Rough Stock

by Dahlia West

  Seth didn’t relax until he saw Walker crawl into his own. Austin picked up a battery-powered lantern and was already heading toward his tent. He was right to get as much sleep as he could before his turn at the watch.

  In the dark, a howl erupted, but even Seth, who was not half the mountain man his older brother was, knew it was a mile away, possibly more.

  Austin paused and grunted. “We’ll likely lose a head or two tonight in the dark if we can’t scare them away,” he muttered. “Damn wolves.”

  There was nothing for it, though. It was too dangerous to split up this early in the season, and shooting anything in the dark was likely to hit one of the cows rather than any faster-moving predator. Now that they’d located their cattle, tomorrow they’d round them up and drive them west toward grazing lands. There was no grass yet on this snow-covered ground, but it would be easier to drag in hay. It’d be safer there, too, closer to the homestead, farther away from the wilds.

  To maintain the uneasy truce, Seth kept the watch all night, with the others trading off in the wee hours. Despite the near-constant howling, Seth wasn’t worried as much about bears or wolves as he was his own family tearing into each other. Most of the herd had made it through the winter. The Barlows, it seemed, were still left in the cold.

  Chapter Four

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  Rowan was grateful that the drive to the Archer farm was quick, at least compared to the trek across the entire bottom of the state of Wyoming she’d made the night before. Within twenty minutes of leaving the city limits, Rowan was winding her way up the long driveway toward home. The two-story house could use a new paint job. Its white boards were cracked and peeling in some places, but it was still the most comforting sight in the world to Rowan.

  She pulled up in front of the house, driving past the low-slung barn where the sheep were housed during the worst months of the year. As she got out of the car, she could already hear the dogs in their chain-link run, clamoring for her attention.

  Willow had fallen asleep in the car, so Rowan left her in the heated interior while she let the dogs out. Kinka, Jory, and Kono were barking furiously at her as she approached them. They were large, all three of them Great Pyrenees, with long white hair rivaling the sheep they looked after. The breed made excellent livestock guards, protecting the flock from wolves, coyotes, and any other predators that came down from the mountains looking for a quick meal. They were friendly, though, toward humans, at least, and Rowan always smiled when she saw them. Kinka was the pack leader, the oldest and the largest. He jumped up to greet her, paws on her shoulders.

  Rowan grabbed frantically for the chain-link gate, grasping at it with her gloved fingers to hold herself up under the large male’s immense weight. He licked her face enthusiastically, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Nothing to do but grin and bear it. After a few seconds, she finally pushed him down. “Okay,” she told him. “That’s enough. Go on. Go do your job. Guard.”

  Kinka recognized the gesture and the command immediately. He gave Rowan an affirmative bark then yipped at the others to get them to fall in line. Jory and Kono stopped dancing at Rowan’s feet and fled after their leader, announcing their presence to the sheep still housed in the barn and other wildlife beyond the tree line as they headed off to patrol the pasture’s perimeter.

  Rowan threw open the large barn door and saw the flock huddled together in groups, standing in front of the large ceramic heaters Dad had purchased last winter after they’d lost one third of their head to below-freezing temperatures. She flipped the switch on the electrical box to shut them down. As the roar of the fans diminished, the protests of the sheep could be heard. The sun was out, though, and the day was heating up, so they’d be fine outside for the afternoon.

  She slid open the side door that led to the pasture but struggled with the secondary fence. The top wire had collapsed, and she had to peel the gloves off her hands so she could untangle Dad’s makeshift attempt at fence repair. When she finally detached the barbed wire from the heavy steel gate, she heaved it open all the way to allow the flock to get through. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted “Kinka!”

  The dog left the other two to finish the patrol and bounded back toward the barn at full speed, large webbed paws never slipping in the slush and snow that covered the ground. He charged through the gate, passing up Rowan, intent now on the day’s work of herding and guarding. He snapped at the ewes, circling around them, pushing them away from their beloved heaters and out into the world, where he, Jory, and Kono would keep them safe while they grazed.

  When he’d gotten all two hundred plus head outside, Rowan secured the gate as best she could with the broken wire, wrapping it around the post several times then declaring it good enough for now. She dumped hay bales over the side, into the pasture proper, struggling to lift each one in turn. Then she headed back to the front of the property, shut off the Toyota’s engine, and carried Willow into the house.

  In one of the small guest bedrooms upstairs, she curled up beside her daughter and closed her eyes until Emma walked in the door hours later. She’d brought fast food, and they all tucked into it, seated around the kitchen table, which probably didn’t see much use these days. With Mom gone while both girls were in their teens (breast cancer), the whole family had migrated to eating in front of the television, which was far easier than sitting around all looking at each other, all trying not to look at Mom’s empty chair.

  Rowan suspected that their father had continued the habit after they’d graduated.

  Both sisters spoke as delicately as they could about the hospital stay and the home care Dad would need when he was discharged.

  Little ears perked up anyway. “Is Pop-Pop okay?” Willow asked.

  Rowan took a deep breath. “He’s sick, honey. He had a problem with his heart. He’s going to come home soon, though. And you’ll see him then.”

  Willow wrinkled her nose. “Will he take me fishing?”

  Rowan pressed her lips together and shook her head. “No, honey. He won’t be able to do that for a while.”

  Willow’s face darkened. “Will you take me fishing?”

  Rowan sighed. “I can’t, honey. Pop-Pop’s going to need me here. At least for a while.”

  “How long can you stay?” asked Emma.

  Rowan rubbed her temples with her fingers. “I don’t know. A week? Maybe two? Not long enough. Not nearly long enough.”

  Emma shot a look at Willow and frowned. “I can’t always be here,” she told Rowan. “I’ve got my job in town. I can cut down on my hours but not by a lot. I just got hired. You’ll have to take her to the hospital with you, on days I can’t be here.”

  Rowan leaned back in her chair and stared up at the ceiling.

  “Rowan,” Emma pressed.

  “Willow, go outside with Kinka, okay?” Rowan encouraged now that the girl was finished eating. “Leave your plate. I’ll clean up. Just go on.”

  Willow scowled, clearly hating to be shuffled out of the house while adults were talking. She made it as far as the living room and flopped onto the couch.

  “Outside!” Rowan ordered.

  The front door banged loudly, sounding the girl’s retreat.

  Rowan stood up and started clearing the table, refusing to look at her sister. They’d only had one conversation about this. One conversation in almost five years. Rowan had told the truth, told it only to her sister, and they vowed never to bring it up again.

  “We’re going to have to talk about it,” Emma said quietly. “Sooner rather than later.”

  Rowan sighed and leaned against the fridge, fighting the headache that was throbbing behind her eyes. “Why? What does it matter right now?”

  When Emma didn’t answer her, Rowan took her hand away from her face to peer at her sister.

  “Court stayed,” Emma finally said.

  Those two words rang out in the tiny kitchen like gunshots.

  Rowan stared at her. “What?!”

 
; “Court stayed. After his dad’s funeral. I think maybe permanently.”

  Rowan’s thoughts caught like wildfire and spread just as fast to every corner of her fevered brain. He was on the road. He was always on the road. She’d assumed he’d come back, of course, to attend the service, but how could he stay? He’d never wanted to stay in Star Valley, not while he was still young enough to compete.

  She pushed off the fridge and headed outside. She dragged cold air into her lungs, gulping it down, letting it numb the shock. Out there, beyond the pasture, he was there. Court. Just a mile and a half away.

  There was nothing for it. Nothing to do or say, but anger welled up inside her, and in lieu of having him to yell at, or anyone really, Rowan caught sight of Willow on top of Kinka, arms around his neck, shouting gleefully and kicking him wildly as though her rubber galoshes had spurs.

  To be fair, the dog was massive, with inches upon inches of thick fur that protected him from the winter weather (and four-year-old cowgirls), and his tongue lolled out of his mouth like he loved the attention, but Rowan used the last lungful of air to yell at her anyway. “Don’t ride the dog!” she shouted.

  Both the little girl and her makeshift mount paused to look at her. Reluctantly, Willow slid off Kinka and stomped her booted feet in the spring slush. “Well, can I have a pony?” she yelled back.

  Rowan was flustered, caught off guard by such a crazy question. She gaped at her daughter. “No,” she finally replied.

  Willow climbed the pasture gate, threw her leg over, and dropped down to the other side. She trudged through the snow, glaring at her mother. “If I had a dad, he’d get me a pony.”

  Rowan fought back tears. Willow was getting too old to speak freely around her. All this talk of Dads was starting to turn the little girl against her.

  Willow seemed to realize she’d pushed a little too far. Her face softened, and she looked up at Rowan. “We can put up a sign,” she offered.

  “A…sign?” Rowan stammered.

  “For my daddy. Like when Carlie lost her dog. She put up signs to get him back.”

  Before Rowan could speak, Emma snorted beside her. “The dog part’s right.”

  Willow looked back and forth between the two older women, clearly not understanding.

  “Go inside and dry out,” Rowan said, waving her hand toward the front door.

  “But—”

  “It’s almost bedtime. How about some hot chocolate first, though?” Rowan asked, cutting her off.

  Willow’s face brightened, and she hopped up the last two steps. “Okay! Then can we talk about a pony?”

  Rowan held her breath for a long moment. Willow understood about money, at least that they didn’t have much and that was why she couldn’t get every single thing she wanted when they were at the store. She could sit the girl down, explain how expensive ponies were…and leave dads out of the conversation entirely.

  “Come on,” said Emma. “Hot chocolate it is!” She grinned at Willow but shot Rowan a decidedly darker look before she disappeared inside.

  Alone on the porch, Rowan looked out over the vast field that had belonged to her family for three generations. She couldn’t see the Barlows’ homestead from here, but it cast a hell of a long shadow anyway.

  Chapter Five

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  Seth offered to make breakfast in the morning and stoked up the fire so the potatoes would cook through. Sawyer poured himself some coffee as Court stumbled out of his tent like he was on a bender. Seth was half-tempted to look for a starry-eyed buckle bunny following behind him, missing her bra and her self-esteem.

  Sawyer offered Court the metal coffee pot, and Court took it gratefully, filling a cup and topping it off with sugar from the metal canister. He took a long sip but came up sputtering, like a man drowning unexpectedly. “What the hell?!” he cried, spitting the brown liquid onto the snow.

  Sawyer was too busy laughing to even try to look innocent.

  Seth took the cup from his younger brother and sniffed it. It smelled fine, just like the cup Seth had poured for himself a few minutes earlier. He lifted it, took a cautious sip, then rolled his eyes.

  Sawyer had replaced the sugar container with salt.

  “You’re such a child!” Court snapped, even though he was the youngest.

  Sawyer grinned widely. “Uh-huh.”

  “You are!” Court insisted. “And you better watch out. I’ll piss in the next pot. Then we’ll see where you are.”

  Sawyer snorted. “Forget it. I don’t want the Drip in my slow drip.”

  Despite the early-morning cold, Court raised an ungloved middle finger.

  “Let’s get to work,” Walker grunted, already packing up his tent. He’d skipped coffee, and breakfast, and anything resembling pleasantries this morning.

  Seth frowned and silently wondered if he’d be packing Walker home on the back of his horse after the man passed out from exhaustion. God, Seth hoped not. He doused the fire, covered it with a mound of snow, and put away the breakfast gear.

  They slung their packs back onto their horses after saddling them up. Court stepped into the trees to piss then charged at BlackJack the same way he always did, swinging up into the saddle without using stirrups—showing off for no one, not way out here.

  Austin groaned because the display was getting old.

  Court grabbed the saddle horn, and swung up into his seat, grinning like a kid at Christmas. “All right, all right, all right!” he cried…until he tried to put his feet in the stirrups. He frowned. “Now what in the hell…?”

  They’d been drawn up, nearly under the flap. To put boots into them would make Court look like he was riding a Big Wheel. “God damn it!” he huffed.

  Sawyer slapped his leg, and even Austin had to laugh at that one.

  “No one likes a showoff,” Walker said in his deep-chested baritone.

  Seth thought he saw a thin smile play across Walker’s lips, though. That made him feel better. When they stopped for lunch, he’d make sure Walker ate twice his share.

  They left Court behind to adjust his stirrups and rounded up the portion of the herd that needed to be driven across the river. Austin scouted out the lowest, flattest point, well out of their way but safer for all. It was tough work convincing the cattle that they needed to cross, but once the heifers in the lead made it to the other side, the others followed with only the occasional nervous lowing.

  Seth stayed close to Walker, hand on his reata, just in case the man took another fall. Going into the water twice in two days might put him in bed for a week.

  No one had a disaster, or even a close call, though, and the group herded the cattle toward home, pushing on to make as much progress as they could. When they finally reached the western pasture, they left their small herd gathered around the hay bales they’d already brought out for them and headed back to the ranch proper on the other side of the hill. They’d shower and eat, and then it was Walker, Austin, and Gabe’s turn to stay overnight to ward off the wolves.

  As they crested the slope, Seth looked down toward the homestead that had been nestled into the base of the foothills for more than fifty years. The house had started out small and had been added on to over time. Now it was two stories, log-cabin-style, with a wraparound porch made of roughhewn logs, now sanded and waxed. The green metal roof heated from the sun was free of snow (and the damage that came with it). It had been bought and paid for in better economic times.

  To the left was the bunkhouse, one story and wide. There was living space for nearly ten men. Only Court, Sawyer, and Gabe lived there now, all three of them moving out of their family’s house when they came of age, all three making it no farther than the bunkhouse a hundred yards away.

  Seth, at thirty one, had never been very motivated to move out of the Big House, not until he found a woman and settled down on his own. It seemed unlikely, though, to happen any time soon. Ranching took up every waking minute—even dreams of it and Snake River’s future plagued hi
s sleep. Putting off his future was no small sacrifice, to be sure, but what future was there without the ranch? A factory job? Digging for gas or silver up near Gillette? Or, God forbid, working another man’s herd after losing his own?

  No. Seth had vowed years ago—like Walker, like Austin—that Snake River would come first, be the only priority. What was the point of having children if there was nothing to leave them, nothing they could be proud of?

  As they approached the spread, Dakota stepped out of the small foreman’s house, more of a shack really, to greet them. Court spurred BlackJack, intending to pull ahead, but Walker reached out for the reata tethering the buckskin mare and snatched it away.

  “Hey!” Court protested. “I was going to give her to Dakota!”

  Walker narrowed his eyes at Court. “You and your drip stay away from Dakota.”

  Court bristled. “I don’t have the Drip, Walker,” he hissed fiercely. “Never have had. And I caught that horse for her!”

  Walker tossed the end of the reata to Seth while shaking his head. “Stay away from her,” he ordered.

  Court huffed and spurred his horse again, this time sans mustang mare, and headed for the horse barn.

  Seth slid off Choctaw and gathered the horse’s reins in one hand and the reata in the other then headed toward the foreman’s shack. Dakota looked a combination of relieved and delighted to see them all. Her long black hair flapped in the breeze as she waved to Seth. At twenty-six, she was the same age as Court but infinitely more mature. She threw her arms around Seth, hugging him tightly. “I’m so glad you’re all back,” she breathed into his ear.

  “Here,” Seth told Dakota, handing her the reata. “Court snagged her for you,” he added quickly, not wanting to take credit for something he hadn’t done. He watched Dakota carefully, gauging her reaction to his words, searching for any spark of interest at the mention of Court’s name. Thankfully, he found none.

  Dakota had already been eyeing the mare, Seth all but forgotten despite his close proximity. Court wasn’t even a distant memory as she left them behind to pursue her newest charge. The line was slack, twenty-five feet, and Dakota slowly gathered the reata in her hands, inching ever closer to the mustang.