His Ranch or Hers

by Roz Denny Fox

  “Huh,” she grunted, shoving another heifer into the correct pen. “Roping is harder than it looks. I never saw the need to waste time learning.”

  “You don’t think it’d be better to be yanking calves around from the front end? I saw what you stepped in when you pushed that one from behind.”

  She shut the gate and leveled a look at him. “If your aim is to avoid landing in manure, you don’t want to be on a working cattle ranch.”

  He bent his head and tipped his baseball cap forward. “Dave said he was surprised to see you sticking around to give me pointers.”

  Her jaw hardened. “Really? Did he say why?”

  “Well, he said you were third or fourth generation to run the Flying Owl. He said it jokingly but sort of insinuated everybody around here believed that before you turned loose of the land, a coroner would have to pry the deed out of your cold, dead hands.”

  Shock rippled through Myra. Zeke was clearly waiting for her to deny what may not have really sounded like a joke to him. For a second she debated telling the truth. How her heart broke when her father phoned to say he’d gifted the ranch to someone without one shred of ranch know-how. But what good would it do? Zeke had the right to send her packing. And she cared too much for the future of the Flying Owl to turn her back on it.

  “Dave is quite a joker. He probably thought I could hear him. My name isn’t and never has been on the ranch deed. Gramps and Dad put the property in a cotrust after Gram died. Listen, all this palavering is getting us nowhere. We have a lot of calves left to sort out.”

  Zeke pulled back his sleeve and checked his watch. “Isn’t it lunchtime? At least, Dave said he was going home to have lunch before he drove his calves to market.”

  “I’d hoped to get halfway finished before we broke for lunch. But if you’re dying to eat, I guess we can put in a longer afternoon.”

  “How many more to make half?” he asked, sparing a look around the pen.

  “Twenty should do it. Hey, I forgot that maybe you’re hurting from the head butting you took. We can take a break if you need to rub on some liniment.”

  “Are you having me on? Isn’t that a horse treatment?”

  “It works for people’s bruised, sore muscles, too. Really, I swear I’m not giving you hokey advice.”

  “Well, I do hurt, so I might try it. I figured by morning I’d be black-and-blue in a spot that might leave me standing up to eat for a few days.” He gingerly rubbed his back pocket but laughed all the same.

  “Okay, you’ve convinced me to break for lunch. Gramps said the sooner you get liniment rubbed on an injury the faster it heals. He used it liberally on his arthritic wrists and knees. I’m sure there’s a giant bottle under the sink in your bathroom. You take care of your owie and I’ll fix tomato soup and grilled-cheese sandwiches.”

  “You’re on, even though I haven’t called any injury an owie in thirty years.”

  Myra had left the enclosure and turned to study him. “So how old does that make you?”

  “I’m thirty-one.” He made sure the gate was latched. “I frankly don’t recall anyone in my family using the term owie.”

  “Don’t get all bent out of shape about it, Maxwell. It’s not an assault on your masculinity.” She laughed as she dashed up the porch steps and toed off her boots. “We can refer to it as a pain in the butt, if you prefer. I mean, that is the part of your anatomy the cow hit, right?”

  “You’re rougher than some of my recruits. I’m not going to dignify that with a yes or no. Let’s refrain from talking about it at all.”

  “I wasn’t planning on calling the story in to the Snowy Owl Weekly Gazette. For the record,” Myra said as she hung up her jacket and tossed her hat on the hat rack by the door, “you aren’t the first rancher to take a head butt from a mother cow in an uncomfortable spot, and I doubt you’ll be the last. Prepare yourself to have it happen again. And you may not have a soft grass landing next time.”

  Zeke hesitated in hanging up his bomber jacket. “Hey, did you just call me a rancher?” His smile carved a dimple in one cheek. “That’s the nicest compliment you’ve paid me since I got here. Give me ten minutes to find that liniment. I’ll even brew the coffee for lunch.” He whistled, crossing the living room.

  Myra wanted to call him and take it back. Zeke Maxwell was nowhere near having earned the title. On the other hand, no one else had heard her slip of the tongue. And the smile her words sparked was pretty terrific. So much so, her own smile lingered while she flitted about the kitchen talking to Orion prior to heating soup and preparing cheese sandwiches.

  She couldn’t remember ever having a man’s simple smile make her stomach flutter. Or maybe she was just hungrier than she thought.

  Chapter Four

  Myra took a minute to give Orion some snuggle love, freshen his water and bring him a veggie snack before she washed her hands and assembled everything for lunch.

  Tomato soup steamed on the stove, and she put two cheese sandwiches in the electric fry pan. Suddenly she smelled the pungent odor of liniment, warring with the more savory scents. Startled, she spun toward the door. Even though she knew Zeke planned to treat his bruises, tears unexpectedly filled her eyes.

  In two giant steps, Zeke grabbed her and gripped her arms. “What’s the matter, Myra? Did you burn yourself? Run cold water over the area. I’ll watch the food.”

  “I didn’t burn myself. Sorry, it’s the liniment.” She smudged the heel of her palm over her weepy eyes.

  Zeke took a step back from her sheepishly. “I should apologize. That stuff has helped, but it sure stinks.”

  Myra shook her head. “It isn’t the liniment smell, Zeke. Or I suppose it is. I should’ve been prepared, but it took me by surprise. I turned expecting to see Gramps.”

  Zeke slid his arms around her back and pulled her to his chest. Her tears covered his shirtfront. His hug consoled her, but she shouldn’t let him be this nice. Still, she sniffled into his shirt pocket. “He’s only been gone six months. Oh, I know I’m being foolish.” Biting her upper lip, she pushed out of his hold. “I need to flip the sandwiches or they’ll burn.”

  Zeke let her go. “It’s nothing to apologize for. I lost men in my unit. Two in particular were close friends—I can’t tell you how many times I’d hear a laugh or look around the mess tent expecting to see them.” His brow furrowed.

  “That must have been more than hard. I’ve only had to deal with the deaths of my grandparents. All four lived long lives. My good friend Lila Jenkins lost her dad in a terrible mining accident when she was twelve. And four years ago her husband was killed in a different type of mine. I can’t imagine how haunting that has to be.”

  Zeke rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. The living are left to mourn. Hey, can we talk about something else?”

  Myra nodded. “The soup is ready. If you’ll pour it into the bowls on the table I’ll bring our sandwiches.” She didn’t look at him, still reeling from how easily she’d been comforted by him. Eric had been right, Zeke was a nice man. She’d felt her nerves tingle. This wasn’t good. She needed to watch herself around him. It wouldn’t do to lose her focus on getting him to quit the ranch.

  “Your pig is acting funny,” Zeke said as Myra set a grilled-cheese sandwich on his plate. His chair was closest to Orion’s pen. The pig was running back and forth, making snorty noises and banging his nose against the wooden baby gate.

  “I wonder if he’s looking for Gramps, too. House pigs are super social. And like I told you, Gramps made liberal use of liniment. So Orion knows that scent.”

  Nothing could have surprised Myra more than to see Zeke lean over the pen, pick up Orion and set him on his lap. He let the pig settle, then as if it was no big deal, went back to eating his soup.

  Myra smiled. “Most people would think they had to go wash after touching a pig.”

  He hiked a shoulder. “Afghan families live, eat and sleep with bigger pigs, goats, chickens and sometimes even milk cows. I g
ot used to it from the times elders invited me to eat with their families. Orion hasn’t been outside. Which brings me to one real concern. I hope he doesn’t pee on me.”

  Myra tipped back her head and laughed. “Mini pigs are clean, but they are pigs and still like to root in dirt. Orion uses a litter box I keep on the back porch. It’s why he has the doggie door.”

  “That’s a relief. He seems friendly. Guess I won’t get a dog as long as you’re here. Speaking of which. After Dave gave a bit of insight into the next steps I have to take with those mama cows, I know I need help. A lot of help,” he muttered before biting into his sandwich.

  “Even I need help with that chore,” Myra acknowledged. She pushed aside her bowl. “I’ve given this arrangement a lot of thought. If we continue to work well together, and unless you hate the solitude of a Montana winter and call it quits, I’ll stay until spring. But I don’t want any title like manager.” She scowled a bit. “I prefer if we call it a friend helping a friend.” She almost gagged on the word friend.

  Zeke set down his sandwich. “Just knowing you’ll be here is a huge relief. For the record, I’m not a quitter.”

  Myra’s heart sank and she quickly tucked into her sandwich.

  “You don’t sound as if you want to consider this a job. Is it crass to talk about money? I have my military pension. But even if I buy all the food and pay utilities, you’ll need money for...uh...personal stuff.”

  “About that. My dad said I should take the revenue from the sale of the yearlings. He says he thought Gramps had sold all of his stock and some land to pay Gram’s medical bills before I came to help him. I shouldn’t be surprised, I guess. Dad and Gramps were two of a kind when it came to privacy.” She crumbled the toasty edge of her sandwich.

  Zeke ate, letting Myra talk.

  “Something else I didn’t know,” she said. “In order to clear the deed for you, Dad paid the banknote I planned to retire with the current stock sale. So, here’s the thing, Gramps and I operated from a single ranch account. I figured on Hank having the feedlot owner do a direct deposit to that account as usual. All deposits, withdrawals and expenses get logged in the spreadsheet we went over last night. I can share the document online with you so we both see income and outgo. If either of us buy groceries or stuff at the feed store, we post it.”

  “That’s generous of you, Myra. I don’t know that I feel right about using that money. The fact your folks signed over this ranch to me was a gift I never expected. I can already see you earned what’ll come from this sale.”

  Talking about her parents handing Zeke the ranch made Myra pissy. She wasn’t as generous as her folks. And therein lay the problem. She hopped up and carried her dishes to the sink. “I need to make something clear,” she said. “Everything I’m doing to teach you what goes on here, I’m doing because I love the Flying Owl. I can’t bear the thought of it going under.” She was prepared to say more, but the house phone rang, startling them both. “Dang, I hope it’s not my mom. She’s been calling to pressure me to move home.” Myra hesitated, but went to the old wall phone that rarely got used.

  “Hello.” She spoke tentatively.

  “Myra? It’s Tawana.”

  Myra relaxed. Tawana, a Native American woman, was a close friend and another valuable member of the Artsy Ladies group. Tawana blurted out her sorrow over hearing news about Myra losing the ranch. “I couldn’t believe it when Lila told me.”

  “It’s true. But I’ve made a deal with the new owner to stay on for a while. At least until spring.” She peered through lowered eyelashes at Zeke, who’d set Orion back in his pen. He washed his hands at the sink and began putting dishes in the dishwasher. “The good news is I’ll be here for the Thanksgiving bazaar. Hey, Tawana, can we talk later? I came in for lunch, but I have to go out again. We have calves to cut so Hank can haul them to market tomorrow.”

  “Sure. I’m happy to hear you aren’t leaving ASAP. Call me when you have time. I worried when I kept getting voice mail on your cell. Oh, wait, I almost forgot...the first batch of snowy owls are back. I’ve been on the lookout for them. There are five I’ve seen building nests in Leland Conrad’s fir trees.”

  “Conrad? I know his forest, but I don’t know him well. He’s kind of a grouch, isn’t he? Will he let the owls stay on his property, or will he drive them away?”

  “He’s not a bad guy. The problem I see is that he is currently trying to sell all of his holdings so he can retire. He’s never married. According to Jewell, he’s estranged from a nephew he raised. But you don’t have time for us to get into his history. I phoned Leland. He’s okay with the owls and promises he won’t disrupt their nesting. However, if a buyer shows up, he won’t make leaving the owls alone part of the deal. That worries me.”

  “Yes. Maybe Jewell can talk to him. She’s persuasive.”

  “I’ll call her. If you have time to ride out there, Myra, they’re a sight to behold.”

  “I may. If we get time I should show them to Zeke.”

  “Who?” Tawana sounded puzzled.

  “Zeke Maxwell. Former Lieutenant Maxwell, the Flying Owl’s new owner.”

  “Oh, right. Okay, I’ll let you go. I’m typing up minutes from last night’s tribal meeting.”

  “Say, while I have you on the phone, do you know if anyone’s looking for work? After we ship calves tomorrow it’s time to take care of the cows. We definitely need some competent extra hands.”

  “You’re in luck. This morning Eddie Four Bear and Aaron Younger stopped by my office to see if I knew of any work. They were helping wean calves on a ranch out by Wolf Point. If you need more guys, Eddie probably knows who else is available.”

  “We could use three on the chutes. I have Eddie’s number. I’ll call him. I trust him to pick up vaccine kits from Jewell, too. Save me running into town. Thanks, Tawana.”

  “Always glad to help our men find work. One more thing... I cut out some new vests last weekend. The beading looks good. I think our customers will really like them.”

  “They always do. No one ever quibbles over price for one of your vests. I’ll be anxious to see them. Anyway, I’ve really gotta run. See you.”

  The two signed off. “That was Tawana White Feather,” she told Zeke, who quirked an eyebrow when she faced him. “Sorry to ask her about worker availability without first discussing it with you. But the next part of the process with the cows is a dirty job. It’s impossible to do without hiring help, and well worth it.”

  “I’ll leave those decisions to you, Myra. Dave didn’t make this part sound fun. So, does this woman you talked to run an employment agency?”

  “No. She works in the reservation tribal office. Tawana is a council member and a most talented crafter. She makes leather vests with intricate beadwork. They sell like hotcakes.”

  “Um. I heard you say I need to see something. Did you mean her vests? They don’t sound like something men would wear. I mean, if they’re beaded.”

  “You’ll have to see them to judge. Her brother wore one at his wedding and looked sharp. But I wasn’t talking about you seeing her vests. I was talking about the snowy owls! Tawana said some of the birds have come back. We were worried they wouldn’t return this year.”

  “Really? How would you know one bird from another?”

  “Jewell tagged some of the young ones with neon-pink bands. There are experts who do satellite tracking in other parts of the country, but we couldn’t afford GPS transmitters.”

  “Damn, you guys are really serious about owls.”

  “You bet. Tawana and others on the reservation are huge advocates of saving the snowy owls.”

  “Why are they showing up here now? If they fly south for the winter, it’s a little late.”

  “Actually, some go north to the Arctic for the winter, some go as far south as Bermuda. And some don’t migrate at all. Our flock seems to like to winter here. Jewell’s been studying them the longest. She says they follow the migration of lemmings, which
is their main source of food. Frankly we worried that our milder winter last year may have caused them to leave permanently. Tawana’s sighting proves some are back.”

  “Are you pulling my leg? I didn’t think lemmings were real. I’ve always put them in the fake category like going snipe hunting.”

  “Lemmings are real, you goofus. They’re rodents. And snowy owls are good-sized. They can carry off a duck or other waterfowl, too. But it’s getting late. Let’s go finish our chores. If we have enough daylight left afterward, it’d be a treat to ride out so you can see why so many of us are doing everything possible to save these birds.”

  “Okay, but I hope you won’t hold it against me if I don’t get worked up about them. I just don’t see the big deal.”

  Myra didn’t say what was on her mind. Not caring about the fate of the snowy owls was strike two against Zeke. Strike one was the fact he fell into owning a ranch she loved. She had little doubt that before she left here there’d be a strike three against him.

  The sun shone a bit stronger as the afternoon wore on. Melting snow left the grassy pastures as slick as working on grease. But Myra couldn’t find fault with the amount of work Zeke did. She could tell when his weak left side started to bother him a lot, and yet he didn’t beg off helping, nor did he shirk in any fashion.

  “Did you already tell me why we didn’t wean all of the young heifers?” he asked when Myra moved to the gate and declared their job done.

  “We hold the sturdiest ones back as breeders. Every year you’ll have older cows needing to be sold to a slaughterhouse because they’ve stopped producing. You rebuild a herd by adding more than you sell. In any cycle you’ll weigh the worth, like...do you need the money from the fall sale more than you need to expand your herd?”

  “That seems an impossible question for a newbie like me.”

  “That is a problem with not having grown up on a ranch.”

  Zeke eyed her as if expecting her to say more. She didn’t, instead opening the gate and shooing aside a cow that tried to escape. She gestured for Zeke to follow her out.