Page 68 of Lost Then Found
She glances down at where I’m holding her. “I’m sure.”
I let go, clearing my throat, and she shifts her weight, exhaling as she scans the empty space where Ellie had been.
“Damn jackrabbit spooked her,” she mutters, rubbing the back of her neck.
I scrub a hand over my jaw, already pulling my walkie off my belt.
It crackles before Wren’s voice comes through. “Go for Wren.”
“Ellie took off,” I say, watching Lark as she dusts herself off. “Spooked and ran. Can someone grab her?”
Wren lets out an exaggerated groan. “Where?”
“By the lake.”
“Got it. I’ll send someone.”
I press the button again. “We’re down a horse, and we’re too far from the main house to walk. Someone needs to come get us.”
There’s a short pause before Wren’s voice comes through again. “I’m close. I’ll come.”
I grimace. Of all people. “You sure Sage and Freddie aren’t around?”
“Nope. They’re moving cattle with the hands.”
Damn it. I close my eyes for a second. “Fine.”
“I’ll be there in five.”
The walkie crackles and then goes silent. I re-clip it to my belt and sigh.
Lark crosses her arms, one hip cocked. “So, let me get this straight. You thought Hudson should go faster, and now we’re down a horse and at the mercy of Wren.”
I shoot her a look, rubbing the back of my neck. “That about sums it up, yeah.”
I glance over at Hudson, expecting him to be amused, but his face is still drawn tight. He’s standing near Springsteen, somehow having gotten down on his own, looking smaller than he did just a few minutes ago. The excitement has been drained right out of him.
Lark notices it at the same time I do, her teasing dropping instantly. Shesteps up beside him, brushing his hair back. “Hey, baby, you okay?”
He hesitates, then nods. “I just—” He swallows. “I thought you got hurt.”
Lark softens, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into her side. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”
Hudson stays stiff for a second, but then he lets himself lean into her, his forehead pressing into her shoulder.
I just watch.
I’ve known Lark my whole life, seen her in every light—wild and reckless, stubborn and sharp, soft in the quiet moments when she thought no one was looking. But this is different. This is something else entirely. This is her as a mother.
It’s not just what she says—it’s how she says it. Calm. Certain. Like there’s no version of the world where she doesn’t show up for that boy.
Her fingers are in his hair, smoothing it back like it’s second nature, like her hands were made to settle him. Like everything else can burn, as long as he’s alright.
Twelve years of putting him first, and I can see every one of them in the way she handles him. I feel it settle deep in my chest—that this is the version of Lark I’ve never known, but maybe the one I respect most of all.
Springsteen shifts under my hand, ears twitching. I glance up just in time to see Wren crest the hill on Ringo, her copper ponytail bouncing, boots planted steady in the stirrups like she’s part of the damn saddle.
She’s all ease and power, the way she rides. Like she could’ve been born on a horse. Ringo’s a machine—lean muscle, smart eyes, and enough hardware to make any rancher jealous. He made Wren’s name in the circuit, but even before the trophies, he was her shadow. He reads her like a damn book and she reads him right back.
