Chapter 15 Colt
Colt
Blackwell Ranch looks exactly the same and completely different all at once.
Two years since I've driven through these gates, but muscle memory takes over, navigating the familiar curves like I never left. The main barn sits where it always has, red paint fresh as blood, fences perfect because Beau wouldn't tolerate anything less than pristine.
What's missing is the clinic van.
I check my watch, stomach knotting. Lucy left before me. Even taking these mountain roads careful as Sunday morning, she should've beaten me here.
My truck rolls to a stop, and something cold crawls up my spine.
"Thank Christ you're here." Beau emerges from the barn, and we just stare at each other across two years of silence and stubborn pride.
He looks older, worn down, but still unmistakably Beau. Still carries himself like he owns the world.
"Darcy's fading fast without those antibiotics."
"Where's Lucy?"
The question comes out sharper than a scalpel. Beau's brow furrows like he's working a puzzle.
"She's not here yet… Figured maybe there was a change of plans, that you were riding together."
Ice floods my veins. I yank out my phone, hit her number. Straight to voicemail. Try again. Same goddamn result.
"She left before me, Beau. Should've been here by now."
I watch understanding dawn on his face. Watch the same fear that's clawing at my guts reflected in those gray eyes.
"Something's wrong," we say at the exact same time.
"Call Gabriel." I'm already grabbing the meds from my truck bed. "I'll dose Darcy, then we go looking for her. Maybe she had engine trouble, took a wrong turn."
But even as the words leave my mouth, I don't believe them. Lucy's too smart, too careful. And that van's been purring like a kitten since I tuned her up last week.
"Getting my truck." Beau's already moving with that long-legged rancher stride. "I'll take the main road while you handle the calf."
"Beau, wait—"
But he's gone, phone pressed to his ear, and I catch him saying, "Gabriel? We've got a problem."
Focus, you worthless piece of shit. Darcy first. Then Lucy. Priorities. But my hands shake as I prep the injection, and all I can think about is Lucy alone on these godforsaken mountain roads.
Lucy who jumps at unexpected sounds.
Lucy who's running from something she won't name.
Lucy who trusted me enough to drive in the crack ass of dawn to rescue an orphan calf.
Darcy's worse than I expected. Fever raging hot, breathing like a bellows with holes in it. But she's hanging on with the stubborn determination of something that refuses to quit.
I slide the needle home with practiced precision, add the dex, murmur bullshit reassurances to a calf who probably can't hear me anyway.
"Come on, baby girl. Fight for me. Lucy's gonna want to see you better when she gets back."
When. Not if. Because the alternative isn't something I'm ready to face.
The meds will work or they won't. Nothing more I can do here except waste time I don't have. I'm out of the stall and running for my truck when sirens start wailing in the distance, bouncing off the mountains like war cries.
Gabriel, already in full sheriff mode.
My phone rings as I tear down the ranch drive, gravel spraying like shotgun pellets. Gabriel's name glowing on the screen.
"Where you at?" His voice is all business, but I hear the current underneath. He's scared shitless too.
"Just left Beau's. You?"
"Main road, heading east. Beau's checking west. You take that old forestry road that cuts off near mile marker twelve. She might've gotten turned around, taken a wrong turn."
We all know she wouldn't have. Lucy's got street smarts that run bone-deep. But we need a plan, need to be doing something other than drowning in worst-case scenarios that make my chest feel like it's caving in.
"Got it."
"Colt." Gabriel's voice drops, goes rough. "We're gonna find her."
He hangs up before I can respond. Before I can voice the fear eating me alive from the inside out: What if we're too late? What if I never get to tell her?
The forestry road is rough as a cob, barely more than a deer trail. My truck bounces over ruts and rocks, and I white-knuckle the steering wheel, scanning every shadow for any sign of the van.
Nothing.
Just trees and stones and my own heartbeat hammering like it's trying to escape my ribcage.
I think about yesterday. How she'd smiled when I called her Shortie, like maybe the nickname meant something to her too.
The way she'd leaned into me for just a heartbeat when I'd trapped her against the supply cabinet, like maybe she wanted to be caught.
How I'd almost kissed her but chickened out because I'm a coward who thinks he doesn't deserve good things.
Should've kissed her. Should've told her she makes me want to quit drinking, quit running, quit being such a royal fuckup. Should've done a lot of things.
My phone buzzes. Text from Beau: Nothing on main road. Checking side roads.
Then Gabriel: No sign on eastern routes. Expanding search.
Twenty minutes of nothing. Thirty. Each second stretches like taffy, and I'm about to turn around, try another route, when I spot fresh tire marks veering off onto a side trail I almost missed.
Heart hammering, I follow them. The tracks are erratic, too fast for these conditions. Like someone was running scared.
Or being chased.
Then I see it, and my world tilts sideways.
The van sits crumpled against a massive pine like a broken toy, front end accordioned, airbag hanging out like a deflated lung.
Driver door gapes open like a scream.
My vision tunnels, narrows to that destroyed vehicle and what it might mean.
I'm out of my truck before it fully stops, boots hitting gravel at a dead run. Gabriel's number is already dialing as I sprint toward the wreckage.
"Found the van. Side road off the forestry trail, quarter mile past the old Mitchell place." My voice sounds like I've been gargling gravel.
"On my way. Don't touch anything."
"She's not here." The words crack like whipcords as I reach the van, taking in the systematic destruction.
Seats ripped out, panels torn off, everything mangled with the methodical fury. "Someone tore it apart looking for something. There's blood on the steering wheel."
"Crime scene. Keep back. Two minutes out."
Two minutes might as well be two centuries.
I circle the van like a wolf, careful not to disturb evidence but desperate for any sign of Lucy. That's when I spot them. Footprints in the soft earth. Multiple sets, including smaller ones that have to be hers.
"Lucy!" Her name rips from my throat like it's tearing something vital. "Lucy, can you hear me?"
Nothing but mountain silence and the whisper of wind through pine needles.
Beau's truck roars up the trail, and he's out before it stops rolling. Takes in the scene with one sweep of those sharp gray eyes that don't miss much.
"Jesus Christ." It comes out more prayer than curse. "What the hell happened?"
"Someone chased her." I point to the footprints leading into the woods.
We don't need a committee meeting. We both plunge into the trees, following the trail of broken branches and disturbed earth like bloodhounds. Behind us, sirens announce Gabriel's arrival, but we don't wait for backup.
"Lucy!" Beau's voice carries farther than mine, ranch-trained to project across acres. "Lucy, it's us! You're safe now!"
The trail leads to a ravine, steep and treacherous as hell. My stomach drops into my boots when I see where the footprints end. Where the earth is torn up like something heavy went over the edge.
"No." The word comes out strangled. "No, no, fucking no."
"There!" Beau points down the slope, voice cracking. "Movement. I saw movement down there."
We're both scrambling down before Gabriel can tell us to wait. Rocks scatter under our boots, branches tear at our clothes like claws, but nothing matters except that splash of blue at the bottom. Dark hair. Too goddamn still.
"Lucy. Jesus Christ, Lucy."
She's half in the creek, body twisted at angles that make my stomach lurch. Blood paints her face in patterns that belong in horror movies, not on something so perfect. But when I drop to my knees beside her in the icy water, her eyelashes flutter.
"Hurts," she whispers, and it's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard because it means she's alive, she's here, she's not gone.
"I know, baby. I know it hurts." My hands are moving on autopilot, veterinary training kicking in hard.
Check pupils. Responsive, that's good. Airway. Clear. "Can you feel your legs? Wiggle your toes for me."
A tiny nod, followed by the smallest movement under her boots. Good. That's good. Means her spine might be intact. But there's so much blood, and her wrist is bent at an angle that makes bile rise in my throat.
"Concussion for sure," I tell Gabriel as he slides down beside us, breathing hard. "Wrist is definitely broken, maybe ribs too. Need to stabilize her neck before we move her."
Gabriel nods, already shrugging out of his jacket to fashion a makeshift collar. Between my veterinary training and his emergency response experience, we've got this covered. We have to.
"My truck's closest," Beau says, voice tight with controlled panic. "Four-wheel drive, can handle getting back up this slope."
"No." Gabriel's hands are gentle as silk as he positions the improvised neck brace. "Need speed more than anything. Emergency lights, radio, clear the roads."
For a heartbeat, we all freeze. Three men who've spent two years barely speaking, brought together by a broken girl who somehow crawled under all our defenses without even trying.
"Together," I say, voice rough as sandpaper. "We do this together."
Gabriel nods. Beau's already positioning himself to help lift.
Gabriel’s supporting her head and neck with practiced precision. Me cradling her torso, feeling every labored breath. Beau taking her legs, strong and sure.
Lucy whimpers as we lift her, and I murmur every reassurance I can think of. "You're okay, Shortie. We've got you. Not letting you go. Not ever."
The trip up the ravine is a nightmare of careful steps and held breath. Every sound she makes drives railroad spikes through my chest. But we make it, settle her as gently as possible in the back of Gabriel's patrol car where the radio crackles with dispatch chatter.
Gabriel is already behind the wheel, all sheriff efficiency. "Beau, shotgun. Call the hospital, tell them we're coming in hot with head trauma. Colt, back seat, keep her stable."
I slide in, gathering Lucy against me as carefully as handling newborn kittens.
Her head rests against my chest, and I can feel each breath like it's my own.
Beau's already on the phone, rattling off medical terms with the precision of someone who's dealt with enough ranch accidents to know the drill.
"Stay with me, Shortie." I press my lips to her hair, not giving a damn that the other men can see. "You don't get to leave. Not when I haven't told you everything."
Everything.
How she walked into my clinic and brought light to places that had been dark so long I'd forgotten they existed.
How her coffee tastes like forgiveness because she's the one making it.
How I've been sober for weeks because the thought of disappointing her cuts deeper than any whiskey craving ever could.
"Almost there," Gabriel says, taking a turn fast enough to make the tires scream. "Three minutes."
Three minutes. I can keep her here for three minutes. I tighten my hold, careful of her injuries but needing her to know she's not alone. Not anymore. Not if I have anything to say about it.
The hospital appears like salvation wrapped in concrete and fluorescent lights. The emergency team is already waiting, and they take her from my arms with professional efficiency.
The loss is physical, painful, like they're ripping out part of my chest. But I let them because she needs more than I can give right now.
"How long unconscious?" one of the doctors asks as they transfer her to a gurney that looks too big for her small frame.
"In and out during transport," I answer, following as far as they'll let me. "Alert but groggy."
"We'll take it from here," the doctor says, and then Lucy disappears behind doors we can't follow, leaving the three of us standing in a waiting room that smells like disinfectant and other people's fear.
I sink into a plastic chair, head in my hands. Beau drops beside me like his strings got cut. Gabriel paces, already on the phone with his deputies, setting up crime scene protocols and manhunts.
"I'm gonna tell her," I say to the ugly carpet. "When she wakes up. I'm gonna tell her everything."
"Tell her what?" Beau's voice is carefully neutral, but I hear the undercurrent.
"That I'm crazy about her." The words come out raw, honest as an open wound.
Silence stretches between us like a tightrope. Then Beau speaks, quiet and certain as mountain stone.
"Yeah," he says. "Me too."
We both look at Gabriel, who's stopped pacing mid-stride. He meets our eyes, and something passes between the three of us. Understanding.
The question hanging in the air like gun smoke: what the hell do we do about it?
For now, we wait.
Three men brought together by a girl who might not make it through the night.
Three men who might get a second chance at getting it right this time.
If she'll have us.
If she survives.
I close my eyes and make promises to a God I stopped believing in years ago. Bring her back to us. Let her be okay. Let me tell her the truth before it's too late.
Because losing her now would break something in me that all the whiskey in Montana couldn't fix.