Chapter 9 Seth
CHAPTER NINE
Seth
The numbers blur a little on the screen, but I keep tapping through the ledger because if I stop, I’ll lose my rhythm.
Coffee’s going cold at my elbow, Boone is snoring under the desk, and the spreadsheet looks like a battlefield of projected costs, breeding schedules, feed increases, and the damn bull we’re supposed to buy from the Torres ranch down in San Marcos.
Billy wants that monster ready for next year’s rodeo season, and if Copper Creek ends up needing to board him long-term, I have to make sure we’re not bleeding money out of places we can’t afford.
The Torres family doesn’t sell cheap. Their bulls are bred for power, high-ranked for bucking, and every rodeo in the south circles their catalog like hawks.
If we’re lucky enough to snag one, I have to shuffle funds into new fencing, reinforced posts, space cleared behind the west paddock, and maybe even expanded medical storage if Billy or Joey wants to use him for training.
Copper Creek is holding strong. Our ranch does better than most because we don’t rely on one single income stream: rodeo, breeding stock, training horses, and selling feed to smaller ranches nearby.
Iron Horse Ranch has been slipping since Samuel Brightwood pulled out of the rodeo last season. He’s older now, not as spry, and the whole town knew it was coming.
Wildflower Hollow Ranch, run by the Brooks brothers—Levi and Tanner—keeps flirting with converting to a touring ranch. Goats, petting pens, maybe hayrides.
I can’t picture Tanner smiling politely at toddlers while they yank at his beard, but hey, people reinvent themselves.
Highridge is its own kingdom—Briggs up in the mountains with Jack and Rhett. Rhett Dalton is still a beast in the ring, one of the only men who can make Joey shut up when he’s bragging.
Silver Star Ranch, though, Grant’s place, that’s the real powerhouse. He sponsors half the rodeo events in three counties and moves money around like he’s shuffling cards.
And if Grant pushes Billy into keeping the prized bull on our land, we’ll need an entire rework of the herd management plan.
I’m scrolling down the feed order when the office door bangs open.
Jasper’s boots smack the floorboards like he outran a wildfire. “Seth—” he gasps out. He’s panting hard, freckles stark against his sunburned cheeks. “You need to come. Now.”
My chair screeches when I shove back. “What the hell happened?”
His chest is heaving. “The cattle—” He drags a hand through his hair. “They’re falling. Dropping one after another.”
Everything in me goes cold.
I grab my hat, sprint outside, Boone bounding next to me like he’s tuned to my pulse. Dust kicks up behind Jasper as we tear across the yard toward the pasture. My lungs burn, my legs protest, but I’m already bracing for something awful.
I crest the small rise and see them.
Cattle sprawled across the grass, some struggling weakly, some panting, some… limp. At least a dozen. Maybe more.
A punch lands in my ribs so hard it almost drops me.
“What the hell is this?” I kneel beside the closest heifer, pressing a hand to her belly. She’s breathing, but off. Labored.
Boone whines, pacing around us.
“I don’t know,” Jasper says, voice shaking. “I was checking the north fence when one just… went down. Thought it was a fluke. Then another. Then three more.”
“Did you call Billy?”
“His phone’s off. He had that meeting with Grant this morning.”
Right. The meeting about sponsorship, next season’s events, all that mayor-approved rodeo planning he couldn’t miss.
“Damn it.” I push myself up. “Try again, but don’t count on him picking up. I’ll get Tex.”
My hand shakes a little when I take out my phone. Not from panic—yet—but from the thousand calculations firing in my head.
If this spreads through the herd, we’re done for the season. Maybe longer. And who knows if it’s contagious.
The horses are stabled not far from here. If they catch something…
I call Tex. He doesn’t answer.
Of course he doesn’t answer.
“Try calling the vet,” I tell Jasper.
He freezes. “The vet?”
Dr. Archer’s face flashes in my mind. Sedona’s father. Gone only days ago.
We don’t have a town vet anymore.
I swallow hard. “The migratory clinic. The one with the Austin office. They handle emergencies for rural areas.”
“Right. Yeah.” Jasper fumbles for his phone. “I’ll call.”
I crouch by another cow and run my palm along her muzzle. Her eyes are glassy, her breathing uneven. She’s warm—too warm.
Boone noses her flank like he’s checking for himself.
“Hang on, girl,” I murmur. My throat feels like it’s full of sand.
I scan the field. This is bad. This is catastrophic.
Even one sick cow is a whole ordeal. But this many? All at once?
Something is tearing through them fast.
My phone buzzes. Tex is calling back.
I snatch it up. “Tex—”
“What’s going on?” His voice is blunt, like he already knows from the tone I picked up with.
“The herd’s collapsing. At least fifteen so far. Maybe more.”
“Damn.” His breath hitches. “Is Billy back yet?”
“No. He’s still with Grant.”
“Boone with you?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m on my way.”
The call ends.
Jasper waves me down from a distance. “They’re sending someone!” he yells. “Earliest they can do is an hour and a half. The vet’s on the road already.”
Thank hell for that.
But an hour and a half… a lot can happen to a herd in that time.
I take a breath, force my brain to start organizing, because panic won’t do a damn thing for us.
“We have to separate the sick from the rest,” I tell Jasper. “Start pushing the ones that are still standing toward the south paddock. Slow, don’t spook them. If this is contagious, we can’t have the entire herd dropping.”
He nods and rushes off.
I tug off my jacket, toss it aside, and roll up my sleeves. Boone sticks to my hip as I go to help, guiding the weakened cattle upright, moving the ones still mobile.
Sweat crawls down my spine. The sun beats down hard. My breath keeps catching every time another cow stumbles.
And in the back of my mind, one thought repeats like a hammer strike:
Please don’t let this be what it looks like.
Please don’t let this take everything we’ve built.
Tex pulls up faster than I expect, his truck barreling down the dirt lane and sliding to a stop hard enough to kick dust over the fence rails.
I’m down in the south pasture with Jasper, Boone pacing circles around us, whining and pushing his shoulder against my leg like he wants me to fix everything right now. The air feels sour with panic and the sharp, wrong smell coming off the herd.
Tex jumps out even before the engine shuts off.
He’s still wearing his meeting clothes—pressed shirt tucked into dark jeans, hair combed back like he actually tried this morning. Whatever he expected when he answered the phone, it sure as hell wasn’t this.
His boots hit the dirt, and he crosses to me fast.
“Where are they?” he asks.
I point him toward the far side of the pasture, where the worst of it started. Boone takes off ahead of us, tail low, then waits with his ears pinned.
Tex sees the first cow before he even reaches her. “Shit.”
She’s down and rolling her head like she’s trying to fight something she can’t see. Her sides are huge, tight with trapped gas. Her breaths come ragged, each one harsher than the last.
Jasper hovers a few feet away, hat yanked off his head, fingers digging into the brim. “They’re all like this,” he says. “Started with two. Then more just… dropped.”
Tex crouches beside the cow, running his hand along her belly, jaw tight. “She’s bloating bad.”
“I know,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “All of them are.”
We keep moving. The next one is struggling to stand, legs trembling beneath her. A third is planted on her side, nose buried in the dirt, fighting for air. A fourth keeps kicking at her stomach like she can force the pain out.
It’s a nightmare. A real one.
Tex stands up and looks across the pasture, tracking the scattered bodies, the ones still upright but staggering, the ones moaning low in their throats.
“We need help now,” he says.
“We called Austin,” I answer. “They’ve sent someone, but it’ll take a long time before they get here.”
Tex mutters something under his breath and turns toward me. “We need Sedona.”
I stiffen. “No.”
“Seth—”
“She buried her father yesterday.” My voice cracks harsher than I mean for it to. “She hasn’t even come to terms with any of that. I’m not dragging her into this.”
Tex steps closer. “She’s the closest thing this town has to a field vet now. She grew up under Archer. She knows more than any of us.”
“She’s grieving.”
“And our entire herd is collapsing.” Tex gestures toward another cow that drops onto her knees, sides pumping.
Boone bolts toward her, barking like he can scare the sickness away.
The sound tears through the air, sharp and frantic. The cow answers with a long, awful cry that silences all of us. My stomach drops. She’s in agony.
Jasper flinches hard. “Tex is right,” he says. “Call her, boss. Please. This is getting worse by the minute.”
I stare at him, then at the herd, then at my brother.
I know they’re right. I also know I hate it.
Tex lowers his voice, though there’s nothing soft about his tone. “If we lose the herd, we lose everything we’ve built since Dad died. Sedona won’t blame you for calling. She’d never hold that against you.”
I drag my hand over my face. Boone returns to my side, panting as if he ran miles instead of yards, nudging my knee like he wants me to do the one thing he can’t.
Another cow cries out, louder this time, and something inside me snaps.
“Fine,” I say. “But I’m not calling her while she’s in mourning. You do it.”
Tex nods, taking the task the way a brother should. He moves off a few steps and pulls out his phone.
I can’t hear what he says, but I watch his face. Whatever he tells her, it’s short. Then he hangs up.
“She’s coming,” he says.
“How long?”
“Twenty minutes, give or take.”