CHAPTER 11
I read off the numbers I want to separate from the herd for the sale ahead of the drive, that way they’re ready to be auctioned.
I have a paddock set up for them beside the rest of the cattle that’ll be moved up the mountain.
It isn’t really ready for grazing, but they’ll only be here a couple of days, so it doesn’t matter all that much.
“We’re selling a little early, boss.” Chase comments, falling into step beside me on his horse.
“I need to get rid of some so we have money over the summer,” I explain. “It won’t make much of a difference come fall.”
Chase doesn’t look convinced, but he does as I ask, and we get the cattle moved. It’s still early, the sun barely above the horizon, but I’m bone tired. My muscles ache, thighs throbbing where they’re stretched over the back of Honey, the calluses on my hands raw from a full morning of labor.
Ralph makes a ruckus in the paddock behind me, now closer to the females, he wants out of there and into here. The little fucker won’t get what he wants though, not until I move the other bulls out so he doesn’t pummel them into the ground.
Gravel crunches behind me, and a glance over my shoulder shows Elena heading toward us.
My tongue goes dry. She’s in a little pair of cut-offs, the shorts sitting high on her thighs, and a pair of cowboy boots with a white shirt and the new hat.
Her long black hair spills over her shoulders, and she’s wrapped her thigh with a clean dressing, covering the burned-in C on her skin, though the bruising has spread, turning even more of her skin black and blue.
She walks with a limp, but her face doesn’t reveal her pain.
Chase whistles beside me.
“She’d eat you for breakfast,” I snap at him, his very obvious attraction to her brightening his eyes.
“I sure fucking hope so,” He grins. “Who is she to you again?”
“Keep it in your fucking pants,” I warn him, my blood turning hot as my stomach twists.
He chuckles, “Good morning, sweetness,” He says to her as she comes to a stop by the side of my horse.
I have to stifle my laugh when she gives him the once-over and then dismisses him, choosing to run her hand down the side of Honey’s neck.
The horse’s muscles quiver at her touch, vibrating down her body.
Her grey eyes lift to me, her hand absently scratching down my horse’s neck. “What’d you want me to do?”
My gaze drops to her thigh and the healing cut on her arm, and I know her abdomen is still as bruised as her thigh.
“How’s your pain?” I ask her.
“I’m fine,” She answers through gritted teeth.
“That so, darlin’,” I quirk a brow, “Just fine?”
“Don’t hurt at all.” She lies.
Fucking bullshit. Not sure why she hides it or why she thinks I’d believe the lie. Pain makes her human.
“Alright,” I bite, “You can clean the stables.”
It’s mundane but hard work.
“The stables?” Her dark brows pull low above her eyes, the rim of the hat shading her face from the early morning sun.
“Shovel shit, sweetness,” Chase clarifies for her, but he’s also looking at her thigh and the kaleidoscope of color it is.
“Right.” She steps back. “Fine. Everything in there that I need?”
“You know what you’re doing?” I question.
“I’m not an idiot.” She rolls her eyes and makes her way to the stables next to the paddock holding Ralph. She says something to the bull on her way past, and the animal watches her, keen eyes following her path to the stables.
“That’s a nasty bruise,” Chase comments. “How did she get that?”
“None of your business.”
“You really think she’s not hurtin’?”
“No,” I admit, “I think she’s more stubborn than Ralph and doesn’t want to admit it.”
“Then why’d you send her to the stables?”
“So she stops lying.”
“A little harsh,” Chase grumbles.
“No one said the ranch life was easy, Chase,” I defend.
“If you say so, boss,” Chase steers his horse in the opposite direction and gets moving, so I do the same. I’ll leave her to it and check on her in a couple of hours. If she needs help, she can come find me.
The heat is brutal today. A haze covers the ranch, and my skin feels dry, burning in the sun. Water is key on days like this, for every single living thing on this land. I head toward the stables, a fresh, cold bottle in hand, the condensation soaking into the dust on my palm.
“Would you stop that!?” I hear a hiss. “Hey!”
My brows pull low as I turn the corner, wondering who the fuck is in here with her when all the guys are busy with other tasks, and Chase left two hours ago with the trailer to pick up some fencing to fix up a paddock on the east side of the ranch.
“Stop!” Elena snaps out and then I see it. Apollo, my late father’s Blue Roan Mustang, is nipping at her shirt over the stable door. Every time he grabs it, she pulls away from him, earning a nicker, his ears pricked and his attention solely on her.
Well, I’ll be fucking damned.
This is the most alive I’ve seen my father’s horse since he passed away.
After his death, Apollo sank into himself.
He grieved hard for my father, as hard as the ranch did, and we’ve been watching him closely since, wondering when he was just going to give up.
The bond he shared with my father was intense and lifelong, and when one half of a whole is removed… it’s crushing.
But he’s playing.
Elena moves the broom across the ground, sweeping up the muck and hay strewn across the center alley, but Apollo stretches his long, muscled neck and catches the material on her shoulder. Before she can react and swat him away, he yanks, pulling her off her feet.
She lands with a cry, more than just frustration or annoyance. This one has pain written all over it. Apollo’s head goes up, his nostrils flaring out as his dark eyes bore down on her leaning on the stable door.
“Shit!” I hiss, rushing toward her as she grasps her thigh beneath the bandage, teeth gritted.
“Not nice,” She grumbles to the horse before she finally hears me coming.
“Elena,” I reach for her, but she’s quick to swat my hands away, glaring at me with eyes that match the color of the horse behind the door.
It’s then that I notice the blood.
I don’t let her snatch away from me a second time as my fingers circle her wrists and I force her hands out in front of her, palms up,
She’s rubbed her hands completely raw, the skin blistered and peeling with both fresh and dry blood coating her hands. A quick glance at the broom handle shows the red smudges coating the wood.
“Fuck!” I reach for the water and twist the cap, pouring some onto one palm and then on the other, washing away the dust and diluting the fresh blood. She remains stoic, Apollo watching on from above.
“How long has it been like this?” I demand.
She shrugs. “A couple of hours.”
“A couple–” Apollo snorts hard enough he disturbs some stray tendrils of her hair. She lifts her chin to glare at him.
If looks could kill, she’d end a man where he’s standing. Luckily, Apollo is a horse and doesn’t give a shit as he releases another huff of air.
He likes her.
Which is more than I can say for the rest of the crew. Only I can turn him out and feed him, but I wouldn’t dare saddle him up and ride him. We all avoid him; a few near misses with his back legs have warned us all away.
First the dogs. Then the bull. Now the fucking horse.
What the actual fuck is happening!?
Not something I need to think about right now, not when she’s rubbed her hands raw and got hurt when she was pulled down.
“Come on,” I go to place an arm around her, but she shoves at me and in my crouched state, I go down onto my ass, landing in the dirt.
“I am perfectly capable,” She snaps at me.
I stare in bewilderment at her, shocked silent.
How the fuck am I meant to survive two months of this?