Back in the Saddle

by Ruth Logan Herne

  “You know nothing.” Nick stood up, quick and hard. “You don’t have kids, you’ve never had a wife, you’ve probably barely had a girlfriend for longer than a month—”

  Nick was wrong. There had actually been a couple of six-month relationships in Colt’s past, but he could tell by Nick’s expression that he’d better back down. He did, but only because his brother had been handed a raw deal by any guy’s standards. Wives walking out on husbands, children, and sprawling ranches didn’t make Colt’s short list. “Hey, don’t be mad at me. I’m not the one who left you.”

  “Actually, you did,” Nick retorted. “You walked away from everything Dad built and went off to the big city to make it on your own. How’s that working out for you, by the way?”

  Anger claimed Colt. His neck muscles tightened. He had started to rise out of his chair when Angelina appeared behind Nick in the doorway, about the same time a wind gust announced the storm’s arrival. “If you two can stop posturing long enough to be of some help, I could use the fires stoked at both ends of the house. If we lose electricity, the generator will kick in, but you both know it’s better to make use of the wood stoves when we get hit hard.”

  Colt stood the rest of the way. “I’ll take this one.”

  “And I’ll get the north end.”

  “There’s gas in all the generators?” Angelina looked at Nick, and he nodded.

  “Checked them this afternoon. You think the hospital will be okay?” Nick asked, sounding a little worried.

  That Nick would be concerned with their father’s fate kind of surprised Colt. Nick and Sam worked together, but they’d always been miles apart on most everything. Maybe Nick had done some growing up in the past nine years too.

  “They’re secure. If the roads are cleared tomorrow, we can bring him home tomorrow night. As long as he doesn’t spike a fever or anything.”

  “How does he look?” Colt asked.

  Nick and Angelina turned toward Colt in unison. “You’d know the answer to that if you would have bothered coming home once in a while,” Nick said, sounding exasperated.

  Angelina seemed to consider her words carefully. “Being ill has aged him. He’s a little frail now. Hopefully that will change as he heals. But there is a light in his eyes that didn’t used to be there.”

  “A light?” Colt paused, confused. “Like…what, exactly?”

  “Faith,” Nick said. “Hard to believe, I know. He’s like those field workers who showed up late and got a full day’s wages. He seems sincere enough. He’s even planning to go to church with us on Sundays.”

  “Our father?” Talk about an unexpected bend in the road. “Sam Stafford’s going to church of his own accord? Will wonders never cease? Better yet, will the church survive?”

  “And how often did you grace the churches of Lower Manhattan with your presence?” Angelina asked smoothly, but with enough bite to make Colt take notice. “There are churches of all kinds there, I believe?”

  “Yup.”

  “And you went to…?”

  “Not a one.” He half smirked because taking time out of his busy week for church had never occurred to him. Despite his mother’s sweet assurances about God when he was a child, Colt had figured things out pretty quick and pretty early. You got one chance at life, one go around the big wheel of fortune, and whatever you did, you did.

  Nick’s expression should have warned him off, but it was too late. Angelina moved toward him, and when she narrowed her eyes, he was amazed and not a little scared at how quickly the transformation took place. “You brag about this?” She took another menacing step, encroaching on his space. He looked to Nick for help, but Nick seemed to be enjoying the turning tide. “As if turning your back on the One, the Only, the Most High is something of note, a source of pride?” She uttered something quick and sharp under her breath in Spanish, then stopped suddenly. Held up her hands. Dusted them together as if he wasn’t worth the bother it took to ream him out. She looked up, met him eye to eye. Her cool, hard stare made it clear that any gains he’d made since their first face-to-shotgun meeting were now long gone. She shook her head, and her voice took on a different, flat tone. “If for any reason the generator does not kick in when we lose electricity, there are candles in your room and bath.”

  He started to say thank you, but her swift retreat showed no interest in his gratitude. He watched her leave, heard the firm click of her door, and turned toward Nick. “Is she always like that?”

  “Tough, strong, kind, antagonistic, and brutally honest? Yes. And every time I think I’m right about something, it turns out I’m wrong. I’ve learned to shut up and let her take charge.”

  Colt wasn’t any too happy as he tended the stove. It was an odd state of affairs when an outsider—and a woman at that—was taking charge around the Double S.

  “And don’t make the mistake of thinking you can best her just because you’re a man.”

  Colt swung back toward Nick. “This is our ranch. Our house. Our home. I might have been gone a long while, but I’m still a Stafford. And Staffords don’t take guff from the hired help.”

  Nick clapped him on the back. “You’re in for a rude awakening, Colt. But then you never did want to learn things the easy way. I’m going to bed for a few hours. Hobbs is covering the barns right now. I’ll take next shift. You take the predawn one. And yes, there’s a towline rigged up in case the storm’s bad. It leads to the middle barn. Set your clock for four. Will you be okay on five hours of sleep?”

  He’d worked days on end and barely caught naps on his office sofa when things were hopping in the financial district, so five hours of sleep would be fine. “Which room are the girls in?”

  “The first-floor wing, just below your room.”

  “I’ll be sure not to disturb them.” As he walked up the stairs, his butt ached, his back hurt, and every muscle in his body screamed rude words at being suddenly reawakened to ranch work. When he crested the stairs, he faced the big, broad lead-paned window overlooking the eastern exposure of the Double S.

  Snowflakes swirled from angled dormers, mixing and mingling with wind-driven flakes. The storm careened on a wicked slant, the wind howling, the snow forming sloping drifts along the porch below him. The outdoor lights barely broke the whiteness, so there was little to see other than the storm raging beyond the layered, tempered glass.

  He stared out anyway, envisioning the sprawl of land, the cowering cattle hunkered down in the back hills. He hoped they’d be all right. He knew the score; he was ranch hand enough to know animals generally did okay, but every now and again a bad storm laid claim on too many cows or pigs or horses. They’d know once the storm blew itself out. The ruggedness of the upper terrain meant they might suffer some casualties in the hills, but the animals there were the more mature, wiser cows. Most of them had been through storms before, giving them a greater chance of survival.

  Despite the cool distance Sam Stafford maintained from humans, his father wouldn’t wish the destruction of cattle on anyone. Each one saved was a plus that had nothing to do with money and everything to do with respecting life. On that one thing they agreed. Life should be cherished.

  At 5:00 a.m. Colt spotted the laboring heifer’s angst and grabbed his phone. He hadn’t pulled a calf on his own in a lot of years, and if they had some new apparatus lying around, he didn’t want to look stupid again. He hit Nick’s number and was surprised when Angelina answered the phone. “I was calling Nick.”

  She probably knows that because you called Nick’s phone, Einstein. But why was Angelina anywhere near Nick’s phone? Nick had gone inside to catch a little more sleep almost an hour ago. And why does the image of Angelina with Nick unnerve you?

  “His phone is with me in the kitchen.”

  Instant relief swept him, a ridiculous physiological response he’d examine later. He stowed the surprising emotion as Angelina continued, “Do you need help?”

  “Gotta pull a calf. I know how, old style. Just want
ed to make sure I was on the right track.”

  “I’m coming over.”

  Great. Now the kitchen help would boss him around in the barn. Why had he bothered to call? Why hadn’t he just gone ahead and directed the cow into the area with the pulley and helped her move this baby?

  —

  “Oh, it’s Caramel.”

  Colt turned at the warm sound of Angelina’s voice. Anticipation stirred something inside him. He carefully shut the reaction down to maintain his cool, calm facade. “You know a thousand cows?”

  “I know the two hundred young ones. They’ve all been born since I’ve been here, and I’ve done a turn or two in the barn.”

  “Because?”

  She moved to the sink, turned on the hot water, and lathered her hands and arms while he got some feed to coax the cow to the farthest stanchion. “I like to learn. The more helpful I can be, the better off we all are. No one needs me in the kitchen 24/7.”

  Colt could still taste the goodness of her soup and homemade bread, so he wasn’t sure he’d agree. Kitchen talents were few and far between these days, but maybe that was a New York City thing. In any case, being at Angelina’s table wasn’t exactly a hardship, especially considering the rough two weeks he’d put in prior to catching that flight. A table laden with great food became a wonderful welcome home.

  She moved to his side after he had the cow in place. As the cow strained mightily, he used the opportunity to lock on to the single visible foot with the obstetrical chain.

  “Have you checked to make sure the head’s not back?”

  He tried to not take offense because the cook was questioning him as though he were a novice. “Nose forward. I think mama’s overwhelmed. Baby’s a little big, but positioning seems okay.”

  “Good.”

  She kept her voice soft, and Colt followed suit. She spoke words of comfort to the young cow, and when the second foot appeared, Colt looped the chain around it, well above the hock. “I’ll get the puller.”

  “All right.”

  He put the apparatus in place and was able to provide gentle traction with each push from the cow.

  “Caramel, he’s beautiful,” Angelina crooned. “You’re doing so well, little mama! I am so very proud of you. Giving birth is not an easy process, and men have no idea about the truth of such words, my pretty girl.”

  “Says the woman with no experience,” Colt grunted as he leveraged the sizable calf forward. “And how do you know it’s a bull? We haven’t gotten that far yet.”

  “The stubborn look in the eye,” she whispered softly. “I could be wrong, of course. But not usually.”

  Her cocky attitude almost made him smile. He liked self-confidence in a person, but bossy, know-it-all women didn’t appeal to him. They were growing in numbers on Wall Street, and it made for a different dynamic, not one he liked all that much. Coming home to find a similar situation in what had been a male-dominated domain seemed weird.

  He returned his focus to the calf. Once he had its shoulders free, the heifer finished the job herself with one last push.

  “Oh, well done, little mama, well done!” Angelina said. “He’s beautiful! He’s got your eyes and a red-toned coat that will most likely turn to black as he matures. Quite a beauty, I must say.”

  “You’re talking to a cow.” Colt tickled the calf’s nose with a piece of straw. The calf gave a mighty sneeze, then shook his head and bawled. Colt pulled him to the far side of the birthing pen so that mama—Caramel—wouldn’t step on him when she backed out of the head gate. He started to offer his help as Angelina unhooked the belly strap, a clever winch device that kept the cow from sitting or flopping down during a rough birth. The upright position was better for the cow and the calf when assistance was needed. But Angelina didn’t need help. Murmuring soothing congratulations, she had the cow released quickly, then stepped aside, allowing the mother to acquaint herself with her newborn. She moved outside the area and watched the pair as Colt sterilized the OB chain. He finished the cleanup, then moved to her side. “Nice calf.”

  “Beautiful.” She breathed deep as if she didn’t mind the smell of cow and dung and hay and straw. “This whole thing—the flow of life and raising good food. It’s marvelous. I wouldn’t have thought it would be like this, but it’s wonderful.”

  “A lot of folks would disagree these days.”

  She laughed. “I used to be one of them.”

  He turned, surprised. “A vegetarian?”

  “Vegan. But in any case, I am now a total omnivore who loves to barbecue or wood-fire a steak when the weather’s not foul. I look back at that twenty-two-year-old with so many goofy ideas, and I can’t believe it was me.”

  “We all go through goofy stages growing up.”

  “And make our share of mistakes.” Regret briefly deepened her features.

  Colt had a laundry list of those himself, some more serious than others. Being on the ranch, reconnecting with old faces and friends, made him feel as if something had changed. It hadn’t, of course. He was still back in Gray’s Glen, a town pretty much owned and operated by Sam Stafford. But standing in the snug barn with the storm howling outside and a doe-eyed calf rooting for his first drink of life-giving milk softened something inside him.

  Angelina gave the cow one last pat on her shaggy head. “Well done, my friend. Well done.” She straightened and moved toward the door. “Breakfast at eight. No use feeding everyone early so they can sit around and watch the snow. And Colt?”

  “Yes?”

  “You didn’t need help. You did fine.”

  He had, but as she crossed toward the door adjacent to the towline, he said, “But it was nice having you here, Angelina.”

  Would his words pause her?

  She hesitated at the door as if she wanted to reply, and Colt marked that a victory. She thought he was a shallow, money-grubbing New York investor. Right now he felt the need to be something else. Someone else. He wasn’t sure who or what, but watching Caramel give her baby a warm welcome to the planet made him feel more content than he’d been in a long time.

  “I want out,” Sam growled when Angelina picked up his call on the house phone midday.

  Angelina tucked the phone beneath her left ear while she scraped cake batter into two nine-inch pans. “That’s not the way one begins a phone call, Sam. Try this instead. ‘Good morning, Angelina. It appears the snow has stopped falling. When will the roads be clear enough to pick me up and bring me home?’ And in answer to that unasked question, it’s not safe for people to be out right now. The snow just stopped. Perhaps by early evening.”

  “Too long,” he retorted. “There will be chores to do around the barn and cattle to check up north. I need to be there. Not here.”

  “You couldn’t do either even if you were home, so what’s the hurry?” she asked, hoping her crusty boss would get her point. He did, but not because he wanted to.

  “I miss everyone.”

  “Now that’s an honest answer. I checked with the town highway department, and their timeline puts clear roads around four.”

  “What’s their timeline for mostly clear roads? I want to come home, Ange.”

  Her heart sympathized. She’d watched Sam Stafford’s transformation the past six months, and while long overdue, it seemed sincere. She hoped and prayed it stayed that way.

  “How’s everything on your end?” he asked.

  He meant her mother and Noah. It had been Sam’s idea to tuck them in the cabin across from the sprawling ranch. “Restless. Like you. And ready for winter to end so we can move on with our lives.”

  He grunted. “We’ll have to figure something out.”

  “We will, Sam. It’s time. We can talk about it once we have you home.”

  “Understood. I’ll see you later. And tell the boys to drive fast.”

  “Promise.” She hung up the phone, turned to put the cakes in the oven, and saw Colt watching her.

  “My father?”

  �
�Yes.” She opened the oven door and slid the pans onto the center rack.

  “How’s he doing?”

  Was it remorse, anger, or guilt coloring Colt’s question? Probably all three, she decided. “Chomping at the bit and wishing the roads were clear so you guys could get him right now. The doctor has signed his release.”

  “He said that?” Nick had entered the kitchen from the other side.

  “He’s ready, but the roads won’t be clear for four or five hours. I’ll make his favorite supper, and you guys can go get him then, okay?”

  Nick looked at Colt. Colt jumped into action without a word. They grabbed winter gear from the hooks by the back door and began layering up.

  “What are you two clowns doing?”

  “Hospital breakout.”

  “Rescuing the old man.”

  “You can’t find something constructive to do for the next four hours and let the road crews do their work? What is the matter with you two?”

  Colt grinned the first sincere smile she’d seen since pointing a gun at him a few days before. “Gotta cowboy up.”

  “I’ll stow shovels in the back,” Nick said.

  “I’ll—”

  “Has either one of you thought of blankets or pillows? This is a sick man with broken ribs you’re about to transport over snow-filled roads and drifts.”

  “A few rough patches of road might even up some of the score of forgetting he had kids for a decade or two,” Colt told her as he checked his phone, then slid it back into the leather pouch on his belt. “At least he’ll be home where he wants to be.”

  She saw nothing but honesty on his face. She thought of Noah, the light of hope and grace shining in his gaze.

  She went to the downstairs linen closet and withdrew two pillows and blankets. She put them in a large plastic bag and thrust them into Colt’s midsection with well-practiced force. He grunted. Good. She hadn’t lost her touch. “There’s time for recriminations later. You go easy and bring him back here pain free. Or at least as pain free as possible. Got it?”