Chapter 35 Jagg
JAGG
Sunny, four dogs, and I were crammed into my Jeep. Four.
Gritting my teeth, I adjusted—for the tenth time—in the driver’s seat, trying to put some space between me and the cold, wet, snotty nose blasting stinking, hot breath against my neck.
My shirt collar was already damp with drool.
Dog hair spun around the interior of the Jeep, one landing on my lip every few seconds.
Damn Max. The dog’s head was practically resting on my shoulder. In the backseat next to him sat Athena and Tango, quivering with excitement to be riding in a vehicle with no top.
To my right, Sunny, with ninety-pounds of Brute on her lap.
We were a freaking motley crew of beasts driving down a narrow dirt road in the middle of the night. Every bump in the road was followed by squeaking leather, and what I was certain was going to be puncture marks from their nails in my leather seats.
I started to itch. Literally—itch.
“You okay?” Sunny’s face poked out from behind Brute, whose expression resembled something like constipation.
“Yep. Dandy.” I spat out a clump of hair.
“I’ll clean your Jeep tonight.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Dog smell didn’t go away.
“Where are we going, anyway?” She asked.
“Don’t worry about it.”
I took a slow and steady left turn onto an even narrower dirt road. After another five minutes, the woods opened up to acres of manicured fields in front of soaring mountains in the distance. Although it was almost midnight, the woods were flooded with light as bright as twilight.
The full moon was almost complete.
I stopped at a newly constructed iron gate just off the road and jumped out.
“No.” I snapped to the dogs, although Sunny was already controlling them.
After being denied on the first passcode entry, I tried another, then another, until finally hitting the jackpot.
I shook my head as I walked back to my truck.
After locking the fence behind us, we drove slowly through the field.
Fireflies sparked above the silver grass.
I picked up the gravel road and took a curve around the mountain, where I spotted him.
Mounted on horseback, my brother skillfully weaved back and forth behind his head of cattle, herding them across the field. A cattle dog was on his left, one on the right, and one barking feverishly at a calf who’d broken loose.
I accelerated, rolling to a stop along the fence.
“Stay here. Might be a minute. I’ll be back.” I pulled a stack of mail from the console, then jumped out and jogged over to the chaos.
“Take Duke and keep the herd moving while I wrangle this damn calf,” Ryder said, nodding to the horse next to him as he slid off his own. No “well, hey there,” or, “good evening,” or “good timing, bro.” Pleasantries and small talk weren’t my brother’s thing.
I jumped on Duke, a gorgeous tan quarter horse with a white mane.
Ryder jogged toward the rogue calf, his silhouette cutting clean lines against the moonlit horizon.
Cowboy hat low, faded T-shirt clinging to his back, jeans tucked into scuffed boots, he moved with quiet precision—arms out, low to the ground, the way I'd seen trained soldiers track hostiles in the dark. Only Ryder wasn’t military.
Not technically. But he had the strength and presence of one—the kind of man who never needed to raise his voice to command a room. Or a wild animal.
While I kept the herd steady, Ryder flanked the calf from the side. The thing kicked and twisted with adolescent defiance, snorting clouds of steam into the air. Cattle dogs barked madly at its heels, the herd growing twitchy under the moon. Ryder’s precious trail was seconds from unraveling.
“Get it done, bro,” I called out.
He answered with a lifted middle finger—pure Ryder.
Moonlight glinted off the rope looped at his belt as he circled the calf, calm, waiting.
Muscles coiled beneath his shirt, every line of him relaxed but ready.
The calf was no small thing—easily five hundred pounds, nostrils flaring, hooves tearing up the earth.
But Ryder didn’t flinch. He moved like a predator—controlled, patient.
That’s where we differed. I’d have already charged in.
Ryder waited until the moment was perfect.
Then—strike.
The rope flashed in the moonlight, slicing through the air like a whip. One throw. One clean catch around the calf’s thick neck. The animal lurched and fought, but Ryder held fast, bracing with his boots dug deep into the dirt, muscles flexing beneath the cotton of his tee.
I turned Duke and met him at the edge of the herd.
“I’ll tie her up,” Ryder said, already pulling the rope taut. “You take her to the field and close her in, I’ll tend to the herd. Make sure to shut the gate.”
“Which field?”
“Skywalker.”
“You got it.”
Twenty minutes and a bucket of sweat later, the calf was penned and pacing in Skywalker Field. Duke and I trotted back to the herd, where Ryder was already mounted, one hand resting easy on the reins, the other wiping sweat from his brow.
I tossed him a bottle of water I’d snagged from the mini fridge in the stable. He caught it without a word, cracked it open, and took a sip before sliding it into his saddlebag. I drained mine in three long gulps, the plastic crinkling in my grip.
“When’d you change the passcode?” I asked, wiping the sweat from my brow.
“Yesterday.”
“Thanks for the heads up.”
A grunt.
“Figured you chose something more creative than our football numbers.”
Ryder pulled the bridle and changed course, his focus singularly on his herd. I did the same and took a second to look my younger brother over.
Dark circles faded a pair of aqua-blue eyes that once sparkled with energy.
His face, neck and arms were a deep bronze from spending all his time outdoors.
His brown hair was unkempt and shaggy, curling just below his ears.
He’d trimmed his beard since I’d seen him last, but if I had to guess, it wasn’t in an attempt to improve his appearance.
It was to let his face breathe during this insane heatwave blasting through the mountains.
New scrapes and cuts streaked his arms, probably from mending fences all day.
Ryder was a full-time rancher, hermit, and avoider of any human contact.
Ten years in federal prison tended to have that effect on people.
I’d done my best when he’d gotten out. Visited every day, tried to drag him to the bar, suggested a vacation, all I could think to do.
No dice. Ryder was nothing like the brother I once knew.
Not that I would know, really, because he never spoke about his time behind bars or about what had put him there in the first place.
Never spoke about much anymore.
I pulled the bound stack of mail from the waistband of my pants.
“Mail.”
He caught it midair and shoved it into his saddlebag without a glance.
Can’t blame him—every envelope was a solicitation.
Two days after Ryder got out, he’d bought a sprawling ranch on the edge of town, confirming what I’d already suspected: he’d built a decent nest egg before his world went sideways.
Every Friday morning, I made the twenty-mile drive down those dusty country roads to bring his mail. We both knew it wasn’t about the envelopes—it was about checking in. Making sure he was still standing.
But tonight, I had another reason to be here.
“Missed you at Lieutenant Seagrave’s funeral,” I said.
“I was busy.”
I glanced around the fields. “I can see that.”
A second slid past.
“I need a favor.”
“You? Or the woman you’ve got sitting in your Jeep?”
My brow cocked. Never underestimate the eye of my brother.
“Do you still own that cabin on the lake?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“I need it.”
“You got it.”
Relief washed over me. Ryder had changed so much in the last year, I wasn’t sure if the best friend I used to have would be willing to help me out. Good to know loyalty never dies.
“Is this on the books, or off?” He asked.
“Off. Don’t tell anyone we’re there.”
A quick nod. “Keys are in the house, blue keychain. There’s no running water or electricity on right now. I can call tomorrow—”
“No. I don’t want anyone knowing we’re there. There’s something else, though. I need to leave her dogs with you for a while if that’s alright? You still have the kennels?”
He nodded. “How many?”
“Four.”
“There’s room.”
“You don’t mind?”
“No. Do they need any special treatment?”
“Nope. Just fed and watered. And brushed, and bathed, and neutered…”
He grinned. “You never did like dogs. She must be something.”
“That about sums it up. Sure you don’t mind?”
“I said I don’t mind.”
“Thanks.”
“Put them in the pens at the east of the property, under the trees. I’ll get the food and water.”
“I owe you.”
“I’ve got a spare generator in the garage if you think you’ll need it in the cabin,” he said. “If not, candles and bug spray are in the storage room. Food, water in the pantry. Books in the library—”
“Books?”
“Yeah, you know, printed work consisting of glued pages bound by a cover?”
I smirked. Loyalty wasn’t the only thing that didn’t die. My brother was always a smartass.
“I didn’t know you read.”
He didn’t say anything. I wondered if reading was how this “new man” passed the lonely time on the ranch.
He continued, “Get fresh sheets. There’s some in the laundry room. Extra guns in the cabinet. Condoms in the drawer.”
Wasn’t sure if I’d need the last two items, but better safe than sorry.
“Thanks, bro.” I maneuvered behind a wandering cow.
“Go. Dump the dogs and be on your way. I’ve got this.”
“I don’t mind to stay.”
“I know. She might.”
I glanced back at the Jeep.
“Go,” he said again. “I’ve almost got them in. Not my first rodeo.”