It looked stupid, the white fabric giving her a look of a highway robber, but it would do the job.
“Stay here while I check the cattle,” he ordered sternly. “This isn't ranching, Ava. This is a fucking mess, and nothing I would ever condone. You've seen my standard of care for my animals, and this falls far below them.”
Her hand touched his tense forearm, squeezed. “I'm sorry, Finn. I'm so sorry he did this to you. I'll go do some more snooping, then. The smell is quite...sickening.”
“He'll pay for it. Don't wander far. I don't know what other carnage he's left for us to find.”
“I'll stay within shouting distance,” she promised, and slogged through the mess back to the gate, clambering over it.
When she'd gone, Finn yanked out his phone and pulled up the camera. He snapped shots of the barn as a whole, then trekked from cow to dead cow, documenting each one in its death pose before recording their ear tag numbers. By the time he was finished, he was more than sickened, and it wasn't just the smell.
Five of the heifers had been shot in labor, which shouldn’t be possible. Only calves were shipped east, and the bulls were castrated before they left home. However it happened, it was a terrible waste and likely preventable if Thomas had paid attention to them instead of worrying about screwing Finn over. The last three seemed to have died from natural causes, but he'd have to have them necropsied to make sure.
The pieces began to fall into place as Finn recorded each cow. They all wore his tags in their ears, and Finn concluded that all the heifers should have been sent to slaughter more than eighteen months ago. He was pretty damn sure he knew what Thomas had been doing, and Finn was about ready to wring the fucker's scrawny neck.
Instead of murdering his former employee, Finn made phone calls. He contacted slaughterhouses and haulage companies, pulled strings and made it well-known Thomas was not to be trusted. He called every rancher he could think of in the area, explaining the situation and asking for their help to track Thomas and his band of assholes down, placing substantial rewards on each of them.
If they were still in Montana, they would be brought back to him in short order, and they would regret screwing him over.
This is ranching, right? Ava's uncertain question echoed in his thoughts, and Finn shook his head in denial.
This was waste, pure and simple. Lives lost through sheer incompetence. It wasn't ranching in any way, shape, or form. There was no love, no care, no tending. Just a bullet in the brain and left to rot. Finn didn't dare to imagine how many others had suffered the same fate.
His phone rang; Finn took one last look around the barn and walked back to the gate, answering Ash's call as he climbed over. He needed fresh air; he was no stranger to the scent of death, but he was afraid this time it was burned into his senses. Eyes stinging from the fumes, he blinked against the soreness. “Ash, give me good news.”
“Oh, boss, you're gonna worship me,” Ash crowed with delight. His excitement sang over the line; Finn's mouth curved in response. “Payroll for the asshats has been cancelled. I, uh, hope you don't mind, but I got in touch with an old friend of mine who isn't quite on the legal side of the system. She has ways and means of tracking people, so I asked her for a favor.”
“She found them?”
“Not quite, she's working on it as we speak. What she has done is immobilize their bank accounts. Those boys are gonna have to rely on whatever cash they can muster up between them. There's a flag on each of them for when they try to access their bank accounts, and she'll get an alert if and when they do. But the best bit is, she's had a good look through Thomas's account and extracted some useful information.”
Finn grimaced, not keen on using illegal methods to achieve success. It was not, and had never been, his way. It might take him considerably longer to hunt the prick down and string him up by his toes, but he would abide by the law in doing so. “I appreciate your thinking, and your friend's efforts, Ash. I really do. But I can't use that information. When I get these fuckers, it needs to be by the book. I'm not letting them wriggle away from justice because we did something illegal.”
“Thought you'd feel that way, Finn. She won't be offended. However, if it's the straight road you want to travel...” Ash cleared his throat. “Pearson called five minutes ago, said he'd already spoken to you. Apparently, he's got some of your elusive ranch hands in his front yard, asking him for somewhere to hold a shipment of your cattle due to the transporter breaking down.”
Pearson was...ninety minutes away, Finn calculated quickly. “Call him back, tell him to say yes. Then call the fucking cops and get them locked down, Ash. Some of them is better than none for the moment.”
“Already on it, boss.”
Chapter 9
Ava
As soon as she was out of sight and sound of Finn, Ava threw up. She couldn't help it, she held onto the nausea as long as she could, determined to be strong in the face of death and prove she could be every inch as controlled as Finn. Ranchers didn't void their stomachs at the sight of dead livestock or want to cry when they smelled the cloying scent of rotting flesh.
This was nothing like she'd been expecting when Finn said they were coming here. She had in mind something similar to home—clean, tidy, as immaculate as any working ranch could be. By his expression, Finn hadn't anticipated this chaos either.
When she woke up alone in the truck, she hadn't wanted to bother him if he was busy going head to head with the man Finn trusted to run this section of his ranch. The less confrontation she faced, the happier she was. She'd been a nervous wreck, tiptoeing across the empty yard to begin her snooping mission, wondering if someone would step out and demand to know who the hell she was and what she was doing there.
But no one had, and then her naive world had tumbled down around her ears.
Recovering from her bout of sickness, Ava straightened and used the handkerchief to wipe her face, tucking the dirty fabric into her pocket with a wince. She just had to look at this from a different perspective, she told herself. Yes, she'd thrown up. Yes, ordinary ranchers probably didn't do that, but she was no ordinary rancher.
She was transitioning from city girl to ranching woman, and she was proud of the steps she was taking. For once in her life, she was actively involved in something productive, working toward an end goal. If she couldn't praise herself for not screaming the barn down...no, no ifs. She was damn proud she'd held onto her composure and not melted into a puddle of distressed female in need of rescuing.
It was another brick in the wall of a new Ava.
She ignored the weakness in her legs as she braced herself for what else she might find and walked up to the gate of the next barn. Another dirty layer of straw and cow feces, but no dead bodies. Her muscles relaxed a fraction. She wandered from barn to barn, fingers crossed by her sides as she stepped up to the gates. In the fourth one, she discovered two living, breathing beasts, both of which scrambled away from her presence. The straw in this barn was clean, rustling beneath running hooves.
Noticing the bits dangling from their bellies, she identified them both as bulls and backed away from the gate.
Her luck ran out at the last barn. She thought at first it was empty. No straw on the floor, just dirty concrete. But as she scanned the shadows, her eyes acclimating to the dimness, she saw a heap to the left, a dull silver coat catching what little light there was. Her heart sank and her palms dampened as she climbed the gate and approached the cow.
No, not a cow, she thought, studying the shape with inexperienced eyes. This one wasn't quite as big as the others in the first barn. It must not have been dead for long, there was no awful smell to turn her stomach, thank God. She inched closer, willing herself to be brave, to push her limits. Dead cows didn't bite.
But they did, apparently, blink.
Ava stepped back quickly, staring at the big brown eyes looking at her. “H-Hi there?”
The little heifer made a low, pained sound that brought tear
s to Ava's eyes, then the small body strained. Recognizing the signs of labor, Ava peered at the heifer's butt and experienced a moment of panic. The tiniest pair of hooves and a dark nose poked out, a little tongue hanging from the small mouth.
Purple, Ava thought. Purple is bad.
“It's okay, we're going to help you,” she told the exhausted heifer. “Finn! Finn, I need help!” she all but screamed. “Finn's coming, he'll know what to do. I can pull, right? There's feet, so I can pull.” Shouting for Finn again, Ava stripped off her jacket like she'd seen the ranch hands do, rolled up her sleeves.
Her hands were shaking as she patted the silver butt. “Don't kick me, okay? Finn says it hurts like a bitch, and he'll be really mad with me if you break something.” She grabbed hold of the slim legs just above the hooves and wondered how the hell she was supposed to do this by herself. “Finn! I need help!”
The heifer strained again, but the calf didn't move an inch. Ava put her weight behind pulling it, feeling the muscles in her back, legs, and arms scream with the effort. “I've never had a baby, but I think you're really tired. If you don't keep pushing, you won't get to see your baby. For God's sake, Finn, hurry up. Finn!”
She needed more leverage. How the hell did she get more leverage? Trying to think what Finn would do, trying so hard to remember what he'd taught her that first week, Ava felt her anxiety ramp up a notch. She didn't want to hurt the heifer, but she didn't want her to die either. There was too much death here today without adding two more to the casualty list.
Letting go of the calf, she wiped her slick hands on her jeans and plopped down on the concrete. Sitting as close as she dared, she muttered an apology to the heifer, almost babbling, and notched one boot into a notch in the wall beside the downed cow, and the other against the furry rump. Bent almost double, she gripped the thin legs tightly, and used her own to push herself away from the cow.
Goddamn it, Finn's men made this look so much easier than it actually was.
“Ava? Ava?” Finn shouted. Her name echoed through the barn.
“In here! She needs help!”
“Who needs...oh, for fuck's sake.” She heard his boots hit the ground and run toward her. “Goddamn it, Thomas. As if you haven't caused enough shit today.” Finn crouched beside her, one hand on her shoulder while his other hand felt around the small nose protruding from the heifer. “Calf's dry, Ava. She's been at this a while. I don't think you're going to save this one.”
Ava gritted her teeth, blew her hair out of her eyes where it escaped from under her hat. Her Stetson. Her symbol of belonging here and doing this, even if she didn't know what the fuck she was doing. “I'm not giving up, Finn. She's tried so hard and they just left her here like this. She deserves better. She deserves to see her baby!”
“Fuck. I'm not knocking you for trying, darlin', but I'm telling you—”
“Goddamn it, Finn!” It was the first time she could remember ever raising her voice to him. To anyone. Frustration and raw emotion ripped at her throat as harshly as her fledgling muscles cried with effort. “Help me, please. I have to do this.”
His fingers squeezed her shoulder. “I need to get some things from the truck. Pull when she strains, Ava. Work with the contractions. She's exhausted, so she's not going to be much use to you now.” His reassuring touch vanished, and then he was bolting off, leaving her hanging on to a calf that wouldn't fucking budge.
“You'll have to forgive him,” Ava said to the heifer. She had a feeling she was talking more to herself now; the poor thing wasn't making a sound and the pitiful contractions were few and far between. “He's had a really rough day so far, and I'm not making his life any easier. You know, I don't do things like this. I don't know how to do things like this. I'm just using what little knowledge I have to try. Maybe it's too late for you, both of you, but I don't want to give up on you. I gave up on me and look where that got me. Before Finn, I was a huge mess. Still am, I guess. But there's hope, you see? And if there's hope for me, there's got to be some for you.”
Another faint rippling of muscles along the heifer's side. Ava clenched her jaw and forced her legs to push until she thought her muscles would pop. She thought the calf moved and almost cheered. “There! We just need to keep doing that. Me and you. You push, I'll pull, and we can do this together. Finn will be back any second, and he can pull with me. We'll get this baby out and you can lick her, and sniff her, and whatever else momma cows do with their babies. Just hold on for a few more minutes, okay?”
The gate clanged, boots pounded concrete. Relief flooded her as Finn skidded to a stop beside her, dumping an armful of equipment onto the ground. He grabbed a bottle, his face set in intensely grim lines, and ripped the cap off, tossing it to one side. Straddling the heifer so he faced Ava, he bent and upended half the contents of the bottle over the distended vulva. “We need to lubricate the calf as we pull it, darlin'. The heifer's dried up inside and the calf's stuck. There's not much time, so we have to move fast.”
“I'm pulling.”
“Yeah, I know you are. I think you're going to have to let me do the hard part, Ava. You've done really well, but if we have any chance of saving it, we need to get it out now.”
He was right. He had more experience in this than she did, and she wasn't about to jeopardize a life for her own pride. She didn't have his strength to pull a stuck calf. She released the legs and scrambled out of the way, rolling onto her hands and knees. Pushing to her feet, she snatched the bottle from his hand and watched his every move as he mimicked her position, his hands wrapping around fragile legs.
“See if you can slip your hand inside the heifer, darlin'. Work some lube up in there. My hands are too big and she's too small.”
Dropping to her knees, she filled her palm with slick goo and did what he said. She could barely get a finger between the nose and the heifer, but she used that finger to rub the lube everywhere she could reach.
“More, Ava,” he grunted. “Keep working it all the way round.”
Time seemed to crawl past. Sweat dripped down her face, her back. Her hands were slick with lube, her clothes covered in it, but she worked tirelessly. Her reality became a sea of clear goo, the soft hair under her fingers as she lathered the calf's head. Inch by inch, accompanied by Finn's grunts of exertion and frustration, they managed to get the head out and most of the front legs.
“Darlin’, check the heifer.” Finn stopped pulling, swiped at his face with his forearm. “She's not helping anymore.”
“She's just really tired, Finn. She can do this, I promise.” Ava nodded as though her conviction would make it the truth.
“Ava, little dove,” he said gently. “Check the heifer.”
Lip quivering, she took a breath and crawled to the pretty silver head. A sob caught in her throat when she saw the vacant expression in those big brown eyes. They were glazed, empty. It was too late to do anything for her. Ava stroked the soft hide, petting the heifer's face as though she could still feel the touch of a comforting hand. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't help you.”
Finn sat back, his face a mask of regret. “I'm sorry, Ava. You did the best you could. By the look of her, she's been here hours. We were too late.”
Her breath shuddered out. Anger flooded her, and she had an insane urge to find Finn's manager and batter him into pulp with her bare hands. Her hands fisted. “Keep pulling, Finn.”
“Ava—”
“If you don't, I will.” Her voice was thick with unshed tears, but to her surprise, it was strong. Dead or alive, they were delivering this calf. It gave her a purpose, and while she was aware the outcome was sliding toward the negative side, she was damn well going to see it through. She hadn't lied when she said she'd given up on herself. She had. She'd let her father rule her life from afar and dig his nasty hooks into her so deep, it almost cost her everything. “I need to do this, Finn.”
His eyebrow lifted as gray eyes roamed over her face. Her lover sighed, scrubbed his cheek with the
back of his hand, then shrugged. Reestablishing his hold on the calf, he jerked his chin toward it. “Once we get the shoulders out, we should be okay. The heifer was too young, too small to breed, and Thomas is an idiot for running her with a bull. It's not a big calf compared to some, but it's bigger than she could bear.”
“I thought you didn't breed here?”
“I don't. My manager, however, has apparently been culling out heifers from my fattening stock and using them to start his own breeding program. The dead ones in the other barn should have gone to slaughter months ago.” He grunted again, almost snarling with the effort of pulling. “We'll have to look through the records and check to see how many he's stolen over the last three years since he took charge. If this is the kind of breeding he's doing, we're going to find he's lost a lot of stock through sheer incompetence.”
Ava returned to his side, slicking more lube onto the bulge of the calf's shoulders. It was lifeless, the tongue still purple and no eye reflex she could see. It didn't matter—she wasn't going to leave the poor heifer like this, with her baby stuck. “There are two bulls in the other barn. Live ones. At least, I think they're bulls.”
“There'll be a reason he left them behind.” Finn's arms bulged, the veins standing out. “More lube, darlin', then stand back. This bastard's finally starting to come.”
She obeyed, dumping as much goo as she could on wherever she could reach, then took a couple of steps back. Broad shoulders stretched the heifer impossibly wide before the body followed in a rush, flopping bonelessly to the ground between Finn's legs.
It was sad not to hear the usual call of a mother cow, the soft sounds she made to her calf. The calf didn't move, no restless legs or twitches of its head. So much effort with nothing to show for it but death.
No.
As Finn climbed to his feet, Ava crouched beside the calf. It had a patchy coat, silver and black, in a pretty pattern. It was covered in sticky gunk, that tongue lolling out of its mouth. Driven by something she couldn't identify, she rubbed her hand over the small chest. Testing, she gave it a hard thwack, then another. Getting into a rhythm, she knelt up and used two hands until suddenly, she was giving it CPR.
Black Light: Branded Page 16
