SAGE
13
The morning sun hasn’t been up long, but already I’m hunkered down at the kitchen table with a steaming mug of coffee clutched in my hands. The ranch’s accounting books are splayed open before me, pages filled with numbers that make no sense. My eyes squint at the columns, trying to wrangle the figures into some kind of order. “Damn it,” I mutter under my breath, taking another swig of coffee as I notice something off—a discrepancy staring at me like an ugly scar on a prize-winning stallion. There’re cattle sold that don’t add up, cows missing from the tally. I tease my fingers through my hair and assess the numbers again, thinking maybe I’ve miscalculated, but the math is not mathing. “What the fuck am I missing?”
A sour suspicion starts gnawing at my insides. Could my dad be skimming cash for his drinking habits? No , a nagging voice in me argues back. Ridge Everett is a lot of things, but he’s never taken money from the business. He depends on my income to fund his extracurriculars. But if not him, who?
“Samuel,” I say, the name leaving a bitter taste on my tongue like burnt toast. I push away from the table, my boots thumping across the wooden floorboards, each step heavy with purpose. I find myself outside, the dry wind whipping at my hair as I march toward the barn where the slippery eel of a man, lords over the place like he owns it.
“Samuel!” I call out, my voice firm, not giving him the pleasure of seeing me rattled.
He steps out from the shadows of the barn, a sneer curling his lips beneath that ragged mustache of his. He’s got at least thirty years on me, possibly in his mid to late fifties, and he looks every bit the part of Roland Schitt from that Schitt’s Creek show I’ve recently started to binge. He’s a caricature of a country hick if there ever was one.
“Whatcha want, Sage? Can’t you see I’m busy?” he drawls, leaning against the barn door like he hasn’t got a care in the world.
I plant my feet, hands on hips, feeling my blood pump hot and angry. “It’s about the cattle numbers. They’re not adding up.”
He chuckles, low and mocking, and it scrapes at my patience. “Now, why you fussin’ ’bout such things? Shouldn’t you be mindin’ your own business, like a good little girl? ”
My teeth grind together, and I feel my cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and ire. “Cut the crap, Samuel. If you’re hiding something or you’re messing with the books, I swear on my brother’s grave, I’ll get the law involved.”
His menacing laughter echoes through the air, a grating sound reminiscent of a crow’s caw. “The sheriff?” he scoffs. “And what will you say to your father? Doubt he would even care. He’s too busy drownin’ his sorry ass in a bottle to give a damn about a few missing cattle. Unlike me, you Everetts couldn’t recognize a good deal if it hit you like a dirt-road pothole.”
“Maybe not,” I shoot back, anger lacing my words, “but I know when someone’s trying to pull the wool over my eyes.”
“Maybe you should focus more on those summer classes you’re planning to take and leave the farmwork to the men that know it. Besides, you can’t prove a damn thing, sweetheart,” he taunts, his voice dripping with condescension. “I think you must be confused.”
I feel like a kettle about to boil over, steam ready to whistle out my ears. I need air, space, anything to cool the fire of anger he’s lit under my skin. “Fuck you, Sam.” I turn on my heel and storm off, heading straight for the pasture where my sweet mare waits.
“Hey, girl,” I murmur, stroking her velvety nose. She nuzzles my palm, and just like that, a sliver of peace slices through the turmoil inside my body.
With practiced ease, I saddle her up, then put a foot in the stirrup, grip the saddle horn, and swing my leg over. As soon as I give the signal, we’re off, galloping across the fields with exhilarating speed. The wind whips through my hair, tangling it into a messy frenzy, but I pay no mind as the rush of adrenaline courses through me. Cruella’s hooves pound the earth in a steady rhythm, creating a soothing cadence that lulls my jangled nerves into peaceful submission. We are one, horse and rider, flying through the open meadows in perfect harmony.
“Good girl, Cruella,” I whisper into her ear as we ride, the land stretching out before us, a promise or a warning, I’ve yet to decide. I let the reins slacken, and we slow to a trot, the steady beat of her gait working into my bones, calming the fury that had me in its grip.
“Gotta figure this out,” I say to no one but the horse beneath me, her ears flicking back at the sound of my voice. The wide expanse of the ranch spreads out around us, holding its secrets close, and I can’t help but wonder what other darkness might be lurking out there, waiting to be uncovered.
“Let’s head on back, beauty,” I say after a time, patting Cruella’s neck. As we make our way back to the ranch, I resolve to dig deeper, to unearth whatever filth Samuel’s got buried beneath his lies and swagger .
But for now, I just ride, letting the rhythm of my mare’s movements and the vastness of the land wash over me.
Before long, we reach Lilac Meadows, and the stables come into view. “Easy now, girl,” I murmur, my voice a raspy whisper against the silence that’s settled over the ranch. I dismount with a soft grunt, my boots sinking into the dirt that hides more than its share of skeletons.
Unsaddling my mare, I put the tack away, and that’s when I hear it—a sound that doesn’t belong among the usual evening chorus of the ranch. It’s a wet, rhythmic squelching, mixed with heavy grunts. My brow crinkles in confusion, and something deep in my gut coils tight with dread.
Wanting to investigate, I lead my mare to the nearest pen instead of letting her out to pasture for the night. “Stay here, Cruella,” I whisper softly, patting her flank before I start toward the cattle shed. Each step feels like I’m walking through quicksand, the weight of suspicion anchoring me to this spot, yet some dark curiosity spurs me on.
As I near the entrance, the noise grows clearer, and my heart hammers in my chest like it’s trying to break free. A pungent smell hits me—the stink of sweat and something foul that turns my stomach. I peer around the corner, and Lord Almighty, there isn’t enough whiskey in the world to unsee what greets my eyes.
Samuel, his backside as hairy and pale as a moonlit weasel, is perched atop a stepladder. His jeans are slung low around his thighs, and he’s thrusting into one of the cows like he’s digging for gold in the poor beast with his rancid penis. The sight of it grips my senses like a vise, and I can’t tear my eyes away no matter how much I want to.
“Ah, Sage.” He groans out my name, and bile rises in my throat. It’s a desecration, him using my name while doing… that.
I freeze, shock rooting me to the spot. My breath catches in my chest, and then it happens—a choked sound rips from my lips as loud as a gunshot.
I’ve never seen terror paint a man’s face the way it does Samuel’s when my gasp slices through the silence of the cattle shed. He whips around with the speed of a rattlesnake spooked in its coil, and his eyes—those beady little marbles—find mine. His face drains of color, horror etching deep lines into his weathered skin as he realizes his dirty secret’s out in the open.
“Aw, hell…” he mutters under his breath, fumbling like a calf on ice as he steps off the ladder, trying to cover himself up. But his jeans, they’re stubborn, caught around those hairy thighs of his, leaving him half-naked and fully shamed.
My boots don’t move quick enough; I’m still rooted to the spot, my mind reeling from the depravity before me. Panic sets in, like a newborn foal lost from its mama, as I turn on my heel, aiming to bolt .
“Where d’you think you’re goin’, missy?” Samuel snarls, voice laced with a threat as thick as two planks. He’s on me fast, heavy hands grabbing at me, fingers digging into the tender flesh of my neck. The wall of the shed becomes my backrest, cold and unforgiving as he slams me against it.
“Keep quiet ’bout this, ya hear,” he hisses, pulling a blade from his pocket, its edge catching the fading light. Bringing it to the column of my throat, he grits, “You don’t wanna know what I’ll do to you if you go running that pretty mouth.”
My heart’s pounding, a wild mustang galloping in my chest, as I choke out words that taste like dust and defeat. “Who… who am I gonna tell?” I have no one to confide in. My best friend is unreachable while she’s off touring the country with her new album. Things between Kade and I are complicated. And Rhett, well, what would I even say? Hey dude, Sammy has been fucking the cows— would he even believe me? My stomach churns at the visual, and each word struggles to break free. “My dad… he’s not even here; he’s across town looking after a sickly animal.” Oh fuck, I shouldn’t have said that, because who knows what else he might do now that I’ve reminded him I’m here by myself.
He’s close, too close; his breath foul, and his grip tightens like a noose. But desperation gives birth to strength, and I’m not about to let this varmint think he’s got the upper hand .
“Get off me!” I manage to spit out, pushing against him with all the grit I have. My elbow connects with something soft—his gut, maybe—and he staggers back, winded. I don’t waste a second. My legs find their purpose, and I tear across the yard, like a wild horse bolting from danger.
As I make my escape across the gravel, Cruella watches from her paddock, big eyes wide as if she knows, as if she recognizes the kind of monster we’ve got hiding in human skin on this ranch. She whinnies low, a sound full of sorrow, but I can’t stop to comfort her.
The house looms ahead, a beacon of safety, or so I fool myself into believing. I slam the door behind me, hard enough to rattle the windows, and make a beeline for the bathroom. My sanctuary. My confessional.
I lock the door with trembling fingers, a feeble attempt at keeping the world at bay. My reflection in the mirror is pale and haunted. There’s no trace of the girl who used to ride across these fields with dreams bigger than the Idaho sky.
I drop to my knees, hugging the porcelain god like an old friend, and surrender to the convulsions shaking my body. Everything comes up—the coffee from this morning, the bile of disgust, the fear curdling in my belly.
Sorrow carves tracks down my cheeks, a river cutting through a barren landscape. I’m sobbing, the sounds foreign and ragged in my throat, as I purge the sickness from inside. Some rot runs deeper than the physical, festering in places where hands can’t reach and my tears can’t cleanse.
“Maybe I should leave,” I whisper between heaves, the words a prayer, a curse, a plea. My home, my land—it’s tainted now, marked by a darkness as black as the coal. But it’s mine. It’s Jonah’s. I hate that he left me, and I hate that he keeps me here long after he’s gone.
Once the retching subsides, I sit back on my heels, spent and hollow. My gaze drifts to the small window above the sink, the sky outside painted in strokes of orange and purple as day gives way to night. It’s beautiful and serene, a stark contrast to the ugliness that’s wormed its way into my life over the last few weeks.
“Tomorrow,” I promise myself, my voice barely a whisper, “Tomorrow I’ll figure out what to do with Samuel.”
Tonight, I’ll let the shadows hold me, hoping against hope that when the sun rises, it’ll shine light on a path that leads me away from this nightmare I’m trapped in.