by Zoe Chant
With the flash of the lightning and the peal of the thunder, four of the outermost animals peeled away from the herd, slipping off across the paddock.
Lincoln cursed under his breath, but it couldn’t be helped – it happened sometimes, and he would just have to go and fetch the cattle back. The others were moving steadily, the first of them beginning to thread through the gate and into the patch of land where the shelter was located.
He glanced at Mason, raising his hand to signal his intent, and Mason waved back, understanding.
Wheeling his horse around, Lincoln clicked his tongue and put his heels to its sides, chasing after the escapees.
They were running hard – cattle could be swift on their feet when the mood took them, which could be a surprise to people who’d never before seen them when they really wanted to move. With their cloven hooves, they could move faster than a horse through boggy ground, if they wanted to. And they could outdistance a horse, too – so Lincoln had to get after them quickly.
Although the rain whipped at his face, Lincoln could barely feel it, so intent was he at overtaking the cattle in front of him. As the cows, guided by some instinct, began to turn, Lincoln changed his trajectory to head them off, coming up alongside them and beginning to guide them back.
The animals themselves, now that their first rush of fear had gone, allowed themselves to be guided – their herd came into view again, and they pulled around to follow after it, wanting to rejoin their fellows after their impulsive flight.
Lincoln let them move in that direction of their own accord, staying out of their flight zone.
You can use a light touch, he told his lion, which was still growling a little in his chest. Sometimes a light touch is best.
Lincoln had never had an overly keen sense of irony – lions generally didn’t.
But even he could appreciate the absurdity of this situation: he, who had been working cattle since he was old enough to sit upright in a saddle, learning their moods, knowing when to push and when to back off, hadn’t been able to extend the same sensitivity to his own mate.
But I’m new at this, he tried to tell himself. I never expected to find my mate. Not now. Not now that I’m so set in my ways.
You changed your ways before. You can change them again.
He wanted to believe it was true. He and Faye had a lot to work on – and a lot of lost years to make up for.
But they could make it work.
They were mates.
Even through the driving wind and rain, and the stress of trying to wrangle the cattle to safety, Lincoln couldn’t help but smile.
It was a hopeful smile – hopeful for the future, hopeful for what might come, now that he and Faye had been reunited.
It was a chance to start again – to put right the things he’d done wrong in the past. He could change; he could be the man, and the alpha, that Faye needed – and wanted.
A new sense of purpose flowed through him.
Maybe being an alpha in the past meant being stiff and unbending.
But that didn’t need to be the case now.
He was alpha – and he could decide what that meant.
He could protect Faye without smothering her.
He could look out for her without pushing her.
And he could support her in her choices, knowing that she knew what was best for her.
Being alpha meant taking on a lot of responsibility, and a lot of strain. An alpha was born to control – but it didn’t have to be that way.
There was a strange sense of calm in the realization.
Pulling in a deep breath, Lincoln glanced around. The last of the cows were finally making their way through the gate. Joe and Mason, hanging back, were watching the final stragglers come through, as Faye brought her horse around to head back toward him.
Lincoln’s heart swelled at the sight of her smile. Soaked to the bone, with her hair plastered down and her clothes sticking to her skin, she still looked beautiful.
Hell, she looked especially beautiful.
Like this, she reminded him of the moment they’d had on the riverbank, all those years ago – the moment when he should have kissed her, and made her his.
Faye put her heels into her horse’s side, cantering toward him over the slippery ground. His lion, immediately on alert, urged him to call out to her, tell her not to ride like that when the ground was wet; that she could get hurt, and that she wasn’t taking enough care of herself – but then, his rational, human side kicked in, trying to soothe the lion down.
She can ride. She knows what she’s doing. She grew up on a ranch – just like us.
But the feeling of tension and danger didn’t dissipate. The lion was still agitated, its head turning this way and that as it bared its teeth, growling and snarling.
What is it? Lincoln asked, his unease growing.
He allowed the lion’s instincts to flow through him, guiding him.
But it was too late.
In the next moment, lightning split the sky, its bright white flash blinding, followed almost instantaneously by an almighty crack of thunder.
Rudy, usually so calm and reliable, squealed in fear, rearing up, his hind feet slipping and sliding on the boggy earth of the paddock.
“Calm down, boy, it’s all right,” Lincoln murmured to him, holding himself firm in the saddle, his hands on the reins and his feet in the stirrups. He’d dealt with nervous horses before, and remained upright on mounts who were far more determined to buck him off than Rudy was now.
The horse pranced, shaking, but Lincoln rode it out, murmuring to him. He pulled the left rein to the side as Rudy began to calm, turning him.
“It’s okay. Just a bit of thunder,” Lincoln said – before he looked up, and saw the bright orange flames that were engulfing the massive tree that stood in the middle of the paddock.
Shit.
The lightning must have struck it, setting it alight – and even in this heavy rain, it was burning fiercely, flames licking up the newly-split trunk, leaping into the sky.
“Lincoln, are you all right?” Faye was by his side, her face white, fear evident in her expression.
“I’m fine – I’ve dealt with frightened horses before.”
Faye seemed to study his face for a long moment, but then, apparently satisfied, she moved her gaze to the burning tree.
“Well, that’s not good. Should we just let it burn itself out?”
Lincoln shook his head. “No. I know we can’t do much more than the rain is doing already, but I’d prefer to get it out sooner rather than later – and the sooner it’s out, the sooner we can get back inside and get warm and dry. This isn’t weather to be out in.”
Faye nodded, a smile creeping across her lips. “I guess cats don’t like the rain, huh. Even lions.”
Lincoln glanced at her, surprised. He’d still been unsure how she might feel about him being a shifter – though that revelation had seemed to bother her less than his overbearing behavior.
But despite his surprise, he’d never been able to resist her smile, and he found himself returning it warmly.
“Well, I guess not,” he said, laughing. “So best we get this done quick.”
The smell of smoke was beginning to drift over to them as Joe rode up. “Cows are under cover,” he said. If he had any curiosity about who Faye was or why she was here, Lincoln couldn’t see it in his face or hear it in his tone – but then, Joe had a knack for only opening his mouth when he needed to. “Mason thought you might want him to start hooking up the hose so we can deal with that.” He nodded in the direction of the burning tree.
Lincoln nodded. “Great.” He shifted in the saddle slightly, turning to look at Faye. “Rudy’s pretty spooked. Mason can help me with the fire – could you go with Joe and take the horses back to the stables?”
Faye hesitated a moment. “I could help you with the fire, too.”
She thinks I’m still trying to push her away from danger, Lincoln realiz
ed – though he could hardly blame her, and to be honest, his lion wasn’t thrilled with the idea of Faye getting anywhere near the smoke and flames. But this time, it hadn’t been what he’d had in mind.
“I know,” he said. “But you’re a better rider than Mason, and I trust you to be able to manage ponying a nervous horse. That’s why I asked. Not for any other reason. I swear.”
He looked into her eyes, but the doubt had gone from her face. She believed him.
“But how will you get back to the house?” Faye asked.
Lincoln hesitated. “I’ll shift. It’ll be fine.”
He waited for Faye’s look of surprise – maybe even of shock. But it never came. She simply nodded.
“All right.”
He wanted – badly – to kiss her before he dismounted. He had missed the touch of her lips against his, the feel of her skin against him. What he had experienced with her had been beyond even what he could have imagined.
But first, he knew he had to talk to her. He had to try to reassure her that he’d do his best to change; to not be overbearing, or smother her with his protective instincts.
Another time.
In the middle of a paddock in the pouring rain wasn’t the place.
He swung his leg over Rudy’s back, setting himself down on the soft ground below. Rudy snorted a little, still a little frightened. Lincoln gave him a quick scratch behind his ear as he pulled a rope from the saddlebag, attaching it to his bridle, before walking around in front of him to hand it to Faye.
As she took it from him, their hands brushed – and there it was again, that same spark of electricity that arced between them, making him catch his breath.
When he glanced up at her face, he could see she’d felt it too – her cheeks, which had been pale, were now slightly flushed, and her lips parted.
Their eyes met, and he knew there could be no denying what they felt.
“I’ll see you soon,” Lincoln said quietly – but despite the sound of the rain, he knew Faye had heard him.
He turned away.
If he didn’t, he knew he’d never be able to take his eyes off hers.
Swallowing, Lincoln steeled himself and began to walk away, heading over to the still-brightly burning tree. The fire was showing no signs of slowing down – but then, the tree was a massive one, which had stood since before his father’s time as alpha.
Lincoln felt a twinge of sadness. Sure, it might be just a tree, but it had been something that had been on the ranch for as long as he could remember – a tree he’d used to climb when he’d been a child, despite his mother’s scolding.
Things change.
It was true.
But he hoped that not all change had to be as dramatic as being split asunder by a bolt of lightning.
Behind him, Lincoln heard the horses’ hoofbeats as Faye, riding Jenna and leading Rudy, moved away from him.
He swore under his breath as he got closer to the tree.
The damage was bad – the tree was most likely dead. The trunk had been torn wide open, its branches consumed by flames.
If any of his cattle had been standing beneath it when it’d been hit, they would have been turned into steak where they stood.
That’s something, at least, Lincoln thought to himself as he paused, watching the curling, licking flames.
He circled the tree slowly, wondering if there might be some way it could be saved. He’d hate to have to fell it, but he couldn’t leave it if it was a potential hazard. Its boughs were expansive, thick and wide, and if any of them were to fall, they could be deadly.
As he watched, some smaller branches and twigs, consumed by the flames, fell from the tree and into the grass below. Most of them fizzled in the wet and extinguished immediately – but one of the larger ones kept burning, igniting some of the grass that had been kept at least relatively dry by the tree’s cover.
Irritated, Lincoln strode forward to stamp it out. The last thing he needed was to have to deal with a grassfire as well, however small.
Maybe the loss of the tree was affecting him more than he thought – despite the fact he knew it was nothing but sentimentality.
But what is the point of a pride, if not sentimentality, and respect for the past?
Lincoln looked down as he stamped the small fire beneath his boot.
And yet, things also have to change. You need to adapt to survive.
Lincoln sighed. It all seemed so obvious, now.
He was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost didn’t realize what the deafening cracking sound above him was.
He tensed, his head whipping up, his lion on full alert – but it was too late. The bough was falling, crashing down, and bringing several others with it.
Without thinking, Lincoln dove out of the way, leaping as far as he could to get out of the path of the falling branches.
“Ungh.”
Agony lanced though him, so powerful it temporarily blotted out his vision. His lion roared in pain, and then, from above him, he could hear the sound of yet another bough breaking – and then, there was nothing.
Chapter Ten
Faye
“Lincoln!”
Faye wasn’t sure what it was that made her turn her head just at that moment. She’d felt a cold slice of horror run through her chest, almost as if some sixth sense was warning her of danger. She turned just in time to see the branches of the old tree come down – with Lincoln beneath them.
Wheeling Jenna around, Faye put her heels to the horse’s sides and rode her at a gallop, allowing Rudy to go free. She would just have to trust that he would be okay, but she couldn’t handle them both in a situation like this.
On a sprinting horse, she made it to the still-burning tree in a matter of moments, pulling up on the reins and leaping down off the saddle before Jenna had come to a full stop. The impact rattled her teeth in her head and she slid on the muddy ground, but she didn’t care. The only thought in her head was for Lincoln.
She ran to where the largest of the branches was lying on the ground, huge and blackened from the fire. Faye gasped as she saw Lincoln’s arm, spattered with mud, stretched out beneath it.
She had no hope of moving the branch on her own, and she knew it would be dangerous to try: if she lost her grip and dropped it back onto Lincoln, she would only make his injuries worse. Turning, she could see no sign of Mason or Joe – they must still be over the ridge, hooking up the hose.
Stupid, she berated herself. She should have gone to get them first. What had she expected to accomplish alone?
But in that moment, she hadn’t been thinking – she had been running on pure instinct. And her instinct had told her to be with Lincoln; that no matter what, she had to be here, by his side.
Forcing herself to breathe normally, Faye ran around to the other side of the fallen bough. She gasped as Lincoln came into view, his handsome face turned to the side in the mud, his body trapped beneath the massive branch.
For a moment, Faye wondered if he could possibly be alive – but as she fought back the clawing panic in her throat, she saw that the few strands of grass in front of his mouth were swaying with his breath.
She sent a silent prayer of thanks to whoever was listening, before dropping down on her knees next to him.
“Lincoln? Lincoln, please, look at me –”
For a long moment, he didn’t stir. She could only see one side of his face, and she bit her lip, her panic rising.
“Lincoln?”
At last, his deep gray eyes swept open. He looked dazed, the eye that she could see flickering and moving erratically, before settling on her face.
“Faye…”
“Don’t try to move,” Faye said quickly. “You’re trapped by a branch, and I have no idea yet what injuries you might have.”
She realized she had switched to the calm, efficient tone of voice she often used when she felt anything but calm inside. She wasn’t sure why, but somehow, it seemed to work – if she spoke cal
mly, she started to behave calmly. It had gotten her through countless crises in the past, everything from missed planes to on-site building accidents.
Lincoln didn’t respond. His gaze was still fixed on her face.
God, he might have broken his spine, Faye thought, fear gripping her before she could stop it. Or fractured his skull. Or crushed his chest. Or…
Stop it, she told herself firmly. She wasn’t fully qualified, but she had a good deal of first aid training. Enough that she knew how to deal with this, and do at least something of an assessment of Lincoln’s injuries.
But first, she should call 911.
Scrabbling, she managed to pull her phone from her back pocket. But as she began to dial, Lincoln, his voice weak and thready, spoke up.
“No… I’m a shifter. I can…”
“Shut up, Lincoln,” Faye snapped. “You need medical attention. Right now.”
Lincoln groaned, his eyes closing.
“Lincoln?” Faye couldn’t stop the high note of fear from entering her voice now.
“Shifters heal… much faster…”
“Don’t try to talk,” she said, softening her tone, and regretting that she’d snapped at him. Fear had made her angry, and it wasn’t what he needed right now. She felt guilty. Here he was, injured and in pain, and she’d told him to shut up.
You’re his mate – you should be comforting him.
The thought was in her head before she could stop it – and it surprised her, as much because of her instinctive use of the word mate as anything else.
She’d only found out what a mate even was a few days ago, but she was already thinking of herself in those terms.
Then again, as soon as Lincoln had revealed the depths of his secrets to her, she’d known, somehow, that he was telling the truth. Somewhere deep in the marrow of her bones, she could tell that they were connected, and always had been.
Maybe that’s why I came back.
Maybe that’s what accounted for her restlessness all these years – all the time she’d spent moving from one place to another, looking for somewhere she felt at home.
But now, just as I finally realized the truth…