Chapter 17
cade
It’s been a week since Mav’s barbecue, a week since that kiss.
I haven’t seen Sarah since.
Even Evie says she hasn’t been around the clinic when she’s with Joy. Word is Dr. K’s been working out at Seven Horns two towns over.
I’m having trouble sleeping. I keep hearing what she said.
“You killed me.”
“I almost killed myself.”
“I took pills.”
And then that final jab.
“When you find out the truth, Cade, and your heart tears you apart, I will watch with satisfaction. I will give you no comfort.”
Her words are a brand burned deep. I can’t shake them.
In my heart, I know she didn’t lie, but in my head, I don’t know if I’ve got the guts to face what that means.
No matter how fucked up my nights, by dawn, I’m up and moving. Work doesn’t wait for a man to get his head on straight.
Ranching’s like that. Cows don’t give a damn if your heart’s in pieces.
I check on Evie, still curled up in bed, hair a tumble across her pillow. Just looking at her makes me lighter. Happier.
Bandit, the son of a bitch, is snoring softly next to her.
I shake my head at that.
Bandit now lives with us, or rather, he lives with Evie. I told her that he should sleep in his own bed; that has done me no good. As soon as I leave her room at night, he gets in next to her. She loves the mutt, and truth be told, he’s become a favorite of Tillie’s as well.
He and I are still getting to know each other.
In the kitchen, Tillie’s already packing Evie’s lunchbox.
“That dog bed you got him was a waste of money,” I tell her.
She grins. “Oh, stop pretending like you’ve got a problem with it.”
I pour a cup of coffee, black and hot, and tell Tillie I’ll be back in a couple of hours for breakfast.
Before Jeanine, the hands ate their meals at the house kitchen, crowded around the same old table. Jeanine hated that, said it made the house feel like a bunkhouse. So, I set up a mess hall with a cook. It’s worked like a dream. I never saw a reason to change it back.
Most mornings, I’m out early, back in time for breakfast with Evie. Lunch, I take at the mess hall with the other hands. Dinner’s with Evie—sometimes here at home, sometimes down at the diner, sometimes over at Joy and Mav’s place with Aria. We keep it loose, but I make time for her every day.
My father didn’t do that.
When we were kids, he was gone.
After Mama passed, he stayed gone.
Landon and I raised ourselves, two boys trying to fill shoes too big for us. Maybe that’s why I’ve always been close to him—two survivors of the same neglect.
The April morning bites sharp as I step out onto the porch.
The air’s damp with dew, smelling of sage and wet earth.
Sunrise creeps over the canyon walls, painting the pastures in pale gold.
The herd’s bawling carries across the land, calves calling for their mamas, lowing mixing with the clang of gates as the hands start their day.
I slowly drink my coffee.
I love this time of day when there is nothing but possibility.
Blue Rock stretches wide in every direction. Rolling pasture broken by stands of cottonwood, the creek cutting a silver ribbon down the center, barns and corrals squared against the horizon. This land is my bones. My inheritance. My burden. My salvation.
I finish my coffee and head for the calving pens.
“Mornin’, boss.” Dodge falls into step beside me, his hat pulled low against the chill.
“Mornin’.”
This time of year means long nights and longer days, what with new calves dropping. Some are easy, while some need a rope and a strong back to pull them into the world.
Dodge points out a cow, restless in the straw, tail flicking. “She’ll go by noon.”
“Keep an eye on her.” I give her a once-over. The heifer lifts her head, nostrils flaring. She’s got that look. Close, but not quite ready.
I don’t think we’ll need a vet. And even if we do, Bodie is who we will turn to as we always do. But if Bodie is busy?
You’ve got to stop thinkin’ about her, Cade. She hates your ass. And you hate hers. Remember?
We check on the bulls afterward.
I’ve got a handful of bulls running Blue Rock, each with his own job.
I’ve got a couple of commercial Angus boys—good, solid bulls. They’ll cover the bigger pastures and keep the calf crop strong.
I keep one Hereford in the mix, too. He throws Black Baldies—calves tough as boot leather, grow quick, and sell high at auction.
Thunder’s the crown jewel—Angus, through and through, with bloodlines you could brag on at any stock show. He cost me more than I ever wanted to spend, but he’ll sire the calves that’ll define Blue Rock’s future.
That’s the thing about bulls. Folks think they’re just big, mean sons of bitches. Truth is, they’re the future in a hide. You pick right, your herd thrives. You pick wrong, you pay for it for years.
We cut across the pasture to the breeding pens, where Thunder paces behind the steel rails like a king sizing up his kingdom.
His black coat gleams even under the dust. His muscles coil thick through his shoulders and rump.
He drops his head, snorts hard, pawing at the dirt like he’s daring us to climb in with him.
Dodge leans against the rail, spitting into the dirt. “Hell of a bull. He’s gonna change the herd.”
I watch the way Thunder carries himself—proud, alert, dangerous. “That’s the plan. His sire threw calves that gained three pounds a day without even trying. Faster weight gain, thicker frames, more marbling. Buyers at market will fight over ’em.”
“And Traveler blood in the maternal line,” Dodge adds, grinning. “Ain’t nothing wrong with that. Solid udders, easy calvers.”
I glance at him, one brow up. “Been doing your homework.”
“Course. A man ought to know the bloodlines if he’s gonna bet his paycheck on ’em.” He jerks his chin toward the next pen. “Old Big Red’s not gonna like the competition.”
Big Red, my other Angus bull, shifts his massive weight against the fence, eyeing me as if asking, “Who’s your favorite?”
He’s a good bull—proven, reliable. But standing next to Thunder, he looks older, slower, like a heavyweight champ past his prime.
“Red’s still worth his salt.” I scratch the old bull between the ears through the rail.
He swings his massive head, grumbling low in his throat.
“But we’re breeding for the future. I want calves that’ll push this ranch forward.
Buyers are now paying top dollar for efficiency. Genetics is everything.”
Dodge chuckles. “Man talks about cows like other men talk about fine whiskey.”
I chuckle. “Whiskey won’t pay the feed bills.”
“Ain’t that the truth!”
We spend the next half hour running the bulls through a short chute to check them over.
Dodge slides the gate, and I push them forward, both of us mindful of how dangerous this much beef on hoof can be. Each step rattles the steel like a drumbeat.
I run my hands along Thunder’s flank, noting the muscle, the width of his chest, the clean lines in his legs. He’s a breeder, all right. Worth every damn penny.
When we finally let him back into the pen, he wheels, tossing his head like he knows he’s the future of Blue Rock.
After Dodge leaves to get breakfast in the mess hall, I rush back for a quick shower and breakfast with Evie.
After Tillie takes her to kindergarten, we push pairs—cows and calves—out to fresh pasture.
The hands ride ahead, swinging gates, whistling, slapping leather against saddle horns. Calves buck and kick at the cool morning, mothers lumbering after them, lowing softly. Dust rises with the sun, coating everything in a fine red film.
It’s hard and honest work. Used to be the thing that steadied me.
Not today. Not since she told me she tried to kill herself.
The thought of living in a world where Sarah doesn’t exist is anathema.
I’ve been hating the woman for years, but now I know—mixed in with the hate is obsession. Maybe even love, which didn’t die.
My heart kicks up whenever I see her. I thought it was anger. Now I know better.
“Thunder’s lookin’ mean,” one of the hands, Rufus, calls over from his saddle, reins loose in one hand, the other holding his loop ready in case a calf strays. “Ain’t no mistakin’ who’s boss in that pen.”
I grunt, shifting my weight in the saddle. “Better be. Cost me more than my first pickup.”
One of the younger hands snorts. “Hell, boss, for that price, that bull better make coffee and fix fences, too.”
The men laugh, and Dodge shakes his head, smirking. “You’re all full of shit. That bull is gonna throw keepers.”
I watch a calf dart sideways, mother bawling as she follows. Dodge nudges his horse after a straggler.
We work until the herd flows through the gate like a living river.
By the time we’ve pushed the pairs into fresh pasture, the sun’s cleared the canyon rim. My shirt sticks to my back, and the brim of my hat is already damp with sweat. April’s supposed to be cool, but this morning feels more like August.
We stop at a pond—a pocket of water tucked into a low curve of the pasture, mirror-flat and the color of old steel. Reeds crowd the shallows, cattails nod in the breeze, and dragonflies skim the surface. On the far bank, willows dip low over the water.
The air smells green and clean: wet earth, sun-warmed algae, and a trace of cedar smoke drifting from a distant burn pile.
For a second, the stillness drags me to a lazy afternoon—just Sarah and me.
“Promise me, Cade, you’ll always be there,” she whispers, nuzzling my chest as we lie on a blanket on the banks of the pond. We swam, made love in the water, and took a nap, naked as jaybirds. Just as free.
“I promise, Dove.” I roll over her, nestle my growing erection between her thighs, and kiss her. “I can’t live without you.”
Tears fill her eyes. “I love you, Cade.”
“I love you, Dove.”
The memory burns.
I grit my teeth, swing off my horse, and splash cold water onto sunburned skin.
The pond’s bite shocks my muscles awake and clears the grit from my head. A reset. The only way to shake Sarah loose—at least for now.