Darkness creeps in from the edges like spilled ink. Above me, so impossibly far above, voices shout threats about finding me, finishing what they started.
Six weeks, I think hazily. Just needed six more weeks.
Creek water soaks through my clothes, stealing what warmth I have left. Cold. So goddamn cold. Or maybe that's shock setting in. Hard to tell when everything's going fuzzy around the edges.
I think about Darcy, sick and waiting for medicine that'll never come.
About three men who might wonder where I went, or might just assume I ran like everyone expects damaged goods to do.
Footsteps pace along the ravine's edge. Hunting.
"You see her down there?"
"Too steep to tell. But that fall? Rocks don't kill her, exposure will."
"We gotta bounce. Someone might've heard the crash."
"What about the stash?"
"Forget it. Wasn't here anyway."
Their voices fade, but I can't tell if they're actually leaving or if my hearing's going the way of everything else. The pain, the cold, the bone-deep fear, all of it dissolving into gray nothing.
Sunshine,Beau had called me, voice soft with wonder.
Shortie,from Colt, rough with affection he doesn't know how to show.
Trouble,in Gabriel's stern voice that promises safety I'm not sure I'll live to claim.
The last thing I see through the canopy of pine and aspen is the Montana sky, endless and blue and heartbreakingly beautiful.
Then nothing at all.
15
Colt
Blackwell Ranch looks exactly the same and completely different all at once.
Two years since I've driven through these gates, but muscle memory takes over, navigating the familiar curves like I never left. The main barn sits where it always has, red paint fresh as blood, fences perfect because Beau wouldn't tolerate anything less than pristine.
What's missing is the clinic van.
I check my watch, stomach knotting. Lucy left before me. Even taking these mountain roads careful as Sunday morning, she should've beaten me here.
My truck rolls to a stop, and something cold crawls up my spine.
"Thank Christ you're here." Beau emerges from the barn, and we just stare at each other across two years of silence and stubborn pride.
He looks older, worn down, but still unmistakably Beau. Still carries himself like he owns the world.
"Darcy's fading fast without those antibiotics."
"Where's Lucy?"
The question comes out sharper than a scalpel. Beau's brow furrows like he's working a puzzle.
"She's not here yet… Figured maybe there was a change of plans, that you were riding together."
