Chapter 58
LILY
Kelly's fingers dig into my wrist, his thumb pressed against the barcode tattoo like he's drawing information from it.
His smile is chilling. “So the little bird flew back home.”
For a second I can’t move or think, the fear is so bad. I force myself past it, reaching for what Wes taught me.
Make an assessment, he’d say.
I’m fucked. He recognized me, and it’s not like I can hide anonymously in town—I’m the damn vet.
This is bad—really fucking bad. I may be half in my truck, but he’s big—much bigger than me—and he’s got a solid hold of me. My knife’s in the bag I just tossed inside the cab, three feet away, which might as well be on the moon.
I can fight, but I know I’d lose. I could run, but then he’d alert Turner and I risk the chance that they’ll run before I can act. Or I can play along and buy time.
Time for what? I don’t know, because I didn’t tell Mason I was coming here.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Kelly's grip tightens. “You and that other bitch tried to run. I got the other one, but I looked for you for weeks.”
By the other one, I know he means Mandy, and something furious rises up my throat. But I shake my head. “I don't know what you're—”
“Don't.” His voice drops, quiet and deadly. “You caused me lots of trouble, you know that? Turner would have killed me if he knew you’d gotten away.”
Wait—what? My face stays blank, neutral, despite my confusion. Where did Turner think I was? Dead?
Before I can figure out what to say, the barn door swings open and a ranch hand emerges, moving with purpose toward us. He's young, maybe mid-twenties, with the weathered look of someone who's been working cattle since he started working.
“Kelly!” he calls out. “We got a situation with the fence line on the north pasture. Need you up there now. One of the sections came down—looks like something hit it hard.”
Kelly lets go of my arm before the ranch hand can see. He glances between the ranch hand and me, clearly torn.
The ranch hand's eyes land on me and his expression shifts to friendly recognition. “Hey, Doc Lily. You here to see the bull?”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice steady and professional.
Just like thirteen years ago, I see the opportunity and I take it.
I'm moving as I speak, getting into my truck before Kelly can do anything.
“I've finished examining him though. No secondary issues—he's good to go. Just needs rest and monitoring like I told Ray.”
“Great,” the ranch hand says. “We appreciate you coming out on short notice.”
Kelly's still holding the door open. I stare at him. Is he really going to make a scene in front of a hand? I get the sense this ranch hand is legit and not one of their side-business lackeys.
The guy unknowingly helps me, gesturing urgently toward the north pasture. “Kelly, seriously, we need you now. The fence is compromised and we've got cattle scattered.”
“I need to get to my next patient anyway,” I say, staring Kelly down.
For a moment, Kelly doesn't move. His jaw works like he wants to say something else, wants to keep me here and finish what he started. But the ranch hand is already heading back toward the trucks, and the operational need is pulling at him.
“This conversation isn't over,” Kelly says quietly.
“I know,” I reply, meeting his eyes. “But right now you've got a fence to fix.”
He swears under his breath, then turns and strides toward the main barn, following the ranch hand. I immediately shut the door, lock it, and pull out of the yard. The gravel crunches under my tires and I force myself not to speed, not to gun it, not to do anything that screams flight.
On the inside, I’m freaking out. The adrenaline is flooding through me now—hot and electric and terrifying. I can still feel Kelly’s hand on me, that old fear trying to climb up to choke me.
“Keep it together,” I order myself. My hands tighten on the wheel. The driveway stretches ahead, long and exposed. I'm vulnerable here—visible and trackable.
I’m vulnerable anywhere in Iron Ridge. Kelly will be able to find me if he wants to.
Wes is going to be pissed at me.
I can’t even imagine what Mason will feel. He’s going to think I broke our rules.
I reach the gate at the edge of the property and my foot eases off the gas as I prepare to turn on the highway.
A truck pulling up to the Turner property catches my eye. I blink as I recognize the man inside.
Mason.
The relief hits me like a physical blow. For a second I can't move, can't think, can't do anything but stare at him through the windshield and feel the weight of what his presence means.
Mason's eyes meet mine through the glass. There's no question in his expression, no hesitation. Just steady, absolute certainty.
And barely contained fury.