Winds of Wyoming (A Kate Neilson Novel)

by Lyles, Rebecca Carey

  He smirked. “It’s a she. Go ahead. That’ll help get her used to humans.” He got into the truck. “Better have Mom make some phone calls.”

  She stepped onto the running board for a better reach. The calf ogled her, bug-eyed, and cried even louder. She touched its leg, which made it tremble and twitch. She moved to the other side of the truck bed, where it couldn’t see her, and gently rubbed its side. This time, the calf didn’t react as violently to her touch.

  She stroked its soft, rust-colored fur. “You’re going to be okay, little girl. We’ll get you some food.” The dusty-animal smell made her sneeze, but she muffled the sound in the crook of her elbow, for the calf’s sake.

  Ignoring Clint’s amused expression, she listened to Mike radio his mom. Moments later, Laura radioed back to say the department had a deputy on duty not far from the ranch who’d be there pronto. Mike told her that he and Clint would wait for the deputy and she would drive the calf to the barn.

  Kate tried not to react at the mention of an officer. She had nothing to hide, but with Ramsey in the area spreading rumors about her, she couldn’t be too cautious. “Should I drive the calf up there now? She must be really hungry.”

  “First, I’ll help you get a feel for the gears. This truck has its touchy spots.” Mike stepped out of the cab, and Kate crawled inside.

  He got in beside her, leaving the passenger door open. “Push the clutch in with your foot and grab the gearshift.”

  She could barely touch the clutch with her toe. “This cab is a bit bigger than my Honda.”

  He showed her how to move the seat forward.

  She pressed the clutch and clasped the gearshift. He covered her hand with his.

  Again, her insides quavered, despite the distraction of the pain in her palm.

  “It’s probably the same pattern as your car. I’ll move you through it, beginning at first gear. Just hold the clutch solid and ride through the stubborn cogs.”

  He pulled the knob toward them. Their arms moved together from first to second, second to third, third to fourth, and then reverse. Kate tried hard to concentrate, but his hand cradling hers made it hard for her to focus.

  Mike sat back. “Now you try it.”

  She felt her cheeks grow warm. Even though the pattern was similar, it felt different. Or maybe it was because he unsettled her. “Could we go through that one more time?”

  With all the will power she could muster, she followed his lead and engaged each gear without grinding.

  “Great.” He released her hand. “You’re on your own. See you at the ranch.” He started to get out, but stopped. “I’d better show you how to operate the radio, in case the calf gives you trouble … or you get a flat tire.”

  She tried not to notice the happy flicker in her heart when he leaned close again. After he explained the CB and was about to get out of the truck, she touched his arm. “I have a question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Do you think it would be all right—” She looked away. “This is kind of silly.”

  “Why don’t you let me be the judge?”

  She rubbed her fingertip over the hard rim of the steering wheel. “I was wondering if it would be okay to name the calf Trudy, after my dog, because of the reddish fur.”

  His smile was gentle. “That’s fine with me, except …”

  She waited.

  “Except that baby bison mature quickly. No matter how much they’re around humans, they can never be truly tamed. In a few short months, that little calf will become big and dangerous. I’d hate for you to get hurt or become attached to her then discover she’s not much of a pet.”

  “That’s really kind of you.” It was hard to breathe with him so close. “I understand she’ll eventually have to be returned to the herd to eat grass or hay or whatever buffalo eat.”

  The calf moaned, even louder than before.

  He laughed. “Shouldn’t have mentioned food.” He stepped out and closed the door. Before she started the engine, he rested his forearm on the window frame. “Mom is an old hand at bottle feeding, whether it’s puppies or kittens or colts or calves. And she names them all. Even if I objected to naming this one, she’d overrule me, so go for it.”

  Kate drove down the hill in first gear to keep from jostling the calf. Mike was considerate and caring. Tara seemed wrong for him. But she didn’t know either person very well. At the bottom of the hill, she carefully edged the truck onto the road one wheel at a time and turned toward the ranch headquarters.

  Hearing no complaints from the calf, she shifted gears and picked up speed. Then there was Clint. She grinned, thinking of the ranch foreman’s quick, easy smile and his crazy sense of humor. She navigated a mud hole. It had been a long time since she’d met a considerate man. But she couldn’t fall for every decent guy she encountered outside prison gates.

  ***

  Mike rode with Clint down to the road to wait for the deputy. When they got out of the truck, Clint dropped the tailgate and sat on it. Mike stood. Hands in his pockets, he stared at the herd. “Remember, Clint, when I told you I wanted to start selling some of the cows for breeding stock and others for meat, hides, skulls and horns?”

  Clint nodded.

  “And that we’re offering guests an opportunity to shoot cows this summer, for a price?”

  “Yeah.”

  Mike kicked a pine cone. That was the plan, if he could stomach it. He’d hunted with his dad for years and shot his share of antelope, deer and elk—even a moose. But somehow that was different than watching guests kill animals he’d tended.

  He looked up. “To be honest, Clint, I hate to do it, but the hunts will be a big boost to the ranch’s income and list of offerings—another enticement for tourists to choose the WP as their vacation destination.”

  Sheesh, he sounded like a brochure. But increasing the income from the herd would prove to his mom and to himself that bison had been a wise investment of ranch money. Unlike some ranches, theirs broke even or made a small profit every year. Even so, buffalo hunts had the potential to create a nest egg for the lean years. Maybe even his mom’s retirement.

  “You told me about the ad.” Cliff folded his arms. “Got any takers yet?”

  “Not yet. But what if whoever shot that cow returns to shoot another one? And another? And what if dozens of people decide to take us up on our offer?” He exhaled. “Maybe I’m getting the cart before the horse, but I’m wondering if we’ll have a herd left by September.” He groaned. “Then there’s hunting season …”

  ***

  Hunkered over a beer in the Wild Bunch Saloon, Jerry Ramsey sucked on a cigarette and gazed at the bear head mounted above the next booth. After he’d posted bail and retrieved his truck keys, he’d driven directly from Copperville to Encampment. Even though he’d only been in Copperville four days, he couldn’t stand the redneck town a minute longer. The sooner he got Neilson back to civilization, the better. But his court date was seven weeks away, thanks to a judge who was supposedly recuperating from surgery. Probably brain surgery, if he was as stupid as the police chief.

  He clenched his jaw, bile rising in his throat at the memory of Rhoades’ mockery after he’d told him his officers manhandled him in the bar. When the chief finally stopped laughing, he’d leaned forward, hands clasped on his desktop. “Tell that to the judge, Ramsey. We’ve got witnesses who say you did all the damage—to the bar and to yourself—including thumping your ugly mug on the corner of the table you broke. After you assaulted the barmaid.”

  Ramsey downed a long swig of the beer. The redhead didn’t see it that way. Maybe he should get a lawyer who’d ask her to be a defense witness. She’d be good. Real good.

  The chief had told him to stick around. “We like to keep our eyes on losers, including former correctional officers fired for misconduct.” He’d then proceeded to open a desk drawer and pull out a .45 pistol. “Good thing you have a concealed carry permit for this piece. Otherwise, you’d be facing federal charg
es for crossing state lines with it.” He handed the gun to Ramsey but held tight when he tried to take it. “One false move, and you’ll never see this again. Get my drift?”

  Ramsey slammed the mug onto the table and glared at the bear. Things weren’t going the way he’d planned. The cops were on his case, and Neilson could slip through his fingers if he wasn’t careful. Maybe he’d give that Sharon or Taron, or whatever her name was, a call.

  He tracked a lone car as it passed by the front window of the saloon. He wouldn’t be in this mess if he’d taken Neilson when he had the chance. He should nab her now and drive to Mexico, where Rhoades and his breed couldn’t touch them. But he didn’t want to be stuck in a foreign country with a bunch of funny-talking dimwits the rest of his life.

  Plus, he had to be careful with Neilson. She had a nasty streak. Good thing he’d packed a couple vials of the psychiatric drugs they’d used at Patterson to control violent inmates. Could come in handy … He frowned. Unless the cops stole them. He touched a drop of beer that had splattered onto the table and licked the finger. He’d have to check the secret compartment he’d welded into the toolbox.

  Raising his empty bottle, he caught the attention of the bartender, who was visiting with a barmaid behind the massive antique bar. The man motioned toward Ramsey, and the young woman walked over to his table. She wore denim shorts and a tee-shirt with “Wild Bunch Saloon” printed above a black-and-white tintype of five men wearing bowler hats.

  She’d already told him the men were some of the most famous outlaws in the days when the West was still wild, members of Butch Cassidy’s Wild Bunch gang. Cassidy, sporting a mustache above a slight smirk, was pictured alone on the back. Ramsey wished he’d known him. Butch Cassidy was his kind of man.

  “Can I get you another drink? Some hot wings?”

  Through the smoke rising from his ashtray, he looked the barmaid up and down. Ignoring the look of distaste on her face, he dug money from his shirt pocket. “Two more of the same.”

  She swiveled and strode back to the bar.

  Ramsey gawked at her backside. “I hate to see you go, baby,” he muttered. “But I love to watch you leave.” He belched and tapped his cigarette ashes into the aluminum ashtray. Encampment had some cabins for rent. Should he stay there? Or should he get a room at the motel in Copperville, no matter how much he despised the hick town?

  Encampment was twenty-five winding mountain miles from the Whispering Pines. Copperville was eighteen. Made sense to be close enough to keep an eye on Neilson. Even if he’d have to drive to Encampment for a drink. He wasn’t about to waste any more money at Bogie’s Bar.

  He chewed at a hangnail. It was her fault he got arrested. She’d made his life difficult, again—and expensive, when things could have gone smoothly, but she would pay for the trouble she’d caused him. And no matter how much she groveled and begged, he wouldn’t marry her and give her his name or a honeymoon in Yellowstone Park. They’d live together. That’s all.

  Too bad, really. He took a long drag on the cigarette. He’d been looking forward to shooting a wolf or a bear, maybe even another stand-there-looking-stupid buffalo.

  Chapter Ten

  KATE TIGHTENED HER GRIP on the over-sized bottle. Thank God her hands were getting better. She grinned at the calf. “You have quite the suction power, little girl. We weren’t sure you’d get the hang of it.”

  The calf grunted but didn’t let go or shift its gaze from Kate’s face.

  Kate thought about how much her animal-loving friend, Amy, would enjoy Trudy. She’d phoned Amy and Aunt Mary the night before. They were both so pleased with her description of ranch life, she couldn’t bring herself to mention the confrontations with Ramsey. Besides, as far as she knew, he was in jail.

  A shadow fell across the corral. She looked up.

  The Hispanic teen was eyeing her, an uncertain expression on his face.

  “Hi.” She smiled. “I’m Kate. What’s your name?”

  “Manuel. Manuel Ortega.” The youth placed his elbows on the top rail. “What’s in the bottle? Cow’s milk?”

  “Mrs. D says this is goat milk, which is better for bison calves than beef-cow milk. Once a day, we add liquid vitamins and minerals, plus a raw egg.”

  “Wow. It’s hard to believe goat milk is better than cow’s milk for a buffalo calf.” His accent was barely discernible. “When my dad, who’s a sheepherder, nurses orphan lambs, he sometimes uses goat milk. But I’m surprised it works for bison.”

  “Surprised me, too. Trudy acted a little disappointed at first, and she wasn’t sure what to do with a rubber nipple, but now she loves it.”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Trudy? Is that the calf’s name?”

  Clint walked up to lean next to Manuel on the top railing.

  Kate was glad to see him treat Manuel kindly, even though others ignored him.

  He elbowed Manuel. “Can you imagine how humiliated that calf will be when the herd finds out she’s named Trudy?”

  Manuel laughed.

  Kate put her hand on her waist. “She has to have a name.”

  “Maybe, but it should be something rugged and tough. This is a ranch, you know.”

  “This is a female bison, you know. We can’t call her John Wayne or Clint Eastwood. Right, Manuel?”

  Manuel raised his hands. “I’m staying out of this one.”

  Clint placed one boot on the bottom rail. “How’s the calf doing?”

  “She eats constantly.” Kate grabbed a rag from her back pocket and dabbed at the milk that dribbled down the calf’s chin. “Hungry all the time, but Laura says it’s normal for buffalo calves to nurse frequently.”

  He slapped the railing. “I don’t believe what I just saw. You’re spoiling her.”

  “I am not. If Trudy’s mother were alive, I’m sure she’d lick her chin for her.”

  Clint rolled his eyes and turned to Manuel. “How much you want to bet Miss Trudy will be wearing a bib by tomorrow morning?”

  The calf released the nipple with a loud pop.

  Kate fell backward into the straw.

  Clint jumped the railing to help her to her feet.

  The calf leaped away, grunting and bawling.

  Kate crouched, holding her hands out to the frightened calf. “It’s okay, baby. Come to Mama.”

  Clint snickered. “Mama? You’re way too pretty to be a bison mama.” He opened the corral gate. “See you later.”

  Embarrassed, Kate pulled the calf close. I was a real mama once, before I aborted my baby. She blinked. Where did that come from? She’d never before thought of herself as a mother—or the fetus as a baby.

  She looked at Manuel. “Do you think Trudy should have a different name?”

  But Manuel, who was watching Trisha and Bethany stroll toward them, turned away. “Better get busy.” He disappeared around the side of the barn.

  Kate stood as the girls came closer. “Hi, Trisha. Good morning, Bethany.”

  “Hey, Kate.” Trisha waved at Trudy through the railing. “We came to see the baby buffalo. He’s so cute.”

  Kate laughed. “Mike says he’s a she. I named her Trudy.”

  “That’s a great name.” Bethany smiled her approval. “Can we pet her?”

  Kate opened the gate for the girls. She’d have to tell Clint at least one person liked the name. “Sure, come on in. But move slowly. She’s skittish.”

  Trudy peeked at them from behind Kate’s legs.

  “What a silly buffalo.” Trisha held her hand out for the calf to sniff.

  Trudy stretched her neck toward Trisha, wiggling her nose and sniffing—until Tramp, who’d run up to the corral and slipped between the rails, barked. The bison gave a little grunt and a hop and trotted toward the dog.

  Trisha laughed. “Upstaged by a dog.”

  The three humans stepped out of the corral.

  Trudy lowered her head as if to butt Tramp. Tramp sat on his haunches and barked again. The calf sprang back. They raced round
and round the corral, Tramp yipping and Trudy grunting, until the calf wheeled to face the dog, her head lowered. Then they started the routine all over, sending dust and straw particles into the air.

  Kate sneezed.

  “Bless you.” Three voices chorused the blessing, one of them male.

  Kate’s heart soared when Mike appeared next to her.

  “How’s the nursemaid this morning?”

  She couldn’t help but notice how his half grin creased his cheek. “Doing good.” She motioned toward the frolicking animals. “We’re enjoying the show.”

  “Yeah, those two sure like playing together, but I need to cut short the fun.” He rapped the railing. “Tramp, time to go.”

  The dog glanced at Mike but didn’t stop chasing his playmate.

  Mike called his name again. This time, he added one more word. “Doghouse.”

  Tail between his legs, Tramp turned his back on the disappointed calf and crept out of the corral.

  Kate laughed. “I take it Tramp hasn’t forgotten his time in the kennel.”

  Bethany leaned on the railing. “Did your dog do something bad?”

  Tramp sat down beside his master, his tongue lolling from the side of his mouth.

  Mike patted his dog’s head. “Good boy.” He straightened. “Tramp tangled with another calf. I’ll tell you about it sometime. Right now, I have to go get set up for branding.”

  Kate snickered. “That’s what he told me, too. Someday we might hear the story.”

  “Better get going. I’ll see you ladies later.” He winked at Kate and aimed for the barn, Tramp at his side.

  Kate watched them go. Clint was fun, but Mike was the one who … She couldn’t contain the grin. He was one who made her heart flutter like a flag in a flurry, as Aunt Mary would say.

  “Ooh, Kate.” Trisha gave her a knowing look. “I saw that wink.”

  She felt her face flush. “He’s a nice guy.”

  Bethany chimed in. “Yeah, real nice guy, especially to—”

  Trisha interrupted. “Speaking of guys, we saw you talking to Manuel. You’d better be careful. He’s, like, bad news.”