Page 40 of Trussed In Hope
We walked back toward the house, Diesel grazing lazily nearby, the soft crunch of gravel underfoot the only sound for a few moments. Emberlynn’s hand found mine, warm and steady, and I let her pull me along. Somehow, the quiet made it feel safe to talk.
“You really know your way around a ranch,” she said softly, glancing up at me. “You weren’t kidding when you said you’d been doing this before.”
I gave a small, wry smile. “Silver Creek. That was where I learned everything that I know. A slice of dirt and sky that taught me more than school ever could.”
Her brow lifted, interest piqued. “Silver Creek?”
“Yeah,” I said, settling into the rhythm of the walk. “Family ranch. Cattle, horses, hay fields, every damn thing. I learned thehard way. Every day had a rhythm. Routine. Discipline. And I needed that more than I realized.”
She looked at me, eyes curious but gentle, letting me open up without pressure. “Routine? Discipline?”
I laughed softly, almost bitterly. “Not just chores. Life. I’d come back from a tour—Afghanistan, one of the harder ones—and the nightmares… the panic attacks… the guilt… I couldn’t breathe without it pressing on me.” My voice dropped low, heavy. “Silver Creek saved me. Andy Harvey—the old ranch hand, mentor—he didn’t just teach me how to ride, how to rope, how to handle cattle. He taught me to survive. Taught me discipline, showed me how structure could fight the chaos in my head.”
Emberlynn squeezed my hand, quiet, letting me keep talking.
“I’d get up before dawn, feed the horses, check the fences, work the fields, handle the cattle. Everything was accounted for—every bucket, every hoof, every gate. And at first, it felt like punishment. But slowly… slowly it became the only thing that made sense. Routine and repetition gave me ground, gave me control over the part of me that wanted to fall apart.”
She tilted her head, listening intently. “So it wasn’t just the ranch work. It was… everything about it?”
“Exactly,” I said, stopping for a moment to let the words sink. “Andy… he was the light in the dark for me. He didn’t ask for thanks. He just showed up every day, steady, unshakable. And because of him, because of that discipline, I didn’t lose myself completely. I learned that even after the war, even after everything you think will break you… structure, responsibility, caring for something—anything—can save you. He was always saying…Hard work will allow you to flush out your hopes and dreams.”
Emberlynn’s eyes softened, her hand brushing over mine again. “You’ve carried that with you ever since, haven’t you?”
I nodded, looking out over the pastures stretching into the night. “Every day. That’s why I’m willing to do everything it takes here. I found healing in those animals. I always said that if I were given the chance, I’d do right by what I learned. It’s why I check every animal, every stall, every fence. Not because I have to. It keeps me steady. It’s a way to honor the people—Andy, my old crew, the ones I couldn’t save, Elijah. And now… because it matters to you too.”
She leaned closer, head resting against my shoulder. “I get it. I feel it too… the way you care. And the way you’ve survived. It’s… incredible.”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “It’s just life, Emberlynn. Pain, work, love, discipline. You find the things that anchor you, and you hold on.”
Her fingers intertwined with mine, thumb brushing circles over my knuckles. “Then you’ve got me. I’ll be one of those anchors.”
I looked down at her, heart tightening, knowing she meant it. “Good,” I said softly, voice low and rough. “Because I need you to be. And I trust you to hold your place in this life with me.”
The night wrapped around us, cool and quiet, filled with the sounds of the ranch—Diesel’s breathing, the wind through the trees, Emberlynn’s steady presence at my side. I walked us back to the house, where we climbed in bed together and got lost in slumber.
I woke to the sharpcrackof wood snapping loudly. My eyes shot open, muscles coiled, every nerve on fire. Sleep evaporated.Something had broken out there, and I had a bad feeling about it. Especially if it was something that I was supposed to protect.
Emberlynn stirred, groaning. “Hardison?”
“Stay down,” I snapped, voice low, clipped.
My boots were on before she even had time to register. I grabbed my flashlight, swinging the beam across the yard, heart hammering—not fear, not exactly, but that tight, unrelenting awareness that comes with being responsible for life. My PTSD, dormant for days, screamed in my chest.
The fence. A section of the pasture fence had collapsed. Several cattle were bolting, hooves pounding against the hard ground, dust and shadows whipping around them. Gusts of wind made their alarmed state even worse. And one goat—a stubborn thing—was tangled in the twisted wire, screaming, thrashing.
“Shit.” My jaw tightened.
I sprinted, adrenaline cutting through exhaustion, hands steady despite the chaos. Diesel’s whinny echoed behind me—he’d followed, somehow loose as well, muscles taut with the same urgency I felt. I shoved my fear deep down. There was no room for it now. Only action.
The goat’s hooves scraped raw against the wire as I grabbed it by the shoulders, forcing it to stay still. “Easy,” I hissed, voice firm, commanding. “Easy, damn it!” My hands bled slightly from the metal, but I didn’t care. I worked fast, untangling wire, holding the goat still. A flashlight cut across the chaos–Emberlynn–but she stayed back, trusting me.
The rest of the herd was skittish, but I moved like I knew them—sharp commands, controlled gestures, herd instincts, body positioning. I corralled the cattle back toward the pen, not letting a single one break the line. Diesel pressed close to me, ears back, ready for direction.
Finally, with the goat freed and every other animal back in place, I leaned against the other barn post, sweat and dirtstreaking my face. My heart was still hammering. The adrenaline didn’t leave. It wouldn’t leave.
I crouched down, careful, murmuring low to keep it calm. The fence post was snapped, with claw marks carved into the wood. My stomach dropped. Wolves.
The goat trembled hard under my hand, and I knew I was out of my depth. A vet wouldn’t get out here tonight, maybe for a couple of days, and the damn animal didn’t have that long.
