Chapter Text
It was after.
After the gun.
After Dwight’s body hit the grass and the scent of iron stained his nostrils.
After Sheriff Wade had so callously gunned him down only to name him a nuisance.
Wade spared Carter with a warning.
Now Carter walked along the dark road his truck was left on, not caring for the tears in his eyes, the ache in his feet or the questions in his soul.
He heard a truck barrel down the road behind him and he turned.
Oreana hopped out of the passenger seat and walked forward
“Y’know if you start calling me for rides, you’re gonna have to start tipping” she said, smirking.
Carter looked at her, not with the fierce calm she knew was warm to the touch.
Not the shield she hid behind several weeks ago when she was almost assaulted.
Her boots clacked against the pavement as she stopped, her blonde hair sitting perfectly against her brown top, paired with a pair of denim shorts she once said was her signature look.
But Carter…this Carter was distant, sad and seemingly in free fall.
Her smile died. “What’s wrong?”
Carter couldn't get the words out, not before she charged forward
“Come here. Come here.” she whispered.
She held him, as he did her all those days ago.
His hat fell from his head.
“It’s okay, I got you” she said into his shoulder, not caring that he smelled of beer and gunpowder.
wait…Gunpowder?
The lights of the truck died behind them.
“It’s okay” she said.
The dark swallowed them whole the moment the beams cut out. Only the low, rhythmic idle of the diesel engine kept the night from going completely dead.
Oreana didn’t pull away. She kept her arms locked around Carter’s shoulders, feeling the erratic, heavy thud of his heart against her chest. But her mind was already racing, piecing together the timeline. Gunpowder. Beer. A warning from Wade.
"Carter," she whispered against his ear, her voice dropping to a sharp, urgent register. "Look at me."
He didn’t move at first. He felt like lead in her arms. When he finally pulled back, the faint amber glow of the truck’s dashboard lights caught the hollow contour of his face. His eyes were wide, staring right through her, still trapped on the asphalt where Dwight’s body had just been bleeding out.
"He's gone, Ori," Carter choked out, his voice cracking, barely audible over the hum of the engine. "Wade... he just... he didn't care. He called him a nuisance."
Before she could ask the terrifying questions screaming in her mind, the heavy creak of the truck door broke the silence.
The ranch hand stepped out onto the gravel. He didn't approach them—he knew better than to cross that line—but he leaned his frame against the driver-side door, his silhouette dark against the night. He took off his hat, wiped his brow with the back of his sleeve, and looked down the deserted stretch of road.
"Miss Jackson," the hand called out, his voice low, cautious. "We gotta go. Your grandmother finds out I let you out of the gates, let alone picked up a Dutton boy on a dark road after hours... I’m out of a paycheck. And I got a family to feed."
Oreana looked from Carter’s pale face to the silhouette of the hand. The girl who had been teasing about tips a minute ago vanished. She knew this hand wasn't a threat—he was just a working man trying not to get caught in the crossfire of families that could crush him like a bug. But she wasn't about to leave Carter out here in freefall.
She turned her head slightly, keeping one hand firmly on Carter's jacket, her voice cutting through the dark with absolute authority.
"We're going," Oreana called back, her tone unyielding. "But we are not leaving him walking this road in the dark. Drive us down to his truck. You drop him off at his wheels, and then you take me straight back home. If anyone asks, you never left the steering wheel and we just took a loop around the boundary lines."
The hand looked down the empty expanse of asphalt, then glanced back at Carter, who was staring blankly into the distance. He swallowed hard, realizing this was the only way to get Oreana back in the vehicle without making a scene that would get back to Beulah.
"Alright," the hand muttered, nodding once as he reached down to grab Carter's hat from the dirt. "Get in. Let's move before someone else drives past."
Oreana guided Carter into the passenger seat, climbing into the cab right behind him. The silence inside the truck was suffocating as the hand shifted into gear, the headlights cutting back on as they rolled down the blacktop toward where Carter's truck had been left abandoned.
The diesel truck rumbled to a halt, its headlights washing over the cold metal of Carter’s abandoned vehicle. The silence inside the cab was deafening.
Carter stared out the windshield at his truck, his fingers twitching on his knees. The shock was still a heavy weight in his chest, making the simple act of moving feel like trying to lift lead. He reached for the door handle, his movements mechanical, but before his boots could hit the gravel, Oreana leaned forward from the back seat.
"Carter. Wait."
He paused, turning his head slowly to look at her.
Oreana didn't say a word. Instead, she reached down to her wrist and unclasped one of her signature metal bracelets—the one he’d seen her wear every single day, a constant piece of her that felt familiar, warm, and entirely her.
She took his hand, forcing his rigid fingers to open, and pressed the heavy metal band firmly into his palm. She closed his fingers over it, wrapping both of her hands around his fist to make sure he felt the pressure.
"You hold onto that," Oreana whispered, her eyes locking onto his with absolute, unyielding intensity. "You drive straight back to the ranch. You call me, tell me you’re safe. And when it feels like everything is spinning out, you just feel that metal in your hand and remember I’m right here. I'm not going anywhere, Carter."
Carter looked down at his closed fist. The metal was already absorbing the heat of her skin. For the first time since Dwight’s body hit the grass, the terrifying fog in his mind cleared just enough for him to focus. He nodded once, a faint, ragged breath escaping his chest. "Okay. I got it."
"Go," she said softly, giving his hand one final, anchoring squeeze.
He climbed out of the cab, his boots crunching on the blacktop. The ranch hand didn't waste a second—the moment Carter’s door clicked shut, the diesel shifted back into gear, turning around to spirit Oreana away into the Texas night before the shadow of the Jackson family could be tied to the scene.
Carter stood alone on the dark road for a heartbeat, his knuckles white around the bracelet. Then, he climbed into his own truck, tossed his dirt-stained hat onto the passenger seat, and cranked the engine.
The drive back to the Dutton Ranch was a blur of dark asphalt and high beams. When the headlights finally cut across the familiar wooden porch of the main house, the heavy silhouette of the ranch was waiting. He killed the engine, the sudden quiet of the truck cab pressing in on him.
He stepped out, his fingers still tightly coiled around Oreana's bracelet, and walked up the porch steps.
When he pushed the heavy front door open, the warm light of the kitchen hit his face, but the air inside was completely frozen. Beth stopped dead in her tracks by the counter, a heavy glass halfway to her mouth. Rip was standing by the window, his arms crossed, his dark eyes instantly locking onto the boy.
Beth dropped her glass onto the counter with a heavy, echoing clink.
"What happened?" Beth demanded, her voice dropping into that quiet, terrifying register that meant a storm was already here. "Carter. Look at me. Where the hell were you?"