Hearing her dad sputter as she removed the phone from her ear, Myra disconnected. Fully expecting a callback from her mother, she tossed her phone down on her nightstand and charged out of the room.
She almost bowled Zeke over as she rushed into the living room. He was bent down peering inside one of her completed dollhouses.
“Sorry I spent so much time gabbing with Dad,” she said brightly. “Grab your gear. Time’s aʼwasting. We need to get busy sorting calves.”
“You look flushed. Is everything all right?” Zeke hurried after her, pausing to pluck his coat from the rack where he’d hung it by hers the night before.
“I’m fine, just running late.” She stepped out onto the porch and pulled on her boots.
Zeke followed her out and shut the door. “Will I need the hat with earflaps again?” he asked, watching Myra set a gray cowboy hat atop her taffy-colored waves.
“Separating calves from their mothers is sweaty work. You can probably get by wearing your baseball cap. Most ranchers favor a cowboy hat.” She left the porch and was met by a cold blast of wind. “It’s gonna be chilly when we begin. You won’t want to let body heat seep out through the top of your head. In this country it’s always smart to start the day wearing a hat.”
He went back inside and came out with his baseball cap.
Pulling on her well-worn leather gloves, Myra spared a moment trying to decide which part in today’s process Zeke would find hardest or would least like. Aware she probably hadn’t heard the last from her folks, the sooner Zeke got the message he wasn’t cut out to be a rancher, the quicker she could buy him out. The bank ought to grant her a loan, especially once she proved she had taken on the ranch in a downturn and set it on a profitable course.
Was she being too mean? Engineering chores to help Zeke fail? No, she decided. Not if he figured out on his own that he was a fish out of water.
Zeke caught up. “I assume we’re taking the littler animals away from the bigger, older ones. Do we do that by hand or on horseback? I’ve only seen something like that in Western movies. Cowboys always rope the calves. Of course, I’ve never handled a rope for that purpose.”
“For what purpose have you handled a rope?” His statement shook Myra from her own thoughts. She hoped he wasn’t going to say he’d hung anyone. Most of what she knew about Green Berets came from having rented a couple of violent war movies for her grandfather.
“We used ropes for scaling cliffs, or sometimes to assist a buddy up into a chopper.”
“Ah.” Thank goodness. “Well, for this task I’m not riding. I don’t want to tear up the grass since we’ll bring the mama cows back to the corral to feed once they’re vaccinated and checked for new pregnancies.” She climbed up to the second railing on the fence that surrounded the milling pairs. “See those two smaller corrals?” She let Zeke climb up beside her before pointing.
“I like using two smaller corrals to separate yearling steers from heifers before we drive them into Hank’s semi. Steers weigh more and so earn more at the feedlot. And some heifers we keep, but we need an accurate count.” She angled a glance at the man whose shoulder brushed hers. “You do know the difference between a steer and a heifer by looking at them, don’t you?”
His mouth thinned to a droll line. “I realize you think I’m a total dunce. I was about twelve when I learned all about the birds and bees.”
One quick perusal of his handsome face and she didn’t doubt his declaration. She imagined he’d always had girls shamelessly chasing him. How else did city kids learn about mating? Girls like her, raised on ranches, took anything related to birds and bees in stride. She didn’t blush at comments that she’d seen send her city college friends into red-faced giggles.
“Good enough,” she said. “I’ll start out driving a calf toward you. And you’ll plant yourself between the two small corrals. If I send you a steer, shoo him into the larger of the two pens. Scram heifers into the smaller one.”
Zeke jumped down off the fence. “I’m glad you didn’t say left or right, because then I’d have to ask if I’d be facing you or facing the pens.”
“You’ll want to keep your back to the railing between the little corrals as much as possible. Not all mama cows will be happy to have us taking away their offspring. They’ve been known to head butt, kick or bite.”
“Sounds grim. And you do this every year?”
“Twice a year. The first time is after calving ends. You’ll sort mamas and babies and deliver them to the same range we brought these pairs down from yesterday.”
“I doubt I can find my way back to that spot. Listen, I hate to pressure you, but have you had time to give any thought to my job offer?”
Myra climbed down and opened the gate, giving him room to pass. “I am considering it. I mentioned it to my dad. My parents will fuss. They sent me to college to... It doesn’t matter.” She waved a hand as if to erase the comment. “Let’s get started.”
“Now you have me curious as to why they’d be keener on you attending college than I sense you were to go,” he said and cocked his head toward her as he wiggled his fingers into his own gloves.
From the trouble he was having, Myra thought his gloves probably hadn’t dried overnight. Wet gloves could be miserable. He’d learn. “My mother’s not the biggest fan of ranching that ever lived,” Myra murmured. “She grew up on Rolling Acres and wanted to leave and see the world. Her senior year of high school she went to a grange dance, met my dad and they fell in love. I’ve always suspected she wanted me to live her fantasy. Relocate to a city, meet and marry a doctor or lawyer...anyone but a rancher. She still loves my dad to pieces, but she’s always told Eric and me that ranch life is too hard. Remember I said you’ll get few days off. And forget vacations. But I’m not like my mom. I’m a fan of ranching.”
“Why did you go to college, then?”
“Don’t most kids want to please their parents? Dad expected Eric to follow in his footsteps. They argued when he joined the ROTC. I thought one of us shouldn’t disappoint them. Now Eric’s back to help Dad. It turned out he didn’t like being in the army any better than I liked being a teacher. Funny how life intervenes. Did you always want a military career?” It was a casual question asked as they made their way around the inside perimeter of the corral.
Zeke laughed. “Sure, after vowing I’d be a policeman, a firefighter or a pro baseball player.” He sidestepped a cow patty. “Having a twin breeds early competition. Growing up, we each swore to become what the other claimed he wanted. We fought when we played over who got to be the firefighter or cop. In high school and college we both played baseball. I quit the team my junior year and hung out with some guys in the National Guard. Seth took a science class that turned him on to minerals. For the first time in our lives we went our separate ways.”
“You must not have had pressure from your folks. What business were they in?” Myra immediately wished she could take back the question. She didn’t want to know personal stuff about the man she wished would go away.
“In a way Mom influenced Seth some. Instilled in him a desire to see the world. She ran a travel agency for twenty years. Mom was forever flying off to one part of the world or another. Dad was an insurance agent, able to work from home. He mostly oversaw us and ran the house.”
Unable to drop the subject, Myra asked, “Are you close to your brother now?”
“We’re reconnecting. We got the need for competition out of our systems. By the way, I invited Seth to the ranch. But I looked in that third bedroom and it resembles a carpentry shop.”
“It kind of is, with my dollhouse patterns, material, jigsaws and Dremel tools. I sand wood and cut doors and windows in there, but if I stay on I can move them. When’s he coming?”
“I don’t know. He gave me a list of gems he plans to acquire in various countries prior to attending some major gem show.”
“Okay. Sounds as if I have time to clear out my stuff.” Moving into the herd, Myra drew Zek
e’s attention to cows and calves with brands other than the winged owl. “We have to hold those pairs aside. If one gets by you, we’ll finish cutting then drive him back out. It’s possible Dave Ralston will be by to collect his stock this morning. Hank said Dave’s scheduled to take his calves to market today.”
“Let’s get to it. I’m cold just standing around.” Zeke shrugged his shoulders as if to make his point.
“You have to be quick on your feet. You’ll open the proper gate when a steer or heifer comes close, and shut the gate fast once the calf is inside.”
“Will they try to come back out?”
“Yes. If their mama bawls enough.”
“All right. I’ll have to learn as we go.”
He didn’t know the half of it. She felt sorry for him, but why should she go easy on him? Her goal was to make him see he wasn’t cut out to be a ranch owner.
She chose a steer that wasn’t too far away from Zeke, let out a yell and slapped the surprised yearling on his rump. Startled, the animal bolted right toward Zeke. The man proved to be agile, sidestepping to open the gate, and they had their first steer penned.
“Good job,” she called, although she hadn’t intended to give him encouragement. Selecting a skittish young heifer, Myra repeated the process. She noticed at once that Zeke had more trouble opening the left-hand gate. Eric had said Zeke had undergone multiple surgeries on that arm. Myra expected him to complain or ask her to go easy on his injury. But he didn’t.
She could make it harder on him if she chose to drive a series of heifers toward him one after another. But she wouldn’t. She wasn’t spiteful. It’d be different if he was totally able-bodied. What didn’t help was how able-bodied he looked. Tall, pleasingly muscular. Long legs fit nicely in blue jeans. No cowboy boots, but boots. Dang, he could pass for a rancher. That alone probably softened her feelings. Softened her to where she sent him two or three steers for every one heifer, giving him time between to massage his left arm.
She was about to ask Zeke if he wanted to swap jobs when the mother cow of the last steer they’d sorted bawled, pawed the ground and with head down, charged Zeke. He had turned away to shut the gate.
“Zeke!” Myra shouted. But he didn’t react in time. The cow’s wide head slammed Zeke on his lower back, striking his shapely butt. As the cow’s head came up, Zeke flew through the air.
Myra winced at the impact, as if that helped absorb the hit. Of course it did nothing.
Because the angry cow didn’t appear ready to give up and trot away, Myra stripped off her belt and darted around other pairs. She smacked the errant animal lightly with the leather strap before mama cow could launch another attack on the man slowly picking himself up off the wet grass.
“Are you okay?” Myra asked after the offending mother left Zeke and plodded to the fence in search of her missing youngster. She continued to be vocal.
Chuckling, Zeke brushed blades of grass and mud off the knees of his grass-stained jeans. “You did warn me. We’d had such success I guess I got too cocky.”
“You can’t let down your guard,” Myra chided gently and glanced up as a red truck hauling a triple horse trailer pulled down the lane to stop outside the corral. The slant R logo was on the driver’s door, which swung open to reveal a compact man in his midfifties.
“Dave Ralston’s here,” Myra told Zeke. “I wondered if he might show up today. That semi will be filled with his calves headed to market. He can transport his two cows and the calves that are mixed in with ours, too. Uh, yours.”
“You don’t have to keep correcting yourself,” Zeke said, straightening to limp over to greet a neighbor he had yet to meet. “I think technically these are your cows, cattle, stock. Whatever you call them,” he added lamely to Myra, who matched his stride.
“Pairs,” she said firmly. “Dave, hi. I’m glad you’re here to get your animals. I’ve had trouble keeping one of your steers from being sent to the breakout corral. He’s a curious little fellow.” Because Dave glanced at Zeke, she hurriedly introduced the men.
They shook hands and Dave cast an eye around the property. “Hank told me Jack Odell up and gave you this ranch, sonny. You’re a lucky duck if ever one lived. You’re sittin’ on a gold mine here.”
Myra’s stomach dropped. She tried to discreetly jab her elbow into Dave’s side. “He doesn’t mean that literally,” she rushed to inform Zeke. “Granted there are abandoned gold mines out on BLM land. Occasionally we see in the news where someone running cattle on a leased pasture falls through rotten boards covering some old mine or another. I’ve never run across any on Gramps’s property.”
“What’s BLM land?” Zeke asked.
“Government owned. It’s under the control of the Bureau of Land Management. You won’t need to deal with them.” She continued to glare at Dave.
The older rancher’s brow furrowed in a slight frown, but as Myra’s steady glare didn’t diminish, he shut his mouth.
“Can you back your rig around and drop the ramp?” she queried him.
“Yep. I brought a lariat. Figured if I rope the calves you can help wrestle them into the trailer. Get the calves in and the cows will follow.”
“Sounds good. While you turn your truck around, Zeke and I will cut out your two pair.”
“Get Hank’s, too. He’s at my place helping my son load the semi for market.”
Myra flashed Dave a thumbs-up as he climbed into the cab.
“I see what you were telling me about neighbors helping neighbors. I hope they’ll all accept me,” Zeke said, following Myra’s lead in separating out the pairs with the Bar W and slant R brands.
Myra pretended she hadn’t heard him. She didn’t want Zeke to get buddy-buddy with any of the neighbors. She wanted him to throw in the towel ASAP.
In his younger days Dave Ralston had been a champion calf roper. After he slid out the metal ramp, he came into the pen swinging his rope like the veteran he was. It sang through the air and settled over the head of one of his young steers. Digging in his boot heels, he pulled the stubborn animal out of the enclosure.
“Zeke, I’ll shove the calf from behind, if you’ll close the gate after us.”
He hurried to comply, but froze when Myra stepped right in a gooey brown pile on her way to pushing the animal up the ramp.
“You must not have grown up around cows.” Dave grinned down at Zeke from the trailer entrance. Freeing his rope, he jumped down. “Better get boots you only wear when you work stock. Guess Myra didn’t tell you these small mounds of cow pucky are nothing compared to what you’ll wade through when you start jamming mama cows through the chute for pregnancy testing, vaccinations and parasite treatments.”
Zeke gave an offhanded shrug. “I ran into my share of chicken and goat droppings in Afghanistan. I felt bad Myra didn’t see it in time to avoid landing in it.”
“Afghanistan, huh? Is how they portrayed our role in Zero Dark Thirty for real?”
“Dunno. I never saw the movie. I tend to prefer Westerns. Is what they show of a cowboy’s life accurate?”
Dave uttered a deep belly laugh as he opened the gate, swung his rope again and this time captured the calf with the Bar W brand. “I ’spect the majority of Westerns get gussied up so the studio’s star or even stuntmen and -women don’t break something and sue the film backers.” Shortening the rope, he marched the calf out of the pen.
“Figured that might be the case. You’re handy with that rope.” This time Zeke helped wrestle the calf up the ramp, leaving Myra to close the gate.
And he was careful to step over the aromatic pile that sat squarely at the base of the ramp.
“I started roping an old stump in front of our house from the time I was knee-high to a jackrabbit,” Ralston said. “You can probably learn if you put your mind to it and practice.”
Myra shaded her eyes and snagged Dave’s attention. “You’ll have to show Zeke how to fasten the calf to the railings inside the horse trailer. He’s new to all of th
is.”
“ʼPears to me he’s a smart fellow,” Dave responded, flipping his rope off the second calf as Zeke prodded it on into the trailer. “A guy who defended our freedom in a wild-and-woolly war zone can probably see how you secured the first calf. Don’t be so hard on him, Myra.”
She dropped her hand, turned and stalked into the pen, careful to bite back sarcasm that would expose her real feelings. Working alone, she cut the third calf out of the larger herd and chased it along the fence to where Dave had only to reach over the railing and drop a loop around the bawling youngster’s head. The mama issued a series of angry snorts. She chased after her calf, so it was a simple matter of making sure she didn’t plunge off the ramp as she followed her baby up and into the trailer.
With the neighbors’ stock all loaded, Myra went back to culling her calves. She looked around for Zeke and saw him standing by the truck jawboning with Dave. Since this was a task she’d done by herself for the past two years, she herded a yearling right up to a gate, opened it and quickly shoved the animal through. It was definitely more time-consuming doing it without Zeke’s help. But she wasn’t about to tell him that.
And what were they talking about? Ralston liked to gab. She wished he’d shut up and leave. Not only because she needed Zeke’s assistance but because keeping him from making friends would ensure his isolation. If she remained his primary contact, it’d drive home the knowledge that whenever she left he’d be on his own.
Her friends had suggested he’d throw in the towel sooner rather than later. But there he and Dave were, yakking, gesturing, grinning like best buds.
Indeed, he seemed in good spirits when he wandered back after Dave drove away.
“I can see how this job would be easier if the person doing it knew how to rope these little buggers,” Zeke said. “Dave said he’ll teach me the basics, and all it’ll take for me to get proficient is practice. Isn’t that cool?”
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