Chapter 6
Dice
The lights flickered once, twice, then cut out.
“Generator,” I muttered.
From the common room came chairs scraping and a few curses. The storm had backed off just enough to stop screaming and start grinding. Ice pellets ticked against the windows as the wind rattled the eaves. I grabbed my hoodie off the chair and tugged it over Sara’s shoulders.
“Stay here,” I told her. “Door locked. I’ll be ten minutes.”
Her fingers fisted in the hem of the hoodie like she wanted to argue, then she nodded.
I stepped into the hall. “I need a flashlight, a pry bar, and whoever didn’t lose feeling in their hands yet.”
Two men stood. The quiet new guy from earlier, Trippe, handed me a light. The other, Rook, already had gloves on.
We hit the mudroom, pulled on boots, and slammed into the cold. The generator shed crouched under a drift, snow curled over its roof like a wave. I kicked the latch free, popped the panel, and winced at the smell. Hot metal, cold fuel.
“Line’s frozen?” Trippe asked.
“Fuel’s fine.” I checked connections, swore, then leaned in with the flashlight. “Carb icing. And the choke’s half seized.” I dug the multi-tool from my pocket. “Hold the light. Count to twenty when I say.”
Trippe grunted. Rook watched, steady. I bled the line, worked the choke, and breathed out through my nose until the metal finally gave. “Now.”
Trippe counted slow. I primed, yanked, primed again, and the generator coughed awake, stuttered, then caught. The shed thrummed. The bunkhouse lights blinked back to life, warm squares in the snow.
“Good,” I said. “Keep it clear. If it chokes again, call me.”
We hustled back through the snow, breath steaming in the cold night air. The moment we stepped inside, the warmth hit us, and so did the tension.
My phone buzzed across the nightstand, vibrating with a distinct tone we all recognized. The ranch’s private comms network didn’t light up unless it was urgent.
I crossed the room in two strides and snatched it up. A single message glared back at me, no frills, no wasted words.
Main House: My office. Now.
My gut tightened. Whatever this was, it wasn’t routine.
I looked at my door, at the slice of light under it. I didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to be ten feet away from her, let alone a hundred. But the ping wasn’t a suggestion. Though the other phones remained silent, it seemed only I was being summoned.
I cracked the door. Sara was perched on the edge of the bed, hoodie sleeves past her hands, eyes on me.
“Two minutes,” I promised.
She nodded, but I saw it, the flash of old panic she tried to bury. I touched my fingers to my chest, then to the door handle. Locked. She mirrored the move. Good girl.
In the main house, Jacob’s office hummed. Jacob stood over the large desk, maps out, a small emergency radio squawking. Diesel, Jax, Flapjack, Bear, all their tight faces. Lily hovered with a thermos.
Diesel looked up first. “Nice work on the gen.”
“Thanks.” I scanned the map. “What’s up?”
Jacob slid a phone across the table.
The town sheriff had texted:
Heads up. Black F-150 seen outside town before the roads closed. He was adamant he needed to bypass the officer set up to turn people around to get up your mountain.
A follow-up:
Name on his ID was Chad Murray.
Something cold settled under my ribs. Chad Murray. High school star quarterback. Homecoming King. Oil and tire store reject. And all around captain of assholes.
That bastard wasn’t getting anywhere near Sara. Especially not after what I saw. “He’s not getting up this mountain.”
“No,” Jacob said. “At least not in this weather. But when it breaks, he’ll try.” His gaze cut to me. “We need to know what we’re dealing with before that. Isn’t that the name of your girl’s ex? Fox mentioned a Chad earlier. Coincidence? Is she in trouble?”
“Not anymore. But he’s not exactly someone to trust. I’ll talk to her.”
Lily poured coffee, handed it to me. “Be gentle,” she said softly. “But be clear.”
On my way out, Bear caught my arm. “You call before you act,” he said. “We don’t do solo hunts in this family.”
This family. I’d been working beside these men for months, but for the first time, it hit me—I wasn’t just a ranch hand anymore. I was one of them.
“Understood,” I said. And I did. But my hands itched anyway.
Back at the bunkhouse, the hall was quiet. Cards shuffled behind me, low voices respectful. I opened my door and slid inside.
Sara stood when I entered. The hoodie swallowed her. My shirt bared her legs. I locked the door, crossed to her, and let her lean into my chest for a breath, just one.
“We have to talk,” I said against her hair.
Her body went still. “Okay.”
We sat on the edge of the bed with our knees touching. I kept my voice low and even. “Sheriff Williams texted Jacob. Your ex tried to get passed the officers closing the roads to head up the mountain.”
The color drained from her cheeks. For a heartbeat I thought she’d fold. She didn’t. She lifted her chin, and my chest hurt with how damn proud that made me.
“He won’t stop,” she said.
“No,” I agreed. “But he won’t get to you.” I held her gaze. “I need anything you have on him What truck he drives. Plate if you know it. Any habits. Friends who’d help him. I’m not asking to dig into your pain. I’m asking to build a fence he can’t climb.”
Her breath shuddered out. “Chad Murray. Black F-150. He changes plates so I have no idea. He’s… charming when he wants to be. His uncle works at the tow yard outside town. He knows back roads. I… I don’t know. He’s… he’s just trying to punish me.”
That was the truck described in the text from the sheriff. Rage hissed in my ears. “I won’t let him hurt you again,” I said. “You did good. Thank you.”
I texted the details to Jacob on the network we didn’t talk about on paper.
Sara watched me. “What now?”
“Now,” I said, “we keep you close. Storm breaks in the morning. We’ll take a rig down, tow your car. You don’t show your face in town until we say. We’ll loop Lily or Sam in to get you clothes and whatever you need.” I paused. “And we decide what you want after that.”
Her throat worked. “What I want?”
I didn’t touch her. I let the space be honest. “You can go to family. You can file a report and let us stand behind you. You can stay here awhile. You can walk into my room and not walk back out until spring. I’m not putting a leash on you.” My mouth twitched. “Just a perimeter.”
That got the smallest huff of a laugh out of her. She scrubbed her hands over her face. “I don’t have family that’s… safe.” She sighed. “I don’t want to run anymore.”
“Then don’t,” I said simply.
She went quiet. The storm thudded along the roof, slower now, like it was finally getting tired.
A soft knock sounded on the door. “Dice?” Rook’s voice, careful. “Flapjack brought food. And, uh, Lily sent a bag for Sara.”
I opened the door. Rook stood there with a canvas tote and the posture of a man who knew to keep his eyes politely at the floor. “Thanks,” I said.
He nodded. “If you need someone on the generator in the middle of the night, I’m up.”
“Appreciate it.” I shut the door and handed the tote to Sara. She peeked inside. Leggings, socks, a thick sweater, hair ties, a note in Lily’s looping script. You’re safe. —L
Her eyes glassed over. She blinked hard and nodded. “I’ll change.”
I turned my back to give her the dignity of space.
She touched my shoulder. I turned. The leggings hugged her legs, but she’d kept my hoodie on. I couldn’t help but feel a bit territorial about that.
“I want to come,” she said. “To the car.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” A steady breath. “I’m done letting other people clean up my messes. I’m not a mess.” Her mouth flattened. “He is.”
“Yeah,” I said, voice gone low. “He is.”
We ate in the kitchen while the guys continued their game. Rook dared to get close and set a mug of tea by Sara’s elbow, though he didn’t look at her, like eye contact might crowd her. Good.
After, I walked her back to my room. She hesitated inside the door, looking at the dice tower on my nightstand, the little painted dragon on my dresser like it was a secret only she got to see.
“Why ‘Dice’?” she asked, a real question this time, not a joke.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a single, worn D20 die, rolling it across my fingers with the same ease I had roping cattle.
“I like Dungeons & Dragons,” I admitted, completely unapologetic. “The guys figured it out and never let me live it down.”
Sara tilted her head, studying me like she was trying to line up two completely different versions of me. The rough-around-the-edges cowboy standing in front of her and the guy who painted tiny dragons in his spare time.
“You? D&D?” Her voice was full of sarcastic disbelief, like she couldn’t quite picture it and yet wasn’t surprised in the slightest.
I couldn’t help the grin that spread across my face. “Surprising, huh?”
I dropped the die into the tower on my nightstand and let it clatter down, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “But it fits. Out here, life’s a lot like a campaign. You need a good team, a solid plan, and the guts to face whatever monster comes at you.”
Leaning in closer, I lowered my voice, letting a touch of seriousness creep into my tone. “From the outside, it might look like I’m just rolling dice and hoping for the best…”
I gave her a look that had her breath catching, a shiver running down her spine.
“…but the truth is, I always know the map. I know my team. And I don’t make a move unless I’m ready to win.”
Her lips parted, surprise giving way to a small, knowing smile. “So basically, you’re a cowboy nerd with a hero complex.”
I laughed, a deep, rough sound that felt good in my chest. “Pretty much.”
She studied me a beat, then nodded like that, somehow, made her safer.
“Get some sleep,” I told her. “Dawn comes fast.”
She slid under the covers like a cat discovering sun. I sat in the chair, boots on, back to the wall, ready to move if I had to. That’s what a man does when the thing he wants most in this world is also the thing he’d fight and bleed to protect.
The storm finally sighed itself out sometime after midnight, leaving a silence that felt almost eerie. I didn’t sleep. Couldn’t. By the time graylight crept through the windows, the radio cracked to life.
Hilton was able to plow the outer road. Window’s two hours before the next storm rolls in.
Good. We’d make it count.
I rose, stretched out the stiffness, and leaned over the bed. “Morning,” I murmured.
She blinked up at me, soft and wrecked and beautiful. “Morning.”
“Let’s go get your car,” I said. “Then we talk next steps.”
Her warm hand found mine under the blanket. “Okay.”
Outside, the mountain was white and clean, the kind of morning that made you believe in second chances.
We were going to take ours.