Saddle Up: a Cedar Ridge Ranch novella

CH 7: "The Hound"

The storm came up out of nowhere, the bitter wind sweeping down on Garland, bringing with it flurries of snow. Shit. This wasn't good. He had an idea where the horses might have gone for shelter last night but there was no way he could reach them now with the blizzard blowing in so suddenly.

He thought about Heff; if the boy left the house right after Garland took off, he could've made it to town. But if he lingered at the house... the storm would be upon him before he had a chance to leave. And he'll be alone... possibly without power. The electricity had come back on early that morning, but the blizzard would knock it out again. Last night's storm was nothing compared what was coming now—and Heff had been terrified.

He needed to turn back now if he hoped to beat the storm back to the house—

His mount shifted and whinnied, side-stepping this way and that. The gelding was used to storms and didn't usually get spooked, but he wasn't liking this. Garland bore down on the left rein, craning the horse's head to the side and inward toward its shoulder, forcing it to move in a calculated circle without the freedom to whip its head and possibly bolt.

Come on, boy—calm your ass down.

Garland was losing visibility fast. If he got disoriented, he was fucked. There was an old hunting cabin nearby that he and Frank kept stocked in the winter with firewood, food, and oil for lamps—for just this sort of situation. If he could get to it, he could hole up there till morning.

What if Heff didn't make it to town—and he's still back at the house?

He could only hope the boy had left already. There was nothing Garland could do about it if he hadn't. It was a greater risk to try and get back to the house, than search for the cabin. When he got the gelding under control, he headed in what he hoped was the right direction.

Wind and snow whipped beneath his hood, trying to tear it off his head. He tugged his bandana over his nose and mouth as his face grew numb from the bitter chill. Even through the leather gloves, he felt the cold invading his fingers. For a split second, the flurries shifted, creating a pocket of visibility, allowing Garland a fleeting glimpse of his surroundings. He knew every inch of this property like the back of his hand and a glimpse was enough to get him back on track. He knew exactly where the cabin was and urged the gelding that way.

As he neared the tree line, something whipped by his head, barely missing him. Garland swore and ducked low over the saddle horn. A tree branch? High winds could rip limbs right off the trees. Garland stayed low, digging in his heels, working the gelding up to a fast trot. The cabin should be close.

The gelding bolted when something struck its haunches and Garland brought it up short in a hurry before it got away from him. "Easy—easy!" he hollered through his face covering. He was losing his sense of direction as the snow thickened in the air and all he saw was a mass of swirling white.

Fuck—Fuck!

A distant snap amidst the blizzard—and Garland hit the ground, blood draining down his face, the world warping and spinning all around him. The gelding snorted and whinnied and took off into the storm.

Garland lay on his side in the snow, blood running across his cheek and over his lips, dribbling into the snow. Maybe this was how he deserved to die... after taking everything from Heff and leaving him lost and alone.

They're gone because of me, Heff... because of me...

Garland closed his eyes, his tears mixing with the blood and freezing on his cheeks as the final remnants of his heart broke apart.