The wind shifted again, taking away the distressed sound of a panicked herd. Where the hell were they? Montana’s terrain was rugged. Harsh ground, steep ravines. Mountain passes. Two of which were in front of me as I scanned the horizon. The ravine or the pass? It had to be the pass. It was the only place that boxed in. A prime ambush spot for any predator.
The closer I got to the pass, the more Dixon snorted his displeasure. He tossed his head up and crow hopped against the pull of the reins.
“Damn it, you bastard, hold,” I barked. Dixon made it damn near impossible to stay in the saddle, hold the shotgun, and keep him from losing his fool mind.
He circled several times, fighting the pull of the reins. It forced me to dismount and tie him off to the first sturdy tree I could find.
I cursed him as I jogged over the uneven ground. Cursed him even more as my shadow stretched longer and further in the late afternoon sunlight.
The pass was a tricky one. It seemed impossible the herd would have tried pushing their way through it. But they had, I noted, bending down to get a look at the churned-up ground and finding hoofprints.
I could hear them, panicked calls from one to another. The smell of cow shit was heavy in the air. Whatever I decided to do, it needed to be thought of quick before they trampled one another or whatever had hunted them took out one or more of the prized herd. The best vantage point would be from above. The problem with that was I might be able to see what was happening below, but I might not be able to get a clear shot without hitting one of the herd. If I went in on foot, I stood the chance of being trampled myself.
I pulled my phone from my back pocket and called Benton.
“I found them,” I said as soon as he answered.
“Good work. You bringing ‘em in now?” he asked.
“Something spooked the herd, and I have a feeling whatever it was is in the pass with them. I’ll need a few guys.”
“Climb to the top and tell me what you see.”
A bolt of anger shot through me. “I don’t need to climb to the top to tell you that you’re about to lose several head. Whatever’s hunting them has them penned in. I can’t get a clear shot from the top, and I can’t go in alone and make it out in one piece.”
“It’s Friday, Owens. All the hands have left for the evening. Just do whatever you need to do to bring the rest back in.”
The call ended abruptly. I pulled my phone away from my ear, wondering if it were possible we’d been disconnected.
All the ranch hands had left for the evening? Where the hell did they go? What could be more important than bringing the missing part of the herd back in?
I tucked the phone back in my pocket and swiped a trail of sweat from my chin.
Think, Slade. What’s the best way to avoid any unnecessary casualties?
My boots loosed a shower of rocks as I ascended the rise. The commotion below urged me to move quickly. The ground under my feet slowing me to a snail’s pace, I fought the incline inch by inch until it somewhat flattened out at the top.
Below was a writhing mass of confusion. Cows huddled against the far wall, eyes rolled back. Frothy white drool hung from their jowls. The bleating cries of calves being crushed mixed in with the excited yip of a single coyote.
I lifted the shotgun to line up the sight on my target, but then lowered it with a hiss and looked for a better place to shoot from. The whole time, I kept track of the coyote’s movements. He was a wily one. Darting in, he’d snap his jaws, skittering back when a hoof shot out. He had them pinned, but couldn’t get any closer without injuring himself.
Stupid coyote.
Moving into a better position, I knelt, bracing my shoulder against the side of a jutting rock and brought the gun up. With my sights lined up, I waited for just the right moment.
The gun went off with a bang. The sound ricocheted off rock and bounced back at me. The coyote dropped like a stone, and then all hell broke loose in the form of bawling thousand-pound cannon balls. They heaved and pushed against one another until the first one broke loose and circled around to the other side of the boxed-in area.
Sighing, I reached down and picked up the shell, shoving it in my pocket. The predator threat had been eliminated, but it was far from over. They were so riled up there was no way I could go in on foot and get them moving unless I could push my way through them on horseback and drive them out. Too bad Lucy wasn’t here. We would have made short work of bringing the herd home.
Lucy wasn’t here, though. I was on my own. Me and Dixon.
The steep climb up had nothing on the way down. My boots came out from underneath me more times than I could count. I had shallow cuts on each palm, and I was pretty sure the back of my shirt was ruined by the time I made it down the side of the pass.
Dixon snorted when he caught wind of me. Dancing in place, he bobbed his head, happy to see me. He wouldn’t be much longer when I forced his stubborn ass inside the pass and made him earn his keep.
With sides blowing on both of us, him from trying to dismount me and me from trying to hold on, we finally made it inside the pass. The cattle had settled some, all twenty-three I’d counted, but not enough to pick one from the herd and get them moving. If I could get one, the rest would follow. But which one?
A ruddy head popped up from the mass, her warning bellowing out to those around her. My eyes skipped over the tight pack of bodies, but I didn’t pick up anything that flagged me.
She lunged, head down, slamming into the cow beside her. Bodies scrambled, and I got a glimpse of what had set her off. Her calf lay under her. Rapid breaths pumped its small ribcage up and down. I kneed Dixon, forcing him to cut through the mass of bodies in order to get to the calf.
The herd lowed and shifted as I forced them away, moving them to the other side of the jagged walls. Momma wasn’t leaving her baby and that was fine. As long as she didn’t decide to see me as a threat, we’d be okay. I’d had plenty of experience with mommas and their calves—not one of them the same. But if I could get the calf onto my saddle, its momma would stick right with me. The herd would follow.
She bellowed at me as I slid from the saddle. Her head dipped down as she blew a warning through her nose. I had to take my chances. She’d either let me close or trample me, but I damn sure wasn’t giving up until I tried.
Ever since I was a boy, I’d always kept a baggie of sugar cubes in my saddle. A rancher never knew when he’d need them. My daddy had done it, and his daddy as well. Sometimes, it was used for an ornery cow; other times, it was used when someone sat in the saddle so long without eating that a lump of sugar was just what they needed in order to get home.
I dug through my saddle bag and dumped a sugar cube into my hand. Dixon’s head snapped up, nose twitching.
“Like sugar, do you?”
His lips lifted, warbling to take it from me. I laid my hand flat. Before I could blink, he had the sugar cube in his mouth, crunching happily away. Tension slid out of his body from the simple gesture. I sighed, allowing myself to breathe. Animals sensed emotion. The more Dixon and I relaxed, the more momma cow would too.
Keeping sight of her out of the corner of my eye, I dug out another piece of sugar, surrendering it to Dixon. He obliged me by leaving a puddle of sticky drool on my hand.
Momma shifted, watching as I dug another cube out and laid my palm flat to her. My arm ached by the time she decided to investigate, stepping over her calf.
Her tongue poked out, swiping the cube from my palm. Her stance changed from ready to charge me to something like acceptance. Two more cubes later, she allowed me to scratch her head and then run my hands over her coat.
It seemed like it took forever, but I was finally able to kneel and check on her calf as she stood over my shoulder, nose snuffling at my ear. The calf was in bad shape. One leg stuck out awkwardly. Moving it would prove difficult, especially if its momma thought I was hurting it.
I couldn’t put it off any longer. Scooping my arms underneath
front and back legs, I lifted the calf, only getting a weak cry of protest as I jostled it. Momma bumped me with her nose, following me over to Dixon.
Sweat rolled down my forehead, stinging my eyes, but I didn’t move to wipe it away until the calf was tied securely behind my saddle. Its momma snuffled and licked wherever she could to let it know she was there.
I climbed into my saddle, moving Dixon forward at a slow walk. She gave a loud moo and ambled forward. The rest of the herd watched. Before long, one broke off to catch up. The others came right after it.
By the time we made it out of the pass, night was fast approaching. Turning in the saddle, I counted heads. Twenty-two, plus the one sticking right at Dixon’s flank. I’d got them all out without much casualty. The calf was another story. I’d have to call the vet in as soon as I got the others into their section of pasture. My two sidekicks would be brought into the barn so I wouldn’t have to separate them.
Having an extra set of hands would have ensured the cattle I drove back were all right. Best I could do was ride out in the morning and check on the entire herd. By then, I wouldn’t be able to tell which were which.
I pushed down a rush of anger. There was nothing to be done about it anyway. Nothing besides asking Benton what the hell kind of operation he was running. There was no way Lex would have left me on my own to deal with something like that. Our cattle were our livelihood. Losing one hurt the farm.
But it wasn’t my family farm and Benton losing one cow, or calf, wouldn’t hurt his profit. I’d never seen such an operation in all my life. The breeding program Benton ran was one of the finest in the United States. Cutting-edge technology for producing cattle. I’d been intrigued by the idea. Couldn’t wait to learn new things in regards to animal husbandry.
But at what price had it come to me? I shook my head at the question. I couldn’t keep second-guessing myself. I had made my choice, and I’d stick with it. Out of all the applicants, Benton chose me. It was time I put all my effort into showing him what I was capable of. That he’d hired the right man.
I stuck my hand out, introducing myself. The vet squinted, assessing me. “Doc Travers, folks around here just call me Trav though. Does Benton know I’m here?” He twitched, looking over his shoulder as if someone would pop up.
“You okay?” I asked, wondering why the old man seemed so uptight.
“Did you clear this with Benton?” he asked again.
“Didn’t think I’d need to considering what shape the calf is in.”
The old man flushed. “Well, let’s take a look and see what we got first.”
That caught me off guard. Usually when a vet showed up, they all but ignored people over the animal in front of them, listening only as they made their assessment. Maybe asking a question or two, but never really taking their eyes off their patient. Doc Travers acted like a firing squad had red dots dancing along the front of his chambray shirt.
After his quick evaluation, he shook his head. “Better call Benton down. He’ll have to make the call.”
“Make what call? The calf’s leg is broken, right? So set it, and I’ll get with Benton in the morning.”
He swallowed nervously.
“I called you out here to take care of this animal. Now take care of it. I’ll deal with Benton.”
His shoulders went up around his ears. “I have no problem doing that. In fact, it’s taking everything in me not to do it anyway, but without Benton’s okay and sign off, I can’t do it, son. I’m sorry.”
When he turned to leave, I caught his arm, halting him. “I’ll call him. Don’t leave. Please.”
He nodded, pulling in a deep breath and blowing it out as I brought out my phone and called Benton, cursing when it went to voice mail.
“What will it take for you to set its leg?” I asked. “Is it money? Permission? What?”
“You seem like a nice person, Slade, but a word of advice… Benton Carroway isn’t a man you want to cross. Things are done his way, or not at all. The sooner you learn that, the better off you’ll be.”
The inside of Benton’s office looked like something that would be in a magazine. Everything sparkled brightly in its designated place. A Mac computer hummed away on his glass-top desk as he stared me down.
“You called Doc Travers in without consulting me. Why?”
I couldn’t contain the disgust I felt. It settled across my face as I answered him. “I called Doc Travers because veterinary care was needed.”
His eyebrow kicked up. “I make those calls. Not you.”
I couldn’t help wanting to bait him. “I tried calling you. You didn’t answer. I made the call to have the vet set the calf’s leg. Would you have done anything differently?”
He leaned forward in his overly large chair, face flushed as he spoke. “What I choose to do is not your concern. You were hired for the breeding program. If you’re told to do something else, you do it without question. And you never, ever make a decision regarding my stock. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly.” My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms. The need to punch him in the face was building to the point of blindness.
“Good. Now get the hell out of here and do the job I hired you for,” Benton said, shifting his focus to the computer in front of him. “And shut the door behind you.”
Benton, I realized, was a grade-A asshole. Pushing up from my seat, I crossed his office and closed the door behind me, not slowing down until I made it halfway across the yard.
As long as I stuck to the job he hired me to do, I probably wouldn’t have to deal with him at all. That was fine with me. What wasn’t fine with me was accepting I was no more than a walking paycheck with two hands. So much for the cowboy way of life. I’d given it all up in to be a glorified artificial breeder. Turned out the grass on the other side wasn’t grass at all.
“Sure have come a long way from the old ways,” Randy said as he leaned over the rails, watching the protesting heifer I had my arm shoved all the way up to my elbow in.
I snorted in response, pulling my arm free of the freshly inseminated cow. I wanted very much to agree with him, but I kept my thoughts to myself. The last thing I needed was for one of the guys to overhear me and go back to Benton, twisting my words to suit their needs. They hadn’t really accepted me. Hadn’t tried to make me feel welcome. The only thing they’d done was dump all the work they didn’t want to do on me.
The following day, Randy asked Gibs to oversee the unloading of the hay delivery. Gibs waited until Randy walked out of the barn and then wandered over to where I was cleaning horse stalls.
“Listen for the truck. When it comes in, help the driver unload it until I get there.”
When the truck pulled in, I listened for Gibs, but he never showed. Unloading bales of hay was a hot, sweaty, itchy, back-breaking sort of job. I cursed Gibs with every bale I slung and set. Not one person showed up to help. Not a soul wandered by when usually the barn was a hive of activity throughout the afternoon.
Once the truck was unloaded, the driver shook my hand and thanked me for my help. “Usually takes me most of the day with Gibs. That one doesn’t like to help much.” He snorted, shook his head, and then climbed up into the cab of his truck.
My arm felt like it weighed twenty pounds, but I forced myself to pick it up and wave when he rolled down his window and tipped his hat at me, saying, “See ya next time.”
The heat of the day hung heavy in the air. Rain would be welcome and much needed. Bits of hay floated through the air as I picked up the hay hooks and put them on the peg mounted on the heavy center beam. The entire top of the barn was neatly stacked, ready and waiting to be used.
“What the hell is all that?” Gibs asked as he miraculously appeared from around the corner like an apparition.
I had so many smart-ass replies just dying to get out, but I chose to clamp my lips together and give ‘ole Gibs the stink-eye instead.
“That’s not how we stack it. You should have�
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Randy’s little red S-10 rolled its battered body up just outside the opened doors and stalled out when he let go of the clutch. “Done already?”
Gibs shot me a look of warning, opening his mouth to answer, but he was cut off by Randy before he had the chance.
“Finally stacked it the way I’ve asked you to every time, huh? Guess there’s hope for you after all, Gibs. What are you doing standing around over there, Owens? Those stalls aren’t clean yet, are they?”
I’d had enough. “Couldn’t quite finish mucking out stalls while I was unloading hay… by myself.”
I walked away. The hell with them; I had stalls to finish before my day was over.
As odd as it sounded, I always found a little solace… a little peace when I mucked out stalls. It was a time where my mind wasn’t needed, my body knowing exactly what to do without thinking about it. The shovel slid across the uneven ground. Slide, lift, twist, dump, and repeat until I was done with one stall and moving on to the next. Getting pulled away put me behind, and so long as no one showed up to dump more chores into the mix, I’d get the rest of the stalls finished in about an hour.
Normally, it took a little longer, but I’d turned all the horses out to the connecting pasture, leaving them to graze while I worked. No one had told me I couldn’t do it otherwise.
“Still at it, I see. Need a hand?” Randy asked from outside the stall.
“Only have one more and I’ll be done,” I answered mid-shovel.
Randy grabbed the wheelbarrow before I could and pulled it from the stall.
Trading the shovel for a pitchfork, I tossed a layer of hay inside the stall and spread it evenly before moving on to the next stall with an inward sigh. I was dog tired and ready for a hot shower, food, and then sleep. All in that order, without any more interruptions.
Finishing the stall, I latched the gate and set out to put up the tools when Randy popped up again with two beers in his hand, handing one of them to me.
What It Takes (A Dirt Road Love Story) Page 10
