutting her off before she could scatter the rest of the herd. She turned, snorting, and that’s when I realized my mistake. This wasn’t just a skittish cow. This was a scared, aggressive cow.
She charged.
Buck tried to sidestep, but she was too fast, too determined. A thousand pounds of angry beef slammed into us, and suddenly I was airborne. The world spun. Sky, ground, and sky again before I hit the dirt hard enough to knock the wind out of my lungs.
Pain exploded through my shoulder and ribs. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only lie there gasping like a landed fish while hoofbeats thundered around me.
“Nick!” Dante’s voice cut through the ringing in my ears. I tried to respond, tried to move, but my body wasn’t cooperating. The heifer was still there, somewhere close, and I was on the ground. Vulnerable and probably about to be trampled.
Then Dante was there, dismounting before Rosie had even fully stopped. He positioned himself between me and the cow, arms spread wide, making himself the bigger threat. The heifer snorted, pawing at the ground, deciding whether this new target was worth the effort.
“Get back!” Dante shouted, not at me but at the cow. He moved forward aggressively and the heifer almost started to turn away. But then she thought better of it and charged again.
Time seemed to slow as I watched from the ground, still gasping for air, my ribs screaming in protest. Dante didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. He just stood there, solid as a fence post, between me and twelve hundred pounds of pissed-off livestock.
The heifer’s head caught him square in the chest. The impact sent him flying backward, his body hitting the ground with a sickening thud that made my own pain seem distant. His hat went tumbling across the grass.
“Dante!” The word tore out of my throat, raw and panicked in a way that surprised me.
Angelo was suddenly there, shouting and waving his arms, finally doing something useful. The heifer, spooked by ourgrowing numbers, wheeled around and bolted back toward the herd.
I forced myself up, ignoring the white-hot pain that lanced through my shoulder. My legs felt like jelly, but I stumbled over to where Dante lay motionless in the dirt. His eyes were closed, his face pale under the Montana sun.
“Dante.” I dropped to my knees beside him, my hands hovering over his chest, not sure where to touch, what to do. “Come on, open your eyes.”
Nothing.
“Boss!” Angelo was there now, dismounting with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. “Is he?—”
“Get your phone. Call 911.” My voice sounded steadier than I felt. My hands were shaking as I pressed them gently against Dante’s ribs, feeling for the rise and fall of breath. There. Shallow, but there.
“I’m calling, I’m calling!” Angelo fumbled with his phone, his fingers clumsy with panic.
I leaned closer to Dante’s face, watching for any sign of consciousness. His eyelashes were dark against his cheeks, and there was a cut on his forehead starting to bleed. Without thinking, I pressed my hand against it, trying to stem the flow.
“You stupid bastard,” I muttered, but my voice cracked on the words. “What the hell were you thinking?”
He’d saved me. That’s what he’d been thinking. He’d put himself between me and danger without hesitation, and now he was lying here unconscious because of it.
