Page 24 of The Lilac River (Silver Peaks #1)

Enemy – Imagine Dragons

Nash

T he sun blazed high over the creek, bouncing light off the surface so fiercely it felt like punishment.

I squinted against the glare and crouched to dip my hat in the cool water, scooping it up and dumping it over my head.

A hiss escaped me, momentary relief in the devil’s armpit of a day.

The heat out here was a living thing, sharp, oppressive, crawling down the back of your neck like you owed it money.

Ponti dipped his head beside me, snorting into the water as he drank. I let the reins hang slack in my hand. The breeze barely stirred, and the air clung to everything like sweat-soaked denim. My shirt stuck to my spine. Even my boots felt too heavy, like the sun had baked the leather into cement.

We’d always been lucky with the creek, this branch of the Sundance River wasn’t flashy, but it was reliable. Wide, steady, fed by snowmelt from the higher peaks. Not prone to flooding or clogging with runoff. Good for cattle. Better for the land. Best for my peace of mind.

This land had raised us. Broken us. It held the bones of our legacy, the sweat of generations.

My great-grandfather had carved the first fence posts by hand, cut from local pine and driven into this dirt with nothing but stubbornness and borrowed time.

There was something sacred in the way the light hit the ridgeline this time of day.

The stillness that hung in the pine-stained air made me feel both small and anchored.

Like maybe the ranch was the only place in the world that ever really made sense.

The kind of quiet you could only earn. The kind you only noticed when your soul needed mending.

I stood there a moment longer, soaking in the kind of silence that only existed in the high country. It should’ve felt like freedom. But peace didn’t come easy these days.

Lily floated back into my head, uninvited and relentless.

I’d spent all weekend trying to shake her loose as Friday night kept replaying like a scratched record.

The way Forester got in her space. The flash of her eyes when she stood her ground.

And the way I’d felt like I was eighteen again, one wrong word from throwing fists.

She wasn’t mine. Hadn’t been for years.

But God help me, I still wanted to put her behind me and couldn’t.

She’d sunk in like mountain cold, slow at first, then all at once. Like a storm rolling over the divide, no warning, just wind and want.

"Come on, Ponti," I muttered, swinging up into the saddle. "Let’s get home."

We were halfway back when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I answered without looking.

“Nash Miller.”

“Oh, Nash, it’s Suki from the school office.”

Instantly my mouth went dry, and I gripped Ponti’s reins tighter, ready to move.

"Hey, Suki. Everything okay? Is Bertie alright?"

"Um… not really," she said gently. "Looks like she’s come down with something. Stomach flu, maybe. Can someone pick her up?"

My gut twisted. "I’m an hour out. Wilder and Gunner are off-property. I?—"

"We can’t keep her here much longer, Nash. Another kid’s already in the sick bay. And we really don’t want this spreading."

"Where is she now?"

"With Miss. Gray. Her class is out on a nature trail."

Of course. Lily.

I closed my eyes, breathed in through my nose. Even her name tugged at something buried deep and fragile. Still raw.

"Can she stay with Miss. Gray until I get there?"

"Honestly? It would be best if someone brought her home. Miss. Gray offered to, if that’s okay with you."

Lily. On the ranch.

Bad idea. The worst.

But I didn’t have a choice.

"Okay. Let her bring her. Call me if anything changes."

By the time I rode into the yard, sweat drying into salt on my back, a battered blue Subaru rolled up in a cloud of dust. The car looked one hard breeze away from retirement.

And I knew exactly who it would be.

Her.

Lily stepped out, all legs and freckles and that messy ponytail that used to drive me wild.

Her white dress was dotted with red hearts, and it nearly knocked me flat.

Her skin looked like it had been kissed golden by the sun.

Like it always had, no matter what the season.

Like she belonged to this land as much as I did.

She opened the back door.

"Hey," I said, trying to sound steady. "How’s she doing?"

Lily straightened and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Hasn’t thrown up since we left school. She’s tired."

I bent down. Bertie blinked up at me, pale as snowmelt.

"Hey, munchkin." I brushed her hair back. "Tummy hurts, huh?"

She nodded, her lip wobbling.

"Let’s get you inside."

Then I spotted it. The booster seat.

My throat tightened. "You got a kid?"

Lily’s eyes widened. "No! It’s from the school office. Emergency seat."

Relief hit me like a kick to the ribs. Stupid, but real.

I stared at her a moment too long. The kind of look that felt like dragging your hand too close to a fire.

"Daddy," Bertie whimpered. "I don’t feel good."

"I know, sweetheart." I unbuckled her, catching the sharp tang of stale vomit. "Bath first, I think."

"Sorry," Lily said softly. "We tried to clean her up as best we could."

"No problem." I lifted Bertie into my arms, holding my breath because I was not good with puke. I was halfway to the steps when Isiah came running, boots kicking up dust.

"Boss! Trouble at the west creek. Empty pesticide containers."

I froze.

"How many?"

"Five. Fresh. Labels peeled."

"That’s bad, right?" Lily asked, instinctively laying a hand on Bertie’s back.

"Real bad," I muttered. "Could contaminate the whole flow."

She hesitated. Then her eyes steeled. "Let me stay with her. Go check it out."

"I—"

"Nash," she said firmly. "She’ll be okay with me. I promise."

I stared at her. The trust. The offer. The softness.

Then I looked down at Bertie, who had already curled against Lily like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Time stopped.

Lily.

Holding my daughter like she was something precious.

Like we were something real.

God help me, I wanted to drop to my knees and beg time to rewind.

A hundred other lives flashed behind my eyes, ones where she stayed, ones where we raised Bertie together, ones where we never had to lie to survive.

"Thank you," I said, voice rough. “I wouldn’t ask but Gun and Wilder are out of town buying a new bull.”

"Go," she whispered. "We’ve got this."

I touched Bertie’s hair. Then Lily’s arm, quick, but enough. Enough to brand me.

Then I turned and ran.

The ride out to the west creek felt longer than usual, like the heat stretched time thin. My mind kept drifting back to the porch. To Lily’s hand on Bertie’s back. To the way my daughter looked in her arms, safe. Loved. Complete.

The guilt ate at me. Not just for what we’d lost. But for what we might never get back.

I shook it off as Brad Jenkins rolled up in his side-by-side, face redder than a rooster’s comb. Calvin Taylor, the other rancher whose land bordered ours, was already standing looking down into the creek. Like he’d be able to see the poison floating in the water.

"How’d that crap get in the creek if it wasn’t you?" Jenkins barked while getting out of his vehicle.

“I have no idea.” I wiped my forehead. "We don’t use pesticides. Never have."

He jabbed a finger at me. "They’re on your side."

"So are your damn cows half the time because you don’t keep your fences up to scratch," I snapped. "Doesn’t mean they’re mine."

Behind me, my crew was working fast. Dam bags, temporary barriers, anything to stop the leak before it flowed into neighboring fields. I’d already called Public Health. They’d test the water. Track it. But that would take weeks.

Weeks we didn’t have.

"If my herd’s poisoned?—"

"I’ll take responsibility if we’re to blame," I cut him off. "But don’t accuse me without proof. I care about this land more than anyone. We just need to wait and see what the water division say. But, like I said, it wasn’t us who dumped them.”

A hand clapped my shoulder. Calvin Taylor. Reliable as the mountains.

"I believe you, Nash," he said. His voice carried. Solid. Steady. Colorado born and bred. "You’ve always run clean. That counts for something."

Relief hit hard. Calvin’s word mattered in Silver Peaks. Especially out here where reputation was half your worth.

Brad muttered something about compensation and stomped back to his rig, kicking up dust as he peeled off.

"Keep me informed and you need help, you call," Calvin said, tipping his hat. Then he paused. "And don’t worry about Jenkins. I’d put money on someone on his ranch doing this before someone on yours.”

“Thanks.” I let out a long breath. “I could just do without the hassle.”

He moved to his horse. “Yeah, I heard Lily was back.”

I stiffened.

He just chuckled, said, "Guess that explains the smoke in your eyes." And he rode off, leaving me there in the dirt.

And he wasn’t wrong.

Because the real fire?

It was back at the house.

And she was holding my whole damn heart in her hands like she didn’t even know it.