Page 128 of Finding Peace
Abigail
Istepoutontotheporch and immediately squint into the afternoon light—the brim of my hat doing little to hide it.
The absurdly long gravel driveway stretches in front of me, pale and dusty beneath the sun. The barn stands to my left, doors thrown open, the soft sounds of the few animals still lingering inside drifting through the warm air.
My eyes move to the upstairs window, hoping to see a glimpse of Lincoln, but I’m not surprised when I don’t. He’s been buried in a stack of paperwork at his desk for most of the morning.
Farther out across the ranch, a faint metallic clang echoes in the breeze.
Beau, Lawson, and Jasper.
They rode out about an hour ago to move a couple of the bottle-fed calves back into the pasture and to check on the rest of the babies and their mamas. I can’t see them from here, but every sooften, the deep timbre of one of their voices shouting across the pasture carries across the hills.
I walk slowly down the porch steps, one hand resting automatically over the gentle curve of my stomach. “Alright,” I murmur to the little life growing inside of me. “Time for a quick walk.”
The further my pregnancy progresses, the less and less I seem to be needed for any sort of work around here. Which is convenient considering it’s spring and it’s considered one of the busier times of year on a cattle ranch.
When I brought it up to Lawson a couple of weeks ago, he just shrugged and said, “Just haven’t been as busy lately, I guess.” He then proceeded to usher me onto the front porch of the house before parking my butt in a rocking chair and getting me a glass of water.
I should be annoyed, but it was honestly really endearing.
Be that as it may, with less “work” for me to do and not being able to ride Griff, I’ve been making it a point to take walks down the driveway at least once a day—especially with it being so nice out.
The gravel crunches beneath my boots as I take a couple of steps, but then I stop.
Something’s wrong.
The feeling comes first, followed by a subtle shift in the air that prickles along the back of my neck.
My eyes sweep across the yard.
The trucks and my car are parked where they should be.
The equipment shed is closed.
Nothing looks out of place except—
My gaze drifts toward something alongside the barn.
At first, my brain refuses to understand what I’m seeing. Something is lying in the dirt. Something big.
My stomach drops as I take a few steps closer, squinting.
A tarp does its best to cover whatever it is, but it must have shifted in the wind.
Two stiff hooves stick out from beneath the edge of the canvas.
My heart lurches.
It’s a cow.
A dead one.
The tarp is pulled halfway across its body, but the dirt around it is dark and damp.
There are drag marks across the gravel leading from the pasture toward where it lies.
My pulse spikes. “What the—”
