by JoAnn Durgin
Kevin nodded. “I live a half-hour away from where she and Josh grew up. Rebekah still lives there and teaches third grade.”
“I take it Josh is Beck’s brother?”
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize you might not have heard about Josh. He’s actually Rebekah’s twin.”
Marc didn’t bother to cover his surprise. A male version of Rebekah Grant? That he’d like to see. “Does Josh usually work the TeamWork camps, too?”
“When he can.” Kevin hung his head a minute, and Marc propped himself on one elbow again. Something wasn’t right.
“What gives? Is something wrong?” Marc said.
“Sorry. I can tell Sam’s still grieving over what happened with Josh.” Kevin’s eyes met his. “Sam threw him out of the TeamWork camp—Lexa’s first work camp, and we haven’t seen him since. Lightning strikes started a fire in a couple of the houses we were building that summer. Josh stayed behind with Sam to make sure the fires were out and when they got back to the camp, Josh said something that got him all fired up, and Sam flew at him and pounded him. Then Josh started fighting back. I broke up the fight, and the next thing we knew, Josh was gone.”
Marc’s eyes widened. It was hard enough to believe Kevin Moore told him that much. But Sam in a fist-fight with another man? Especially with one of his TeamWork guys? It didn’t seem possible. “Do you know what started the fight?”
Kevin blew out a breath. “You might as well know, especially since you’re part of the TeamWork family.”
At least he hadn’t said now that you married into the TeamWork family. These people were great, and it was gratifying to see how they’d welcomed and embraced both he and Natalie since coming to Montana. He snapped to attention as Kevin’s voice broking through his musing.
“Josh is a good guy—a great guy—but he had some . . . moral issues. From what Rebekah tells me, he’s doing fine and has done a lot of relief work in the aftermath of Hurricanes Mitch and Floyd. He graduated from law school ahead of schedule, and he’s a rising associate at a top firm in Baton Rouge.” He shook his head. “I think there’s a part of Josh that’s too embarrassed to come back to TeamWork. I’m praying he will someday. I know that’s Sam’s prayer, too.”
Kevin didn’t sound judgmental. Josh must be the man Sam referred to when he spoke of the volunteer not currently with them because he was working through his own issues. He’d glimpsed the deep sadness in Sam’s eyes, and couldn’t imagine what it must have taken to throw Josh out of his TeamWork camp.
“So, Josh turned a bad situation into one for good.”
Kevin nodded. “He’s a winner. He’ll overcome it and be all the stronger. I feel sure Josh will come around eventually. I know the whole situation still weighs heavily on Sam’s mind, especially since he and Rebekah have always been very close.”
Marc stretched back out on the bed. “I don’t know Sam well, but I can just imagine.” Another yawn escaped. “I think that’s enough of a bedtime story for one night.” His voice was raspy with exhaustion. “Just answer one question.”
“Sure.” Kevin looked over at him.
“I’ve noticed how everyone else calls her Beck, but you call the lovely Miss Grant by her given name. Is there a reason for that?”
A wistful look crossed Kevin’s face. The guy really had it bad. “Beck’s too masculine a name for such a beautiful woman. She’ll always be Rebekah to me.”
“Makes perfect sense,” Marc said, turning over and pulling the blanket to his chin again. “Good night. Sweet dreams, buddy.”
“You too.”
Thankfully, he didn’t have any trouble falling asleep . . . until he was awakened by Sam looming over him and tapping him at precisely four o’clock in the morning. Rolling over, Marc willed him to go away, leave him alone. Even more annoying, Sam pulled a chair close to his bunk and whistled “Great Is Thy Faithfulness” under his breath, low enough not to wake the other men, but loud enough to get under his skin. He came to Montana to win back his wife, not participate in torture disguised by another name.
Chapter 24
Down on his haunches, Sam observed Reagan closely. Marc clamped one hand over his mouth, swallowing his third yawn in less than a minute. Would he ever catch up on his sleep? “Sam, tell me something. Why is this cow named Reagan?”
“I imagine because the owner of this ranch, Simon Tucker, is a staunch Republican. Cows usually have names like Maybelle or Clover. Now, Reagan—you don’t forget that name.”
“True enough. What was her mother’s name? Nixon? Eisenhower? Truman . . . wait, he was a Democrat.” Marc chuckled. “Care to tell me why we’re standing here staring at her? I thought the whole reason you so rudely awakened me at this unearthly hour was to milk her.”
“Not Reagan. I think she’s going to be giving birth in the near future.”
Marc’s eyes grew wide. “Are you serious? As in this morning?”
“I don’t joke about childbirth. Or calf birth, in this case.” Sam rose to his feet, hands on his hips, but he looked stoic. “We’d better leave Reagan and go about our business. We’ll milk the others and check on her periodically. Let’s give her time to let nature take its course.”
“Shouldn’t we call in a vet? Surely they have lots of those here in Montana.”
“I’ll radio Lexa and have one on standby, but from what Simon told me, things pretty much naturally take their course.”
“Simon says, huh?” Sam ignored his attempt at humor, and Marc waited while he called his wife, following as he led the way to another stall.
“Cliff went into Helena for the morning, and the other ranch hands are scattered, but I think we’ll be fine. I’m sure Reagan is probably more calm than we are,” Sam said.
Marc let out a short laugh as he read the name on the stall in front of him. “Ike. Of course.”
Sam pulled over two short, wooden stools and buckets. It was rather comical to see such a tall man seat himself on that stool so low to the ground and position his legs.
“I thought there were machines to do the milking.”
“Some dairy farms and ranches have machines, yes, but here at the Milestone Ranch, we do it the old-fashioned way. By hand.” Sam grinned when Marc raised a skeptical brow. “They’ve put us in charge of the four cows here in this area.” He waved his hand to encompass the nearby stalls. “Except for Reagan, they’ll get milked twice a day for maximum production. We’ll switch off milking duties with the other guys. That way, everybody’s happy.”
“Right. I’m sure you’ll be more than happy to remind me when I’m on the schedule.” Marc removed his gloves and settled himself on the stool and gaped at what looked like a very full udder. Putting one hand on Ike, he smoothed his hand over her, gradually moving down. When he touched the udder, he was surprised by its heaviness. “I think Ike’s more than ready.” Scooting closer, Marc pushed up the sleeves of his jacket as best he could and blew on his hands. “I like a challenge. Tell me what to do.”
“First, you’ll need to massage the udder to get her ready and relax her muscles.” Laughing, Sam shot him a wry grin. “Don’t even say anything, buddy.”
Marc howled. The man already knew him well. “Wouldn’t think of it.”
Sam demonstrated how to properly clamp the teat between his thumb and the rest of his hand, squeezing with firm, gentle pressure in order to coax a steady flow of milk from the massive beast.
Once he got the rhythm, Marc alternated hands and kept at it. “If only Natalie, not to mention my employees, could see me now.” He’d either be a hero or a laughing stock. In less than a minute, he was rewarded by the sound of milk squirting against the metal bucket. Who’d have thought getting up in the middle of the night could be so gratifying?
“If this doesn’t bond the two of us, I don’t know what will.” The corners of Sam’s mouth dipped a little. “Watch it. You’re pulling down. That’ll stretch her out.”
“Oh, sorry.” Marc concentrated on his task-at-hand, a
s it were.
“Isn’t this the life?” Sam shot him a sly grin a few minutes later. “Beats sitting in an office, wouldn’t you say?”
“Sure. For two weeks, anyway.” After thirty minutes, Sam switched stalls to milk another cow—no doubt with a Republican presidential name—and told him he’d go check on Reagan.
“What’s next, boss?” Marc asked a short time later, rolling his shoulders to ease out a few remaining morning kinks caused by hunching over an udder with intense concentration. Eyeing the buckets at his feet, he was pleased with the results of his efforts.
“Time to gather the eggs in the henhouse,” Sam said.
Marc frowned. “I can hardly wait.” Sam shot him an amused look as they left their buckets of milk for the other men to retrieve and take wherever they needed to go next. Leading the way out of the barn, Sam stepped around to the back. Following close behind, Marc stopped short. Clucking like the stuff of nightmares made him dizzy and the overpowering stench filled his lungs. Goodness, it was enough to fell a grown man. He wasn’t sure whether to gag, hold his nose or laugh. Maybe he should multi-task and do all three. He shuddered, both from the cold and the smell. Maybe he’d freeze to death and wouldn’t have to worry.
He watched as Sam demonstrated, trying not to breathe in, coughing a few times as his friend retrieved eggs and placed them with extreme care in the wire basket. As he tried his hand at it, one of the pesky mothers was feisty and wouldn’t let him close. “Move it, will you? Come on, sweetheart,” Marc said. “I’ve got enough trouble with human females. Don’t give me a hard time.” He jumped when he heard a loud call behind him, and tossed a quick glance over his shoulder. A rooster stared him down with its beady eyes and spread its wings.
“Take it easy,” he said, withdrawing his hand, backing away, ignoring Sam’s chuckle. The man might find it entertaining, but he’d like to keep his hand.
“Don’t mind Charlie,” Sam said. “He’s the proud cock of the flock defending his harem, but he’s harmless. That’s his way of showing off, and how he courts the hens.”
“Even so,” Marc muttered, wiping his hand on his jeans, “I think I’ll skip this coop. It’s all yours.” Moving down the row, he listened as Sam explained the pecking order.
“It’s nature’s way of determining which bird eats or drinks first. A chicken goes before any bird it can peck, and follows any bird that can peck it.”
“Interesting theory. Guess that’s where the expression ‘hen-pecked’ came from.” Something about getting up in the middle of the night must make him punchy. “Tell me something, Sam.”
“What’s that?” Sam already had an impressive stack of eggs in his basket.
“How on God’s green earth do you know how to do almost everything? If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re on the next space shuttle.”
Sam stopped, giving him a startled look.
“You’re not, are you?”
“No, but Will’s in the NASA training program now. There’s already speculation he might be chosen as a shuttle commander.” Sam’s pride in his younger brother’s accomplishments was obvious, but his eyes held a sadness when he talked about him. Something was there, but it wasn’t his place to push.
Marc smiled. “Glad to hear Will made it. You knew he would. That’s great. So, tell me, exactly how many other Lewis dynamos are there in the world?”
Sam laughed. “Six of us total, three female, three male. Trust me, there’s a whole slew of stuff I can’t do, and have absolutely no concept how to do. A lot of it is pure instinct, the rest the good Lord’s leading.”
As they worked, Marc threw Sam a sidelong glance. “So, ever help a cow in childbirth before?”
“No, this will be a first. Like I said, it’s supposed to come naturally. I’m hoping everything will go smoothly, and we can stand nearby and watch the miracle happen without having to intervene.”
“I hope you’re right. Now, if we’ve got most of the eggs, I suggest we get out of here. I can’t take much more of the henhouse, and Charlie’s looking at me kind of funny.”
Sam threw his head back with the force of his laughter. “This way,” he said, telling him to leave the eggs for one of the ranch hands to collect. As Sam disappeared back into the barn, Marc lingered behind, marveling at the sheer massiveness of the structure. Solid and sturdy. He shivered from the cold, and rubbed his hands together, blowing on them for warmth.
“I think it’s time! Get in here, Marc,” Sam called. “I might need you.”
The panic in Sam’s voice couldn’t be good. He rushed to his side, wondering how he could help. Bent over Reagan, Sam wiped the back of his hand on his brow. “I think she’s in some kind of trouble.” He chewed his lower lip, one hand on the large animal, moving in slow circles. “She’s straining.” Marc followed where Sam pointed to a large opening in the creature. “If something doesn’t happen soon, we’re going to have to help her.”
Calling in the vet might be good, but Sam apparently wanted to handle this on his own. “What do you want me to do?” Marc asked.
Sam leapt to his feet and grabbed a chain looped over the wooden post in the corner of Reagan’s stall. “I’m afraid the calf might be breach. We may need the chain to give her a little help. That’s what Cliff recommended if we ran into trouble.”
Marc raised a brow, not willing to ask how a chain would facilitate matters. The set of Sam’s mouth was grim. They both stood, not speaking, watching Reagan—feet planted apart, arms crossed. He wasn’t sure how to pray in circumstances like this, but pray he did. Standing beside him, his head bowed, Sam did the same.
When a rush of water flowed out of Reagan a few minutes later, Sam breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Thank the Lord. That was dicey. It shouldn’t be long now, although I understand the birth can happen anytime between two minutes up to two hours.” He glanced over at him. “Now we wait, but you might want to remove your jacket. It could get a little messy.”
With reluctance, Marc slipped out of his jacket as Sam did the same. Reagan gasped and jerked from side to side. Fear struck his heart, remembering Shep dying in the street all those years ago. Maybe that’s why he unconsciously hadn’t wanted another animal . . . until Elwood. “Can you tell what’s happening? Is she okay?”
“It’s normal. Those are her contractions.” Sam placed a steady, comforting hand on the large creature, murmuring soothing endearments as he patted her in an attempt to keep her calm. His ministrations had the desired effect when Reagan quieted and laid her head back against the pillow of hay, stretched out in the stall. “From what I can tell, it looks like she’s almost there. I don’t want to try palpating a cow, but I think we’re getting close.”
Marc leaned closer, fascinated. “I don’t know a blessed thing about palpating, and don’t want to know, but I think I see something.” They waited a couple more minutes, shoulder-to-shoulder, marveling at the natural progression of events as they caught glimpses of the little one about to emerge. The cow moved from side to side again, rocking in a back-and-forth motion. It wasn’t long before even stronger contractions rocked the massive beast. In a few more minutes, the nose of the calf peeked at him before disappearing. Reagan’s noises echoed in the barn, and Marc prayed she wasn’t either in some kind of danger or extreme pain. “Shouldn’t we do something to help her?” He fell to his knees beside Sam.
“No. Just watch one of God’s miracles. You’ll be seeing your own miracle in a few months. This is just a prelude. It shouldn’t be long now.”
Reagan continued the rocking motion and within another few minutes, the calf’s nose emerged again and the entire lower portion of its face was visible. “Wow. Just look at that,” Marc said. Another big push, and the calf’s entire head emerged. He stood entranced, barely able to move a muscle. Glancing at Sam, he could tell he was equally fascinated.
Within minutes, the calf slid out in a wet rush of fluid onto the bed of hay. Sam jumped back, pulling Marc with him. It was amazing how Re
agan struggled to her feet right away and began licking her calf. She cleaned her offspring multiple times before nudging the youngster. The wobbly calf struggled to stand on its spindly legs, and it wasn’t long before it stood on its own.
Marc shot a grin at Sam. “So, what do you think we should name this little one?”
Sam chuckled. “Any suggestions?”
“Lincoln seems fitting.” He tilted his head, studying the calf. “Can you tell if it’s a boy or a girl?”
“Judging by Ike, I don’t think it matters. Lincoln’s a fine choice.”
“I can’t believe how quickly Lincoln was able to stand up. That’s incredible.” Brushing his hand over his shirt, Marc stared at the sticky goo and grimaced. The front of them bore the evidence of what they’d witnessed, but it was totally worth it. Smart thinking to remove their jackets. Engrossed in what was happening, he hadn’t even noticed. “Now, I think we’d better go change.”
Hearing soft cheers and claps, they both turned in surprise. Most of the other TeamWork volunteers stood behind the stall. Sam saluted his troops as both retrieved their discarded outerwear. “Think I’ll head over to the main house to get a hug from Lexa and a strong cup of coffee. Care to join me?”
“Sure. A hug from Lexa sounds real good.” They both laughed. “I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.” As they headed out of the barn, a hand touched his arm.
Natalie.
“That was amazing,” she said.
“I didn’t do anything.” He shook his head.
“Yes, you did.” Her eyes met his
“Reagan did it all on her own. We were there in case she needed something. Which, thankfully, she didn’t.”
“That’s all she needed. I’m sure your presence was comforting to her.” Natalie’s eyes looked more yielding, and a gentle smile curved her lips.
“Sam and I are going for some coffee in the main house. Care to join us?”
