vision. She moved in slow motion, closing the distance between them and watching detachedly as her fist connected with his unbruised cheek. Observed his chin whip to the side with absolute indifference.
“What the hell!” Eli bit out, spitting fresh blood.
“You don’t talk about Luke. Never again.”
“I mention his name and you hit me?” The demand hung between them.
She met his angry stare, her own eyes flat. “Luke was killed three years ago.”
Eli’s mouth worked silently before he managed a gruff response. “Oh, shit. Reagan, I—” He reached for her, but she waved him off.
“Don’t.” She spun away and moved stiffly toward the nearest bunkhouse. Her voice hollow in her ears, she called back to him. “Tell Ty I’m taking a few men and heading out to pasture twenty-one.”
She battled against the urge to turn back to Eli, to lose herself in the comfort of his arms and the heat of his touch like she had all those years ago. The moment she’d recognized him in Tucumcari, she’d known with perverse certainty that nothing had changed. Eli had left her, broken her heart and left it an empty muscle, but his brand was still there, clear as day. She craved the sound of his voice, wanted his body against hers again and had the strongest...need to lose herself in him one more time.
But with Luke’s death hanging between them, it seemed as if it would be the ultimate betrayal of the man’s legacy. Luke had deserved better than she’d afforded him in life, and she hadn’t been able to give it. She’d damn sure try to do a better job after his death, no matter what her heart wanted.
* * *
EVERYTHING IN ELI had rebelled at Reagan’s admission. He crossed his arms tighter over his chest to hide its shaking and leaned against her truck.
She’d stared at him with that achingly familiar face, those stunning green eyes, her lean body backlit by the late-summer sunshine, and he’d realized she was as familiar as the landscape—and just as foreign.
Everything he believed about her had shifted when he’d discovered she was married. She’d stood up in front of God and everyone and committed her life. To someone else. But he’d said it himself—it had been fourteen years. Expecting her to wait when he’d given her no hope had been a kid’s dream. No more.
Yet, here he stood with every belief he had regarding Reagan changing all over again. He wanted to ask how Luke had died, but the words stalled deep in his chest. Death wasn’t so uncommon out here, but communities were small enough that losing one of their own was like losing a family member. And Luke had definitely been one of the community, their charmed favorite who’d never done anything wrong. Hell, he’d even got the girl.
Guilt swamped Eli at his disrespectful thoughts and he shoved off the truck.
“I’ve got to get my stuff inside,” he said to her retreating form. The urge to run, fast, hard, far, to push every physical limit he had, to go and go until he collapsed made his skin twitch and his muscles tighten even as his breath came shorter. He needed to get away from here. From her. He waited until he was sure his legs wouldn’t give out and then started for the house.
“Fair enough. I need to get the herds sorted as soon as possible. Tell Ty I’ll have the walkie-talkies.”
Eli stopped but couldn’t bring himself to face her. Instead, he focused on keeping his voice steady. “What’s going on, Dr. Matthews?”
Her breath might have hitched, but it could’ve been wishful thinking on his part.
She cleared her throat. “Ty really didn’t mention anything to you?”
“Apparently there are a lot of things Ty didn’t mention to me.”
He tipped his chin to his chest, ignoring the emotional hole rapidly unraveling in his chest. All of this—hurt, anger, regret...sweet heaven, the regret—was brought on by the simple sound of her voice, husky and made for whispers in the dark. “If it can wait, I’ll just get the news from him.” Cowardly, maybe, but too much had happened since he landed in Tucumcari, and he was pretty damn sure he’d reached his breaking point.
She hesitated. “I’m pretty sure it can’t wait.”
“That bad?”
“Yeah. I’m afraid it is.”
Closing his eyes, he gave her profile, just enough that she’d know she had his attention.
“Look, Eli, there’s not an easy way to say this. The Bar C is facing quarantine.”
Muscles across his shoulders tightened. “Pardon me?”
“You guys may have contracted Shipping Fever on a broad scale.”
“Shipping Fever?”
“Bovine Respiratory Disease—temp over 104, nasal discharge, dull eyes, diarrhea, stumbling about, muscle wasting. You’ve been gone more than a decade, Eli, but I’m sure you remember how the disease appears and what it can do to a ranch, or even a region, if it’s not contained.”
He blew out a hard breath, ignoring the barb. “How’d the Bar C herds come down with it? It’s the wrong time of year for Shipping Fever. All the stocker cattle should have arrived months ago.”
She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “The ranch recently bought some new replacement heifers of its own. Then there are the late stockers taken on. With the drought and prices high as they are, the ranchers who do have grass can feed through the winter and demand premiums. It’s messed up the delivery schedules as stockers and feed yards vie for the best growing environment for their steers.” She chewed on her bottom lip for a second and then continued. “Everything that came onto the Bar C had health papers—I checked them all—but logic says the disease somehow originated in the new heifers. If it originated with Bar C’s stocker cattle, that’s one thing. If it’s because of the ranch’s new stock...”
She didn’t finish, but Eli didn’t need her to. If the Bar C’s own cattle had infected those they’d been contracted to put weight on through the year, the liability would destroy the ranch. The ranch would be quarantined. The cows that didn’t die wouldn’t do well this year. That meant low revenue. Worst-case scenario would be a huge die-off that would force the ranch to compensate the brokers and owners for the casualties. That would permanently shutter the Covington operation.
He gave a single nod. “I’ll tell Ty where you’ll be. Four-wheelers or horseback?”
“Horseback. I want to keep from spooking the herd any more than necessary. I’ll take one of Cade’s horses. We’ll trailer them as far as we can to save time, and we’ll ride on from there.”
Eli nodded and she walked away without another word.
He grabbed his travel bag and then took the porch steps two at a time. Pausing at the door, hand resting on the iron doorknob, he hesitated. Then he depressed the lever, the door swung in and nostalgia claimed him, reeling him across the threshold like the catch of the day.
The inside of the house still smelled like lumber, wood smoke and leather. Wide-planked floors were scuffed and marked by age and heavy use. His old man’s recliner still sat in the corner as if waiting on Max himself to pull up a seat at the end of the day. Curtains his mother had made still framed the window, threadbare with time. A pellet stove had replaced the archaic potbellied beast in the stone fireplace. Leather sofas and club chairs were scattered around the room in a haphazard way that announced “bachelor pad” as efficiently as did the abandoned boots near the door and the boxers on the coffee table.
Eli wove through the room and down the hallway to the stairs. Taking a deep breath, he opened the basement door. These he took one at a time. The air was cooler with a bite of dampness to it. He used to love it, especially in July’s heat. Breathing faster, he crossed the family room and stopped outside a familiar wooden door. Twice he reached for the handle only to stop. It