by Kate Kinsley
“During winter and early spring, I like to keep the cattle in areas that provide protection from the bitter winds common in Montana. This is called a windbreak—an area where cattle can take cover from the elements. I feed around these areas to encourage cattle and their calves to stay close to fresh water and out of the wind.” Montana gives the fence a push, and it rolls a few feet. “It’ll be put away until next winter since it’s starting to warm up.”
As we walk around to the other side of the windbreak, she points to a figure in the field. “One never-ending duty of a ranch hand is to check the fences to ensure there are no holes where cattle can escape or predators can enter.”
“Doesn’t seem too hard,” I say, watching the figure skim the inside of the split rail.
“No, checking the fence is the easy part.” Circling around, we reach the back of the barn once again. “Record keeping is an important part of farming or ranching. Calving records are one of the most important records I keep on the ranch. Each year, when a cow has her calf, I record the sex, color, and if there were any issues that occurred. Records are kept in a little black book made especially for that purpose.” She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a small, black notebook, then shoves it back. “I also give the calf an ear tag with the same number and color tag as its mother. This way, the cow and her calf can be traced throughout the year and records can be kept accordingly.”
“Doesn’t that hurt?”
She laughs. “Tagging a calf or cow is relatively painless. It’s basically like getting your ears pierced.”
“Momma, I hungry!” Avery shouts from inside the barn as she runs toward us, Trey trailing behind her. As the little tot approaches, Montana waves him off. “Let’s go!” Avery demands.
“We should go. It’s time for lunch anyway.” Once again, Avery runs straight toward me, her arms high in the air. Scooping her up, I twirl her around, and she squeals as I spin in circles. I stop and tuck her under my left arm, catching Montana’s expression.
The corners of her mouth lift up into a smile, and it stills my heart.
The way her one dimple crinkles.
The way her eyes sparkle.
The deep curve on her lips.
The world stops around her.
It makes me forget the pain in my shoulder, and the fact that I might not be able to do most of the work necessary around here.
“Let’s go!” Avery repeats, tapping me on the shoulder and dragging me out of the trance I was under.
“After you,” I say, waving my arm toward the barn.
Ryan
Montana makes lunch, and we sit and talk about the ranch and what she expects from me. I didn’t realize there would be others working. I was under the impression I was hired for the hard labor. Montana had other plans for me. She wants me to fill more of a supervisory role and to help out with the inventory and paperwork so she can do more things inside the house.
Her ranch hands seem highly capable, and from what she told me, they came with the property when she bought it five years ago.
So, I decide to do a little investigating while she puts Avery down for a nap. “I’m going to go for a walk around the property, if that’s all right,” I inform Montana as I place my plate in the sink.
“Sure, don’t get lost,” she answers from another room. As I walk toward the door, I catch the sounds of a whining toddler arguing about taking a nap.
All things considered, the barn is pretty far from the house. I would say at least a thousand feet. It’s not a bad walk if the weather is cooperating, and today, it is. The temperature has to be at least thirty degrees warmer than yesterday. They weren’t kidding when they said the climate up here was fickle.
Entering the barn, I find Trey feeding the horses. He’s older, maybe his late forties or so, with a light sprinkling of grey in his obsidian black hair, but is built like a brick house, in clothes matching mine. “Trey, right?” I ask as I approach.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“I’m Ryan. I’ll be helping out around here for a while.”
He looks me over, then turns back to the horses. “Don’t look like no rancher,” he says over his shoulder.
“No, I’m ex-military.”
He stops and turns back around. “You’re one of them Brotherhood Protectors, aren’t ya?” he asks, disdain in his voice.
“I am. Her father hired me to watch over her and Avery.”
At the mention of the little girl’s name, his demeanor softens. “They’re good people. That asshole ex-husband of hers, not so much.”
He picks up a bale of hay and places it in one of the stalls. I follow him as he continues all the way down the barn. “What’s the story with this guy?” I know most of the backstory—at least what was in the dossier. I’m sure he knows more than any piece of paper can tell me.
Trey stops in his tracks and turns back to me. His forehead creases as he grimaces. “He almost got that sweet little girl killed. He’s a drunk, no-good son of a bitch. Any man who raises a hand to a woman—”
“Whoa,” I cut him off. “He hit her?” I’m intoxicated with emotions I had no intention of ever feeling again. Fury builds like deep water currents, threatening to come crashing to the surface.
Any man who touches a woman is a coward.
A fucking worthless coward.
“She tried to stop him from leaving with Avery, and he struck her. She hit her head. Wound up with a concussion.”
My face burns with a rage I try extremely hard to suppress.
Fury blazes like fire, lacing through my veins and creeping up my spine.
That piece of shit is lucky he’s incarcerated.
“He’s locked up, far away from here from what I was told.”
His body stands rigid. He’s just as wound up as I am, but the look on his face tells me another story. He clenches his jaw before he answers. “He’s got the most expensive lawyers money can buy. He won’t be there long.”
“Well, maybe that’s why her father hired me.” I won’t let that cock sucker anywhere near her. I don’t care who his parents are. She deserves so much more than a piece of shit. If he’s raised a hand to Montana…
I bite my tongue before I say something I can’t take back.
“How long have you worked here?”
His shoulders relax, and he turns to stroke one of the horses. “Fifteen years.”
“That’s impressive,” I admit, moving closer to the paddock.
“This here’s Trapper. He’s the best herd horse you’ll ever see.” Trapper lets out a long neigh as if to agree. I reach my hand in to pet him, but he moves, and I retract it. I’ve never been around horses, and I don’t know how to respond. “Don’t be afraid. He’s not gonna bite you,” Trey chuckles. “You’re a city boy, huh?”
“You could say that,” I admit. “I’ve never been exposed to cows and horses like this.” I reach back in, letting my fingertips graze the side of the horse’s neck. When he doesn’t move, I flatten out my palm and stroke his back.
“Don’t worry. Abigail will teach you everything you need to know. She picked up the ranch life real quick.” It didn’t mention in her files what she did before she came out to Montana, only that she met Danny in college.
“What about the rest of the ranch hands?”
“You met Mike and Tony. The three of us are here all year long. Carl and Heath come back to work in the summer for a total of five.”
“That’s all you need on a ranch this size?” I ask, puzzled. With all the things Montana listed earlier, it would seem they would need more help.
“I could use another hand or two, but we make due with who we have,” he answers as he checks the water in each of the stalls. “Irrigation chores begin next week and run through August. They help the rest of us perform maintenance on ditches and pipes, making any necessary repairs. Plus, we move the cattle from pasture to pasture to prevent fields from becoming overgrazed.”
Trey walks to the end of
the barn and unwraps a hose. “On average, horses drink five to fifteen gallons of water per day, so every horse should have access to clean, fresh water at all times,” he says as he walks it back, answering my unspoken question. Opening each stall door, he replenishes the horses drinking supply.
“Well, I’ll try to help you out any way I can,” I say as I watch him work. He seems very efficient and definitely knows what he’s doing.
“We’d all appreciate any extra hands.”
As he continues to water the horses, I stroll toward the back entrance. One of the other hands, Mike I think, is watching the herd from the fence. “How’s it going?” I ask as I approach. “Mike, right?”
“That’s right. You’re Ryan?” I nod. He extends his hand, and we shake, then he points to the middle of the herd. “She’s just about to give birth.” I follow his finger to a fat cow off to the side. “One of the first signs of labor in a cow or heifer is her desire to get away from everyone else. We provide a clean grass pasture for them to calve in, and if the weather is bad, we’ll roll out straw or hay to provide bedding.”
The cow is a good distance away from the rest of the herd. She’s pacing around, then stops and lies down. “Once a cow finds her favorite spot for labor and delivery, she’ll lie down and start to push. Calves should come out with their front feet first, followed by the head cradled between their knees,” Mike mutters while keeping an eye on the new mom to be. As if the little calf heard him, a pair of hoofs appear. “That’s amazing,” I mutter under my breath. Little by little, the rest of the baby appears, and the calf is born.
“Now, just gotta make sure the momma goes over and licks the calf dry. Otherwise, I’ll have to step in.” As the words leave his lips, she turns to the calf behind her and starts to lick his head.
I’m all smiles.
I can’t get over the fact that I just witnessed a life being born. It was one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot of cool things. “Amazing, isn’t it?” Montana sighs from behind me.
I spin to the sound of her voice. “I thought the little one was taking a nap?”
“She is,” she answers, pulling what looks like a walkie talkie from the back pocket of her jeans. “Baby monitor.” She smiles as she presents the pink speaker in her hands. If you listen closely, you can hear Avery’s little breaths. “I don’t have long. Her naps are getting shorter and shorter,” she admits with a shrug.
“That’s all right. I’ve seen enough for today.” Leaning my lower back against the fence, I place my palms on the top rail as I observe Montana interacting with Mike. She’s all smiles as she points to the newborn calf, and I’m enraptured.
I can’t help but be caught in her orbit. You gravitate toward this extraordinary thing that captures your attention, and the more you're exposed to it, the more you want.
I’d really like to get to know her better.
Much better.
Montana’s eyes catch mine for a moment, and I blurt out, “Anything else you’d like to show me?” My voice is raspy, and the question didn’t come out the way I had intended.
“I-I think we’re good.” She turns her head to the side to avert my gaze, but the sudden rosiness of her cheeks gave her away.
I let her off the hook and push myself away from the fence. “All right, then. We should probably get back to the house and check on the princess.” As I brush past her, I add, “Besides, we should probably get showered and changed for that dinner I promised.”
Abigail
Blushing would have been no problem, but what I did was go as red as a strawberry and radiate heat like an oven. You could have cooked a three-course meal on my face. It wasn’t because of what he said—but how he said it.
His voice.
His husky voice sent chills straight down my spine to the tips of my toes.
Every hair on my body stood at attention.
His attention.
I couldn’t look at him—I was afraid he’d see right through me. See how just a sentence could make my knees weak and set off the hundreds of butterflies bouncing around my stomach. He’s here to do a job, and I want him for so much more.
I don’t need a man in my life, but damn do I desire him.
It’s only a little after three in the afternoon, and I wish it was dinnertime. I’m excited and nervous at the same time.
What if I’m misinterpreting his signals?
What if he’s not interested and is just being nice?
I am his boss, after all.
He walks ahead of me as we move toward the house, and I can’t help but think of all the things that could go wrong tonight. Even with Danny, I never felt the attraction I do now, and it makes me nervous. The scent of his cologne drifts in through my nostrils—a scent I’m quickly becoming addicted to.
As we enter, I announce, “I’m going to go shower. Avery appears to still be napping, but if she wakes while I’m in the bathroom, could you watch her?”
He turns toward me, his eyes a mesmerizing deep ocean blue with flecks of silvery light dancing throughout—eyes that have me at his mercy. “Of course,” he answers, that dimple popping out as he smiles. Running his fingers through his tousled dark brown hair, he turns down the hall toward Avery’s room.
I don’t just need a shower—I need a cold shower.
I retreat to my room and belly flop down on the bed. What is it about that man that makes me melt? Placing my head flat on the mattress, I try to will him out of my head, but nothing I do rids the thoughts running through my mind.
Shower.
I need to shower.
Since I don’t know Ryan all that well, I decide to take him to the Blue Moose Tavern on Main Street. It’s a good local spot—and casual. I haven’t been here since I moved to Eagle Rock. It wasn’t the type of place Danny wanted to frequent.
We enter the tavern, and all the bar spots are filled. There are a couple empty tables, but that’s it. Strolling to the hostess stand, I inform her we need a table for two.
Picking up two menus from the basket on the side of her podium, she walks over to an empty table toward the back of the bar.
We take a seat across from each other, and I glance at the laminated page in front of me, seeing what my options are.
“What can I get you to drink?” a waitress asks as she approaches.
“I don’t know,” I answer, looking across the table at Ryan. “What are you having?”
“I’m going to have a beer.” Turning to the waitress, he asks, “Can I get a Miller Light?”
“I’ll have one too,” I add. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a beer.”
“Sure. Be right back with those,” she announces before she walks away.
There’s so many questions I want to ask Ryan, but I don’t want to seem nosy or scare him off. I need to approach this delicately. As the waitress brings us back our beers, I ask, “Why don’t you tell me a little bit about your time as a Navy SEAL?”
Lifting the bottle to his lips, he takes a long pull. “All right. But it could take a while, so we should probably order first.”
“Right,” I mutter, my eyes falling to the menu in front of me. Honestly, I don’t really care what we eat.
I want to know more about him.
Now.
Lifting my head back up, I look directly across the table at those Prince Charming, field-of-cornflowers, sky-blue irises. “Do you know what you want?” I ask, my thirst for knowledge making me sound demanding.
“Yes,” he says, his eyes shining with delight—delight in my impatience.
I tap my index finger on the tabletop. “And?”
“Oh. You mean you want to know. I thought you were asking a yes or no question.” Hard as he tries, he can’t keep a straight face. His mouth twitches, and he bursts out laughing.
Narrowing my eyes, I try to be mad, but I can’t. He’s adorable when he’s being a smart ass. “Yes. I would like to eat sometime tonight, so knowing your order would help
speed up the process.”
“Have you decided what you want to order?” the waitress asks, appearing out of thin air.
Without taking his gaze from mine, he answers, “I’ll have a bacon cheeseburger, medium, with fries.”
“Same,” I murmur, caught in his web.
“Fantastic, I’ll put that right in,” she answers before scurrying away.
“So, you wanted to know about my time with the SEALs?” Taking another large sip, he places the bottle down and rests his arms on the edge of the table.
“Yeah, since it seems you know an awful lot about me.” Pressing the bottle to my lips, I tilt my head back and let the ice-cold liquid pour down my throat. His eyes widen just enough for me to notice as I finish most of the bottle. “What?” I ask, placing the beer back down on the table. “I told you, it’s been a while. I forgot how refreshing they are.”
Clearing his throat, he begins. “I joined the Navy when I was eighteen, became a SEAL when I was nineteen. Each year, about a thousand sailors are given the opportunity to attend SEAL training, and I was recruited during basic.”
“Wow,” I utter after taking another sip.
“Anyway, that’s where I met my team. My brothers.” He stops for a second, glancing down at his right hand. Before I can ask him why, he continues. “Remember I told you we all have nicknames?”
“How could I forget?” I quip, although I’m sort of getting used to being called Montana.
At least, the way he calls me Montana.
“Our team leader was Michael Topper. His nickname was Top—both for his last name and the fact that he was the top frog.”
“Frog?”
“Navy SEALs are called frogmen.”
“But why? Frogmen seems like such a silly name for a bunch of strong, tough men.”
“Navy SEALS were originally known as ‘Frogmen’ or Underwater Demolition Teams. They’re organized into specialized units in the sixties, because President Kennedy recognized warfare was changing into short, intense conflicts.” Moving the sleeve of his t-shirt up toward his shoulder, he shows me a tattoo of a skeleton frog holding a spear on his left shoulder blade. “You know, since frogs are amphibians, swimming is a strength.”