29. Cole
COLE
Panic, concern, and something else settles in my gut when I check my phone for the millionth time so far today.
Clara was supposed to be here. The kids, too.
But so far, they’re an hour late, and my texts are going unanswered.
I try calling her again, but just as it has every time so far, the call goes straight to voicemail.
The fuck?
I swallow around the lump in my throat, trying not to think the worst as I slide my phone back into my pocket.
Maybe she got caught up doing something.
Maybe she lost track of time. She’s safe.
I know she is. If she wasn’t, I’d be the first person to know about it with the eyes I’ve got on her.
I need to let it go. It’s all part of giving her back some of that control she lost to that motherfucker.
After weeks of riding boundaries, fixing fences, getting the calves ready, today’s the Rattlesnake Ranch annual turnout, and the place is teeming with Summer locals, here to help us celebrate the official end of the winter half as we turn the cattle out to pasture.
Dust hangs in the air, kicked up by a few hundred restless hooves and the steady grind of boots against packed dirt. The whole ranch smells like sun-warmed leather, hay, sweat, and cattle—the kind of smell that settles into your skin so deep it becomes a part of you.
Popping a piece of nicotine gun from the blister pack I keep in my back pocket at all times, I chomp on it, heaving a sigh and leaning my forearms against the top rail of the pen for half a second, watching the heifers crowd together in a shifting wall of nervous energy while folks gather beyond the fences watching on with eager anticipation.
Kids dart around with lemonades and paper plates already stacked high with barbecue, the mouthwatering scent hanging low and thick in the air.
The band plays a cover of a Brooks & Dunn tune, the music crackling through the speakers and across the fields.
The energy throughout the ranch is electric, festive.
This is what we work for all year. For a cowboy, turnout is bigger than Christmas.
Behind me, Webber lets out a yell, “Brady, you dumb son of an ass. Close the goddamn gate!”
I turn just in time to see one black heifer slip through a half-latched opening like she’s been planning a prison break all week.
Brady throws his head back on a groan. “Aw, man, she looked trustworthy!”
“She’s a cow, stupid ass!” Wyatt laughs out loud.
The heifer bolts across the lane and Brady whoops loud enough to wake the dead as he takes off after her on his horse, hat nearly flying clean off his head.
“I got her,” Brady shouts.
“You ain’t got shit,” Webber mutters.
“I got her!”
The cow cuts sideways and Brady almost slides out of his damn saddle.
I bark out a laugh before hopping down from the fence. “Wyatt, swing around the trough!”
Wyatt tips his hat once and moves instantly, calm as always. He cuts the heifer off clean while Brady regains control of his horse and his hat, and Levi and Bobby, one of the other travelling cowboys, nearly die laughing from where they’re watching from the outside.
“That cow embarrassed you in front of the whole damn town,” Bobby hollers.
“No fair. She cheated!” Brady objects.
The crowd nearby applauds like this is dinner and a show.
I grab the gate and shove it properly shut while Brady points accusingly at the latch. “See! Damn thing’s defective.”
“The only defect is one between your goddamn ears, son,” Webber chides.
Brady grins sheepishly, lowering his voice as he trots past me. “You think Boss saw that?”
At the mention of Austin, I glance instinctively toward the main pens where he stands near the loading lane, one hand hooked on his belt buckle, watching everything with that same unnerving expression of indifference he wears so well.
Tall. Still. Stoic. Serious enough to make people straighten up and fly right by his sheer presence alone.
Austin spears Brady. “Get your head out your fuckin’ ass,” he says, flat as ever.
Brady jumps like he’s been shot. “Sure thing, Boss.”
Shaking my head, I snort a laugh under my breath and pull my gloves from my back pocket before heading toward the calves.
The little ones are worse than the heifers—all jittery legs and full of panic.
One bawls loud enough to echo through the afternoon, while another tries squeezing through a gap that definitely cannot fit a calf of its size.
Jagger, a travelling cowboy who blew in with the wind only a few days ago with an overstuffed duffle bag and not a lot else, steps in swiftly before I can reach it.
He catches the calf with steady hands and wrestles with it easily, carrying the kicking bundle of limbs back without uttering a word or breaking a sweat.
“Sneaky motherfucker,” I grit out, flashing Jagger a smirk.
He glances across at me beneath the brim of his hat, the corner of his mouth twitching as he says, “Fuckin’ troublemaker.” And honestly, that’s the most he’s spoken since he’s been here.
The gates creak open again and the first group of cattle starts moving toward the pasture. The energy changes immediately—less frantic, more flowing. Dust rolls beneath their hooves in thick clouds as the cowboys fan out on either side, guiding them to where they need to go.
When I reach Soldier, I swing myself up into the saddle and settle my hat tighter against the breeze.
No matter how chaotic things get around here on turnout, this part always feels good, like homecoming.
The open pasture stretches for miles between here and the horizon where it meets the faded blue sky in the distance.
The cattle begin spreading naturally once they clear the lane, calves sticking close to their mamas, curious yet tentative.
Wyatt rides up beside me. “You good, brother?”
I nod. And although I’m physically here, my mind is elsewhere. As if on instinct, my eyes drift toward the driveway, at the convoy of trucks and vehicles arriving for the cookout. And there it is again. That feeling. That unsettling twist deep in my gut. Something feels wrong.
I’ve been hanging out for Clara to get here. Billie and Tommy too. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since sunrise, picturing Billie’s curious little face, eyes lighting up at the sight of the horses, imagining Tommy hanging back a touch, nervous and cautious at first until he warms up.
I want them to love this place because this is my life, and hell, I want them here. In my life. And fuck, that thought alone nearly knocks me sideways, forcing me to grip Soldier’s rein a little tighter to save myself.
Brady rides up suddenly, grinning at me. “You look fuckin’ lovesick, son.”
I grit my teeth, staring straight ahead.
“You got that soft-eyed stare,” he continues.
I cast him a sidelong glance. “I’ll kill you.”
Wyatt chuckles from nearby. “He’s not wrong, Cole.”
Webber smirks into his coffee thermos.
Even Jagger glances over like he’s silently judging me, not that he knows anything about me or that I am, in fact, lovesick.
Traitors. Every single one of them. But they ain’t wrong.
I am gone for that woman. Completely and wholeheartedly.
And the kids, too. The idea of them coming here to the ranch—safe, giggling, surrounded by good people—it settles deep inside of me in a way I can’t fully explain.
For the first time in a long while, the future feels like something solid, even with the uncertainty of everything else going on in my life.
But the fact that they ain’t here, and I can’t get a hold of Clara, it sits like led in my belly because there’s a constant thought in the back of my head I’ve been trying to ignore, but it’s there, and right now, it’s rife. What if she’s changed her mind? What if she’s gone?
A calf suddenly breaks sideways between the horses and Webber yells, “Cole!”
I jerk back to reality. “On it!”
Clicking my tongue, I give Soldier’s sides a squeeze, urging him forward and cutting the calf back toward the herd while everybody starts shouting over each other again.
Dust flies. Calves bawl. Heifers low. Brady pisses Webber off for the fifth time. And I allow the unorganized chaos to take a hold of me, because at least it takes my mind off the shit I really can’t bear to be thinking about right now.
By the time we return from the north-west pasture, the party is in full swing with what appears to be half the town of Summer milling about, eating food, laughing, drinking beers, watching the band as they play a cover of “Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy”, much to what appears to be Austin’s dismay as he stands there with gritted teeth and an unimpressed glower in his eyes.
I walk toward the picnic tables, my gaze scanning the crowd, searching for Clara and the kids. But as I get further into the throng, my heart sinks when I don’t see them, concern brewing in my belly.
I pluck my phone from my pocket, scrolling through to try call Clara again which is when I see a message on my phone that just about knocks me flat on my ass.
Clara: We’re at the hospital.
I bristle, panic swelling around my heart.
Turning, I break into a run, shouldering my way through the crowd as I dial Clara’s number. Thankfully she picks up after two rings, her voice lowered as she answers.
“Baby, what happened?”
“We were on our way out to the ranch and… I-I don’t even know… I ran over something or the tires blew. God, I don’t know. I lost control and we went into a ditch.”
I stop in my tracks at the sound of her sobs, tugging at the back of my neck as dread twists my gut. “Is everyone okay?”
She sniffles and the sound of her tears hurts my fuckin’ heart. “Yeah. We’re okay. Tommy broke his arm. From the airbag. But we’re alright.”
I scrub a hand down over my face, muttering a curse because fuck. I can’t help but feel responsible. I knew her car wasn’t safe to drive these roads. “Where are you, baby?”
She sniffs again. “Um, Lubbock…?”
“I’m comin’ there right now,” I say. “I’ll be there in forty-five minutes, y’hear?”
“No, Cole, it’s okay, you don’t have—”
“Baby, I ain’t takin’ no for an answer,” I interrupt, looking around the crowd for Bailey. “I’m comin’ there. You stay put, okay, darlin’?”
“Okay.” Clara sounds so vulnerable, so scared and I swear I feel it dent my heart.
When I end the call, I spot Bailey and Darcy sitting beneath the shade of one of the tents. I beeline for them, the girls glancing up at me with matching grins that immediately fall to identical looks of worry.
“What’s wrong?” Bailey asks, jumping up out of her seat.
“Can I borrow your Jeep?”
Her eyebrows tug together, her eyes bouncing between mine. “What happened?”
I swallow hard, looking around. “Clara and the kids got into an accident. There at Lubbock and I can’t get my truck out.”
“Oh my god.” Darcy gasps. “Are they okay?”
“I think so.” I remove my hat, tearing my fingers through my hair and huffing out a hard exhale. “I just need—”
“Go!” Bailey hands me the keys to her Wrangler and I press a kiss to her cheek, waving at Darcy before turning and running like a bat out of hell.
The tires squeal as I come in hot, skidding to a stop outside the emergency room. I don’t even know how I got here. I know the drive from Summer to Lubbock like the back of my hand, but, fuck, the last hour, at least, is nothing but a blur.
As I jump out of Bailey’s Jeep, I sprint for the sliding doors, but I’m stopped suddenly in my tracks when I catch a glimpse of Cruz from the corner of my eye, standing over by his Bronco, talking on his cell phone with a coffee in his hand.
And, I don’t know, but the sight of his casual grin only sends a bolt of fire through me, and I make a beeline for him.
“What the fuck?” I shout, pushing Cruz and causing the coffee in his cup to slosh over the side and spill down the front of his uniform.
“I’ll call you back,” Cruz grits out, glowering at me before ending his call.
“You didn’t think to fuckin’ call me?” I seethe, stepping up so I’m toe-to-toe.
“Cole,” Cruz warns, reaching for his holster. “You better back the fuck up.”
I can’t help but scoff. “What are you gonna do, motherfucker? Shoot my ass?”
“Don’t test me, Dawson.”
When I notice we’re attracting the attention of those around us, I grudgingly take a couple of steps back, watching him, waiting for whatever the fuck he has to tell me.
“She blew a tire and lost control,” Cruz says slowly, his tone condescending and only causing my hands to ball into fists with the need to punch his dumb fuckin’ face. “I’ve had the car towed to Rick’s. Everyone is fine, but the ambulance brought ’em here because of the kids.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you call me?” I demand, folding my arms across my chest as I glare down at him. Leaning in, I lower my voice. “That’s what I’m fuckin’ payin’ you for.”
“I was about to call you, I just needed to—”
“Get yourself a fuckin’ coffee first?” I bite out, looking pointedly at the cup still in his hand, because he managed to stop and get himself a goddamn coffee but couldn’t call me?
Before I say something I know I’ll probably end up regretting, I offer Cruz one last look of disgust and turn away, hurrying inside to find my girl.