Page 59 of Lost Then Found
Sage lets out a long breath, hands on her hips. “Boone, if you don’t get that damn chicken down—”
“What do you think I’m trying to do?” I snap, reaching for the broom leaning against the wall. “And it’syourdamn chicken.”
Betty White ruffles her feathers like she owns the place. She’s eyeing me from the top of the fridge like this is all some twisted game she’s already won.
I narrow my eyes. “Betty, don’t you—”
She flaps. Hard.
Cereal boxes launch through the air like grenades. A tidal wave of Cheerios hits the floor.
Sage lets out a scream so sharp it could shatter glass. “This isbullshit!”
I close my eyes and drag a slow breath through my nose. “I’m gonna kill that bird.”
“No,” Sage mutters through clenched teeth. “We’regonna kill that bird.”
I check the time. “Lark and Hudson’ll be here any minute.”
She groans. “Perfect. Nothing says welcome back to the ranch like poultry-induced insanity.”
I glance back at the feathered menace. “Go find Elvis. He’ll chase her down and scare her out.”
Sage gives me a death glare. “You think I’ve got a GPS on him? He could be halfway to the ridge by now.”
“Then you better start walking,” I say, jerking my chin toward the door. “Or take an ATV. Either find the dog or spend the next three hours doing cardio around the kitchen.”
She grumbles under her breath, pulls her boots on like she’s marching to war, and yanks her cap off the hook.
Betty tracks her movements like she’s bored.
As Sage stomps out, I look back at the bird. “This isn’t over.”
Betty clucks once. Taunting.
I shake my head and step outside, letting the door click shut behind me.
The porch boards groan under my boots as I settle onto the top step, arms braced on my knees. Sun’s high and steady, casting long shadows across the grass. There’s a breeze pushing through the fields, carrying the smell of hay, dirt, and horse sweat. The sound of the ranch stretches out around me—cattle lowing from the south pasture, the farrier hammering shoes onto a gelding near the barn, the faint whistle of wind slipping through the trees.
It’s been a full day already. Started before dawn, like always. Checked the east fence line while the world was still dark. Worked that young colt in the round pen until he stopped testing me. Rode out with Witt and Duke after breakfast, went over grazing rotations, shifted the bulls out to new grass.
By noon, I was sweating through my shirt and more than ready to take the rest of the day slow. Which, of course, was right about the time Sage’s fucking psychotic chicken decided to make herself at home in the house.
I huff out a laugh under my breath, rubbing a handover the back of my neck. I’ve never had much patience for chickens, but Sage and Wren talked Dad into letting them get a handful a few years back, apparently—as long as they promised they’d do all the work. Named each one after old Hollywood stars like they were royalty. Betty White’s the worst of the lot—mouthy, fast, impossible to catch. Second only to Clark Gable, the rooster, who’s been gunning for me since I moved back. Little bastard’s got a personal vendetta and zero sense of fear.
I roll my shoulders, already feeling the weight of the day in my muscles. But the work’s done for now. I made sure of it—handed off the rest of my responsibilities to the ranch hands so I could spend the whole day with Hudson and Lark.
I rub my hands over my jeans, then press my palms to my thighs, like that’ll stop the restless energy buzzing through me. It doesn’t.
I don’t know why I’m so damn nervous.
Maybe it’s because this is the first time Hudson will see the ranch—the place that’s been in my family for generations, the place that made me who I am. Maybe it’s because I want him to love it here, want him to feel at home, want him to see a piece of himself in all of this.
Or maybe it’s because Lark is coming, too.
I lean forward, elbows braced on my knees. That’s probably a bigger part of it than I’d like to admit. This isn’t just Hudson meeting the ranch—this is Lark stepping back into my world after twelve years of absence, like no time has passed, like we didn’t tear each other apart when we were kids. Like this land doesn’t carry every memory I’ve got of her tucked somewhere beneath the soil.
I don’t know what today is supposed to fucking look like. I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like.
