Chapter 20
twenty
There was nothing like a hot coffee and silence first thing in the morning.
Boone’s mug warmed his hand as he stood in the bunkhouse, watching the morning light break over the frosted pasture.
The quiet was his favorite part of dawn at Valor Ridge.
No questions, no therapy sessions, just him and the horses grazing in the distance.
He lifted the mug to his lips, but paused when movement near the far fence caught his eye.
River stood at the pasture gate, working the latch, that familiar shit-eating grin plastered across his face.
The mug slipped from Boone’s hand, coffee splashing across the floor as he bolted for the door.
“River!” The shout tore from his throat as he burst onto the porch. “Don’t you fucking touch that gate!”
Too late. The gate swung open, and the horses—always quick to notice freedom—moved toward it. River waved his arms, whooping, spooking them further, and driving them into the yard.
“What the hell are you doing?” Boone thundered, boots pounding down the steps. His breath clouded in front of his face as he ran, the frosty ground slick beneath his feet.
“Just giving them some exercise. They look bored.”
“Then put them in the fucking pasture!”
River laughed and spread his hands. “The whole ranch is a pasture. Go,” he urged the horses, “be free!”
Several horses bolted through—Dust Devil, Rook, and Sunny.
Dusty and Rook didn’t surprise him, but he cursed when the golden palomino mare followed the others.
Sunny was the sweetest, gentlest horse they had, but she was also impressionable.
She’d follow the herd anywhere, and right now, the herd was thundering straight toward Ridge Road.
Dusty led the charge, head high, tail flagged, the grulla gelding looking like freedom itself.
It would take all morning to round them up.
“You are a fucking pain in the ass.” Boone’s boots slid on the frost-covered grass as he changed direction to one of the ATVs parked by the barn. He’d never catch them on foot.
“Close the gate before more get out!” he shouted over his shoulder at River, and gunned the ATV engine to life.
River gave a mock salute and sauntered toward the gate, taking his time, like this whole situation was some kind of joke.
The horses reached the property boundary, where the ranch’s driveway met the road. Boone expected them to zag and follow the fence, but they kept going as if the fence didn’t exist, right out onto the road.
“Dammit, dammit, dammit,” he muttered, the words whipped away by the cold air rushing past his face.
As he pulled up alongside the fence, he saw a jagged gap in the wire, the metal cut clean through.
The grinding of an engine drew his attention to the road.
A white pickup was coming around the bend, moving too fast for the icy conditions.
Boone could already see how this would play out—spooked horses, skidding truck, disaster.
He cut hard across the pasture, trying to intercept the horses before they reached the road.
Dusty and Rook veered right, staying on the shoulder, but Sunny panicked at the approaching vehicle.
She reared, hooves pawing the air, then bolted directly into the path of the truck.
The driver slammed on his brakes, tires locking on the icy surface.
The pickup fishtailed, sliding sideways toward the golden mare.
“Sunny!” Boone shouted, as if his voice could somehow reach her through the panic.
The truck fishtailed, narrowly missing Sunny before sliding into the shallow ditch with a sickening crunch of metal.
The horses bolted back toward the fence line.
Rook and Dusty made it back onto the ranch property without problem, but Sunny’s leg caught on the jagged wire as she tried to return to familiar ground.
The mare screamed—a sound that chilled Boone’s blood—and pulled free, but not before the wire tore a deep gash across her hind leg. Blood immediately darkened her golden coat, leaving crimson splatters on the frost-covered grass as she limped away from the road.
Boone bolted off the ATV and ran to her, grabbing her halter and steadying her trembling form. “Shh. Easy, girl.”
Blood pulsed from the wound, a clean slice across her gaskin that would need immediate attention. He pulled off his flannel shirt and wrapped it tightly around her leg to stem the bleeding.
Dennis Sharpe stumbled from his truck, red-faced and furious. “What the hell, Callahan? Your damn horses nearly killed me!”
“Someone cut our fence,” Boone said, his focus on Sunny. The mare’s eyes rolled white with fear, but she trusted him enough to stand still despite her pain. “You okay?”
“Okay? Look at my truck!” Dennis gestured wildly at the dented fender, a new scrape marring the door panel. “Your ex-con ranch is a menace to public safety! Wait until Sheriff Goodwin hears about this.”
“Shut up and help me,” he growled, keeping pressure on Sunny’s wound. He could feel her pulse throbbing beneath his palm, her muscles quivering with fear and pain. “She’s hurt bad.”
“Not my problem,” Dennis huffed, pulling out his phone. “I’m calling the sheriff.”
Boone swallowed the rage building in his throat. Sunny needed him calm.
River jogged up, still grinning until he saw the blood dripping into the roadside gravel. His smile faltered, then collapsed altogether.
“Oh shit,” he said, voice suddenly small.
“Did you cut the fence?” Boone demanded.
“What? No! I swear, I just thought you’d have to chase them around the ranch. I didn’t think—”
“No,” Boone cut him off, not looking at him. “You didn’t think.” He pulled out his phone and scrolled to the vet’s number.
Jonah appeared on an ATV, his face paper-white as he hopped off and crouched beside Sunny’s injured leg. “Oh, my girl. How bad?”
“Bad enough,” Boone replied, pressing the call button.
The phone rang three times before someone picked up at Garrison Veterinary Services, the only practice within thirty miles that handled large animals.
“Dr. Garrison’s office,” a female voice answered.
“This is Boone Callahan,” he said, keeping his voice steady despite the rage still simmering in his chest. “We need Dr. Garrison out here. Horse with a deep leg laceration, bleeding heavily.”
“He’s not available today,” the woman said. “But I can be there in twenty minutes. What’s the location?”
Boone hesitated. Not the old man, but someone who worked for him. “Valor Ridge Ranch, off Ridge Road.”
“I know it. Keep pressure on the wound if you can. I’m on my way.”
Boone hung up and tucked the phone away. “Vet’s coming,” he told Jonah, who nodded, his hand resting on Sunny’s shoulder. He was talking to her in a low voice, the same gentle tone Boone had heard him use with scared dogs at the shelter.
River stood a few feet away, shifting his weight from foot to foot, all his usual manic energy condensed into nervous fidgeting. “Is she gonna be okay?”
Boone ignored him. He couldn’t trust himself to speak to River right now. Not with Sunny bleeding, not with Jonah looking like he might shatter, not with Sharpe still ranting about liability and lawsuits.
Minutes crawled by. He kept pressure on the leg until the sound of an engine made him look up. Walker’s truck was coming down the drive, a horse trailer behind it.
Jesus. Walker was going to be pissed.
River should be shaking in his boots right now. Walker had given the guy chance after chance, but this?
This might be the final straw.
Walker braked hard, sending gravel spraying as he pulled onto the shoulder. He was out of the truck in seconds, his face carved from stone as he took in the scene—Sunny trembling and bloodied, Dennis Sharpe gesturing wildly at his dented truck, River standing uselessly to the side.
“What happened?” he demanded, striding toward them.
“Your psycho residents let their horses loose,” Dennis spat. “Nearly killed me! Look at my truck!”
Walker ignored him. “Where are the other horses?”
“Back on ranch property,” Boone answered.
“Good.” He narrowed his eyes at the broken fence, then knelt beside Sunny to look at the wound. “How bad?”
“It’s deep, but clean,” Boone said. “Vet’s on the way.”
Walker gently stroked Sunny’s neck, his touch steadying her even as his eyes burned with cold fury when they landed on River.
“Who cut the fence?”
River’s shoulders hunched. “I didn’t cut anything, I swear. I just opened the gate. It was supposed to be a joke.”
“A joke.” Walker’s tone could have frozen the air between them. “Sunny’s bleeding, and Sharpe’s truck is in a ditch. That your idea of funny?”
Before River could answer, a battered blue pickup with “Garrison Veterinary Services” emblazoned on the side pulled up in front of Walker’s truck.
The driver’s door swung open, and a woman jumped out, dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, veterinary bag already in hand.
She wore worn jeans tucked into mud-splattered boots.
Boone’s stomach dropped as recognition hit him.
Not old Doc Garrison, but his daughter, Delilah.
She wasn’t the skinny thirteen-year-old he remembered, all knobby knees and freckles and braces.
She was all woman now.
“Lila,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended.
She met his eyes briefly and gave a warm, genuine smile. “Good to see you, Boone. I’m was so sorry to hear about your mom’s declining health.”
His throat went tight. “Yeah. Uh, thanks.”
She turned her attention to Sunny. “Hello, pretty girl. This looks nasty. What happened?”
“Fence wire,” he answered, grateful for the subject change.
This, he could handle. This was safer ground.
He watched as she gently moved his makeshift bandage aside to examine the wound.
Her hands were steady, competent. “Cut herself trying to get back through after this genius let them out.” He jerked his head toward River.