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“Are you all right?”

He glanced to where Ezra was guiding a calf into the chute and then back to me. “I don’t know how to get through to him.”

My head tilted in confusion because to me, it looked like Seb had delivered a message Ezra needed to hear. “Maybe you just did.”

Seb shook his head. “It wasn’t enough. Someone else would have said it better.”

He peeled away from the fence before I could respond. “Make sure you get photos of the new ranch hands. That should make some good content for Emma’s social media posts.”

Five minutes later, he was teasing Liam about something, laughing at Liam’s annoyed scowl. But now and then, his gaze shifted to Ezra, and I knew it was still weighing on his mind.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. I filled a whole SD card. Human portraits were not my specialty, but when it came right down to it, capturing Mateo staring down an angry mama cow wasn’t all that different from a pack of elephants facing a lion. I felt more myself than I had since I first arrived.

Seb was right. I needed this. I needed a mission.

One of the new ranch hands, Clay Campbell, was on horseback, attempting to separate a calf from its mother. From the look of it, his horse had more experience cowboying than he did. The black-and-white paint moved with agility and grace, but Clay always seemed to be a few seconds behind. I clicked the shutter button at the exact moment the horse went left, and Clay went right. Gravity took it from there, and Clay rolled to the ground.

Hank Henry, the other new ranch hand, chuckled. “You got that, right? Maybe you could send me a copy.” Hank was tanned and weathered, while Clay still had that soft suburban look to him.

I checked my work and winced. I got it, all right. “I’ll probably delete it.”

“Nah, falling off is part of the job. Anyway, Clay is new to cowboying. One day he’ll want that as a souvenir. Fewer and fewer people are born into the ranching life, so we end up with a lot of greenhorns. It’s hard work, and the ones that survive take pride in how far they’ve come.”

Clay was already dusting himself off and swinging back into the saddle. I took a photo of that, too. “You’re probably right.”

The loud, metallic clang of a cowbell got my attention—and everyone else’s. The cowboys nudged their horses into a lope and headed in from the pasture. I turned to see Lennon and Miguel standing by two long buffet tables laden with food, set up next to a pickup truck. Lennon grinned and waved at me.

“Lunch,” Jeremiah explained.

“Great.” We had been out here for five hours now, and I was starving. I jogged over to say hello. Miguel immediately ducked, hands protecting his head, looking at the sky like he thought something might fall on him.

“What are you doing?” I asked, checking the sky, but all I saw were wispy cirrus clouds.

“Looking for flying houses.” He flashed me a cheeky grin.

“What?” I laughed.

“Like in The Wizard of Oz. The Witch of the East was minding her own damn business, and Dorothy landed her house on her. And that’s not even what the movie is about. She’s collateral damage. That’s me. Lennon’s stalker—who happened to be a friend of mine, which makes it even worse—drove me off a cliff. And then you show up bleeding all over the place? Yeah. I don’t fucking think so.” He checked the sky again. “I’m not getting flattened this time.”

Lennon nudged his shoulder with hers. “Are you ever going to let that go? I got kidnapped, you know. You don’t hear me whining about it.”

I laughed at the mock scowl he gave her. “I promise I’ll tell you if I see any flying houses, but I think we’re safe.”

I hoped so, anyway. With the sun warm on my back, surrounded by good friends and furry animals, trouble seemed far away. I would never have come here if I thought my presence put others in danger. But in every attack, I was with other people, and yet no one else was harmed. If trouble did come to Mercy River, it was looking for me, not anyone else.

The stacks of chips, baggies of cookies, and aluminum-foiled burritos had almost disappeared. I chewed my lip, eyeing what was left. Plain potato chips were gluten-free, but the flavors often had malt, and that would mess with me. The basket of apples looked safe, at least.

“I’ve got your lunch right here, Lila.” Lennon pulled a box from the back of the pickup truck. “I didn’t want anyone else to grab it by accident. The burrito has a corn tortilla, and you don’t have to worry about cross-contamination because Amos makes all the tortillas himself. We also have a bag of certified gluten-free potato chips and peanut butter cookies.”

I blinked, touched by the care they had put into making sure I could safely enjoy a good meal. “Thank you.”

“Grab me that last bag of cookies, will you, Lila?” Seb hollered. A low stream of curses followed that.

I turned to see what had annoyed him and found him wrestling a wayward calf back in the chute. I grabbed the cookies and reached for my camera.

“Where’s your cowboy hat?” I teased him, framing him with his arms outstretched as he pushed the calf’s hindquarters forward. The determination in his eyes. The roll of sweat on his temple. “How are the cows supposed to take you seriously if you’re not dressed appropriately for the job?”

Seb grunted. He maneuvered the calf into the chute, then straightened to his full height and arched his lower back, stretching out the kinks. It was hotter than it should have been. “A ball cap does the job just fine.” He spun his cap forward again and tipped the brim to me with a little smirk. “I was born and raised a city boy. I can’t wear a cowboy hat without feeling cheesy as hell.”