FIFTEEN.
Tobias
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Can’t lose anyone else.
The wind rattles against the window, a familiar sound in these parts, but this storm is fiercer than usual, whipping through the ranch with unrelenting force. If I'd known it would escalate like this, I would have triple-checked the stalls and gates earlier, but they'll have to hold for now.
A bolt of lightning flashes nearby, followed by an immediate boom that shakes the walls and window, jolting me upright in bed.
I listen to the rain pattering relentlessly against the metal roof, and soon another flash illuminates the room, accompanied by another deafening crack.
These strikes feel unnervingly close, and I can't help wondering if they're hitting the ground somewhere out there in the darkness.
My thoughts keep circling back to Ever, no matter how many times I try to pull them away.
Earlier I sent her a quick message warning about the big storm rolling in.
She responded with a single thumbs-up emoji and nothing else.
Which is fine. I wasn’t trying for a long conversation or waiting for her to reassure me.
I know she’s more than capable of taking care of herself.
She’s lived through plenty of bad weather before, back in the city and here since she took over the ranch.
She doesn’t need me hovering or second-guessing her…
Still, the worry has taken root deeper than I’d like to admit, especially after the other morning. Ever since I tore down her driveway and found her standing rigid on the porch with the shotgun in her hands.
I lean over to my bedside table and grab the radio. My fingers hovering over the call button before I clear my throat and press it.
"You alright over there, Princess?" I ask, clenching my jaw as I wait for her response, my mind racing with images of her alone in that house.
"Doing just fine, Mr. Grump," her voice crackles through, and I grin to myself, chewing on my bottom lip as I picture her lying in bed, maybe staring at the ceiling like I am.
"You're not scared of thunder, are you?" I tease, hoping to draw her out a bit more.
"If you were hoping for me to ask you to come protect me with a snuggle, I'm sorry to disappoint," she replies, her words laced with that sharp wit of hers, and I chuckle under my breath, leaning my head back against the headboard.
"And what if I'm the one in need of a snuggle?" I counter.
"You'll have to go grab a sheep from the pen," she shoots back without missing a beat. I shake my head, stunned by how she disarms me with such ease. I stare up at the ceiling, searching for words, because she still leaves me speechless at times like this.
Another flash lights up the room, followed by a boom that makes me jolt. I glance toward the window, expecting more, but only the steady drum of rain follows.
"That one actually got me," I hear Ever say over the radio, humor threading through her tone. I bring the walkie to my smiling lips.
"Me too," I admit, rubbing the top of my brow, feeling vulnerable sharing that with her.
"I uh…" she starts, but static fills the line, then silence as she releases the button, leaving me hanging on the edge of anticipation.
"You what?" I press, holding the walkie closer to my ear, my pulse quickening. Nothing comes. "You good?"
"I'm fine," she responds quickly, but there's a hesitation in her voice that sets off alarms in my head. I sit up straighter in bed, my eyes turning to the window. "I think the uhm…" she begins again.
I swing my legs out of bed and push the curtain aside to peer into the stormy night. I can't make out her house through the dark clouds and sheets of rain, but I know she's there, and something's not right.
"You're going to have to tell me what's going on, baby," I say sternly, my protective side kicking in fully now, and the static erupts briefly before her voice returns.
"I think a horse is out," she says, and I can hear the rain louder on her end, pounding like it's right there with her.
"Are you outside?" I demand, already imagining the worst.
"I'm on my porch."
"Go back inside right now," I order, my tone sharp with worry.
"I can't. I really think there's a horse out," she insists. I groan in frustration.
I toss the radio onto the bed as I pull on my jeans from earlier, and hook the belt together with hurried fingers. I grab the walkie again and rush down the hall to the door, then slide my boots on.
"I'm heading over there," I say into the walkie quickly, then snatch my keys from the hook by the door and swinging it open. The wind and rain hits me like a wall as I dash to my truck.
When I pull up to Ever's house, she runs out and slides into the passenger seat without hesitation.
She's in her jeans and boots, but just a simple tank top that's already soaked through, clinging to her skin in ways that test my focus.
I force my eyes forward, gripping the wheel tighter, every instinct screaming to wrap her in something warm and dry.
"Do the horses get out during storms?" she asks as we make our way to the barn. I let out a deep sigh, knowing she's not going to like my answer.
“It’s probably June,” I tell her, keeping my voice steady even though my gut is already twisting. “She gets spooked when storms roll in too close. I’ve seen her kicking at her gate lately—some of the bolts must’ve worked loose. I should’ve checked it more thoroughly.”
Ever’s head snaps toward me, eyes wide. “Will she run away?”
I hesitate, hating the truth that sits heavy on my tongue. “She shouldn’t, but… I don’t know. If the lightning keeps striking this close, who knows how far she’ll bolt.” I swallow hard. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been more careful.”
“It’s not your fault,” she says quickly, almost too quickly, like she’s trying to convince both of us.
I pull the truck up in front of the barn, and we both jump out, ducking under the overhang just as another crack of thunder rolls overhead.
I yank the heavy sliding doors open and motion for Ever to go in first. We move down the aisle together, checking each stall.
When we reach June’s, the gate hangs crooked, one side kicked clean off its hinges, and the stall is empty.
I drag a hand down my face, dread settling like lead in my stomach. I glance at Ever, and the look on her face nearly undoes me—panic and raw fear, her eyes glassy, like she’s one breath away from breaking.
“She’ll be fine, I promise,” I say, but the words feel thin even to me.
She shakes her head and walks straight to the open mouth of the barn. She stands there with her arms crossed tight over her chest, staring out into the churning rain. Lightning splits the sky in the distance, and I count silently to four before the thunder follows.
I step up beside her, close enough that our arms brush, but I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure what the outcome of this is going to be. June could be anywhere by now—over the hill, across the river, gone. The darkness swallows everything beyond the fence line.
“You’re not going after her, are you?” Ever says quietly. It isn’t an accusation, just a flat statement, like she’s already bracing for the answer.
“It’s too dangerous,” I tell her, hating how the words sound. She closes her eyes and tilts her chin down, shoulders curling inward. “This isn’t the first time she’s gotten out. She’s… difficult to handle. Even if I found her, I’m not sure I could get her back under control in this.”
“I can’t lose anyone else, Tobias,” she whispers, so soft I almost miss it over the rain.
The words hit me like a punch. I look at her—really look—and see the way her body trembles, the way she squeezes her eyes shut like she’s trying to hold everything inside.
Fuck.
I turn on my heel and stride to Tacoma’s stall.
He lifts his head, ears flicking forward.
I grab his bridle and lead rope, slip them on with practiced hands, then haul his saddle over his back, triple-checking every buckle and every strap.
I trust Tacoma, but out there in the open with lightning cracking overhead and wind howling, there’s no telling how he’ll react.
Still, I can’t stand here and watch Ever shatter.
I can’t let her lose another piece of herself.
I lead him to the barn entrance. Ever’s still standing there, staring at me with wide, stunned eyes, but she doesn’t try to stop me when I pull my gloves from the tool cabinet, shrug on the extra harness, and swing up into the saddle.
“Stay inside,” I tell her. She nods once.
I nudge Tacoma forward, and we burst out into the storm.
Rain hits me from every direction, soaking through my clothes in seconds.
The wind tugs at my hat, but I keep my seat, letting Tacoma find his rhythm.
I don’t know how long this storm is supposed to last—hopefully not much longer.
The last lightning strike was farther away, and storms out here usually blow through fast, so I’m counting on that.
We move at a steady lope along the edge of the pastures, Tacoma’s hooves sucking in the mud.
Everything looks as it should—fences intact, gates closed—until a high, frantic neigh cuts through the rain.
I pull the reins to the side and guide him down a gentle slope.
His hooves slipping on the red clay until we reach the bottom.
There she is.
June runs along the fence line in the distance, head high, tail flagged, lunging at the rails every few strides like she’s desperate to clear them. If she makes it over that fence, getting her back will be a nightmare, so I lead Tacoma onward and push through the downpour to close the gap.