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Cowboy leans in, big as a barn door. “Or you’ll be sucking hospital slop through a straw for the rest of your life.” He grins that grin again, all teeth and no humor.

Stellan’s knuckles go white on the pitchfork. For a second, I think he’ll swing, but he just swallows and backs up a pace. “I ain’t doing nothing illegal.”

“You want to play with the law, go ahead,” I say. “I’ll fuck you up before you sweat it out in a cell.”

Horses are stamping now, some picking up the anxiety, a couple of the mares tossing their heads. Stellan sees it too, and his bravado cracks.

“Whatever, man” he says, voice flat. “The bitch ain’t worth it anyway.”

I swing hard landing a solid punch square in the middle of his smug goddamn face sending his ass sprawling on the hay covered floor. “Call Casey a bitch again and they won’t find your goddamn body.” I stare him down, making sure he understands. Cowboy just stands there, arms folded, backing me up.

Stellan spits out a few words before crawling to his feet. “Whatever.”

Cowboy jerks his head toward the stall. “Get back to work and keep your nose clean or you’ll be jobless, homeless and praying for Sheriff Armstrong to rescue your stubborn ass.”

Stellan glares at us as we walk away. “Thanks for your help,” I say, but I can’t shake the prickle on my neck.

“Any time.” Cowboy doesn’t mince words. Back outside, the day looks different. Lighter, somehow, but also fragile, like the peace we bought was made of spun glass.

“Think he got the message?” I ask my friend.

He glances back at the barn, shrugging. “For now.”

As I walk back to my truck, I promise myself, for the hundredth time, that I won’t let my guard down, not for a second.