20. Sage
SAGE
Iwas worried spending time with him like this would be too awkward to be enjoyable, but it hasn’t turned out that way.
Even when there’s silence between us, it’s the comfortable kind.
Maybe that’s because it’s filled with the whisper of the breeze through the long grass, the hoofbeats of the horses, the occasional snort, and the high-pitched cry of a hawk circling above us.
Peaceful doesn’t begin to describe it.
Over the next few hours, we stop several more times. While Holden makes repairs, I take photos, even capturing the hawk mid-spiral, wings outstretched, head angled downward as it searches for prey.
The steady rhythm of the ride is beginning to feel almost familiar when Holden stops again. “Hold up.”
I rein Cozy in. “What is it?”
“Hear that?”
As soon as I focus, I hear it—a metallic sound that comes and goes. “What is it?”
“A problem. Come on.”
I follow, and as we crest a hill, a smallish cow comes into view, tangled in a section of broken wire fencing. One back leg is caught tight where the strands are twisted together. Every time it jerks backward, the wire pulls tighter.
The rest of the herd shifts restlessly nearby.
The tangled cow panics, throwing itself sideways and rattling the fence, causing the sound we heard before.
Holden hops off his horse smoothly. “Easy,” he says, voice low and steady.
The animal struggles harder.
He digs into his saddlebag and pulls his pliers out. Oh god, he’s going to try to get the cow out. I shove my camera into my bag, then dismount carefully and stand beside Cozy, waiting for instructions.
“Don’t come straight at it,” he says. “You’ll make it worse.”
I nod.
The cow jerks again, breathing hard now, eyes wide enough to show the whites. Holden takes his time approaching, every movement deliberate, controlled.
“Be careful,” I say.
“I will.”
He goes wide, forcing the cow to track his movements rather than fight the wire. Little by little, the animal’s panic loses some of its edge.
Holden glances over his shoulder. “Can you move left? Don’t get too close. Just enough to stop it from twisting around again if it bolts.”
I swallow and nod, though he’s already turned back. Following his instructions, I ease into position. The cow notices me, muscles flinching, but when I don’t move closer, she stills.
“That’s it,” Holden says softly, crouching near the fence line. “Don’t crowd her.”
I stay where I am, pulse thudding harder than it should. Up close, the cow is more tangled than I realized. One strand of wire is twisted tightly around her leg, and another has snagged awkwardly beneath her body.
Holden doesn’t touch anything right away. Instead, he studies her, his eyes narrowed. “Okay,” he eventually mutters.
Then, moving deliberately, he uses the pliers to cut the first strand with a sharp snap. The cow lunges instantly.
“Hold—”
I react before I fully think about it, shifting just enough to block the direction she’s trying to throw herself. Not trapping her, just redirecting her enough that she hesitates. That split second gives Holden the opportunity to grasp the loosened wire and yank it free.
“One more,” he says.
Thunder rumbles in the distance, and wind sweeps across the pasture, carrying dust and the sharp smell of rain. Holden glances toward the sky, then quickly refocuses on his work. From here, the second strand looks even tighter.
I watch his hands as he works. Steady. Sure. Every movement patient, even when he’s working on an animal large enough to seriously injure him if things go wrong.
And he’s been seriously injured before.
“Are you always this calm under pressure?” I ask quietly.
One corner of his mouth tips up. “No.” He works carefully on the twisted metal. “You can’t rush when you’re dealing with animals. You panic, they panic. Then somebody gets hurt.”
“I’ll keep that in mind for next time I’m rescuing a cow,” I say dryly.
He huffs out a short laugh, even as he stays focused on what he’s doing. The cow jerks again as Holden cuts the final strand, then it’s free, scrambling upright and stumbling before it bolts toward the herd in a burst of frantic movement.
Holden stands and wipes his forehead with the back of his arm, watching the herd as they move away from us.
“Will she be okay?” I ask.
“Should be. She’ll limp for a day or two, but she’ll be all right.”
A stronger gust of wind buffets us, and both horses snort and stamp their hooves. Holden looks up again, his jaw flexing. In the time it took to free the cow, dark clouds have swallowed up much more of the sky. “Herd’s heading for higher ground, and we need to get back soon too.”
Thunder rolls again, louder this time, as if to underscore his point.
He crouches beside the fence, where the wire hangs loose.
“Can you fix it?” I ask.
“Enough to keep something else from getting caught.” His eyes find mine. “Can you grab that wire?” He nods toward a section dragging on the ground.
I step forward, glad to be of some help.
“Careful,” he says. “Don’t wrap it around your hand. Here, use this.” He pulls one of his gloves off and tosses it to me.
I tug it on. It’s far too big, but at least it offers protection from the bite of the wire.
“Okay, pull it tight,” he says.
I brace myself, digging my feet into the ground, and lean back slightly, keeping the wire taut as Holden twists it into place with quick, practiced movements.
Wind tears across the pasture, this time whipping my hair across my face. When the horses whinny, I shoot them a look, hoping they won’t run away and leave us here.
“Don’t worry about them, they’ll stay put,” Holden says, as if he can read my mind.
The wind gusts again, and the wire shifts suddenly in my grip. Faster than seems humanly possible, Holden catches my wrist before the wire snaps back toward my hand.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he says, thumb brushing the bare skin of my inner arm. Not teasing, just steady, calming.
I swallow once and tighten my hold, trying to focus on the task instead of the way he called me sweetheart—like it slipped out without thought.
Together, we pull the section tight, and he secures it to the post, then tests the tension. “That should hold. You can let go.”
I release the wire carefully, then remove the glove and flex my stiff fingers.
The wind has picked up even more, and the scent of rain is impossible to ignore.
Holden presses one hand against his shoulder, but he drops it quickly when he catches me watching.
“Are you okay?”
His gaze flicks to mine. “I’m fine.”
The response is too automatic, too rehearsed. I consider pushing, but in the distance, lightning arcs across the sky, followed by a sharp crack of thunder.
His expression shifts. “We need to move.”
I reach for Cozy, preparing to mount, but Holden’s suddenly at my side, lifting me high enough that I can sling my leg over the saddle. If the movement strains his shoulder, he doesn’t let it show. Before I can say anything, he’s already turning toward Whiskey.
Just as he mounts, the first drops of rain hit me. It’s not a gentle rain, either. It’s cold and wind-driven. Holden glances up at the sky, then in the direction of the ranch, his expression assessing.
“We need to pick up the pace,” he says, bringing his horse closer. “You know how to stay on at a trot. This’ll be easier, but faster. Just sit deeper in the saddle and let Cozy move. If you need to, hold on to the horn. She’ll follow Whiskey, okay?”
Stomach knotted tight, I nod.
For a beat, his expression softens. “That’s my girl.”
The words hit a place inside me they absolutely shouldn’t, but there’s no time to examine why, because Holden’s turning away and urging Whiskey forward.
I barely have to do anything to get Cozy moving too. She surges forward into a lope before I’m even remotely ready for it, the motion bigger and much faster than I’m used to.
I hold on to Holden’s words and will myself not to stiffen up. Easier said than done with rain lashing across the pasture and the wind tearing at my shirt, stinging my exposed skin.
But as he promised, the pace is easier to adjust to than a bouncy trot. Still, when Cozy tosses her head, I grip the saddle horn instinctively.
Even though I’m sure Holden can go faster if he wants to, he never gets too far ahead, glancing over his shoulder now and then to check on me.
Rainwater runs cold down the back of my neck, and my braid has come loose, wet strands plastering themselves to my cheeks.
Behind us, thunder crashes so loudly it makes my ears ring.
Cozy stumbles, then catches herself so quickly I barely have time to process it.
When I look up again, Holden is beside me. “We’re almost there.”
I peer through the rain ahead, but don’t see the ranch. “Where?” I force out through gritted teeth, hoping he can hear me.
“Not the ranch. Ground’s getting too slick too fast. I won’t risk you going down.”
He turns Whiskey toward a cluster of trees I can barely make out, and with zero instruction from me, Cozy follows. Thank god, because with every minute the rain comes down harder and visibility shrinks.
Holden stays close as we weave through rougher ground, riding just far enough ahead to provide guidance.
Doing my best to blink rain from my eyes, I focus on the trees and the dark shape emerging in front of them. As we get closer, the building becomes a bit clearer. It’s longer than it is tall, its wooden facade darkened to almost black by the rain.
A barn, maybe?
It’s weathered, but compared to the open pasture around us, it looks impossibly solid. Relief at the thought of shelter hits me so suddenly it almost makes me dizzy.
Holden stops in front of the barn and jumps off Whiskey. As Cozy comes to a halt next to him, I kick my feet out of the stirrups, but I’m shivering, my fingers stiff and reluctant to release their grip.
Holden’s by my side again. “I’ve got you.”