Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Clint
The sun’s already beating down when I pull into the yard at High Ridge Ranch. A gust of wind stirs the dust in the air, and I squint against the harsh light.
The place hasn’t changed much over the years, and I’m starting to doubt it ever will. The corral fence stands tall, a few posts leaning in a way that says it’s seen more than its share of storms. Literal and otherwise.
I hear the low rumble of the tractor from the back pasture, and the sound of Reid Stone’s voice drifts through the breeze as he works with the cattle. That’s Reid for you. Always talking to the animals, calling them his friends.
I shake my head, pulling the truck to a stop by the barn, its red paint faded from the years under the sun. The wood’s weathered and worn, but it’s sturdy, holding up just as the men who work it do.
Sawyer’s inside the office, probably buried in a stack of receipts and invoices, doing what he does best. He’s the only one who can make sense of the numbers.
I can handle the cattle, the land, but the finances? That’s Sawyer’s domain. The man’s a miracle worker with a pencil and paper.
I climb out of the truck, my boots crunching the gravel beneath me. The sun’s already hot and relentless. I wipe a hand over my face, brushing away the sweat already collecting at my brow.
A gust of wind blows through, carrying with it the scent of fresh hay and dust, those familiar smells that mean home.
Sawyer steps out of the barn, squinting against the sun. “Clint! We’ve got a storm rolling in.”
I pause, wiping the back of my neck with the sleeve of my shirt, the rough denim sticking to my skin. “How bad?”
“Big one,” he says, checking his phone with a frown. “We need to get some supplies before it hits. Sandbags, extra nails, storm shutters… things I’ve had on my to-do list for ages.”
I grunt in acknowledgment. Storms are a part of ranch life. You can’t control them, but you damn well better be ready when they show up.
“Reid’s still working with the herd,” I mutter. “I’ll let him know. We’ll get everything buttoned up.”
Sawyer nods, already turning back toward the barn. “I’ll check the feed. You focus on the fences. We’ll need to secure everything fast.”
I give him a quick nod and head for the back pasture, the wind kicking up the dust around my boots. The dry, cracked earth beneath my feet shifts with each step, and the heat coming off the ground is as hot as a furnace.
I catch sight of Reid a few hundred yards out, standing in the middle of the pasture with a couple of stubborn cows. Reid’s got that easy smile on his face, even as the cows nudge against him, testing his patience. He’s always the one to make light of things, even when they’re heavy.
“Reid!” I call out, my words carrying across the open field.
He looks up, his warm hazel eyes lighting up when he sees me. He tosses his rope over his shoulder and jogs over to where I’m standing, the dry grass crunching under his boots.
“You callin’ me, Clint?” he says, tossing me a grin.
His shaggy brown hair’s all over the place, windblown and wild, and it’s clear he’s been out here for a while. He’s got a natural ease about him, the kind that makes working with horses and cattle look effortless.
“Yeah. We’ve got a storm coming, and we need to get supplies.” I pull off my gloves and slip them into my back pocket, glancing over at the herd. “I’m gonna grab some of the supplies, and then we’ll get the fence tightened up.”
Reid squints up at the sky, then gives a slow nod. “Looks like we’ve got maybe a couple hours before it hits.”
“Maybe less,” I mutter, turning back toward the barn. “I’m headed to the feed store. Get what we need.”
“Alright, boss. You got it,” Reid calls out, giving the cows one last look before he heads back to work.
His hands move swiftly, guiding the cows with ease. The man’s got a gift for animals. Thank goodness. The cattle will be fine with him around, no matter the weather.
The ranch is quiet now, but that’s about to change. This time of year, the storms come fast, and if you’re not careful, they’ll catch you off guard.
I start the drive into town, the truck bouncing over the dirt road. The wind’s picking up, and a few dark clouds gather in the distance, rolling in quicker than I’d like.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, trying to ignore the way my pulse is ticking up, the anticipation of the storm mirrored in my thoughts.
I’ve done this dance before. Rushing to get everything secured while the clouds grow darker, knowing that a downpour could hit any minute.
The old feed store is on Main Street, just a few blocks away. It’s a small place, dusty shelves crammed with bags of grain, tools, and all the things a ranch could need. The place has been around longer than I have, and I’ve spent more time there than I care to count.
I pull into the lot, cut the engine, and climb out of the truck, the warm air pressing down on me. The sky’s getting darker by the second, and I can feel the first stirrings of the storm on the breeze.
The door to the feed store jingles when I step inside. Joe, the owner, looks up from behind the counter.
He’s got a weathered face, same as the land he’s worked his whole life, and he greets me with a nod. “You’re here just in time, Clint. Heard there’s a storm rolling in. What can I get ya?”
I glance up, noticing the way Joe’s eyes flick toward the window, his expression a mix of familiarity and concern. He’s been around long enough to know when a storm’s about to drop its weight on Colter Creek.
“Some sandbags, reinforced rope, and whatever weatherproofing materials you’ve got. Extra tarps, plastic sheeting, that kind of thing,” I say, already heading for the back to grab the supplies.
My boots tap on the wooden floor, creaks echoing as I pass by rows of shelves stocked with everything a ranch could need. Feed, tools, equipment for the horses, and a few odds and ends Joe keeps for anyone who needs a quick fix.
His footsteps shuffle behind me, but his voice cuts through the silence as we walk.
“Storm’s coming in fast. Reckon you’ll be able to button everything up before it hits?”
I grab a couple of feed bags from the shelf, pausing to glance out the window. The sky’s darkening, clouds twisting and folding into themselves.
The first heavy drops hit the glass, splattering against it. The wind howls as it rushes down the street, knocking into the old tin sign above the door.
“Hope so,” I mutter. “We’ve still got a bit of work to do. Reid’s out with the herd. Might need to send him back in early, depending on how bad it gets.”
I move toward the tarps, scanning the shelves.
Joe follows. “You’re telling me. I can feel it in my bones. You know how it is. This time of year, those storms come out of nowhere. You blink, and your whole day’s ruined.”
“Yep, too true.”
“And you have to be careful, right?” Joe continues. “You never know what’ll blow in with it.”
I pay up and start to load up the back of the truck in endless trips. It doesn’t help that the rain is now coming down steadily. My shirt’s already soaked through as I grab the fencing wire.
The cold, sharp gusts of wind make it feel even worse. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I don’t have much time before the worst of it hits.
I make a mental note to check on the animals as soon as I get back to the ranch, but first, I need to get this last load in. I grab a feed bag and sling it up onto my shoulder, wincing at the weight.
Halfway across the lot, the sky cracks open, and the rain comes down in a brutal downpour. It’s as if someone’s thrown a bucket of water over the whole town.
I curse under my breath and move quickly, but the feed bag slips in my hands. I lunge forward, scrambling to keep the feed dry, but the rain is relentless.
I look around, heart racing. There’s no time to load it properly now, but I can’t leave the feed in the open.
The old shelter at the side of Joe’s lot is only a few steps away, a rickety wooden structure that’s barely held together over the years. It’s the kind of place you don’t trust for long-term shelter but is good enough to keep something dry in a pinch.
I hurry inside the shed, ducking under the roof and leaning the feed bag against the wall. Before I can catch my breath, I hear a voice.
“Oh… hi.”
I freeze, my body tensing, the sound sending a jolt straight through me. For a split second, I think I might’ve imagined it. But no, I know that voice.
It’s a voice I haven’t heard in six years, a voice that’s been haunting me in the back of my mind ever since that night.
One random night at the Silver Bit Tavern, after the rodeo, when everyone was just letting loose and having the best damn time.
Especially me.
I turn, trying to process what I’m seeing. There, standing just a few feet away from me, her hair plastered to her face, is her.
Holy hell…
My heart stutters in my chest. She’s standing there in front of me, a ghost from the past, but so much more real.
So much more… alive.
She’s still beautiful. Damn it, she’s still got that way about her, that look that made me feel I couldn’t breathe right. But there’s something different in her eyes now.
It wasn’t there before. Guarded, maybe even tired. The years have done a lot to her, but they’ve only made her more mysterious, more untouchable in a way I can’t explain.
She’s holding onto a small child, a boy, maybe five or six. His little rain jacket is sticking to his body, his brown hair falling into his eyes. He’s clutching the hem of her shirt, looking up at me with wide, curious eyes.
I glance from him back to her, confusion and disbelief choking me.
For a long moment, neither of us says anything. The storm rages around us, but in this tiny space under the shelter, time seems to slow down, and the world feels smaller.
Then, finally, I manage to speak.
“Dakota?”