Chasing The Wild (Crimson Ridge Book 1)
Chasing The Wild: Chapter 9

There’s a satisfying thunk and splintering noise as I bring the ax head down.

Sweat beads at my temples, even though it’s below freezing, and I haul the next log to be split onto the block in front of me.

I’ve been at this for an hour. Nightfall is closing in, and the longer I spend here, the closer it inches toward another endless, cold night. Each time the wood gives way below the metal head, I can’t help but picture it being that fucker Pierson’s neck.

God-fucking-damnit, now that one of them knows Layla is here, I’m going to have them both sniffing around whenever they think I’ve turned my back.

Men who like to use their good looks to prey on unsuspecting victims. There’s more than enough evidence of the sick shit they do to women unlucky enough to fall into their grasp. Yet, the Pierson brothers have never been charged.

The thought that he’d dared set foot up here on the fucking pretense of a welfare check makes my blood boil. What’s worse is that I know he’ll be back, and there’s nothing I can do when those two sick fucks are so deeply embedded in every part of Crimson Ridge, pretending to be good people, like a cancer on this fucking community.

Just like he was.

Maybe Hayes was right. Maybe I should report them for the shit they’ve been responsible for up here over the years. The kinds of issues, damage, and spates of vandalism that I’ve never been able to confidently prove who was responsible for over the years, but I’ve always known it was Henrik and Alton Pierson.

Yet, even though I’ve known… guilt has stopped me from ever seeing it through and finally doing something about it. My connection to them makes it all so goddamn complicated.

All I want to do is make amends for my grandfather’s sins, but these assholes make it impossible to do so, or to move on.

I bring the ax down again and the two bits of wood fly in opposite directions, before I bend down and toss them over onto the stack beside me that has grown much larger than I need it to be today.

Part of me knows I’m hiding out here.

The worst part of me nearly wrestled free of its leash last night.

Seeing her walk in wearing next to nothing was a temptation I nearly gave into. With her curves and smooth skin and wide green eyes looking back at me as if she fucking liked what she saw. The girl doesn’t know shit about me. If she did, Layla would run a mile and I’d never see another glimpse of her silky head of hair ever again.

There’s a reason I’ve been stuck on this mountain for years on my own.

Women I come across enjoy a fuck, an orgasm, and then they move on with their lives. They take one look after the glow has worn off from the sex and decide they want more than to be stuck with someone like me.

I don’t blame them.

Just as I place the next round of wood in front of me and swing the ax in the air, I hear it.

A shout. Layla.

“Colt.” Her voice is high-pitched. Frightened.

The ax clatters to the ground as I grab my jacket and head in the direction of her voice.

“Colt.” She’s yelling louder, swinging off the back of Peaches as I round the corner of the barn.

“Layla?” I shrug my jacket on, and my eyes are all over her, looking for injury. Her eyes are hanging out of her head, but she’s moving ok, rushing toward me. That’s when I notice the blood on her hands.

“Where are you hurt?” My instinct is to grab her face, but I stop myself, instead I grip Layla’s shoulders as soon as I’m next to her.

The girl is trembling.

“Layla, talk to me.”

“It’s the herd. Some are hurt.” There’s tears in her eyes.

“How bad?” My mind is already running back over all the fences I checked and trying to remember if there’s something that I missed.

“I don’t know. There’s blood, and I was trying to keep one of them from making it worse—I needed to get supplies, and I couldn’t call you.” Her words come out a mile a minute.

“Get the kit. Whatever you need. We’ll take the truck.”

She swallows, nods, then heads to grab the equipment.

As I secure Peaches, I’m trying to figure out how I’ve got bleeding cattle in the middle of winter when I was only just down there earlier feeding out, and everything seemed fine.

My jaw is clenched so tight I’m pretty sure I hear a pop as Layla reappears with the kit, and she tosses it all in the back tray of the truck. I’ve already got the ignition running, and as soon as she’s in her seat I take off in a spray of gravel across the yard.

“I’m sorry—” Her fingers twist in her lap and they’re coated in thick, sticky red smears.

“Not your fault.”

If I hadn’t spent so long splitting wood trying to get my head on straight, I would have been there.

“There’s at least three of them hurt that I could see.” We bump over ridges in the track as I steer us towards the paddock. It’s almost dark now, the headlights bouncing over the fence below us in the dwindling light.

“You did the right thing coming to get me.” My fingers tighten on the wheel.

Up ahead, I can see the shadowy outlines of the cattle, and we pull up to the gate with a skid. Layla is out of the cab before I can say a word.

As I pull the truck closer, the sweep of headlights reveals tracks of bright red in the thick layer of snow coating the ground.

Layla rushes toward where she’s got three of the cattle penned together using some temporary rolled-up fencing that I keep lying around down here. At least she had the sense to keep them contained, otherwise fuck knows how long we’d be out here in the dark trying to replace them.

From how much blood is lying around, it could have been fatal if we hadn’t gotten to them before morning.

“I couldn’t see any others, but there might be.” She lifts the box with supplies out of the back of the truck behind me and I reach under the seat to grab us each a headtorch. Then I fetch the spare halter and rope I keep in the back of the truck.

“Here.” I hand her one of the flashlights, and flick my own onto high beam so I can get a good look at the cattle.

The three are already lying down, which will at least make my job easier, and as I approach one of them lets out a snort followed by a low noise of protest.

“Easy, girls.” I keep my voice low as I walk around the edge of the temporary pen Layla created. She’s got them in a kind of half-circle, using the paddock fence on one side to keep them together.

As I squat down and adjust my light I can see the stains of copper and brighter red across the snow beneath them.

Each has what looks like a shallow gash across their flanks, just at the height of one of the fence posts. Shallow enough that it looks like a protruding nail has done the damage where they’ve maybe rubbed up against it, but it’s hard to tell and the amount of blood is possibly making everything look worse than it is.

Of course it’s suspicious they’ve all been injured in the same manner. My spine stiffens knowing, but not wanting to admit out loud, what the obvious explanation for this bloodstained situation is.

“I’ll get the first one restrained, you separate the other two with a bit more of that fencing.” I direct Layla and she’s doing exactly as I ask. The first one I manage to fix the halter on and put my weight down to hobble her on the ground, doesn’t put up much of a struggle. This small herd is used to being handled and being around people. They’re not exactly tame, but they don’t scare easily either.

Layla brings what she needs over, and quietly sets to work while I force my weight down on the heifer. She kneels in the snow and examines the laceration.

“I don’t think I need to shave it. I think it just needs to be cleaned. Maybe antibiotics just to be sure.” Layla digs around in the kit, searching for what she needs, but I can see her hands are shaking. Either from the cold or the shock or both.

“Do what you think is best.” I trust her judgment. From what I can see it’s just a small gash and while I’m still trying to figure out what caused it, that is going to have to wait until we’ve dealt with these animals first.

Layla works quickly, despite the cold and the darkness settling in. Our breaths fog up in the icy air and the rumbling beast beneath me lets out the occasional soft bellow.

We repeat the same process for the second animal. With Layla making speedy work of cleaning up the wound and making sure nothing is embedded that might cause further infection.

It’s the last one we get to that seems to be putting up more of a fight. Once I’ve wrestled them beneath me, making sure they’re secured, Layla starts to examine the site where the blood is oozing from and sucks in a breath.

“This one is worse than the others.” She presses carefully around the edges.

“How bad?”

“She’ll be ok, but needs stitches.” Layla sounds calm, but I can see it’s only on the surface.

“Ok.”

“Colt—” She starts to falter. In the bone chilling wind here in a paddock under the cold eye of Devil’s Peak, this is the last place I want her to have to be right now, but this is the reality out here and she’s going to have to face it.

“Layla.” I adjust my position and lean closer to her. “Get it done.”

Her green eyes flicker up to mine, and the glow of our head lights illuminates the plumes of white from each of our breaths where we’re hunched close together.

“I’ve never done this before… like this. In a proper holding pen, or chute in the daylight, yes. But not in the dark when I might fuck it up.”

“Do you care about this animal, Layla?”

She breathes a little harder. “Of course I do.”

“Then I know you can do it. Because you care enough to do the job properly.”

“But—”

“Did I hire you for nothing? No. You’re the one with the fancy vet schooling, and I’m just a cowboy who can hold this heifer down while you stitch her up. Unless you want me to go back up to the house and get my rifle and put her out of her misery.”

Her face contorts, and I see her nostrils flare slightly. She reaches for the needle and suture thread, but her hands are still trembling.

Without thinking, I grab hold of her fingers in my free hand and squeeze tight. She’s so fucking soft under my touch, and I almost groan at the feel of her beneath my rough hands.

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” she murmurs.

Little does this girl know, she could never.

“You won’t. Now, just take a deep breath for me, baby.”

Her eyes search mine, but she does as I say. Taking a long, shaky inhale.

“And out.” She blows a white plume into the space between us.

I stroke her palm with my thumb, and then guide her hands over to the wound.

“Just focus on one stitch at a time. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”