12. Weston
Weston:
Wind whips all around me as I fight to get the last of the paddock doors shut and locked. We knew this storm was coming, and it started up a few hours before we expected it. I’ve been up since four this morning, boarding up windows and securing loose patio furniture on Vivian’s porch and my own.
Then it was on to ranch prep. And since we still haven’t hired a new ranch hand, most of the work falls on me.
Though Kyle did show up here first thing this morning to help with the barn closest to the pastures.
The three horses out there have all earned their retirement from ranch work.
Given their experience, they don’t tend to get too bothered by the storms anymore.
Which is why I sent him out there instead of here.
As I make my way out of the paddock and around to close up the main barn door, the rain starts. Falling in heavy sheets, it slams into me, drenching me from head to toe before I even reach the barn for cover.
Aside from Buttercup and Bobby—a blue roan gelding we’ve had on the ranch for just over a year—the horses are an anxious mess.
Two of the other mares and our only other gelding shift nervously in their stalls, calling out every few seconds.
One of the mares—Hetty—keeps slamming her foot back into the walls every time there’s a clap of thunder.
I gave her an herbal blend meant to calm her down, so I’m honestly hoping that kicks in before she manages to hurt herself.
“Easy, guys. You’re fine. It’s just a little storm.” I flip on the soft lights in the breezeway so they won’t be in the dark, then start toward the large bay door so I can get it sealed up and go check on Kyle.
After that, we’re home free, and I can ride out what the weather crew is calling the worst storm to hit us in a decade in my cabin.
Fantastic.
“Mr. Hayes!” Kyle yells over the wind, so I turn toward him as he comes sprinting toward me, a panicked expression on his face. Rain has drenched him, soaking every inch of his clothing and the hat on top of his head.
“What is it?”
“The cows! There are some in the west pasture!”
“What? No, they’re all in the south pasture.
” There’s plenty of shelter out there for them, and if this storm’s going to be as bad as they said this morning, then they’ll need every bit of it.
Since the west pasture is used only for quick rotations, it has little more than a shack as a break from the sun.
He shakes his head, and water droplets fall from his face. “No. I just saw them. They looked scared.”
Oh no.
“What do we do?” he asks frantically.
“You go home. This storm is only getting worse. You need to go home before it gets too bad. Text me when you get there so I know you got back safely.”
“But the cows?”
“I’ll handle the cows. Go.”
He hesitates for a moment. “Okay, yes, sir.” Then, he turns and sprints toward his old Ford Ranger parked near the main house.
Since Vivian will want to know why I’m taking a horse out in this, I jog toward the main house and climb the steps.
Vivian opens the door before I’ve even had the chance to knock. Dressed in a windbreaker and mud boots, she looks about ready to march out into the storm, too. Which, given her hospital visit two nights ago, is ludicrous.
“I was just coming out to help.”
“Everything is locked down.”
She narrows her gaze on my face. “Then why do you look like something’s wrong?”
“Some of the cattle must have blown through the fencing in the west pasture. I need to get ’em back to the south pasture where they’ll have shelter.”
“Then I’ll come with you.”
“No, I can do this. I just wanted you to know why I was taking Buttercup out.” Unfortunately, the west pasture is virtually impassable on a 4-wheeler in a storm like this.
Horseback is the only way to do it. And even that gets sketchier by the minute.
It’s been well-known to flood, and if that happens, whoever is out there will be stuck until the waters recede.
“You shouldn’t go out alone.”
“I’ll be fine.” I start to turn away, then hear Reese, and my traitorous heart kicks in my chest.
“I’ll go!”
I turn back, not at all surprised to see her in the doorway now. “No.”
“Yes. I’m a vet, and if they pushed through the barbed wire, you’re going to need help.”
“I can handle it.”
“Yes, by slapping on a temporary patch and calling a vet.” She holds up her hands. “Good news for you, I’m already here. I’ll get dressed and meet you at the barn.” Without waiting for my response, she turns and leaves.
I shift my gaze to Vivian, hoping she’ll step in and tell Reese no. That I’ve got this. However, she simply shrugs.
“I don’t need her.”
“I think we both know that’s not the truth.” She smiles at me. “Come see me when you’re done. I want to know what happened.”
The argument dies on my tongue because it hits me that having Reese there—as a veterinarian only—might actually be helpful if one of the cows does get hurt. Lighting splits the sky a heartbeat before thunder slams into me like an artillery blast.
The west pasture isn’t too far from the road. It’s not the main one, but if they push through that fence and get out— I turn and start toward the barn. Whether or not I want her with me is irrelevant when the animals’ safety is concerned.
Moving as quickly as I can, I saddle Buttercup for her and Bobbi for me. Normally, I’d take Buttercup, but she’s far more reliable in a storm than Bobbi, and the last thing I want is Reese getting hurt.
I’ve already hurt her enough for a thousand lifetimes.
“You be good to her, girl,” I whisper to Buttercup once I’ve finished saddling her. She turns her large head into me and nuzzles me, so I reach into my pocket for an apple treat, then offer it to her.
Bobbi whinnies at me, so I smile and give him one, too. “You be good to me, too, boy.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that.”
I stiffen at the sound of her voice, barely audible over the storm. “A saddled horse?” Turning away from Bobbi, I study her. Dressed in jeans, boots, a thick jacket, and a baseball cap, she looks every bit the cowgirl I once fell in love with.
Only this time, she’s got a backpack full of medical supplies on her back. “No, your smile.”
The words are a knife to my gut because any true joy I had died when she left. “Let’s go. You’re on Buttercup.”
“Buttercup?”
“Your mom let Anastasia help name her, and given her obsession with The Princess Bride, it’s what she went with.
“She looks like a Buttercup. Hi, girl.” Reese smiles as she greets the animal, and the sight of it is too much. I turn away.
“We need to go. The cows are too close to that main road.” After unclipping the lead rope I’d used to hold Bobbi in place while I prepped him, I guide him over toward the door.
After pushing it open, I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Looks like the storm has let up just a bit. Let’s hope it stays that way.
” I guide him out into the rain and climb into the saddle.
There were times I joked about how I felt more at home in a saddle than in my house, and even though I live alone now, that statement is still one hundred percent true. Any day of the week, any hour, I would rather be in a saddle than anywhere else.
I glance over right as Reese climbs onto Buttercup. Seeing her now, you wouldn’t know that it’s been years since she was on the ranch. Has she even ridden since then?
Before I can focus too intently on that, I urge Bobbi forward and start toward the main gate.
I guide Bobbi right next to it, then lean down and undo the chain, swinging it open as I move him inside.
As soon as Reese is through, I shift Bobbi and grip the gate, swinging it closed and securing the chain.
Then, I click my tongue and apply slight pressure to his side, urging him to gallop. We race through the pasture, and I note that the mud has already gotten thick. Too much more and it won’t even be safe for the horses.
We just have to hope we can find the cattle and get back to safety before that happens.
Come on. Where are they?
With the limited visibility thanks to the sheets of rain falling down on us, I can hardly make out anything. It’s been nearly an hour of searching, and so far, we’ve got nothing. The tall trees overhead are swaying dangerously, and more than once, I’ve heard a worrisome crack.
If we don’t find the cattle soon, we’re going to have to turn back. Otherwise, we risk injury to us or the horses.
We rode the fenceline first and found the fence they blew through, likely during the start of the storm. Thankfully, there was no other damage to the exterior fencing, meaning the animals getting on the road is a concern I’ve been able to set aside.
Now it’s all about finding them.
“Over there!”
I turn at the sound of Reese’s voice, then spot a dark shadow in the distance. Yes.
The herd is gathered around the small sunshade, drenched in water and covered in mud. Their mooing grows louder the closer we get, and they watch us with wide, anxious eyes.
“North pasture!” I call out to her, hoping she remembers. We spent years working cattle together. Riding. Here’s hoping she didn’t lose what it felt like.
She offers me a single nod.
Lightning splits the sky.
The cows bolt.
I urge Bobbi into a run, racing to catch the few headed straight for the fence that borders the far road.
We cut them off, and I glance over as Reese drives the others toward us.
After reuniting the stragglers with the main herd, Reese and I work together to herd them through the storm, guiding them back toward the north pasture. It doesn’t have quite the shelter the south pasture does. However, it will be far safer than what they’re in now. And it’s nowhere near a road.
Once they’re through the gate, I move around to do a head count while Reese scans for injuries.
Fifty-seven.
We’re good to go.
“We’re good!” I call out. “Let’s get back!”
Reese nods, rainwater dripping from the bill of her hat.
Turning Bobbi, I start toward the edge of the pasture. After opening the gate so we can go through, I close and secure it behind Reese.
Lightning splits the sky again, and a deafening crack fills my ears. “Go!” I yell, but my voice is useless against the storm.
A tree slams down, hitting the ground right in front of us. Buttercup whinnies and rears back to avoid getting hit, and Reese is caught off guard. She flings backward, falling from Buttercup and hitting the ground.
It all happens in horrifying slow motion, but I’m already off of Bobbi and at her side before the next heartbeat. Mud soaks my jeans, but I barely note the cold. “What hurts?” I demand. I start to reach for her, then pull back.
“Is everything a good answer?” she asks. “Sorry, I think I landed on a rock. My hip is on fire.” She hisses when she tries to sit up.
“No, stay. I need to check you.” Reaching forward, I run my hands over the back of her head and neck, checking for anything out of place. Adrenaline and fear course through my veins as I move onto her arms and legs.
Please don’t be hurt. Please be okay.
“I’m fine, Weston. Just feeling a bit embarrassed.”
“The adrenaline could be masking an injury,” I tell her. “I’m going to try to get you up, okay?”
“Okay.”
Slowly, I pull her to her feet. She hisses in pain and nearly falls over, so I stabilize her and search for the horses. Both Bobbi and Buttercup are standing next to us, both animals wide-eyed and clearly at their limit.
Overhead, the storm picks up traction. Raindrops might as well be boulders for how hard they’re falling down on us. The mud is even worse, and just in the time we’ve been out here, it’s already begun to flood.
“We need to get back to my house. It’s closest. With any luck, that trail won’t have flooded yet.” I give her no room for argument as I scoop her into my arms and carry her over toward Bobbi.
Buttercup’s eyes are wide, her nostrils flared from the scare, so I don’t want to risk it. That, and Reese can’t ride alone.
I hoist her up sideways onto Bobbi’s back, trying to ignore how she’s hissing from the pain with every single movement. After securing Buttercup’s reins to Bobbi’s saddle, I slip my foot into the stirrup and swing a leg over, climbing on behind Reese.
As soon as she’s tucked against my chest, I urge Bobbi forward as quickly and as safely as possible.
We move through the trees, and I’m grateful for the little bit of reprieve I have from the large raindrops before we emerge from the trees and onto the trail that will take us to my house.
The pond is right up to the edge of the crossing, but it hasn’t quite crossed over the top just yet.
Reese is completely silent, her eyes shut tightly, teeth ground together. She’s hurting. I can only hope we won’t need to add an emergency room trip on top of this night, but I won’t be able to determine that until we’re out of the storm.