Chapter 16 Sedona
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Sedona
The air in the holding pen is thick, a heavy blanket of animal fear, damp earth, and the sharp, sterile scent of antiseptic. It’s a grim symphony, and the mournful moos of the cattle are the main melody.
I work with a detached focus, my hands moving on pure instinct. I draw blood from the jugular of a young heifer, the dark red liquid filling the vacuum-sealed tube with a soft hiss.
Jasper is on the other side, his face pale and dewed with sweat, his knuckles white where he grips the lead rope. He’s trying to be brave, but his wide eyes betray the kid he still is.
Tex is a whirlwind of forced, frantic energy. “Attagirl,” he murmurs to the heifer, scratching her rough neck in a way that’s meant to be soothing. “Just a little pinch, and we’re all done. Think of all the tasty grain you’ll get later. Maybe even a molasses lick if you’re real good.”
He winks at me over the animal’s back, a playful, charming gesture that’s meant to put me at ease, but all it does is make the knot in my stomach tighten.
He’s trying so hard, his smile a little too bright, his jokes a little too loud. It’s a performance, and I’m the unwilling audience.
And then there’s Billy.
He’s not just a presence; he’s a force.
He’s the one who moves in when a steer gets agitated, his movements economical and precise. He doesn’t use words, just his body, a solid wall of muscle and quiet command that the animal respects more than any rope.
He presses his shoulder into the steer’s flank, his voice a soft, non-threatening rumble in its ear, and the great beast stills.
His hands are close to mine as I insert the needle, so close I can feel the heat radiating from his skin, can smell the familiar scent of pine smoke and leather that once felt like home.
Every time our fingers brush, a jolt, sharp and unwelcome, shoots up my arm.
He doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he gives no sign. His face is a mask of cold concentration, but I can feel the anger simmering just beneath the surface, a palpable heat that has nothing to do with the morning sun.
I finish with the steer and move to the next animal, a cow whose breathing is shallow and ragged. As I crouch to prepare a new syringe, my gaze drifts across the pen.
Seth is handing Jasper a fresh collection kit, his movements calm and measured. The sight of him, the familiar line of his jaw, the way his hair falls across his forehead, triggers a memory I’ve tried to bury for years.
It’s not a clear picture, not a full scene. It’s just a flash.
The back of Seth’s neck, glistening with sweat. The rhythmic creak of leather. The muffled sound of a woman’s breathy gasp. Lila Hartwell’s face, flushed and ecstatic.
I remember the shame, a hot, acidic tide that burned my throat. I remember biting my lip so hard I tasted blood, the sharp pain a welcome distraction from the sick, twisting heat that had pooled low in my stomach.
And then, as if to torture me, the dream from two nights ago crashes into my mind. Billy’s hands on my skin, his mouth on my neck.
The shame from the barn memory mixes with the desire from the dream, a nauseating cocktail. Seth. I was horrified that Seth, the man from that shameful, secret memory, had crept into my dream about Billy.
What is wrong with me?
A wave of self-loathing washes over me, so potent I almost drop the syringe. Maybe Clara has a point. Maybe what I need is to leave this town, to leave these barns filled with ghosts and confusing, painful memories.
I could keep the clinic and the house closed until I’m ready to deal with it, or maybe I’ll never be ready. I could talk to Mayor Ruth, have her look for tenants or buyers.
The thought is a cold, hard stone in my gut, but it’s also a relief. A way out. A way to stop feeling like I’m drowning every time I turn a corner.
Once the last sample is collected and carefully labeled, I straighten up, my back screaming in protest.
“That’s it,” I say, my voice flat, devoid of any emotion. “I’ll get these couriered out this afternoon.”
Clara, who has been acting as my assistant, organizing the sample kits with a fierce competence, gives me a supportive smile. “You were amazing. They were all so calm with you.”
We walk back to the sedan, the weight of the morning pressing down on us, heavier than the medical kits in our hands. I climb into the driver’s seat and turn the key.
The engine gives a pathetic little cough, followed by a series of frantic clicking sounds. Then, nothing but silence.
“Are you kidding me?” I mutter, thumping the steering wheel with the heel of my hand. I try again. Still nothing. The battery is completely dead.
“Trouble?” Tex asks, his face appearing at the open window. He’s followed us over, his smile looking a little tired around the edges now.
“Battery’s dead,” I say, the frustration making my voice sharp.
“I’ll drive you,” he says immediately, gesturing toward his massive, mud-splattered truck. “It’s no trouble at all.”
Billy, who has materialized behind him, just grunts. “Make sure she gets home, Tex,” he says, a low, cold rumble directed at his brother, not me.
Then he turns and walks away, his strides long and purposeful, disappearing toward the main house without a single glance in my direction. The dismissal is as clean and sharp as a knife cut, and it twists in my gut.
Clara and I climb into Tex’s truck, the high seat giving us a panoramic view of the ranch.
Tex whistles a tuneless song as he drives, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping a beat on the dashboard. He and Clara fall into an easy conversation.
He tells her about the annual Fall Harvest Festival, describing the pumpkin patch and the hay maze with such enthusiasm that she’s captivated. She asks about the rodeo, and he launches into a story about a particularly stubborn bull he once had to ride, hands gesturing wildly, voice full of life.
I just stare out the window, watching the pastures roll by, a beautiful painting of a place that no longer feels like home.
“So what’s the procedure now?” Tex asks, breaking off his conversation with Clara to glance at me. “With the samples, I mean.”
“I’ll mail them to my boss’s lab in New York,” I say, detached, as if I’m talking about someone else’s problem.
“They have the equipment to get a definitive diagnosis much faster. They should have the results within forty-eight hours. I’ll have them sent directly to Dr. Morales so he can figure out a treatment plan from his end. ”
“Why not you?” Tex asks, his brow furrowed in confusion. He slows the truck slightly, turning to look at me. “I mean, you’re the one who’s been doing all the work. You’re the one who figured out what was wrong. Shouldn’t the results come to you?”
I take a deep breath, the words feeling heavy and final on my tongue.
“Because I might not be here. I’m actually thinking of just leaving for New York.”
The truck swerves violently, the tires skidding on the loose gravel. Tex slams on the brakes, the truck lurching to a halt with a screech.
He throws it into park, the engine still rumbling. He turns in his seat, his face a mask of stark disbelief, all his earlier cheerfulness gone.
“You can’t leave.” His voice is stripped of all its charm. “Sedona, you can’t be serious. The town needs you. The ranches need you. What about the cattle? What if this gets worse? What if it spreads?”
A sad, hollow smile touches my lips. “They already have a capable doctor on call. Dr. Morales is more than qualified to handle whatever comes next. Prairie Pine will be fine.”
“Don’t do this, Sedona,” he pleads, his eyes searching mine, a desperate, raw plea in them that makes my chest ache. “Don’t run away again. Not like last time.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, the one that feels like it’s made of glass and regret. I look away from his desperate face, out the window at the endless, sprawling hills of Prairie Pine.
They’re beautiful, I know they are, but all I can see is the past. All I can feel is the weight of it.
“It’s what’s best for everyone involved,” I say, a final sentence passed down on a life I can no longer live.
The silence in the truck after my declaration is a suffocating thing. It’s not the comfortable quiet of shared understanding, but the tense silence of a bomb about to go off.
Tex just stares at me, his face pale, his mouth slightly agape, as if I’ve just told him I’m moving to Mars. Clara puts a hand on my arm, but I keep my eyes fixed on the road ahead, on the endless rolling hills that suddenly feel like the bars of a cage.
Tex finally puts the truck back in drive. He doesn’t speak. He just drives, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, his usual jaunty whistling completely absent.
The landscape flies by, a beautiful panorama of a life I’m choosing to leave. Again.
I see the turnoff for Iron Horse Ranch, the dust kicking up behind a distant tractor. I see the sign for The Dusty Boot, its neon lights dark in the morning sun.
Each landmark is a memory, a ghost, and I feel a fresh wave of resolve. This is the right choice. It has to be.
When he pulls up to my father’s house, he cuts the engine, but he doesn’t get out right away. He just sits there, staring at the peeling white paint, the sagging porch swing.
“This was your dad’s favorite place in the whole world,” he says, rough with emotion. “He loved this porch. Said you could see the whole valley from here.”
I nod, my throat too tight to speak. I know. I remember sitting on that swing with him, his arm around my shoulders, as he pointed out constellations and told me stories about the stars.
He finally opens his door and climbs out, and Clara and I follow. He walks us to the front door, his boots scuffing on the worn wooden steps.
When he stops on the porch and turns to face me, his blue-gray eyes are filled with sadness. He doesn’t try to argue anymore. He doesn’t list the reasons I should stay. He just opens his arms.
I step into his embrace. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me close, and I bury my face in his jacket, which smells of sun-warmed denim, sweet tobacco, and the faint, clean scent of hay.
It’s the scent of the ranch, the scent of home, and it threatens to unravel me completely. I feel his chin rest on the top of my head, a gesture so tender it makes my chest ache.
“I wish you didn’t have to go,” he murmurs against my hair. “I really do.”
I can’t answer. I can’t make any more promises I can’t keep. I just nod against his chest. I feel him press a soft kiss to the crown of my head.
Then he lets me go, his hands resting on my shoulders for a second before he drops them. “Take care of yourself,” he says, his voice thick.
“You too, Tex,” I manage, and it’s barely a whisper.
He gives Clara a sad smile, then turns and walks back to his truck. I watch him go, my heart a heavy stone in my chest.
The engine rumbles to life, and he backs out of the driveway, giving me one last, long look before he drives away, the sound of the truck fading until all that’s left is the whisper of the wind in the pine trees.
Clara and I stand on the porch for a long time, the silence settling around us once more. I’m about to suggest we go inside, to escape the memories that seem to haunt every inch of this place, when a movement catches my eye.
In the big old pine tree at the edge of the yard, two squirrels are chasing each other. They spiral up the rough bark, a frantic, playful dance of fur and tails, their claws scrabbling for purchase.
And just like that, the world stops.
That tree. The one Billy used to climb. I can see it all so clearly, the memory hitting me with the force of a physical blow.
The scrape of the bark on his palms. The way he’d swing his leg over the thick branch outside my window. The way he’d grin at me through the glass, his face young and full of a reckless, daring love.
He’d climb that tree almost every night, a secret ritual just for us, because in a town like Prairie Pine, a man checks into a motel with his girl and the whole county knows. So he climbed a tree instead.
The dam breaks. A single, hot tear escapes, tracing a path down my cheek. Then another. And another. Soon, I’m crying, great, silent, heaving sobs that wrack my whole body.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. All I can see is Billy’s face, the way he looked at me last night, the cold, hard anger in his eyes.
All I can feel is the weight of every mistake I’ve ever made, every word I’ve left unsaid, every promise I’ve broken.
“Sedona? What’s wrong?” Clara’s voice is a distant, panicked sound. She puts her arms around me, trying to hold me together, but I’m falling apart.
“We have to leave,” I gasp, the words tearing out of me between sobs. “We have to leave, Clara. Now.”
I sink to my knees on the porch, my body shaking uncontrollably. The grief I’ve been holding back for days, for years, comes roaring out of me, a tidal wave of pain and regret.
I cry for my father, for the life I lost, for the man I loved and the man I hurt.
I cry until my throat is raw and my eyes feel like they’re on fire, until there’s nothing left but a hollow, aching emptiness.
Clara just holds me, rocking me back and forth, murmuring words I can’t hear through the storm of my own sorrow.
We have to leave. It’s the only thought in my head, a desperate, frantic mantra. We have to leave this town and never come back.