Page 16 of Wrecked for Love (Buffaloberry Hill #1)

ELIA

Hank and I guided the herd toward the sorting pens, the crisp air biting at my cheeks. You could feel it—the heart of fall was here.

The ground beneath us was firm, the frost giving way under the weight of the cattle as their hooves pounded across the pasture.

The boys flanked the herd, moving like they’d done this a hundred times—well, they had.

I could hear their shouts cutting through the lowing of the cattle, directing them toward the sorting gates.

Hank leaned against the fence, his eyes narrowed under his old hat, watching the calves as they funneled through the chute.

“That one’s got some fire in her,” he said, jerking his chin toward a feisty heifer darting for the gate.

I nodded, nudging my horse to drive a stray calf back in line.

Sorting wasn’t just part of the job; it was tradition.

The calves needed to be weaned, and the herd thinned before winter settled in for good.

The boys kept up their banter, but there was a rhythm to it all.

Each steer and heifer counted, each one a step toward getting us through the cold months ahead.

With the sorting done, we settled in for lunch, stretching out our stiff limbs. My saddlebag sat bulkier than usual, drawing a few curious glances.

“A special treat, boys,” I said, pulling out a stack of beef hand pies wrapped in brown parchment.

A chorus of appreciation followed as I passed them around.

“Picked these up from Mrs. Sutton at the harvest shop this morning. Figured you all earned something good today.”

“Damn, boss, you’re spoilin’ us.” Hank grabbed one and took a greedy bite. His eyes nearly rolled back in his head. “Hell, these are better than payday. Actually, don’t tell my bank I said that.”

The rest of the crew didn’t waste a second before digging in.

The scent of slow-cooked beef, rich gravy, and buttery, golden crust filled the air.

Mrs. Sutton’s pies weren’t just food. They were town-famous—the kind of thing folks placed orders for weeks in advance and still fought over at the Harvest Festival.

One of the younger hands groaned in bliss. “Boss, you keep feeding us like this, and we’re gonna start expecting benefits, maybe dental.”

I snorted. “Dental? Hell, just step too close to that heifer.” I nodded toward the one behind the gate, whose tail was flicking and nostrils flaring like she was already lining up her shot. “She’ll knock a tooth out for free.”

Taking a bite of my own pie, I slipped Koda his share—just the meat, skipping the crust that wouldn’t sit right with his old stomach. He took it eagerly, licking his chops in approval.

Suddenly, the mutt stiffened. His ears pricked forward, a bark rumbling from his chest.

I followed his gaze. A man was approaching.

“Easy, pal,” I murmured, running a hand down Koda’s back.

Hank spotted him too. His hand drifted toward his rifle.

I caught his eye and shook my head. “Hold up,” I said. “Let’s see what he’s about.”

Koda tensed, ready to follow, but I motioned for him to stay.

The man trudged closer, his clothes worn from the road. He looked like he hadn’t seen a bed in days, his face weathered but determined. Hank and I rode out to meet him.

“You’re trespassing!” I called out, my voice carrying across the field.

From near the sorting pen, Koda barked, backing me up despite the distance.

The stranger stopped, tipping his hat back. His stance was steady, but there was an air of exhaustion about him. A cowboy who had clearly been on the move for a long time.

“The name’s Fritz,” he said, holding his hands up. “Caught a fella tryin’ to slice through your fence over on that side of the ridge.” He nodded east.

“Damn it,” I muttered, throwing a nod to Hank. “Go check it out.”

Hank grabbed one of the hands, and they took off, their horses kicking up dust as they raced toward the ridge. A few minutes later, my phone buzzed.

“Yeah, boss,” Hank said, his voice crackling through the line. “Some no-good drifter, ain’t seen him around before. But the bastard bolted before we could nab him. Fence ain’t too bad. We’re patchin’ it up now.”

“All right. Get back when you’re done,” I said before hanging up. Then, I turned to Fritz, who was squinting up at me against the sun. “Appreciate it, stranger. Name’s Elia Lucas. I run this spread.”

Fritz nodded, wiping the sweat off his brow. “Figured I found the right man. Thing is, I’m lookin’ for work. Ain’t afraid of hard labor, and I can handle cattle better than most.”

The men around me shifted uneasily, eyeing the stranger. I didn’t blame them. Ranch life taught you to be wary of folks who showed up out of the blue. But I gave them a nod, and they knew what to do. They moved on, securing the cattle while keeping a close watch on the herd and the land.

I turned back to Fritz, giving him a measured look. “Really appreciate what you’ve done, Mr. Fritz.”

“Call me Fritzy,” he corrected with a grin.

I tipped my hat. “Here’s the thing. We’re full up right now, and the budget’s tighter than a calf in a branding chute. Winter’s coming fast. But if you’re sticking around for a while, come back in the spring. We start calving early February and could sure use an extra pair of hands.”

“Fair enough. Thanks, Mr. Lucas,” he said, turning to leave.

“Hey,” I called out after him, tossing over my canteen and a couple of extra pies. “Take these. Can’t let a man walk away hungry.”

Fritzy caught them with a spark of energy. “Sweet! Thanks, Mr. Lucas.”

I watched him as he disappeared down the driveway, the ranch slowly settling back into its rhythm as the sun sank lower. Another day at The Lazy Moose, and nothing was ever simple.

Hank came back, brushing off the fence incident like it was nothing. “Just a one-off,” he declared.

We hadn’t had trouble like this in a while, but I knew well enough that threats were always lurking, especially from one family.

The Vosses. Sneaky bastards, the lot of them.

They hadn’t ranched in years, but they’d moved on to something far more dangerous.

Their business included illegal prescriptions, stolen guns, hired muscle, and prostitution.

Folks came and went without a trace, and they knew just how to push buttons—poke and prod—without ever crossing the line where the law could get involved.

Most of the town gave them a wide berth.

Hell, I did too, but every now and then, they made sure I couldn’t avoid them.

And then there was Tessa. The thought of avenging her death the old-fashioned way crossed my mind more than I cared to admit.

Sometimes, it felt like my life’s mission.

Taking down the Voss brothers with my own two hands was a temptation that kept me awake at night, no matter how hard I tried to shove it aside.

“Keep vigilant,” I told Hank.

“Always, El,” he replied, giving me a firm nod before heading toward the stable. He paused, though, looking back over his shoulder. “Hey, we’re headin’ to The Timber & Whiskey later. You should come.”

I shook my head with a half-smile. “You boys enjoy yourselves. You’ve earned it.”

“Keeping that ‘Lone Buffalo’ reputation alive, huh?” Hank teased.

I laughed. “That’s Diesel’s job,” I said, dodging the dig by pointing at my alpha bull.

Though truth be told, Diesel had a better track record with the ladies.

I knew the nicknames folks tossed my way since Noah split.

“Lone Buffalo” was one of the more flattering ones.

It sure beat “The Mute Moose” or “Lord Lucas.”

Hank tipped his hat and rode off, leaving me alone in the fading daylight.

I stayed back, letting my gaze sweep over the spread of land before me.

It took more than just courage to hold on to a place like this.

It took grit, determination, and a hell of a lot of patience.

Between the Vosses always scheming and Mother Nature throwing her worst, something was always out to knock me down.

Straightening in the saddle, I made up my mind. A quick patrol around the east ridge wouldn’t hurt.