Chapter 29
cade
By the time Sarah finishes the necropsy, seals the samples, tags what’s left of Ranger, and makes the calls to have the carcass hauled off to the state lab, it’s morning.
The floodlights cut out one by one as the sun rises over the east ridge, painting the pens gold like nothing bad ever touched them.
Dodge looks like he’s worked three roundups back-to-back—I doubt I look any better. The hands crashed in the bunkhouse, which is a good thing, because today’s going to be a long one.
Sarah, I can tell, is running on fumes. Her braid’s half undone, eyes shadowed, but she won’t quit until every last animal in the pens has been checked.
“Dove, you look like hell,” I tell her.
“And here I thought you’d say I look like Miss USA,” she clips. “Now, if you’re tired, go to bed. I intend to finish my job, and I don’t need your help anymore.”
Dodge and I had helped her with the necropsy—passing equipment, holding lights so she could see.
I know how vets work but watching Sarah do it so efficiently makes me puff with pride, even if it was on my bull.
When she opened the rumen, the smell of kerosene hit like a punch, and I was glad she made us wear facemasks.
She collected tissue samples from the liver, kidneys, and rumen lining to send to the state diagnostic lab.
Then she had us collect feed and water samples from the pens, under her watch, which she said would be compared against the stomach contents.
“How can we help?” Dodge asks instead of arguing.
“Why don’t you both go do what you normally do at”—she flips her wrist to check the time—“five in the morning.”
“I’m usually havin’ a cup of coffee,” Dodge chimes. “Boss, too.”
At the word coffee, she perks up. “I would kill for a cup of coffee.”
“I think we’ve had enough killin’ for the day.” My attempt to lighten the mood falls flat—there’s nothing that can make today better.
“Too soon,” she mutters.
“I’ll make some coffee in the mess hall and bring it down here,” Dodge offers.
“That would be good,” I say gratefully.
With Dodge gone, I step into the role of Sarah’s assistant.
Lucky for us, the bulk of the herd’s down in the south pasture—close to two hundred head spread wide across the grass.
What we’ve got up here is just the critical bunch: six bulls, including Thunder, plus maybe thirty head of weaned heifers and yearlings—the ones I like to keep close, where I can keep an eye on them.
By the time she’s done running her stethoscope, checking the water, and marking feed bins, the sky’s turning from dark blue to bruised-purple, and we’re both wrung out.
I’m bone-tired, body heavy as lead, but wired awake in the way rage and grief won’t let you sleep. The only thing keeping me upright is Sarah.
Dodge brings coffee. I suggest we drink it on the porch. I know Sarah won’t go inside my house. I hope she’ll change her mind, as it’s completely renovated and is no longer the same house where….
We wash our hands at the outside spigot with the soap Tillie keeps filled, mostly because she doesn’t want me walking in as filthy as hell.
We’re barely seated when the front door opens.
“Y’all hungry?” Tillie asks. She’s already in her apron.
Thankfully, Tillie planned to stay the night since I was headed to Mav’s party. Otherwise, I’d have had to find someone to be in the house with Evie while I dealt with Ranger.
“Starvin’,” Dodge answers first. “Now, Tillie, if you could be bothered to make one of those scrambled eggs with sausages you do, I’d be forever your servant.”
Tillie scoffs. “Well, then, get to the kitchen. I’ll feed you.”
Sarah goes stiff. I pat her hand. “Drink your coffee, I’ll be right back.”
Inside, I ask Tillie, “Can we eat on the porch?”
She frowns. “Why?”
I take a breath. “She isn’t ready to come in…you know. Landon. It was here. In what used to be my room.”
Realization strikes her hard. “Oh, that poor girl.”
I told Tillie everything, so she knows to keep Landon out of the house and away from Evie.
She serves us breakfast on the porch, and we scarf it down like we haven’t eaten in days. The way we work, food is fuel. Ranching doesn’t stop for grief. Rain or shine, bad day or not, you eat to keep your strength.
Dodge leaves for a shower—something I need, too.
Sarah looks too exhausted to move.
“I should go,” she says, but sits listlessly on the wicker chair.
I’d offer her a shower and bed here, but….
“Why don’t I drive you home?” I suggest.
“I need my truck, and if you drive mine, you’ll need a ride back.” She glances at her watch. “In any case, the lab people will be here in an hour to take…Ranger.”
Before I can say anything, the front door bangs open and out shoots Bandit, barking excitedly when he sees Sarah. He’s all over her, and she picks him up, laughing as he tries to lick her face.
Evie follows, hair mussed and eyes bright.
My kid wakes up full of energy.
She jumps into my lap. “Morning, Daddy.”
I hold her tight because I need to, even though Tillie will be all up in arms about Evie needing a bath before kindergarten, since I’m dirty as hell.
I rest my cheek on Evie’s curls and just soak her in—the joy, the comfort, and the unconditional love.
When I raise my eyes, Sarah’s watching us with unconcealed hunger.
I know what she’s thinking. If we’d stayed together, Evie would be ours. This would be our life, our mornings.
I scoop Evie into my arms, her innocence and joy bubbling against me, and then I hold out my free hand to Sarah. She hesitates—for a breath—but then her fingers slip into mine, warm and trembling. I pull her up so she’s standing with us.
“We need a group hug, Evie,” I murmur.
Evie squeals and throws her little arms wide, and Sarah leans in.
The three of us tangle together—my daughter’s curls tickling my chin, Sarah’s braid brushing my shoulder, our hands clasped tight between us.
For a moment, the grief and anger, the poison and loss, all of it fades. It’s just her, me, and our girl ensconced in a knot of comfort.
I pray this isn’t just a fleeting moment. I pray it’s the family I know we can be….