Caitlyn’s Prize

by Linda Warren

  It sounded so cold, so unemotional. Just like Judd was. Just like his father had been.

  Judd glanced out the window to the miles and miles of Southern Cross. His heritage, his birthright.

  He brought his gaze back to his mother. “Did you love him?”

  “At times. At others I hated him, but we were good together. We understood each other and he didn’t cheat again. I nursed him in his last days when he was dying of pancreatic cancer. I thought it was love until I saw the will.”

  His father had left her an allowance, and permission to live at Southern Cross until her death. If she remarried, she received nothing.

  “If I had known what he had in mind, I would have wrapped that oxygen tubing around his neck and choked the life out of him before the good Lord could take his sorry soul.”

  Judd could see so clearly that his and Caitlyn’s marriage would have been the same. He would have browbeaten her at every turn until she’d bowed to his every wish. Oh, God. A chill shuddered through him. He didn’t know much about love, but he knew it wasn’t like that.

  He swallowed hard and met his mother’s eyes and said what he had to, what he should have said years ago. “I’m sorry I was mean to you when you came home.”

  “Oh, Judd, my son.” She jumped up and ran around the desk and hugged him. For the first time, he hugged her back.

  “Don’t be like him. Please don’t be like him.”

  He made a vow to himself that he wouldn’t. But he knew it wouldn’t be easy.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “HOW COULD SOMETHING like that happen?”

  They sat in Cait’s office going over the day’s events. Maddie was appalled at Boss’s injury, and Cait tried to explain it as best as she could. “It was just a freak accident.”

  “Couldn’t you have called a vet? Why did you have to shoot him?”

  Guilt scraped across her conscience and her stomach clenched. She knew Maddie didn’t mean it that way. Her city-raised sister was not accustomed to the hard knocks and plain bad luck of ranch life. How could Cait make her understand?

  “There was nothing a vet could have done. The bull was in excruciating pain. His penis had been split open by the barbed wire. I worked at a vet clinic in college and I know even a prize bull would have been put down.”

  “How did you do it?” Maddie shivered in her chair.

  “I was shaking so badly I didn’t know if I could hold the rifle steady, but somehow I managed. No way was I going to back down in front of Harland and his boys. But most of all I could see how much pain Boss was in, and it was up to me to end his misery.”

  “I could never have done it.”

  “It’s amazing what you can do in a crisis.” Cait reached down and pulled off a boot. Her feet were beginning to hurt, along with her backside and every other part of her. She placed both boots to the side. “I’m dog tired, and I need a bath to wash away the trauma of this day. And maybe a bottle of wine.”

  “Remember the last time you drank a lot of wine,” Maddie stated with an impish grin.

  “Yeah.” She closed her eyes briefly as she recalled the heady feeling of kissing Judd. Today she’d wanted to do the same thing. He was understanding, compassionate—just like the man she knew he was under all that male-superiority rhetoric.

  “What did y’all do with Boss?”

  “When Coop got back from hauling the calves to auction, we took a tractor and buried him beneath a cottonwood on Crooked Creek. We don’t usually bury an animal, but Boss’s body was probably riddled with infection, and I thought it best. He can see his herd from a very shady spot.”

  “Ranching is hard work,” Maddie remarked.

  “Yeah.” Cait looked at her sister. “And I’m going to need your help.”

  “Anything, just so it’s not gruesome. I do not do the gun thing.”

  On the outside, Maddie acted soft and fragile, but she was a Belle and would do what she had to—just as Cait had.

  “This doesn’t require a gun. Tomorrow Gil Bardwell’s crew will start loading sand and gravel from our property. I’ll be elsewhere on the ranch and I was hoping you could keep an eye on them.”

  “Okay.”

  “We’re being paid by the weight. Mr. Bardwell has a scale at his plant, and they weigh the truck empty, and then again after it’s loaded. He seems like a nice enough fellow, but somehow expecting him to be one hundred percent honest about what he hauls out seems a little too trusting. If you could take my truck and check on the operation, keep track of the number of loads you see going out, that would help. He would know we’re watching and he wouldn’t be tempted to cheat us.”

  “Now that I can handle.”

  “No bloodshed at all.” Cait removed the rubber band from her hair and wiggled her fingers through the French braid, loosening it. “Gran seemed fine at supper.”

  “I think she’s much better.”

  “She’s happy you’re here, and maybe we won’t see any more of these dressing up…” Her voice trailed away as their grandmother appeared in the doorway, leaning on the jamb.

  “‘Come up and see me sometime.’” She wore a frilly short skirt and equally revealing top, with fishnet stockings and heels. Her long white hair tumbled down her back.

  Oh, crap! Cait didn’t need this tonight.

  “Mae West, remember?” Dorie asked gleefully.

  “Let’s go upstairs, Gran.” Maddie took her arm.

  “What’s wrong with you girls? You used to love playing dress-up.”

  Cait stood with a tired sigh. “We’ve outgrown it, Gran.” And there was the little matter of the big bad wolf at their door, which made play-acting seem immature.

  “Now, that’s just sad. You’re never too old to remember being young.”

  Cait took her other arm. “Okay, Gran.” But Cait felt she might have to dig deep and use dynamite to retrieve that feeling. Tonight she felt tired and completely used up.

  As they made their way upstairs, she wondered if this would be the scenario for the rest of her life. Would she be old before her time and never remember the carefree days of her youth?

  Suddenly those feelings she’d had as she’d worn the red dress fluttered over her—she was feminine, young and desirable. She’d experienced an exhilaration that was hard to forget.

  Especially when she’d seen the look in Judd’s eyes.

  Maybe she was just tired, but tonight she would store that memory as a keepsake close to her heart.

  Heaven only knew when she’d feel that way again.

  JULY SNEAKED IN on sultry waves of suffocating heat, and Texas felt like the bowels of hell. Every day God seemed to stoke that fire a little more as the ground dried and cracked and the grasses turned a dusty brown.

  But cattle and horses had to have water and feed, so ranchers had to work. Each day seemed to grow longer and hotter as they settled into a routine. Maddie took care of Gran and the selling of the sand and gravel. She was very organized, keeping notes and numbers in a small notebook. Mr. Bardwell wasn’t going to slip a load by her.

  Cooper had fixed the transmission on Cait’s truck, so she didn’t have to worry about Maddie careening off into a ditch somewhere.

  Maddie was also getting a tan, and had gained weight from Etta’s cooking. She looked healthy again, Cait was glad to see.

  Cait worked her butt off most days and didn’t have time to think about anything beyond keeping High Five afloat. She’d received a good price for the calves, but if the county didn’t get rain soon, calf prices would drop.

  She was actually able to pay Cooper, Rufus and Etta a decent salary this month. That was a satisfying feeling. She had to keep working, though.

  Since the bull incident, she hadn’t seen Judd. As he’d said, her father had now pitted them against each other. Even in death, Dane Belle was controlling her life. And she had to wonder how long she would continue to try to prove him wrong.

  AS A BOY, Judd had worked on the ranch as a cowboy, but then
he went to college and came home with a degree. His father put him to work managing the business, and he missed cowboying. Jack Calhoun had planned his only son’s future, and Judd never wavered from that vision.

  Southern Cross was a big responsibility, yet he took it on because it was expected of him. But after talking to Caitlyn and his mother, he found life taking a detour. He now firmly believed Renee had a right to a share of Southern Cross. She had earned it in more ways than he had ever imagined. He also knew that Caitlyn had had good reason to end their engagement.

  Admitting that had taken a hefty amount of bourbon, sleepless nights and more soul searching than he was used to. Revenge faded into the background, and his goal now was to be able to live with himself, his choices and his decisions.

  After much thought, he offered his mother half of the ranch. With tears in her eyes, she declined. That he’d suggested it was all she needed, she told him, and to know her son thought that much of her—as his mother and as a woman.

  Making things right with Caitlyn wasn’t so easy. Judd couldn’t just gift her the royalties. The big expense of buying the rights was already putting a strain on Southern Cross finances. His conscience, his ever-growing nemesis, knocked on his heart daily with a reminder that he needed to talk to Caitlyn. But he kept putting it off.

  He threw himself into working on the ranch, much to Harland’s chagrin. The foreman told him repeatedly he could handle things, and Judd had to wonder why his presence made the man so antsy.

  One day, watching from a hill, he saw Caitlyn ride across the High Five. There was no mistaking her curved body. She was putting everything she had into making that ranch survive. No man could do a better job.

  He also saw the dump trucks going in and out daily. She’d found a way to make money, and he admired her determination and ingenuity. He admired her.

  Soon he had to tell her that.

  THERE WAS A HURRICANE gathering force on the Gulf Coast and rain was expected for the area. It was the best news Cait had heard in a while—not the winds, but the rain.

  She dismounted at a stock pond and realized that within a month the pond would be dry. They’d have to move the cows to another pasture or pipe water from a nearby well. Or sell. Her stomach tightened at that prospect.

  She’d make that decision later in the week. She swung back into the saddle and took a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow. Damn, it was hot! But it was late afternoon, and the force of the heat was ebbing as the giant fireball sank slowly toward the western horizon. She could almost hear a sigh from the landscape.

  Suddenly, she heard riders coming. She was close to the Southern Cross fence line, so it had to be cowboys from there. With an uneasy feeling in her gut, she turned Jaz toward the sound.

  She guided the horse out of the clearing into the woods, heading toward the fence. The fact that this might not be a good idea crossed her mind. She was a woman alone, and Harland and his cowboys weren’t all that friendly. Just like shooting Boss, though, she had to be able to handle every situation that arose.

  Beyond the thicket she could see horses and riders. She pulled up and looked closer. They were gazing at something near the fence. And they were too close for her comfort.

  What were they doing?

  She pulled the rifle from the saddle scabbard, clicked off the safety and rode forward. Stopping about forty feet away, she took in the situation. A dead Southern Cross Brahman lay right at the fence. A newborn calf had somehow maneuvered beneath the barbed wire and was now on High Five land. It lay prone. She wasn’t sure if it was dead or alive. Cait rode closer.

  Harland and a cowboy she’d never seen before had dismounted and were inspecting the cow.

  “Miss Belle.” Harland tipped his hat and looked beyond her. “Your boy Yates not with you?”

  “What’s going on here?” His nasty remark made her edgy, but she kept it out of her voice.

  “This is none of your concern, Miss Belle.” He dragged out her name like a prisoner would a ball and chain—slow and hard.

  She pointed with the barrel of the rifle. “That calf is on my property.”

  “Why don’t you go paint your nails or something and leave this to me.”

  The cowboy laughed.

  Anger zigzagged through her. Her hand tightened on the rifle and she kept her eyes squarely on Harland. “I’m asking you one more time…what happened here?”

  Harland glanced at the cowboy on his right, and she wasn’t sure what was going to happen next. She was just grateful the fence was between them.

  “One of our pregnant heifers got out of the corral, and this is where we found her—dead. From the signs of struggle on the ground it must have been a difficult birth, and the calf slid under the fence.”

  Cait’s eyes were drawn to the trembling baby. It was alive. She also noticed something else—the calf was black, not white like the Brahman.

  As if Harland read her mind, he said, “Must be an offspring from that damn black bull of yours.”

  “Must be,” she murmured.

  “Mr. Calhoun is not going to be pleased about this. The heifer is dead and that calf is worthless. We’ll knock it in the head and be on our way.” Harland nodded to the cowboy.

  What? The mere thought of such a senseless, cruel act ricocheted through her, triggering more anger and a double dose of determination. No one was killing the calf.

  The cowhand moved forward, grabbed a fence post and was about to swing himself over when Cait pointed the rifle at him. “Cross that fence and you’re a dead man.”

  The cowboy’s boots hit the ground with a thud.

  “C’mon, Miss Belle, you’re not gonna shoot nobody.” Harland glared at her.

  “And nobody’s killing this calf.”

  “It belongs to Southern Cross.”

  “It’s on High Five and was sired by my bull.”

  Harland moved toward the fence with an evil glint in his shady eyes. “Listen, little lady, you’re interfering in something that don’t concern you, and if you value your life, you’ll turn that horse around and get the hell out of here.”

  Fear mingled with her anger, but no way would she turn tail and run.

  She nudged Jaz closer, her eyes on Harland, the gun pointed at his chest. “Want to try your luck, Harland? Go ahead and try to cross the fence.”

  His face turned beet red. “You bitch.” He glanced at the cowboy standing next to him. “Kill that calf, and I don’t care what you do to her.”

  A wicked grin spread across the cowboy’s face as he again reached for the cedar post.

  Cait leveled the gun on him. “I’m not too particular where I place this bullet. And if you think I won’t shoot, just keep on coming.”

  Once again the cowboy slid back to the ground, his hand unconsciously going to his crotch. “I’m not getting shot for a no-good calf.”

  “You bastard!” Harland shouted at him. “Saddle up, we’re getting out of here.” He grabbed his horse’s reins and swung up, his eyes on Caitlyn. “You haven’t heard the last of this. Judd Calhoun will want answers.”

  “He knows where I live.”

  She relaxed her grip on the rifle as she watched the riders disappear in a cloud of dust. In case they had a plan of circling back, she kept watching. Satisfied, she dismounted to take a closer look.

  She squatted and laid the rifle in the leaves as she looked over the animal. It was a bull calf, still covered in mucus from the birth. His coat was matted with it. The mother hadn’t had a chance to lick him dry.

  The calf made a croaking sound deep in his throat. Cait grabbed a handful of leaves and started to rub his body to clean it. The newborn shivered, but she continued, trying to evoke a fighting spirit in the animal.

  “C’mon, little one, lift your head, root around for milk. Aren’t you hungry? C’mon.”

  He didn’t move.

  She had to get him back to the barn. But how?

  Cooper and Rufus were on the other side of the ranch, a
nd if she left to go get them, she feared Harland and his boys would come back.

  A buzzard landed on the fence. Then another.

  Damn! She threw a stick at them. “Shoo,” she yelled. They flew away, but she knew the vultures would be back, with more of their friends.

  She stood and surveyed the situation. If she was a man, she could just lift the calf onto Jaz and ride for home. But she didn’t have that much upper body strength. Her mind was as sharp as any man’s, though, and she could figure this out.

  Jaz was the solution.

  She whistled and the horse trotted forward. “Okay, girl.” She stroked her face. “I need your help.” She pulled on the reins to bring her to her knees.

  It didn’t work. Jaz threw up her head and backed away.

  Damn it! Whiskey Red would have knelt in a heartbeat. But Red didn’t belong to her anymore.

  She took the reins again. “Jaz, I can only get the calf on your back if you kneel down. C’mon, girl, you can do it.” With her booted toe, Cait tapped the back of Jaz’s knee. “Down, girl, down.”

  She kept resisting. Cait kept pushing.

  Finally, to her surprise, Jaz’s front knees buckled and she went to the ground. “Good girl, good girl. Stay. Don’t move. Don’t move.” She had to hurry. Jaz wouldn’t stay in that position long.

  Wrapping both arms around the calf’s body, she tried to stand up, and fell back on her butt. Damn. The newborn weighed more than she had expected. Okay. She got back to her feet, determined to save this calf. It would be her redemption for having to shoot Boss.

  This time she counted to three, then lifted with her knees and half dragged, half carried the calf to Jaz. Once again she took a deep breath and hoisted with all her strength. The front legs slid across Jaz’s withers and Cait pushed until the calf was draped in front of the saddle. She could get him to the barn like this.

  Slowly holding the calf secure, she prompted Jaz to rise. Then she slid her rifle into the scabbard and quickly swung into the saddle, gripping him with one hand.