by Lexie Ray
We both ducked as a bullet winged just over our heads, and I prompted Sugar to at least make moving targets of us. Peyton fired at will, sending the other riders scattering, and I slowly realized that we had support from behind us, other guns firing, perhaps Tucker and Chance and maybe even Zoe, a quiet, foul-mouthed housekeeper lit afire at the prospect of people messing with her new home. We were all coming together to protect the ranch because it had brought us this far. We couldn’t give up on it. Not after how hard we’d worked to even get this far.
Peyton was screaming in what sounded suspiciously like glee as we rounded the group of riders, horses screaming their displeasure at the panic we were causing. Sugar was a champ throughout — until she stumbled and fell, sending Peyton and me flying.
I cursed as I hit the ground hard, both of my arms used to try and cushion Peyton’s head from the ground, and then climbed to my feet, yanking her up in the process.
“Are you all right?” I demanded, frightened as the riders galloped away, leaving the part of the herd they’d been trying to drive off, apparently deciding that whatever they were trying to do wasn’t worth the risk. Part of me was proud of that — the entire Corbin-Summers Ranch had been able to unite to beat back this worrisome attack. But the rest of me was really shaken. What was happening to this place, and to us? Ranching was already so difficult. Why did we have to face down this additional threat?
There were a few whoops of weary victory, Peyton’s among them.
“I’m just fine, thank you,” she said. “Some fine riding.”
“Some fine shooting,” I said, glancing around uneasily. “Do you see that guy anywhere — the one you shot?”
“I didn’t gun him down, if that’s what you’re asking,” she laughed. “All that talk was just for show. I just clipped him. Shoulder shot. I’d bet money on it.”
Tucker and Chance had approached, both of them shining with sweat. I didn’t notice until then just how humid the night was. We simply couldn’t catch a break from summer, even long after dark.
“That might give us a good lead, come morning,” Tucker said. “I’ll ask around the hospital, talk to my buddies at the police station, see if anyone came in with a bullet wound — or two. Hospital staff would have to report something like that to the authorities.”
“And then we’d at least try to pinpoint where these things are coming from,” I said, realization dawning on me. “Peyton, thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” she said, ducking her head in an oddly humble manner. “What if he doesn’t show up at the hospital? Plenty of people out here know how to dig out a bullet without involving the authorities. I know a couple myself.”
“That’s just a risk we’re going to have to take,” Tucker rumbled.
“Where’s everyone else?” I asked, looking around, trying to take stock of the mess.
“Hunter and Avery and Paisley are with the rest of the guys driving the cattle back across the river,” Chance said, squinting at the darkness, probably wishing the night would lift so he could better manage the situation. “Hadley’s taking a look at a couple of ranch hands who suffered some minor injuries — grazes and falls, things like that. Zoe apparently knows how to mend a fence — go figure — so she’s helping put that back together before the rest of the herd decides it would like a taste of freedom, too.”
“Damn,” Tucker said. “Whole family’s out here.”
“Kind of nice,” Chance agreed. “Nice to have this many people that have our backs, for once.”
I looked at Peyton, but she was staring at the ground.
“You’ve got a bloody nose,” Tucker pointed out helpfully, and I suddenly noticed the wetness on my lips.
“Dammit,” I said, though it was mild. It didn’t even hurt. “We took a tumble from — oh shit.”
I’d forgotten about Sugar. How had that happened? I loved that horse, and I cared about her so much that sometimes, if I couldn’t sleep, I’d simply go down to the barn to brush her while she kept me company. How could I forget her stumbling like that? Where was she?
“Sugar, hey, girl!” I called into the night. A silvery shape nickered at me, and I knew something wasn’t right. “Fuck me, she’s hurt.”
We gathered around her, me petting her face, afraid to look where my brothers shined their flashlights.
“She’s favoring her leg,” Chance said, sounding like the words pained him.
“It was dark, and we were at a gallop,” I said, keeping my voice light for the mare’s benefit. It would do her no good if she picked up on my fear. I had to keep it calm for her. “She stumbled — must have hit a rock or a hole or something.”
“We have to do the right thing,” Tucker said softly. “Look at her. She’s in pain.”
“No, this might be nothing at all,” I began, but Chance cut me off.
“I know she’s your horse, Emmett. But you know what Mom and Dad told us. As hard as it is for us to do the right thing, think of how much the poor thing will suffer if we’re not brave enough.”
“This is fixable.”
We all turned to look at Peyton, who was kneeling on the ground by the leg Sugar was holding up.
“I don’t know what kind of fantasy you two are living in,” Chance said, “but I know a broken leg when I see one.”
“I don’t think it’s a break,” she argued. “At worst, it’s a fracture. It’s in the lower leg, so that’s a lot more accessible.”
“Accessible to what?” Chance asked. “Everyone knows a horse with a broken leg needs to be put down. I know this one’s special to you, Emmett, but it would be cruel to keep her living in pain.”
“What would be cruel would be to end her life when we have the ability to heal her,” Peyton fired back before I could answer. “Emmett, tell him.”
“I guess now’s as good a time as any,” I said. “Peyton and I know we can fix Sugar because we’ve been doing it already, for other horses.”
“What?”
“You’ve been after me about doing my work on the ranch, and you’ve been right to be,” I admitted. “We set up shop on a back piece of Dax Malone’s land and, well …”
“Robbed him of his clients,” Peyton said with a sharp grin.
Tucker looked at the cast on her wrist. “That makes a few more puzzle pieces fall into place, actually.”
“Don’t be mad,” I practically begged Chance. “This is my dream, and I know you don’t think it’s feasible, but we could actually have a horse rehabilitation center on this ranch. It doesn’t take up much room, and Peyton and I are already making money. It’s a fifty-fifty split. Hers goes wherever she wants it to go, but mine can go right back into the ranch — minus what we need to get started again.”
“My father saw fit to destroy all our equipment,” Peyton added helpfully.
“Do you really think you can save your horse?” Chance asked. “Realistically?”
“Definitely,” I said, with conviction.
“We’ve done it before, and were paid handsomely,” Peyton confirmed.
“Then do it.”
“Horse rehab sounds mighty interesting,” Tucker put in. “We already have a rehab facility for ranchers. Think of it as the whole healing package, especially around these parts.”
“One thing at a time,” Chance said, but absently, as if his mind were far away. My heart leapt in my chest. God bless Sugar, but maybe this was just the thing we needed to finally convince my brothers that it was time for my dreams to come to fruition.
“We’ll need some things,” Peyton said. “Anesthetic. Screws. Bandages. A splint, at least, to start.”
“I can call the vet, wake him up,” I said. “He wouldn’t ever do anything like this, so I bet he’d let me buy the supplies off him.”
“Perfect.”
“Emmett!” I looked up as Hadley jogged over to us, her eyes wide and panicked.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Hunter,” she said. “He’s having an epi
sode.”
“Shit,” Tucker cursed as Chance grabbed two fistfuls of his hair.
“We do not need this right now,” he said quietly.
“Do you think I need this? Do you think Hunter wants to be doing this?” Hadley glared at him. “Help him. Do something. I can’t talk him down.”
“Go,” Peyton said. “Give me your phone, and I’ll take care of the horse end of things.”
My brothers and I ran alongside Hadley until we reached the fence. The ranch hands had suspended their efforts to get it back upright, as Hunter currently had a gun trained on them.
“We’re friends,” Zoe said cautiously, her hands in the air. “Hunter, you know us. Will you please point that somewhere else?”
“You don’t understand anything,” he said, his eyes wild, like an injured animal. “It just keeps going and going.”
“You’re safe, now, Hunter,” I tried. “Everyone’s safe. We did a good job. You can put the gun down.”
“This isn’t ever going to stop,” he said.
“He might be right about that,” someone muttered. “We’re out here every single night and this shit still happens.”
“Not helpful,” someone else called.
“Hunter, your family’s here,” Tucker said. “Every single one of us is here with you right now. Let’s all go back to the big house and spend the night, like old times, drinking beer and telling stories.”
Hunter exhaled like he’d been holding a breath. “I hate this.”
“I know,” Hadley said. “Do you think you can get the note in your pocket, now?”
“No, I’m holding the gun,” he said. “I don’t want to put down the gun.”
“Note?” Chance questioned softly.
“Just something to anchor him when this happens,” Hadley said easily. “It’s in his pocket.”
“Can I get it out of your pocket for you?” I asked. “Or I could hold your gun while you get it.”
“I’m holding the gun,” Hunter said, his eyes sliding over to me. He was looking right at me, but I couldn’t tell whether he was actually seeing me.
“Okay, that’s fine,” I said. “But the note. Can I get it for you?”
“Are you going to try and take the gun?”
“Hell, no. That gun’s yours.”
“Slow.” Hunter kept everyone covered with the gun as I walked as slowly as I could toward him.
“Easy,” Tucker said, his eyes hard, his finger on the trigger of his gun. “Be easy, brother.”
“Which pocket is it?” I asked, my voice as calm as I could manage. “You better not say back. I’m not touching your ass.”
He exhaled a little again at the attempt at a joke. “Front right.”
“My right or yours?”
“Mine.”
Thank God the gun was pointed at the rest of the crowd that had assembled instead of me. I didn’t think I could’ve done this so nonchalantly otherwise. It felt like whole hours were spiraling past as I got the folded piece of paper from his pocket as gingerly as possible.
“Would you like it?” I asked.
“Gun,” he said, tense.
“I can open it up and you can read what it says,” I told him. “Very simple solution. You just have to look at it. Cool?”
“Do it.”
“Can you see it?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to read it? What does it say?”
Hunter cleared his throat. “It says, ‘You love a smoking hot woman and she loves you, your family is the closest a person could have and supports you at all times, and the ranch is going to be the biggest and best goddamn thing in Texas.”
I grinned. “You got that right.”
“Still need that gun, Hunter?” Tucker asked quietly. He’d been moving closer to us this entire time. “Why don’t you give it to Emmett?”
“You can have it,” he said, releasing his grip on it so suddenly that I almost dropped it. Tucker smoothly spirited it away, and Hadley moved in, murmuring softly in his ear, petting his cheek with her hand.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice choked.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Tucker told him. “This kind of thing happens.”
The rest of us quickly got the fence back up and started to disperse, exhausted with what had transpired.
“I think I need to go to a center,” Hunter was saying as he and Hadley walked off.
“I think that’s a good idea,” she said. “At least to talk to people, you know? Experts who can help.”
Chance, Tucker, and I loaded back up in the truck, but Sugar and Peyton were nowhere to be seen.
“I saw her splint Sugar’s leg on the fly,” Chance said, noticing me looking around. “Then she walked her back toward the house, slow, while Hunter was having the episode.”
“Is that going to happen all the time?” I wondered as Zoe hopped in the passenger seat with Tucker and we took off.
“I don’t know,” Chance admitted. “I didn’t even know this was happening.”
“Hadley told me something about it a while back,” I said. “I thought it would be better by now … only maybe this is something you don’t really cure.”
We were quiet for nearly the rest of the ride back across the darkened passengers, all of us with our own thoughts. Hunter was still haunted by Afghanistan, even after finding love and experiencing a successful physical rehabilitation. Would Peyton continue to be haunted by what her father had said and done? I couldn’t help but draw a parallel.
“You did really well tonight,” Chance said, putting his hand on my arm before I could jump out of the bed of the truck as we rolled up to the trailer.
“Glad I’m not wearing that knee brace anymore,” I said. “Glad we were able to come together, and that I could do something useful for this place.”
“You’re useful to this place all the time,” he said. “Even when you’re canoodling with Peyton Crow.”
I raised my eyebrow. “Canoodling? Really?”
He shrugged. “Find your happiness wherever you can.”
I took a moment to ponder that. “I have, I think. I think she’s my happiness.”
“She knows guns, and she knows horses,” Chance said, thoughtful. “She’d be an asset around here, too, if she wanted to come and work for us.”
“We’re pretty married to the horse rehab project,” I said. “And I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to stand firm on that. We had a lot of success when we first started out. It’s something we’re both really good at, and something we love.”
“I think the rehab project is a good idea.”
“I’ll tell you another thing. This can tie in with the dude ranch. It would be seamless. People could even help with the horses that were done with the rehab and just needed exercise to further their treatment. Think of how empowering that would be for visitors to take part in, how important.”
“Emmett.” Chance was grinning. “Listen to me. I’m telling you yes. It’s a good idea. We’re going to invest and make this a reality.”
My eyes bugged out. “Really?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. It’s your baby.”
“And Peyton’s,” I said, my mind spinning.
“Well, you’d better go tell her the good news,” Chance said. “We need a business plan by Monday.”
“Monday? It’s freaking Friday, Chance.”
“Welcome to the business world,” he said, the grim look on his face making me wonder if he was joking or serious.
The truck took off, and I turned toward the trailer to see Peyton sitting on the steps outside, her face in her hands.
“Peyton, what’s wrong?” My heart was in my throat as I approached. “Is it Sugar? Is the leg worse than what you thought?”
“Sugar’s going to be fine,” she assured me, smiling briefly. “The vet was so astonished when he got here that he even let me use the X-ray machine. Everything is going to be perfect.”
“That’s
good news,” I said, but she looked so crestfallen that I pressed her for answers. “What else is going on?”
“Nothing,” she said breezily. “You know, I think I’m just tired.”
“Okay,” I said slowly, drawing out the second syllable. “It’s just … you look sad.”
She gave a half-hearted shrug. “I’m not.”
I snagged her good wrist as she made a move to walk away. “You can tell me anything. What is it? Did someone say something to you? Is it your father? Your mother?”
Peyton laughed, but it had a brittle edge to it. “I guess you could say that, yeah.”
“Did you run into them? Did you hear anything about them?”
She shook her head. “It’s not like that.”
“Then are you going to tell me what it’s like?”
“What do you want me to say, Emmett?” Her shoulders hunched, defensive, as I struggled to ferret out just what had upset her so terribly. “Why do you even care?”
“How could you say that? I care about you. I care what happens to you, what has happened to make you feel like this.”
“You don’t even know how I feel. That’s a ridiculous statement.”
“You don’t feel happy, that’s for damn sure. I want to know what’s wrong so I can help you, if I can. That’s why, Peyton. People who love each other help each other through whatever they can.”
“You can’t help me with this,” she said. “This is mine.”
“Well, maybe it would help if you talked about it.” I felt so useless around her. She was the gifted one, the one who would always know so much more about horses than me, who could silence even the most high-strung ones with a quiet word. I felt like I was just riding on her coattails.
“I don’t think it would help,” she said. “There isn’t anything to be done about it. It’s stupid for me to even feel bad about it.”
“It’s not stupid to feel bad,” I countered. “You feel bad because something’s wrong. Tell me. I just want to see if there’s anything I can do to help you feel better.”
“Can you make me a time machine?” she asked, lifting her dark eyes to meet mine at long last.
