Chapter 39
Insubordinate
Finn
I woke to the sound of rain drumming against the windows and Alex curled up against my back, her arms wrapped around my middle.
The storm that had chased us home yesterday was still going strong—steady, soaking rain that didn’t sound like it had any intention of letting up soon.
Our pillow fort was still standing—dampening the noise and light still filtering into our room.
Alex stirred against me, kissing my shoulder and shifting to nestle her chin on top.
“How’re you feeling?” she asked, voice soft with sleep.
I took inventory. My head felt clearer than it had twelve hours ago—the sharp edge of yesterday’s migraine finally gone, but there was a low throb at the base of my skull, and my body still carried the weight of exhaustion deep in its bones.
“Better.” It was true enough. “Head’s clear.”
“But?” She propped herself up on one elbow, studying my face with those sharp blue eyes as I turned onto my back.
“Just tired. Storm’s got my body acting up,” I reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Nothing that won’t sort itself out.”
My phone buzzed on the nightstand. Then again. Alex reached for it and handed it over. I squinted at the screen, trying to read the words—two messages from Dad, sent rapid-fire starting ten minutes ago.
Dad: Storm’s worse than we expected. Could use your help moving some equipment before some of the pastures flood.
Dad: Luke and a couple of the guys are loading the truck now. Nothing we can’t handle but would appreciate the extra hands if you’re feeling up to it.
The careful phrasing wasn’t lost on me—I could read between the lines. He wanted to make sure I was feeling up to the intense labor that came with emergencies. But everyone was already mobilizing. The least I could do was show up.
Something pulled at the back of my mind—like I needed to be careful. Like I’d missed something else in his message.
“What is it?” Alex asked, her eyes tracking over me, assessing.
“Storm’s causing problems on the property. Dad wants help moving equipment.”
She was quiet for a moment, still watching my face. “How bad are you feeling really?”
The question caught me off guard—not because she asked, but because she could tell. I’d thought I was doing a decent job of minimizing it.
“Low-grade headache. Nothing like yesterday,” I kissed her. “I can handle some ranch equipment.”
“Finn,” she leveled her gaze at me. “You were barely functional twelve hours ago. And it seemed worse than usual.”
“That was twelve hours ago,” I sat up carefully, testing how my body responded as I emerged from our nest. The movements sent a dull ache through my back and shoulder, but nothing sharp. “I’m not saying I’m ready to run a marathon, but I can help move some stuff out of the rain.”
Alex sat up as well and studied me for another long moment before nodding. “Okay. But if it gets worse—”
“I’ll come back,” I finished.
She didn’t look entirely convinced, but she didn’t push.
My phone buzzed again.
Dad: Weather service just upgraded the warning. This might get nastier than we thought. Stay put if you’re not feeling great.
I stared at the message, torn between relief and frustration. Part of me wanted to take the out—stay in bed with Alex while the storm did its worst outside. But if Dad was upgrading his concern level, that meant the situation was serious and I needed to do my part.
Me: I’m good to help. Give us 20 minutes.
I set the phone down and looked at Alex, who was reading over my shoulder.
“You don’t have to go,” her worried eyes met mine.
“I know. But Luke’s out there, and Dad’s worried enough to text instead of just handling it himself. I need to help my family.”
“Just... promise me you’ll come back if it gets bad? The headache or whatever?”
“I promise,” I turned to kiss her, slow and thorough. “You planning to stay here and be warm and dry?”
“Actually,” she sat back and ran her hands through her hair, “I was thinking I might head over to the main house. See if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t have to,” she was already climbing out of bed, moving toward the dresser. “But I’m here with you. Seems like the least I can do is help.”
I watched her pull out jeans and a hoodie before taking them to the bathroom to change and my heart turned over in my chest. I dressed while she fixed her hair and brushed her teeth.
She grabbed her laptop bag along with her rain jacket.
“I can work from the main house while you’re out,” she said.
“I’m sure Tab’s got projects I need to review. ”
“Smart thinking,” I smiled, pulling on my work boots and then my ball cap. “Though knowing my family, they’ll probably put you to work doing something completely different.”
“I don’t mind,” she shouldered her bag. “I’m happy to help.”
The rain was coming down harder when we stepped outside, beating against us as we made our way to the main house. Alex stayed close beside me, her bag tucked under her jacket to keep it dry.
Inside, the main house buzzed with activity. Dad was standing at the kitchen island with a hand-drawn map spread out, talking rapidly with Luke and two ranch hands I recognized. Mom was at the stove making coffee, and Elowyn sat at the breakfast table with her laptop, monitoring weather updates.
“Morning,” Dad looked up as we shook off our rain jackets. “Glad you’re here. Storm’s moving faster than the forecast predicted.”
He pointed to different areas on the map—rough sketches of the property with various locations marked in pencil. I dug my finger and thumb into the corners of my eyes, trying to wake up more.
“Main concern is the upper pastures,” he continued.
“Creek beds that are usually dry this time of year are running, and we’ve got equipment scattered that needs to be moved to higher ground before it gets washed away.
Luke and I were headed out with Tommy and Mike here to relocate the portable fencing and move some of the cattle to the south pasture. ”
“What about the access roads?” I asked, studying the map. It took a minute to come into focus.
“That’s the other problem,” Dad tapped a different section. “Bridge over Miller Creek is holding, but if this keeps up, we might lose the north route entirely. I want to get everything critical moved before we can’t drive out there safely.”
Alex settled at the table next to Elowyn, pulling out her laptop. “I can coordinate from here if you need communication support,” she offered. “Keep track of where crews are working, relay updates.”
“I’d sure appreciate that,” Dad nodded approvingly. “Radio reception gets spotty out in the back country when it’s raining this hard.”
I grabbed a tumbler of coffee and a couple of breakfast bars from the counter, kissing Alex quickly before turning toward the door.
“Be careful out there,” she said, catching my hand briefly.
“Always am, darlin’,” I squeezed her fingers. “We’ll be back in a few hours.”
The last I saw of her, she was settling in at the kitchen table, laptop open, ready to help coordinate while staying warm and dry.
Time passed in a blur of mud, rain, and hard work.
We moved portable fencing from three different pastures, relocated equipment to higher ground, and guided two dozen head of cattle to safer grazing areas.
Tommy and Luke handled the heavy machinery while Dad, Mike, and I dealt with fence sections, securing tarps, and moving smaller generators to dry storage.
The rain never let up. Steady, soaking precipitation turned every surface slick and made the even simplest tasks twice as difficult.
Somewhere around the two-hour mark, my left shoulder seized up—sharp, immediate pain that shot down my arm when I lifted the next fence post. The rain drummed against my jacket hood too loudly, each drop hitting like small stones.
Focus. Next section of fence. Next piece of equipment.
But the rhythm I’d been desperately holding onto started to slip. Lift, carry, secure—lift, carry—my hands weren’t gripping right. The generator slipped in my hands. I nearly dropped it before Mike grabbed the other end.
“You good?” he asked.
“Fine,” the word came out more clipped than I’d intended.
The cold had soaked through everything—jacket, hat, gloves, skin. My mind kept wanting to worry about the overall plan, losing focus of the immediate task, the next immediate step.
Just after noon, we’d successfully relocated everything critical from the flood-prone areas—the upper pastures were secure, cattle moved to safety, and all the expensive equipment protected.
“That’s everything on the priority list,” Dad wiped rain from his face as we loaded the last of the tools into the truck bed. “Nice work, everyone.”
The drive back to the main house took too long.
Rain drummed on the truck roof—too loud, too angry.
The low throb at the base of my skull spread down my neck, into my shoulders.
I sat between Dad and Luke in the cab—every sway, every bump in the road felt like I was stranded in a dinghy in rough seas. My stomach lurched.
Food. Rest. Alex.
The thoughts came disconnected. Fragmented. I couldn’t string them together properly.
“You holding up okay, son?” Dad asked, glancing at me as he navigated around a growing puddle in the road.
“Yeah, just tired,” the words felt thick in my mouth. I rubbed my forehead but the pressure just moved—didn’t ease. “Ready to get out of this rain.”
“Good thing we got everything moved when we did,” Luke added, checking his phone. “Creek levels seem to be rising faster than expected.”
Creek levels. Rising water. Alex back at the house—
My pulse skipped and thudded for no good reason.
As we approached the main house, I could see more activity than when we’d left—trucks parked at odd angles, people moving with urgency that meant something had changed while we were gone. Dad pulled up next to the house and cut the engine.