Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Tex
The morning air is still crisp enough to bite, carrying the scent of damp earth and the sour, wrong smell of sickness from the holding pen. I wrap my hands around my coffee mug, the ceramic a fragile shield against the chill.
The cattle are quiet, too quiet. A few pitiful moos break the silence, each one a twist of the gut.
Seth leans against the corral fence, his face drawn, while Billy stands a few feet away, a statue carved from fury and granite, staring out at the herd like he can will them back to health with sheer force of will.
He hasn’t said two words since Sedona peeled out of here yesterday.
A cloud of dust kicks up at the end of the drive, and Jasper Hayes’s beat-up pickup rattles into view.
The kid looks like he hasn’t slept, his eyes wide and shadowed. He parks and scrambles out, clutching a large paper bag like it’s the crown jewels.
“Dr. Morales said this is what you need,” he says, his voice cracking as he hands the bag to me. “It’s an electrolyte and nutrient mix. Said to add it to all their water. It’ll help with the dehydration and give them some strength while the… while the other stuff works its way through.”
I peer inside the bag. It’s full of sealed plastic pouches of grayish powder. “Good. That’s good, Jasper. Thanks.”
“Yeah, no problem,” he mumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets and scuffing a boot in the dirt. “You guys need anything else?”
“We’re good for now,” Seth says, giving the kid a reassuring nod. “Go on, get some rest. We’ll call if we need you.”
Jasper practically flees, leaving us alone with the sick cows and the heavy silence. I turn to my brothers.
“Okay, we need to get this in their water. The troughs by the south pasture are the biggest. We’ll need to haul a few tanks from the well, mix this stuff in, and bring it to them.”
Billy finally speaks, his voice a low rasp. “Seth, do you have the tractor keys?”
Seth doesn’t hesitate. He pulls them from his pocket, the metal jangling softly as he places them in Billy’s outstretched palm.
Their hands barely touch, but I see the tension in Billy’s shoulders, the way his jaw clenches.
I take a long swallow of my coffee, the bitter liquid doing nothing to cut through the knot in my stomach. “So what do we do for now? Besides wait?”
“We keep an eye on them,” Seth says, his gaze sweeping over the cattle. “Check for any new ones showing symptoms. Make sure the ones who are down have water close by. That’s all we can do.”
“It’s not enough,” I say, the frustration bubbling up my throat. “I still think we should call Sedona. Ask her to come back by evening, just to check on them. Make sure we’re not missing anything.”
Billy’s back is to us, but I see it. The stiffening of his spine. The grunt he lets out is pure, unadulterated aggravation.
That’s it. That’s all I can take. The anger I’ve been pushing down all morning, the fear for our herd, the sheer exhaustion of dealing with his moping—it all explodes.
“Instead of sulking all day, maybe you could give your damn opinion for once,” I snap. “She’s the one who figured this out, Billy. The least you could do is acknowledge it.”
He turns, and the look in his blue-gray eyes is arctic. “I don’t have to do a damn thing.”
He shoves the keys in his pocket and starts to walk away, but I’m not letting him go. Not this time.
“Coward,” I spit out.
He freezes. Seth is beside me in an instant. “Tex, calm down.”
“No,” I snarl, rounding on my oldest brother.
“You’re going to stand there and act like a victim?
Like you’re the only one who’s hurting? You need to go fucking apologize to Sedona.
She’s the reason we even have cattle left to save!
She drove out here in the middle of a crisis, fixed our mess, and you treated her like dirt. You’re still treating her like dirt.”
Billy’s face is a mask of cold fury. He takes a step back toward me, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Save it, Tex.”
“Save what?” I ask.
“You can stop pretending that’s why you want her here.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
His lips twist into a cruel smirk. “You tell me.”
He holds my gaze for a second longer, a storm of accusation in his eyes, then he turns on his heel and strides toward the barn, leaving me standing there with my mouth hanging open and a sick feeling coiling in my gut.
I watch him go, my own anger deflating, replaced by a hot, prickling shame. I turn to Seth. “He’s such an asshole.”
Seth sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Tex, you can’t… you can’t understand what it’s like for him. To see her again. After everything.”
I know he’s right. I do. But it doesn’t stop the sting.
I kick at a loose rock, sending it skittering across the dirt. “Yeah, well, he’s not the only one who’s having a tough time.”
“He’s her ex-fiancée, Tex. They were so close to getting married. You know how much he loved her. He’s having the hardest time here, I can promise you that.”
I feel a pang of guilt for how I acted. For pushing him. For the part of me that knows, deep down, Billy’s anger isn’t just about pride. It’s about a wound so deep I can’t even begin to fathom it.
And I just poured salt all over it.
“I’ll go clean the water troughs,” I mutter, needing to do something, anything, to work off this frustration. “Get them ready for the new mixture.”
“Okay,” Seth says, his voice gentle. “I’ll head up to the house. I need to check our finances, see how much this is going to set us back. We’ll probably need to order more feed, too.”
I nod and grab a hose and a stiff-bristled brush from the barn, my movements jerky. The first trough is coated in a layer of green slime and grime.
I start scrubbing, the harsh scrape of the bristles against the metal a satisfying outlet for my turmoil. The work is mindless, repetitive, and it gives my brain space to churn.
Maybe I was being a little hard on him. Okay, a lot hard.
My mind drifts back, way back, to a time before the ranch, before rodeos, before Sedona. We were just kids. Mom had just died. Billy was barely a teen, a lanky kid with serious eyes, and the weight of the world suddenly dropped on his shoulders.
I remember him trying to make pancakes, burning them black on the outside while the inside was still gooey batter. I remember him sitting up with Joey when he had nightmares, reading him stories in a voice that hadn’t even broken yet.
He never complained. He just… did what had to be done. He made sure we were okay. He made sure we felt safe, even when he was just a scared kid himself.
He’s always been like that. The rock. The foundation. And what did I do? I just kicked at that foundation because I was angry and scared.
I saw his pain, and instead of trying to understand it, I used it against him. And for what? Because I want to see Sedona?
The thought is a hot flush of shame.
He was right about that, too. Not that I’d ever admit it to his face. But yeah, I want her here. I want to see her, talk to her.
But that’s my mess.
It’s not fair to drag Billy into it, to use the cattle, our livelihood, as an excuse.
I scrub harder, my arms burning, the sweat beading on my forehead. By the time I finish the last trough, my anger is gone, replaced by a weary ache of regret. I drop the brush and lean against the fence, looking out at the valley.
The sun is higher now, burning off the morning chill. Billy is back, maneuvering the large water tank on the tractor’s hitch, his movements precise and economical.
He doesn’t look at me. He just does his job. Just like he always has. And I’m left here, the golden boy who just made everything a whole lot worse.