Page 54 of Leather & Lies

I move toward the herd, forcing my movements to stay slow and calm despite the adrenaline singing through my veins. The nearest cow turns her head toward me, nostrils flaring. Everything depends on the next few moments—on my ability to convince fifty panic-stricken cattle that I’m the safer option than the rising water.

Behind me, I hear Jackson starting his climb to the ridge. Good. Let him watch. After all, isn’t that what he does best?

The first fat drops of a new cloudburst hit my face as I begin my careful approach. The storm’s fury matches the rage in my heart, but I force it all down, reaching for the calm center I use when gentling dangerous horses.

I can drown in betrayal later.

20

Jackson

“Get to the ridge.”

Four words that shatter what remains of my control. Because she’s right—the herd needs to be contained to higher ground. Because even drenched and furious, wearing nothing but a scrap of silk that clings to her curves, she’s thinking like a rancher. And because I don’t know if she’ll still be there when the crisis passes.

I guide Atlas along the ridge path, using the stallion’s bulk to block the cattle’s escape route north. The horse fights the bit, but I need him here—where his massive black form will read as an impassable barrier to the panicked herd. Below, Shiloh approaches the cattle from the opposite angle, her movements precise despite her bare feet and soaked clothing.

“Miguel.” I click the radio, eyes never leaving her position. “Status.”

“Six minutes out. Dylan has the floodlights and portable fencing. Waters rising faster than—” Static cuts through his report as thunder cracks overhead.

A group of heifers spook at the sound, breaking toward the gap between me and the flood waters. I spur Atlas forward, cutting off their escape. The stallion’s hooves scatter gravel as we pace the ridge line, keeping the cattle contained. One wrongmove and I’ll lose the horse—a quarter-million-dollar mistake I can’t afford. But the alternative is watching fifty animals drown while my men race the storm.

Through the rain, I track Shiloh’s progress, every movement calculated to calm the frightened animals. I’ve watched her through cameras for months, studied her gift, collected every scrap of footage that proved her expertise. But seeing it in person, watching her work despite her fury, despite her fear—it steals my breath away.

No camera could capture the way she reads the herd’s energy, how she adjusts her body language to match their fear before redirecting it. All those hours of surveillance footage showed me her methods but missed her magic, the subtle ways she communicates with dangerous animals that can’t be reduced to pixels and data.

What I’m seeing now, working beside her as a partner instead of watching from afar—this is what I’ve really been hungry for all along.

“North creek’s breaching!” The radio crackles with fresh urgency. “Boss, we need to?—”

“Maintain course.” I force authority into my voice even as my chest tightens with fear for her. “Five minutes. We hold them for five minutes.”

Lightning illuminates the valley again. The flood waters rise with devastating speed, brown churning masses that threaten everything I’ve built. But Shiloh’s already got the lead cows turning, using their instinct to follow each other to guide them away from danger. I adjust Atlas’ position, creating a funnel between my position and hers. It’s a desperate gamble—if the herd spooks now, they’ll either drown or trample her.

The first distant rumble of ATVs carries through the storm. But we’ve got to hold them until then. Just me and a furiouswoman in a silk camisole between fifty panic-stricken cattle and disaster.

Headlights cut through the rain as the first ATV crests the hill. Miguel’s team spreads out along the western edge, their lights creating a barrier the cattle instinctively shy from. Dylan follows with the portable flood lamps, and the sudden illumination reveals the full scope of our situation—and how perfectly Shiloh’s positioned herself to handle it.

“Pass behind the lead cow,” she calls, her voice carrying that same quiet authority she uses with spooked horses. “Don’t break their sight line.”

My men obey without waiting for my confirmation. They recognize leadership when they see it, even dripping wet and furious.

Atlas dances beneath me as another ATV roars past, but I keep him steady. The herd’s following Shiloh’s lead, flowing away from the rising water like she’s guiding a stream. Not running, not panicking. Just moving with the same fluid grace she brings to everything.

“Sir.” Miguel’s voice carries a warning. “Second breach coming. Fast.”

I click the radio. “Five minutes. Give her five minutes.”

Because I can read the signs in her body language, just like I’ve watched her read them in frightened horses. Can see how she’s using the ATVs’ positions to create a path of least resistance, letting the cattle think escape is their idea.

It’s magnificent. She’s perfect.

A calf stumbles, threatening to break the pattern. Before I can radio a warning, Shiloh’s there. Moving like smoke through the herd, bare feet finding purchase in mud that should have swallowed her whole. The calf responds to her touch instantly, letting her guide it back to its mother without a sound.

“Jesus Christ,” Miguel breathes through the radio. “Is she even human?”

Watching her now, moving through the storm like she’s part of it, I finally understand what my cameras—my obsession—could never show me.

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