Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Seth
The rumble of my truck’s engine is a low thrum beneath my feet, a familiar sound that does nothing to quiet the mess inside my head.
I’m driving back from the feed store, the bed loaded down with expensive bags of supplemental feed Dr. Morales recommended. Another expense we can’t afford, but the alternative is watching our herd waste away, one by one.
The sun is bleeding out across the horizon, painting the valley in shades of orange and deep, bruised purple. Lunch feels like a lifetime ago.
Tex, Billy, and I shared a few beers, a tense truce called over stale bread and a silence so thick you could choke on it. The shouting match was over, but the anger still pulsed in the air between my brothers.
I left them there, two statues locked in a silent battle I’m not sure either of them knows how to win. I’m still iffy about leaving them alone, but the feed wouldn’t buy itself.
As I drive, my mind drifts, snagging on a memory I usually keep buried under layers of spreadsheets and fence repair schedules.
I think about Tex, about the fierce way he defended Sedona this morning. He’s always been the charmer, the golden boy, but his feelings for her run deeper than the dimpled grins and easy flirtation he shows the world.
I remember years ago, before she left, I was looking for an old pair of gloves in his room. I found a shoebox tucked under his bed, a treasure trove of rodeo programs and ticket stubs.
Inside, nestled between a faded photo of our parents and a dried-out four-leaf clover, was a school yearbook picture of Sedona. It was from her sophomore year, her red hair a wild halo, a shy, freckled smile gracing her lips.
I never told him I saw it. It felt too private.
I wonder if he still has it. I wonder if that crush is still there, buried under years of distance and disappointment.
But then my own secret rises up, a bitter tide in my throat.
Tex’s crush is innocent, a boyish infatuation.
Mine… mine is a sin. A wound that has never, ever healed.
I remember that afternoon so clearly it could have been yesterday. They were in the thick of wedding planning, the whole town buzzing with it.
I was in the loft repairing a harness. Lila Hartwell was there, flirting, and I was weak and restless. One thing led to another, a stupid, meaningless tumble in the loose hay of a far stall.
And then Sedona appeared.
I heard her footsteps stop abruptly, followed by a sharp, choked sound that wasn’t a gasp, wasn’t a sob, but something in between. The sound of a world breaking.
I looked up from where I was, with Lila pinned against the rough wood of the barn wall, my jeans shoved down, my body moving on pure, mindless instinct. And I saw her.
She’d come to the barn looking for Billy, a wedding catalog in her hand and a genuine, unburdened smile on her face.
And there she was, standing frozen, her face pale as milk, her eyes wide and fixed on us. She’d dropped the catalog. Its glossy pages scattered in the dust around her boots.
I should have stopped. I should have been ashamed, horrified.
But I didn’t. A dark, possessive part of me, a part I hated even as it surged forward, took over.
I looked her right in the eye. I kept moving, my gaze locked on hers, watching her, claiming the moment even as I destroyed everything.
And her reaction… it wasn’t what I expected.
There was shock, of course. Her mouth fell open slightly.
But then her teeth sank into her lower lip, biting down hard. Her eyes, wide and dark, held something that wasn’t just pain or horror. It was something else, something complicated and dangerous.
And then the scent hit me. It was sudden, a thick, intoxicating wave of honeysuckle and warm cedarwood that cut through the dusty smell of the barn. It was her scent, but amplified, potent.
It was the scent of an Omega in the throes of a powerful, conflicting emotion. A scent I could feel in my bones, in my blood.
Lila, distracted and lost in her own world, noticed nothing.
But I felt it. I smelled it. And it was the most erotic, most terrifying thing I had ever experienced.
When I finally finished, my body shuddering, she was gone.
I found her later behind the clinic, sitting on the ground, her knees pulled to her chest. She just stared at the horizon with hollow, vacant eyes.
I sat with her for hours, not saying a word, just being there. We never talked about what she saw. We never talked about it at all.
Billy thinks she just got cold feet, that she left him at the altar because she was scared. Maybe she did.
Maybe I crossed a line, made her uncomfortable, and she left.
I don’t know. I’ve never been brave enough to cross-examine that thought… and worse still, no one but me knows.
The guilt has been a constant companion, a weight I’ve carried for years. Now she’s back, and the secret feels like a live thing in my chest, clawing to get out.
I push the thought away, focusing on the road, on the task at hand.
My phone buzzes in the console, the screen lighting up with Dr. Morales’s name. I answer through the truck’s Bluetooth. “Seth Carson.”
“Seth, it’s Dr. Morales.” His voice comes through, crisp and professional. “Just got the preliminary lab results back from the samples you sent over.”
“And?” I ask, my grip tightening on the wheel.
“It’s not definitive,” he says, and I can hear the frustration in his tone.
“The initial tox screen is clear for the common culprits. No heavy metals, no standard prussic acid markers. It’s pointing toward something more complex, maybe a mycotoxin from a specific fungus that’s only active under certain weather conditions, or a bacterial contaminant that’s harder to isolate. ”
“So what does that mean for us?”
“It means we need more tests. I’ve sent the samples to the state lab.
It’ll take a few days to get a definitive answer.
In the meantime, keep doing what you’re doing.
The electrolytes are good, but isolation is key.
If it is a transmissible bacterium, you don’t want it spreading to other herds.
Keep a close eye on them. Any change, any new symptoms, you call me. Day or night.”
“Will do, Doc. Thanks for the update.”
I end the call, his words settling in. A few days. A few days of waiting, of watching our cattle waste away, of wondering if we’re doing the right thing.
A few more days of Billy and Tex at each other’s throats. A few more days of Sedona being… here.
I drive back toward town, the familiar buildings of Prairie Pine coming into view. I pass The Dusty Boot, its lights already twinkling in the dusk. I pass Daisy’s Diner.
Then I see it. The Prairie Pine Veterinary Clinic, lights still on inside.
And there she is.
Sedona is standing by her truck, her back to me, struggling with a large cardboard box that looks precariously close to toppling over.
She’s wearing her doctor’s coat, unzipped over a simple white tank top that shows the strong, capable lines of her shoulders.
Her jeans are worn and snug, tucked into a pair of dusty boots. Her wildly curly red hair is pulled back into a thick ponytail, and a few stray curls have escaped to frame her face, clinging to the sweat on her temples.
The setting sun catches the sheen of perspiration running down the column of her neck, and something inside me, something I haven’t felt in years, clenches tight.
I’m so caught off guard, so completely mesmerized by the sight of her, that my foot slips off the brake and presses onto the accelerator just enough to make the truck lurch forward.
My hand hits the steering wheel, and my palm smacks directly into the center of the horn.
brAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMP.
The sound is loud, obnoxious, and it shatters the quiet evening like a gunshot.
Sedona jumps, letting out a little yelp as the box in her arms tilts and crashes to the ground. Bottles, tubes, and packages of vet supplies spill across the pavement like a colorful explosion.
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath, throwing the truck into park and killing the engine. I climb out, my face burning with a heat that has nothing to do with the evening warmth.
She’s standing there, staring at the mess on the ground, her hands on her hips. When she looks up and sees me, her expression is a mixture of surprise and annoyance.
“Hey,” she says flatly.
“Hey,” I manage, my own voice sounding rough and clumsy. “I… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
She lets out a sigh, a small, tired sound. “It’s okay. It’s just… a lot.”
“Let me help,” I say, already moving toward her. I crouch down, my knees protesting, and start gathering up the scattered supplies.
“Sure,” she says, crouching opposite me.
We’re close now, our heads nearly touching as we reach for the same bottle of antiseptic. Our hands brush, and a jolt, sharp and electric, shoots up my arm. I pull back like I’ve been burned.
And then her scent hits me.
It’s not just a smell. It’s a physical presence. The scent I remember from a lifetime ago, but it’s stronger now, more potent.
It wraps around me, seeps into my pores, and I can almost taste it in the back of my throat, sweet and woody and intoxicating.
It’s the scent of her, of home, of a terrible secret I’ve been keeping for five years. I have to force myself to breathe, to focus on the plastic bottles in my hands and not on the woman across from me, on the freckles dusting her nose and the way her ponytail sways when she moves.
She’s so close. Too close. And all I can think about is that afternoon in the barn, the look on her face, the scent of her thickening in the air, and the terrifying, undeniable fact that I am nowhere near over it.
Does she ever think about it? Does she see my face and remember?
The thought is a cold dread in my stomach. I pick up another bottle, my hands trembling slightly. The plastic feels slick, my grip unsteady.