Page 6 of Knocked up By the Mountain Man

The walk to the hotel is short, but it feels like a journey. I’m dizzy, with the booze, but also with the weight of what’s resting on me back home. The bright city lights blur into a haze, and I find myself longing for the quiet, open spaces of Silver Ridge. I guess I really am a homeboy after all…

Bleep,bleep, bleep.

The alarm blares far too early, piercing through my hangover induced haze. I groan, rubbing my temples as I force myself to sit up. The hotel room is quiet, the city’s noise muffled by thick walls and heavy curtains. I glance over at the other bed where Wyatt is sprawled out, snoring softly.

So, he did make it back last night. That’s good, I guess.

But now I have to wake him up.

“Time to get up, Wyatt,” I mutter, throwing a pillow at him, trying not to vomit as I do.

He stirs, blinking blearily at me. “Already?” he grumbles, rubbing his eyes.

“Yeah, we’ve got a long drive ahead of us,” I reply, already pulling on my jeans and boots. “Remember?”

I don’t even know what that noise he’s making is, it sounds like a a succession of groans and moans, interspersed with a few curse words. Despite the grumblings, we manage to pack up and check out of the hotel without much fuss, though the bright morning light feels like daggers in my eyes.

I’m kinda in a daze, and I think Wyatt is too because the drive back to Silver Ridge is silent at first, both of us nursing our hangovers and lost in our thoughts. But as the city view gives way to open fields and rolling hills, I start to feel a bit more like myself.

“How are you holding up?” Wyatt asks after a while, glancing over at me.

“I’ll survive,” I say with a faint smile. “Just ready to get back to work.”

Wyatt nods, “Yeah, me too. The city’s fun, but it’s not home.”

We arrive at the ranch by mid afternoon, the familiar sight of the barn and the sprawling fields bringing a sense of relief. Despite my exhaustion, I feel a surge of energy as I step out of the truck and take in the fresh mountain air. There’s something healing about Silver Ridge, I’m sure of it.

“Alright, let’s get to it,” I say, heading toward the barn.

Wyatt follows, and we spend the next few hours checking on the cattle, repairing fences, and handling the myriad of tasks that come with running a ranch. The work is hard, but it’s a welcome distraction from the thoughts that have been weighing on me. As the sun begins to set, bringing the hard day to an end, I take a moment to appreciate the peacefulness of Silver Ridge.The distant mountains are bathed in orange and pink hues, while the sounds of the ranch, cows lowing, horses whinnying, and the chirping of the crickets…all create a soothing symphony that is worlds away from the chaos of the city.

I much prefer it here.

I can’t help myself.

But the tranquility is short lived.

I hear a commotion from the stables and hurry over, my heart sinking as I see one of the stable masters, Carl, struggling to calm a panicked horse.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s Daisy,” Carl explains, his face etched with worry. “She’s sick and getting worse. I don’t know what else to do. She’s kinda freaking out now.”

I edge closer, my eyes scanning Daisy’s trembling form. She’s sweating profusely, her eyes are wide with fear and pain. I feel a knot tighten in my stomach. We’ve been treating her with the medications prescribed by the local vet, but nothing seems to be helping.

“Did my father recommend anything else?” I ask, trying to find a solution to this mounting problem.

Carl shrugs, looking defeated. “He said to carry on as we are. Keep giving her the meds and hope for the best.”

Frustration bubbles up inside me. It’s clear the current treatment isn’t working, and Daisy is suffering. Why doesn’t Dad see that too?

“That’s not good enough,” I mutter under my breath. “We need to do something more.”

Why is my dad like this at the moment? It seems like the older he gets, the harder his personality becomes, and the more irrational his decisions become. At least in my mind.

I turn to Carl. “What do you think we should do?”

Carl scratches his head, deep in thought. “Honestly, Beau, I think we need a specialist. Someone who has dealt with these kinds of issues before. Our regular vet is good, but this seems beyond his expertise.”

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