Chapter 17 Seth
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Seth
Rhett Dalton’s ranch is a different beast from Copper Creek. It’s older, more settled, the fences a little more weathered, the barns a little more crooked, but there’s a sense of deep-rooted history here that feels ancient.
Rhett meets me at the gate, his face etched with worry, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
“Seth,” he says, his voice gruff. “Glad you could make it.”
“Rhett.” I nod, shaking his hand. “Show me what you’ve got.”
We walk his pastures, the earth dry and cracked under our boots. He points out a few of his cattle, their coats a little dull, their ribs showing just a hint more than he’d like.
“They’re just… off,” he says, his frustration palpable. “Not eating like they should. Losing weight. I was terrified it was the same thing you’ve got going on over at Copper Creek.”
I kneel, examining a heifer’s eyes, checking her gums. They’re healthy, pink. No signs of bloating, no labored breathing.
“I think you’re in the clear, Rhett,” I say, standing up and brushing the dirt from my jeans. “They look underfed, that’s for sure. This pasture’s been picked clean. But I don’t see any signs of the sickness.”
The relief that washes over his face is immediate.
“Thank fuck for that,” he breathes, running a hand through his graying hair. “I was about to start culling the whole herd. I was worried about the bulls from your ranch, too. Are they okay?”
“They’re fine,” I assure him. “We’ve got them isolated, just in case, but they’re showing zero symptoms. You made a good call keeping them separate.”
We walk back toward his truck, the conversation shifting to more mundane things.
“I’ve been thinking,” Rhett says, leaning against the driver’s side door.
“About the future of this place. I’m getting too old for this cattle game.
The market’s a rollercoaster, and it’s a young man’s work.
I’m thinking of transitioning. Keeping stallions.
Breeding. Less running around, more… well, more standing still, I guess. ”
I can see it. The image of powerful, proud horses dotting these green pastures instead of cattle. It suits him.
“It’s a good idea, Rhett. You’ve always had a way with horses.”
“Yeah, well.” He shrugs, a modest smile on his face. “It’s just a thought. We’ll see.”
The meeting wraps up shortly after that, a sense of normalcy restored to his corner of the world. I’m back in my truck by four, the sun beginning its descent, painting the valley in shades of orange and deep purple.
I’m tired, a bone-deep weariness that has nothing to do with the physical work of the day and everything to do with the emotional weight I’ve been carrying since Sedona’s return.
What I’m not ready to find when I pull up to the house is Tex, sitting on the porch steps with a half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. Boone is lying beside him, his head on Tex’s knee, his tail giving a weak thump against the wood.
But it’s the dark, purpling bruise blooming on Tex’s cheekbone that stops me in my tracks.
I kill the engine and climb out of the truck, my own weariness forgotten, replaced by a cold, sharp dread. “What the hell happened?”
Tex looks up at me, his eyes unfocused, his usual golden-boy charm replaced by a messy, drunken sorrow. “Billy,” he slurs, taking a swig straight from the bottle. “Had a little… altercation.”
“With Billy?” I ask, my voice rising in disbelief. “What happened?”
“He ran her out of town,” Tex says, his voice cracking on the last few words. He looks away, staring out at the empty pasture. “She’s gone. She’s leaving, Seth. And it’s his fault.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. He ran her out of town.
“I know this is all about Sedona,” Tex continues, his voice thick with whiskey and pain. “He’s been a fucking monster since she got back, and now… now he’s won.”
I walk up the steps and sit down beside him, prying the whiskey bottle from his grip and setting it aside. I don’t say anything. I just go inside, to the kitchen, and wrap a bag of frozen peas in a dish towel.
When I come back out, I press it gently to his bruised cheek. He flinches, then leans into the cold compress with a sigh.
“Where’s our brother?” I ask, my voice quiet.
Tex shrugs, wincing at the movement. “Probably down by the lake. That’s where he goes to… to brood. To be a fucking martyr.”
Down by the lake. Of course he went to their special place.
Confronting Billy now, while he’s in this state, while I’m carrying this secret, would be like throwing a match on a puddle of gasoline. It would destroy whatever’s left of our family.
And how do I get Sedona to stay? The question pounds in my head, a frantic, desperate beat. She’s the only one who can fix this mess with the cattle, but she’s also the only one who can fix this mess in my brothers. In me.
Her leaving isn’t just a loss for the town; it’s a final, brutal closing of a door I’ve been secretly hoping she’d walk back through for years.
I look at Tex, his face pale and bruised, his eyes closed. I look at Boone, who whines softly and nudges Tex’s hand with his wet nose.
We’re a broken pack, a family fractured by a past we can’t escape.
I have to fix this. I don’t know how. I don’t know if I can. But I have to try. I have to make her stay.
My gaze drifts past him, landing on the sedan parked haphazardly by the fence. It looks abandoned.
“What happened to her car?” I ask, my mind already shifting, looking for a problem to solve.
Tex squints at it, as if seeing it for the first time. “Battery died. I gave her a ride. I was going to call the garage but then… well, then I had to come back and deal with our resident asshole.” He gestures vaguely toward the house.
A battery. Something I can fix.
I stand up, my decision made. “I’ll be back,” I say to Tex, who just grunts in response. I walk over to the sedan, pop the hood, and get to work.
The engine is a familiar landscape of wires and hoses. I find the battery, the terminals corroded with a chalky white substance, and grab my toolkit from my truck, along with a set of heavy-duty jumper cables.
I clean the terminals with a wire brush, the metal scraping satisfyingly against metal. I connect the cables to my truck’s battery, then carefully attach the other end to her sedan’s dead battery.
There’s a spark when I make the final connection. I get back in her car, turn the key in the ignition. The engine groans a weak protest.
I try again. This time, it turns over, sputtering once before catching with a healthy roar.
I let it run for a few minutes, charging the battery, the smell of exhaust and hot metal filling the air. It takes me less than an hour. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
I disconnect the cables, close the hood, and leave the engine running as I walk back to the porch.
“I’m taking her car,” I say to Tex, who just gives a weak, drunken thumbs-up.
I don’t wait for a better response. I just get in the sedan, the scent of her—honeysuckle and cedarwood—faint but still present, clinging to the upholstery. It’s a dizzying, intoxicating reminder of what I’m fighting for.
The drive to her house is a frantic one. My mind is racing, rehearsing speeches, arguments, pleas. Don’t go. We need you. I need you.
But when I pull up to the house, it’s dark. The windows are black, the porch light off. I knock on the door anyway, the sound loud in the quiet evening.
No answer.
I try the handle. It’s locked.
My next stop is the clinic. Same story. The lights are off, the door locked. A “closed” sign hangs in the window.
A cold dread washes over me.
Am I too late? Has she already gone?
I’m standing there, staring at the darkened clinic, feeling a sense of defeat so profound it’s hard to breathe, when a vehicle pulls up beside me. It’s a sheriff’s department cruiser.
The window rolls down, and Sheriff’s Deputy Jamie Martinez looks up at me. He’s an Alpha, a few years older than me, with a clean-cut look that’s always felt a little too polished for Prairie Pine.
“Seth Carson,” he says. “Everything alright? I heard there was some trouble with the herds.”
“Some,” I say, my mind still reeling. “We think we have it under control. Just waiting on some test results.”
“Good to hear,” he says, his eyes scanning the dark clinic. “Heard Dr. Archer was back in town. Doing a great job, from what I hear.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. “She is,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “Have you seen her?”
Jamie nods, a casual, almost dismissive gesture. “Yeah, actually. Just saw her about twenty minutes ago. She and her friend were at Daisy’s, grabbing some pie to go, I think. Looked like they were in a hurry.”
Daisy’s.
A spark of hope, fierce and bright, ignites in my chest. “Thanks, Jamie,” I say, already turning back to the sedan.
“No problem,” he says, but I’m already climbing in, the engine still warm.
I don’t waste a second. I pull away from the clinic, the tires squealing slightly on the asphalt, and head toward the center of town.
I have to get to Daisy’s.
I have to find her before she disappears for good.