Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Billy
I pull into the lane, my boots hitting the dirt before the truck fully stops. I’m running before I even take a full breath.
The sight hits me like a punch to the chest.
Cows litter the pasture, some lying on their sides, legs splayed like they’ve forgotten how to hold themselves up, others wobbling, bellies bloated, labored breaths that make me want to drop to my knees.
The smell hits next, sour and heavy.
Jasper’s here, his face red, eyes wide. He’s pointing toward the cows that are struggling the most. “Billy…they’re all—”
I don’t want to hear the end of it. My jaw tightens. My pride, my goddamn ego, flares even as my stomach twists.
“What the hell is going on here?”
“They’re sick,” Jasper spits out. “Started with one, then another, then—”
His voice cracks as he gestures to a heifer shivering on the ground, eyes rolling slightly. Boone barks sharply, tail lashing.
I shove my hands in my hair, breathing hard. “Sick? That’s…that’s impossible. Not all of them.”
Jasper shakes his head. “They’re collapsing, Billy. We can’t—”
Tex’s voice cuts through, sharp as a whip. “Billy! Your phone! What the hell, man?”
My head snaps toward him. My chest tightens.
“I’ve been at a meeting!” I yell. My pride won’t let me fold in front of them, won’t let me admit my mind’s as scrambled as the pasture. “I can’t just drop everything, Tex!”
Seth’s voice joins in, booming and fierce. “Everybody shut the hell up!” His hands rise, waving us down. “Focus! Right now, we deal with the cows!”
I watch another one slump sideways, legs giving out in uneven spasms. Boone bolts forward, barking, and Jasper runs after him. My fingers twitch, craving to grab and fix something, anything.
Sedona Archer.
Older now. Hair darker. Shoulders squared.
Her gaze finally lands on me, and she freezes.
I freeze too—for a different reason.
She looks almost the same. Same mouth. Same sharp intelligence in her eyes. Same presence that could fill a room even when she wasn’t trying.
But there’s grief in her face now. And something else I can’t name.
She steps forward.
I hold up a hand. “You have a lot of nerve showing up here.”
“Billy—” Tex warns.
“No,” I snap. “She doesn’t get to show up like nothing happened.”
Sedona straightens, tired but unyielding. “I didn’t come here for you.”
“Then leave,” I say.
Her jaw clenches. “You want to stand here and fight, or you want to save these animals?” she says, voice tight but firm. “Because that’s the choice you’re making.”
My pride flares hot. “This isn’t your place anymore.”
She steps closer, eyes locked on mine. “I know you don’t want to see me. This isn’t the best time for it. But you can choose. We can argue, or I can get on the ground and keep these cows alive.”
Another cow lets out a horrible cry, legs kicking wildly.
Seth shouts, “Everyone shut up and focus!”
Boone runs toward the cry, barking urgently.
I turn just in time to watch another cow buckle and collapse, legs folding underneath her like a bad dream I can’t outrun.
The sound tears through the air. And through me.
Sedona’s eyes meet mine again.
For a long second, neither of us moves.
Then I swallow hard. “Fine,” I mutter. “Go.”
She resumes her examination, dropping to her knees beside the nearest cow. Her hands move fast, practiced, clinical.
She calls out over her shoulder, “Seth, I need pressure on her neck—there. Tex, help me get her upright. Keep her chest forward.”
They obey instantly.
She works with a kind of fierce calm. Her voice slices through the chaos like she’s been doing this every day of her life.
“Billy!” she shouts. “Stand here. I’m relieving the gas for now so she can breathe. Hold her flank.”
I move before I can think. Before I can remind myself that I didn’t want her here. That I didn’t want her near anything of mine again.
My hands press against the cow’s side. Sedona slides a needle under the hide to release the pressure. Gas hisses out, sharp and foul.
The cow’s whole body shudders with relief.
“Good,” Sedona says. “Move to the next one.”
We rotate. One cow. Then another. And another. Sedona checks mouths, eyes, hides. She pulls samples fast, labeling each tube with quick strokes.
Her voice turns clinical, almost detached. “This isn’t your typical bloat. The onset’s too sudden. Could be toxins. Could be interference with the rumen. Could be a contamination source we haven’t identified.”
Jared whispers near me, “She’s like a machine.”
She hears him and ignores it.
Half an hour passes with all of us running from cow to cow, helping her keep them alive long enough for backup to arrive.
Then, at last, an unfamiliar car pulls up the drive.
White sedan.
Logo on the door:
“LONE STAR LIVESTOCK MEDICAL—Austin Branch.”
A man in a crisp field jacket steps out, carrying two metal cases.
He walks toward us with brisk purpose. “I’m Dr. Keenan Morales,” he says. “Traveling large-animal specialist. We got your call.”
Sedona stands and meets him halfway. Her gloves are stained. Her hair has slipped its tie. She looks exhausted, but focused.
“Dr. Sedona Archer,” she says. “Thanks for coming so fast.”
His gaze flicks over the pasture. “You’ve been doing triage.”
“Yes. Samples here.” She hands him the tubes. “Run full tox screens. Include organophosphates. And check the forage for nitrates.”
Dr. Morales nods. “Anything else?”
“Listen to the rumen sounds on the worst cases,” Sedona says. “If there’s silence, we’re in trouble.”
“I’ll take it from here,” Morales assures her. “You did the hard part.”
“Not yet,” she says. “Keep them upright. Don’t let any of them lie flat.”
Morales nods again. His team unloads equipment, fanning out across the pasture.
Sedona steps back and removes her gloves slowly, peeling them off one finger at a time. She hands them to one of Morales’s assistants without ceremony.
Tex approaches first. “Thank you.”
She gives him a faint nod. “They’ll be okay. Dr. Morales knows what he’s doing.”
Seth steps in next. “Thank you for coming.”
She squeezes his arm once. “You’ll get through this.”
Then she turns to me.
And everything inside me goes still.
She stops right in front of me—close enough that I can smell dust on her skin, something floral under it, a hint of the girl I used to know and the woman she became.
Her eyes meet mine, unreadable.
All she says is, “Bye.”
I don’t answer. I can’t. My chest is still hammering, adrenaline raw, eyes glued to the pasture where Boone is pressing against the nearest cow, nudging it, watching every movement.
Then she walks away.
She opens the door to the sedan she came in, climbs inside, starts the engine, and drives off down the dirt road without looking back.
I stand there like an idiot. Boone runs toward me and presses against my leg, Tex and Seth talking quietly behind me, Jared shouting instructions to Morales’s team, cows moaning in the field, the whole world cracking open at the edges.
I try to move.
I can’t.
All I can think is:
She showed up.
She saved us.
And she left like she never knew me at all.
The pasture still smells of panic and sweat, and the cattle are still struggling, but somewhere beneath the adrenaline and fear, there’s a thread of control.
Sedona gave us the thread. I grip it tight.
Jasper whispers, voice barely audible: “She’s something else, isn’t she?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. I just nod once, too exhausted to speak.
Boone whines softly, resting his nose against my boot, waiting, watching, and I stay there, too stunned, too alive, to move.