High Water (The Quiet Horsemen #4)

Prologue

Aspen

“Good girl.” I run my hand over Sassy’s shoulder after I tie her off, staring out at the view of the valley and the mountains beyond. I love coming up here to Fool’s Gold Homestead on the days I can make it after school to study or read on the porch.

It’s quiet here. The sound of bees buzzing in the background, the smell of wildflowers, and the comfort of being alone from the constant hum of ranch life. I grab the blanket and books I brought with me out of my satchel and head to the porch.

The homestead was built within eyesight of the mine and the small pond that stretched out in front of it, which made it practical.

The barn was starting to show its age, and the homestead was definitely worse for wear—still quaint and pretty in her own way, but with peeling paint, spiderwebs in the windows, and a front door that could easily be jimmied open if a rainstorm required a quick escape.

But the massive front porch that wrapped around the front and sides of the homestead is still every bit the gem she was when she was first built.

I spread my blanket out and the snacks and water I packed from home.

I love my family, and despite my brothers’ occasional, obnoxious oversight and commentary on my choices, I like spending time around them.

But coming out here makes me feel like I have a little piece of this place all to myself, where I can do whatever I want.

The kind of freedom I can’t wait to have in a few years when I go to college.

But for now, I could settle for coming out here a couple of days a week and calling this place my own.

At least until I hear a groan from inside the homestead as I sit down. I hold my breath, listening carefully and telling myself I just heard the boards creak under my movement. It’s an old house after all. Almost 150 years old. She’s bound to creak and groan once in a while.

But then I hear it again, and as I rise onto my knees to peer inside, I see the outline of a figure in the shadows.

My heart jumps into my throat, and I crouch back down.

No one knows this place is here outside my family.

And no one would dare wander onto Stockton property without permission. Not someone who wanted to live anyway.

“Fuck!” There’s a soft curse and another muted groan, and I feel a prick of awareness. The “fuck” sounds familiar. A voice I know. But he couldn’t possibly…

“Hello?” Without thinking, I call out.

They don’t answer, but I can feel the soft vibration of movement against the floorboards underneath me. I take the risk and peer through the window again, cupping my hands around my eyes to get a better view.

“I have a gun, and I’m not afraid to use it!” I shout through the single pane of glass.

I see the figure move, sliding across the floor like they’re dragging themselves.

What if it’s not a person at all? What if it’s a ghost?

A ghost using a voice I know to try to lure me in.

My heart skips a beat in my chest as I consider it.

I just had Macy and June over for a horror movie marathon sleepover, and the images from the screen flash through my head.

A gun would do literally nothing to stop it.

But with the next moan I hear, I realize how ridiculous I’m being. It’s distinctly human. Obviously so. Someone in a lot of pain, and if the voice matches the person, I have to help him.

I stand and force myself to make my way to the door.

I don’t even have to do the usual shake, jimmy, and wiggle to get it open.

A slight jostle and the door gives until it hits something hard.

The light pours in through the gap I’ve made in the entrance, and I see the old piece of furniture that’s pushed up against it, blocking my entry.

“Hello?” I call again. They must hear me. If I can hear them groan, there’s no way they can’t hear me. But they don’t answer. Instead, I hear another soft scrape over the wooden floor like someone trying to quietly scurry off into a corner.

When I look down, I see blood on the doorframe. There’s half a handprint, and my heart bottoms out.

“I can hear you. If you’re in there, tell me.”

“Go away,” the voice calls back. It’s raspy and strained, but it’s his.

I shove on the door with my shoulder, forcing the furniture to give way and step inside.

The light pours in behind me, spotlighting the boy propped up against the wall.

He is technically a boy anyway, but he’s already well over six feet and growing fast. At least, if how hungry he seems to be all the time is any indication.

He eats half his weight in food any time my brother Levi has him over for dinner, and all of it seems to go nowhere but up.

Despite the fact that he seems to be endlessly working whenever I see him, he never seems to put on an ounce of muscle, and the Wranglers and T-shirt he always wears hang loosely on his angular frame.

But he’s larger than life to me, with his bright, mottled gold-green eyes and the brilliant smile he flashes when Levi makes him laugh.

A smile that’s currently absent on a mouth that’s wrecked with bruises and blood, and eyes I can barely make out from the way one is cut and the other is swollen.

He’s hunched over, his arms curled around his midsection as he tries to sit up, his leg giving out when he strains to stand, and he lets out another pained groan.

“Bishop! Oh my god! What happened?” I run toward him.

“Go home, Aspen,” he rasps. Under different circumstances, I’d be thrilled that he actually knows my name.

“No. What’s wrong? What happened to you?”

“There’s a cougar up here. You can’t—” He loses his breath from the pain as he manages to sit up straight, and his eyes meet mine before he turns his face away, trying to shield it from my view. “You can’t be up here. You got your horse?”

“I didn’t see a cougar. I’m not leaving you like this.” I see where the blood is spilled over his shirt, and I reach forward to touch him out of instinct, but he holds his hand out to stop me.

“You don’t see a cougar until it’s on you.

It’s out there. Trust me. That’s why I had the door blocked.

You’re gonna get yourself killed.” He’s angry now; I can hear it in his tone.

I don’t know if it’s frustration or embarrassment fueling it, or some combination of the two, but he’s not interested in my help.

“If there’s a cougar, then I’m not leaving you here. You need help, Bishop. Did it get you? Did it do this?”

He tries to stand in his effort to get away from me and uses his good arm to push off the windowsill. “Fuck!” he cries out loudly as he manages to get to his knees. “You fucking have to leave, Aspen. Go! I’m fine.”

“I’m not leaving here without you. You need medical attention, Bishop. Whatever that cougar did, you can’t stay out here like this. You can ride, and I’ll walk. I’ll get you back and get you help.”

“I don’t need your help. Go!” He’s clearly getting irritated with me, and he tries to walk away, using the wall for support.

“I’m not leaving. You’re not listening to me!” I’m frustrated that I even have to argue this. He’s as bad as my brothers when they get stubborn. “You’re getting on that horse.”

“I’m not letting you walk while I ride when there’s a fucking monster out here.”

“Fine. Then we’ll both ride. You can hold on to me while I get us back.”

“The horse can’t take both of us.”

“I’ve got Sassy. She’s big. She can handle getting us back to the ranch. It’s an emergency.”

“It’s not an emergency. I’m fine.”

“You’re very clearly not fine, Bishop. I’m not arguing anymore.

I’m telling. You’re getting on the horse if I have to knock you unconscious and drag you there myself.

If I get attacked by a cougar while I’m doing that, then so be it.

You’ll have that on your conscience for being an ass and not listening.

” I can’t believe I’m talking to him like this.

Bishop usually intimidates the hell out of me.

Nothing about our disparity in upbringing or temperament makes me any less timid in the face of my crush.

But I’m not about to let my brother’s best friend die out here in an abandoned homestead over his stubborn pride at not wanting to be helped by a girl, let alone me.

“Jesus Christ, you’re stubborn as fuck. Did anyone ever tell you that?”

“Every single day. Now let’s go. You can use my shoulder to lean on. We’ll get you out of here.”

He scowls at me, but he takes my shoulder for support and lets me help him to the door.

When we make it back to the ranch, he refuses to go close to the house, insisting I take him around the back to the bunkhouse.

“I can get cleaned up there.”

“You need more than cleaned up. You need a first aid kit, maybe a doctor.”

“I don’t want Levi or anyone else to see me like this.” He’s stubborn, and I relent for the sake of his already-injured pride.

“Fine. I’ll drop you out at the bunkhouse. But I’m getting one of the guys to come look at you. I think you need to go to the emergency room.”

“I don’t need to go anywhere near the emergency room. They’ll ask questions I’m not gonna answer. I just need some soap and water. I’ll be fine in a couple of days. It looks worse than it is,” he insists.

But when he gets off the horse, I see him grimace. His jaw clenches as the drop to his feet jars his body. His hand presses to his chest, and he struggles to take a deep breath, barely managing to get any air in before he winces. I’m sure his ribs are broken.

“Bishop, please. It hurts just looking at you. Let me have someone come see.”

Instead of answering, he hobbles his way toward the bunkhouse, leaving me behind to take care of Sassy. I make quick work of it, getting her set before I take off, hurrying after him. I’m half afraid he’ll run away again, not that he could get anywhere fast.