Page 108 of The Mountain Echoes
He sighs.
“Could also be someone from outside,” I add. “Ain’t that hard to slip in and out of Longhorn. She’s got zero security.”
He raises his furry brows. “No cameras?”
I shake my head.
“Alright. I’ll check it out. You see anything else, you come to me.”
“I will.” I shift my weight, then glance out thewindow at Main Street, thinking I’ll stop by Joy’s boutique for a minute. “Thanks, Hugh.”
He gives me a tight smile. “Don’t thank me yet. Let’s see what shakes loose.”
After a quick cup of coffee with Joy at Wild Coffee, I head back to Kincaid Farms.
My gut’s telling me the storm’s just getting started.
And I plan to be standing when it hits…withAria.
CHAPTER 25
aria
The week before the Gunnison Auction is a frenzy of last-minute work.
Every day, I’m out before sunrise, clipboard in one hand, lead rope in the other, moving through the holding pens.
Every animal slated for auction gets a second, even a third look, checking for limps, signs of stress, heat, or anything that might knock down the value at sale.
I run my hands along the hides, brushing loose hair and checking for ticks, ensuring coats are clean and gleaming.
Even small imperfections could hurt us in the ring, and with so much riding on the sale, I’m not leaving a thing to chance.
I’ve had the vet out twice already, paying her more than I can really afford. But I’d rather call Dr. Sarah Kirk than the so-called top dog in Wildflower Canyon—he charges a fortune.
I’ve heard the stories about Sarah, some old scandal from years back. Doesn’t matter to me. She’s a damn good vet, no patience for nonsense, and a soft spot for small working ranches like ours (which is why she’s giving me a discount on her services).
I knew her father—he used to be the most-respected vet in the canyon and worked alongside mine. Sarah grew up here, same as I did. Left, same as I did. And now she’s back, just like me, picking up where her father left off.
Dr. K, as she likes to be called, moves through the herd like she was born in the chute—checking eyes, teeth, lungs, temperature, and weight, but also noting subtler signs most folks would miss: posture that hints at hoof soreness, the faint rattle of early respiratory trouble, haircoat dullness that could signal mineral imbalance, even the hesitance in a heifer’s step that might mean she’s coming into heat too early.
She’s given boosters where needed, flagged one steer with a cough for stall rest, and made sure our sale stock is cleared, certified, and trail-ready.
She’s efficient, thorough, and gentle in a no-nonsense way. She might’ve made a hell of a rancher herself if she hadn’t loved medicine more.
Earl and Tomas run chute work while Wes tracks weights and feed schedules.
Nadine wants to help, but I’ve told her to focus on the farm. Harvest comes sooner than we know, and we need that part of our ranch to deliver just as much as the upcoming auction.
I oversee everything—pacing the perimeter, double-checking ear tags against the master list, recalculating feed rations, and adjusting mineral supplements to keep the herd balanced.
We’ve switched to premium feed with a higher protein content, carefully mixed with dry hay to prevent bloat.
Hydration is non-negotiable—I monitor water troughs morning and evening, making sure there’s no algae, no backflow, and that intake’s consistent.
Manure color is gospel now—too loose, too pale, too dark—and I know instantly if something’s off.
Every calf is walked, joints flexed, and hooves inspected for abscess or wear.
