Chapter 31 Hudson
HUDSON
The sky had that mean, green edge to it, the kind that made the hair on my arms prickle. We had heat all morning. Then, snap, the wind flipped and smelled like wet metal and dust. Good old High Plains warning.
Since working the ranch, we had at least one bad storm every year, so we knew the drill. Secure the animals as best as possible for as long as it was safe to do so, then head back to the ranch to hunker down until it was okay to be back out.
Gray sent crews from the north fields back to the yard while I ran with Warren and Clayton along the south lane, yanking mineral tubs under cover, latching loose gates, and throwing an extra loop of baling twine around anything that liked to flap.
Somewhere toward the foothills, lightning lit up the sky, and a low boom echoed.
Fuck, the storm was bearing down fast.
Gray and I met at the long run of pens by the calving shed. He had his hat cinched down and his jaw set in a grim line. A storm was one of a rancher’s worst nightmares. I could already see him calculating possible losses if it was a particularly bad one.
“Fence line’ll hold,” I said, breath fogging from the temperature drop. “We tightened this run last week.”
“Good.” He squinted toward the west. A dark wall was building, stacked and ugly. “We need to head back to the barn, ensure everyone’s safe. That’s priority.”
We jogged back to the yard as dust started to move in sheets. The crew was funneling horses into the big barn, tack tossed on racks any old way. Gray called names, doing a head count, and voices answered. Cal. Wes. Vee. Clayton. Warren…
I scanned faces, that little itch starting at the base of my skull. “Matty?” I asked Gray when he was done. He hadn’t called Matty’s name, and I didn’t see him anywhere among the men headed for shelter. Some moved toward the bunkhouse, and others to the barn where they usually had meals.
“Does anyone have eyes on Matty?” Gray yelled.
I didn’t wait for a response. I fished my phone out. One ring. Two. Four. Straight to voice mail.
He knew we were locking it down. He knew better than I did that storms like this could throw anything at you. He should have headed back with his crew. I called again. Nothing.
I crossed the yard fast, boots scuffing gravel, pulse hammering in my throat. My phone was still buzzing in my hand, useless. I grabbed Gray’s elbow, tighter than I meant to.
“Can’t get to Matty. He’s not answering.” My voice came out rough, uneven.
Gray’s eyes flicked to mine, sharp, reading the fear I was trying like hell not to spill. The storm pressed down around us, heavy and close. Matty was the least careless person I knew. He should’ve picked up. He always picked up.
Gray looked past me to the west like he could will the storm to pause. For a second, he didn’t speak. Then he nodded once. “He was headed back with his team. No one can account for where he disappeared to.”
“Where the fuck is he?” My stomach cramped, and I felt sick.
“Isn’t that Junebug?”
I turned in the direction Gray pointed. The horse came pounding up the lane from the cottonwoods, reins dangling, saddle empty and skewed, foam dotting her chest.
My stomach dropped so hard I had to plant my feet. Why was she alone?
“Easy, girl.” I held my hands up.
She blew hard, ears flicking, then trotted the last few strides. Mud clung to her knees and streaked across her chest.
She shoved her nose into my chest with a sharp, desperate whinny, hot breath spilling against my shirt. My heart hammered as I caught the trailing rein, but Junebug wasn’t settling. She tossed her head back, tugging at me, teeth catching my shirt like she meant to drag me with her.
“Whoa, whoa, girl.” I tried to soothe her, but she sidestepped, pawing furiously at the ground, eyes wide and white-rimmed. Then she wheeled halfway around, presenting her saddle like she wanted me on her.
A chill cut down my spine. She wasn’t just spooked. She was trying to tell me something.
“Go,” Gray said. “I’m right behind you in the truck with the med kit. If the storm hits, keep low to the ground. And don’t be a hero if you can’t find him. Remember Ivy.”
Gray’s words carved straight through me. Remember Ivy. He was right. My little girl couldn’t lose another parent, not after her mama, not when I’d sworn I’d never leave her. But how the hell was I supposed to choose safety for her sake and leave Matty out there alone in the mud and storm?
I tightened my grip on Junebug’s reins until the leather bit deep. “I can’t leave him,” I whispered. “I won’t.”
Not used to riding Junebug alone, I approached her cautiously, but she didn’t budge or fuss the way she usually did when I’d attempted in the past. As soon as my weight hit leather, she broke into a ground-eating lope, arrowing back down the lane the way she’d come.
The first fat drops of rain hit like thrown pebbles. Wind slapped my shirt flat against my chest, then tugged it sideways, and thunder rolled hard enough to rattle my teeth.
“Find him, girl,” I said low into her mane. She flattened her ears and lengthened her stride. I had no experience controlling her, but I didn’t need it. She kept her pace, moving fast and with purpose.
I let Junebug pick her line, trusting that instinct of hers to lead us to the man we both loved. We cut through the gate and along the inside of the fence. On the far side of the draw, a loose bunch of yearlings bunched and flowed like black water, spooked but contained.
We crested a rise and dropped into the lee of a shallow dip. Junebug pulled left toward the far fence.
The hat came first, lying in the grass. Then the churned mud, the tangle of hoof prints, and the fence bent at a wrong angle. And Matty caught half-hanging in it.
He was upright, sort of, one boot jammed in muck, one knee down, his left sleeve raked to threads and snagged in barbed wire. His forearm was caught where the shirt had wound and tightened, barbs sunk shallow into his flesh. He was breathing hard, face pale, jaw clenched.
“Matt! I’m here!”
Relief shot through me so fast it burned. I slid off the horse, tied Junebug to a fence post so she didn’t try to get to Matty, then squelched through the mud to him.
“Look at you. You rode Junebug,” he said.
“Yeah. Don’t move,” I said, even though he wasn’t going anywhere. I had to force my voice level. “You’re good. I’ve got you. How the hell did this happen?”
“Rescued a calf, and the goddamn idiot rammed me into the fence.” He hissed when the wind lifted and the wire bit into his skin. “The more I tried to untangle myself, the more damage it did. Fucking hooks are buried into my skin.”
“Let me take a look. Your dad’s behind me in his truck.”
Matty tried to move his arm and flinched, teeth gritted. Blood had soaked through the shredded sleeve, slick and ugly against the wire. It wasn’t just his shirt. The barbs had chewed into his flesh, hooked like fishhooks in tender skin. My stomach turned.
“Don’t move,” I said sharply, hovering my hand over his wrist. “You’ll make it worse.”
His laugh came low and ragged. “Kinda figured that out the hard way already, babe.”
Gray’s truck slid to a stop, gravel and mud spitting from under the tires. He was out before the engine coughed down, toolbox clanging against his knee.
“Good God, son,” Gray muttered, skidding to a halt beside us. “You’re not satisfied until all my hair is gray, are you?”
“I think I got a few today too,” I muttered.
Gray set the box down and snapped it open. “Wire’s in deep. We’ll have to cut close to the skin.”
Matty’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say a word. His breath came shallow, steady like he was wrestling it under control.
“Hold him still,” Gray said. He had pliers in hand, jaw already set.
“I’ve got him.” I bracketed Matty’s shoulders with my arms and pressed his face into my neck, wishing I could spare him the pain. He sagged a little against me and groaned. “I’ve got you, Matt. Just stay with me.”
The first snip came with a metallic twang, the barbed strand jerking loose. Matty bit my shoulder hard, his knees nearly buckling. My throat closed tight at the sound he made, but I kept my grip firm, whispering into his ear, “Almost there. Almost there, my love.”
Gray worked fast as we tried to beat the worst of the storm. Fat drops already pelted us and the earth. Each barb had to be cut, then backed out, the skin dragging with it like Velcro tearing.
“Shit!” Matty hissed as one barb came free from the crook of his elbow, leaving a welted, bloody gash. His head dropped forward, rain plastering his hair across his face.
“Easy. Easy.” I wiped at his forehead with my sleeve. His skin was clammy, slick with sweat despite the cold.
Another snap, another barb freed. Gray’s hands were steady, precise. Mine shook against Matty’s chest as I held him. I hated seeing him in pain.
“Last one,” Gray said grimly.
This one had gone deep, buried below the cuff of his shirt. Gray worked the pliers in carefully, but when it came free, Matty let out a sharp cry. Blood welled, soaking into his shirt.
“Got him,” Gray said. “Hudson, help me lift.”
I didn’t hesitate. I slid my arms under Matty’s good arm and around his waist. He was heavier than I’d expected, limp from the fight drained out of him.
“Stay with me, Matt. Please. Stay awake.”
He mumbled something into my shoulder, too low for me to catch, but I felt the vibration of his voice. That was enough to keep me moving.
We half dragged, half carried him to the truck, rain hammering us now, hail ticking like stones on the hood.
Fuck.
“Get him in the cab!” Gray barked.
I pulled open the passenger door and lifted Matty, cradling him like I would my little girl if she’d been hurt. He slumped against the seat, blood and rain soaking into the upholstery.
“Junebug,” Matty groaned.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got her. We’ll be right behind you.”