Page 78 of Ride or Die

The heifer bolts across the lane and Brady whoops loud enough to wake the dead as he takes off after her on his horse, hat nearly flying clean off his head.

“I got her,” Brady shouts.

“You ain’t got shit,” Webber mutters.

“I got her!”

The cow cuts sideways and Brady almost slides out of his damn saddle.

I bark out a laugh before hopping down from the fence. “Wyatt, swing around the trough!”

Wyatt tips his hat once and moves instantly, calm as always. He cuts the heifer off clean while Brady regains control of his horse and his hat, and Levi and Bobby, one of the other travelling cowboys, nearly die laughing from where they’re watching from the outside.

“That cow embarrassed you in front of the whole damn town,” Bobby hollers.

“No fair. She cheated!” Brady objects.

The crowd nearby applauds like this is dinner and a show.

I grab the gate and shove it properly shut while Brady points accusingly at the latch. “See! Damn thing’s defective.”

“The only defect is one between your goddamn ears, son,” Webber chides.

Brady grins sheepishly, lowering his voice as he trots past me. “You think Boss saw that?”

At the mention of Austin, I glance instinctively toward the main pens where he stands near the loading lane, one hand hooked on his belt buckle, watching everything with that same unnerving expression of indifference he wears so well. Tall. Still. Stoic. Serious enough to make people straighten up and fly right by his sheer presence alone.

Austin spears Brady. “Get your head out your fuckin’ ass,” he says, flat as ever.

Brady jumps like he’s been shot. “Sure thing, Boss.”

Shaking my head, I snort a laugh under my breath and pull my gloves from my back pocket before heading toward the calves. The little ones are worse than the heifers—all jittery legs and full of panic. One bawls loud enough to echo through the afternoon, while another tries squeezing through a gap that definitely cannot fit a calf of its size.

Jagger, a travelling cowboy who blew in with the wind only a few days ago with an overstuffed duffle bag and not a lot else, steps in swiftly before I can reach it. He catches the calf withsteady hands and wrestles with it easily, carrying the kicking bundle of limbs back without uttering a word or breaking a sweat.

“Sneaky motherfucker,” I grit out, flashing Jagger a smirk.

He glances across at me beneath the brim of his hat, the corner of his mouth twitching as he says, “Fuckin’ troublemaker.” And honestly, that’s the most he’s spoken since he’s been here.

The gates creak open again and the first group of cattle starts moving toward the pasture. The energy changes immediately—less frantic, more flowing. Dust rolls beneath their hooves in thick clouds as the cowboys fan out on either side, guiding them to where they need to go.

When I reach Soldier, I swing myself up into the saddle and settle my hat tighter against the breeze. No matter how chaotic things get around here on turnout, this part always feels good, like homecoming. The open pasture stretches for miles between here and the horizon where it meets the faded blue sky in the distance. The cattle begin spreading naturally once they clear the lane, calves sticking close to their mamas, curious yet tentative.

Wyatt rides up beside me. “You good, brother?”

I nod. And although I’m physically here, my mind is elsewhere. As if on instinct, my eyes drift toward the driveway, at the convoy of trucks and vehicles arriving for the cookout. And there it is again. That feeling. That unsettling twist deep in my gut. Something feels wrong.

I’ve been hanging out for Clara to get here. Billie and Tommy too. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since sunrise, picturing Billie’s curious little face, eyes lighting up at the sight of the horses, imagining Tommy hanging back a touch, nervous and cautious at first until he warms up.

I want them to love this place because this is my life, and hell, I want them here. In my life. And fuck, that thought alonenearly knocks me sideways, forcing me to grip Soldier’s rein a little tighter to save myself.

Brady rides up suddenly, grinning at me. “You look fuckin’ lovesick, son.”

I grit my teeth, staring straight ahead.

“You got that soft-eyed stare,” he continues.

I cast him a sidelong glance. “I’ll kill you.”