by Floyd, Susan
“Hi.” He backed away, like a cat burglar caught in the act. “Good night, Clem.” He turned and walked out of the room as quickly as he could.
THE NEXT MORNING, Dexter was all business, and Clem didn’t have time to be disappointed because once they got to the plateau Dexter split them up into sets of threes, one group to bring the cattle down the creek to the plateau and the other to take the cattle from the plateau to the ranch pasture. However, she couldn’t stop the pleasure that spread through her when she thought of Dexter’s stolen kiss.
“We’re two men short today, so everyone’s got to do their jobs,” Dexter directed. “Randy, take Willie and Joe. Ryan and I’ll take Clem to get the cattle.”
At least she’d ended up on his team.
Forty minutes later, they rode past the canyon, and Clem was relieved to find that most of the cows had come back to the little knoll. Ryan checked in the canyon, but no cows had stayed in there.
The cows seemed to remember what had happened the last time humans had entered the knoll, because they started to scatter. A group of twenty bolted toward the mountains, but the dogs went to work, cutting them off and leaving the creek as the only other avenue of escape. Clem was posted in front of the canyon opening and—with a lot of help from Archie—managed to keep the cows from veering inside. With growing admiration, Clem watched Dexter and Ryan handle the cows, working in tandem as if they were linked telepathically.
“Come on, Clem, get the tail end,” Dexter called to her, and she and Archie moved into position. Together they forced the stragglers to catch up with the little herd.
As the day wore on, it became apparent the new plan was a success. But it was slow work on both ends. Randy and the hands were having just as difficult a time getting their groups from the pasture to the ranch.
“It’s like they don’t have an ounce of herding instinct among them,” Randy said, frustrated. “They all just want to go in their own direction. Even the dogs are beat.”
The dogs did look worn-out. Every chance they got, they headed for the shade to rest.
“We better call it a day,” Ryan said. “The horses are tired, too.”
“But we’ve only moved about forty cows,” Dexter said.
Randy shook his head. “I don’t want to risk the dogs. They’re the only things keeping the cows in line. We need more men.”
“I can call this afternoon and see if I can round up some more,” Clem volunteered.
Ryan looked at Dexter. “That might be for the best.”
Dexter looked up at the sun. “I hate to lose that much daylight and it feels like it’s going to rain.”
“That would be bad,” Randy commented.
If they were having this much trouble getting the cows through the creek bed when it was just a trickle, how hard was it going to be when the water was waist deep?
The atmosphere was somber when they packed it up for the day. As soon as they got back, Clem got on the phone, following up old leads, looking for extra men. By dinnertime, she’d thought she found six more. However, despite the extra men, the next few days were filled with more disappointments than successes. The cows had taken to hiding, so the cowboys actually had to wrangle them out one by one. The plan of moving them in groups of twenty dwindled to groups of ten, then dropped to five, then one.
“One damn cow at a time,” Randy swore. “It’s taking six guys to get one cow out. Where the hell are they?”
The jubilation Clem had on the first day was completely gone. Now it was just plain hard work. Dexter wrenched his shoulder. Ryan got nicked in the thigh by a struggling cow. Shuckabur, Randy’s favorite horse, sprained an ankle. During their few down times, Clem ran ice bags to the bunkhouse and the stables.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, on Thursday it started to rain.
Clem first felt the splatter on her face.
“No,” she protested. They’d been working for six days straight and had only made it through about a third of the four hundred.
“Let’s move faster. I think we can get the next ones through,” Randy called.
“We’ll have to get as many cows out as possible before that creek rises. After that, it’ll be time to switch to plan B,” Ryan answered.
“Which is?” Clem was encouraged that Ryan had a plan B.
“Don’t know yet.” He shot her a tired smile.
“I’m really hating this,” Dexter commented two hours later, as they wrestled a cow into the pen.
Randy, Ryan and the hands took the opportunity for a short coffee break. “We should shoot them,” Clem said dully. “I’m so tired that I could just lie down and sleep.”
“You aren’t going to shoot them.” Dexter’s face was dark. “It’s personal now. I’m not going to be defeated by a few cows.”
“A few big cows,” Clem corrected him.
“A few big cows,” he admitted with a small smile. “You could stay home and rest. No one would blame you. We’re more used to this.”
Clem shook her head stubbornly. “If you guys are here, then I’m going to be right with you.”
“Good for you. We need you.” He clasped his hand on her shoulder.
She felt a glow of pride from the steady pressure of his hand.
“Okay, enough of a rest. It’s back to the mine,” Dexter called.
A collective groan went up as everyone rose from their perches around a small campfire, tossing the remains of their coffee onto the ground. Ryan kicked the fire out.
By late afternoon, the drizzle had turned into a steady downpour. The path was slippery and visibility next to nothing.
“We’ve got to call this off.” Ryan rode up to Dexter. “It’s getting too bad. I don’t think we’ll be able to work again until the storm passes.”
Dexter swore.
“It’s probably for the best,” Clem said. “We can all use the rest. Your shoulder surely could use a day off. We’ve been working really hard.”
“And have hardly made a dent.”
Clem smiled. “I have 123 more cows than I had before.”
“And I’m going to get you all six hundred if it kills me,” Dexter promised through clenched teeth. He rode Calisto to the trailer and unsaddled her with determined movements.
Clem stared after him, unable to keep the worry from her face.
“He’s like that when he’s working,” Ryan assured her. “He hates when things don’t go as planned.”
THE RANCH HOUSE WAS FILLED with restless tension as the men waited out the storm. They were supposed to be resting, but they pored over the maps, pacing up and down the living room, throwing ideas around.
Clem sat at her father’s desk and tried to concentrate on the forms she was supposed to be filling out. But her eyes and her mind kept wandering to Dexter. She watched him stare out the window, as if it was the rain’s fault that he was forced indoors.
And she knew that if it weren’t for Ryan, they’d be out in the storm working.
Early Sunday morning they were back at the plateau as soon as the rain began to taper off. While the cowboys hadn’t appreciated the time off, the dogs and horses sure did. They had an energy and vigor that had been seriously lacking during the days before the rain. Shuckabur was back in full form, not even favoring the sprained ankle. Archie was full of pep, too. Clem could barely hold him, he was so anxious to get to work.
The creek, however, had swollen to twice its previous size. Clem didn’t know how they were going to convince anything, much less a feral cow, to plunge into it. But Dexter and Randy didn’t seem to have any qualms. Together, they roped the first cow and dragged it toward the creek.
“Is it my imagination, or are these suckers getting bigger?” Ryan asked her.
“I was just thinking the same thing. Look at the horn spread.”
“And the bigger they get, the less cooperative they are.”
Clem sighed. “Poison?”
Ryan shook his head. “Naw. We’ll get ’em out. It looks bad, but
that’s just because of the weather. Once everything dries up, this will go a lot faster.” He sounded hopeful, but Clem knew differently.
As the days turned into weeks, September into late October, it didn’t seem to matter how much they discussed alternatives. Each conversation ended with the dismal conclusion that only sheer persistence would win this particular fight. They all agreed that whichever side blinked first would lose. Personally, Clem thought that the cows had the upper hand.
For Clem, it was the little things that frustrated her the most. They ran out of rope so they had to take a special trip to town to buy more. Their rain gear sprang leaks, so they spent an evening patching it. They all came down with head colds. But every time Clem was ready to give up, one of them told her she could do it, they could do it.
Finally, they caught a break.
The last week of October, the rain stayed away, the creek lowered, and the cows seemed to be tired of fighting. They were running out of feed and seemed anxious to make it further down the mountain where it wasn’t as cold at night.
“Wouldn’t it be nice if we found the others had wandered down to the ranch pasture?” Clem asked, her voice wistful.
“If that happens, you should buy a lottery ticket.” Dexter laughed. “The good news is we seem to be able to get them through in fives and sixes now. Maybe we took out the leaders already and these guys are ready to give up.”
Clem could only hope.
After two days of good weather, their spirits had risen, and Clem’s hope paid off when they were able to move over seventy head in an afternoon.
“We’re more than halfway,” Randy said, nodding. “I think we’ve got them licked.”
“Should we quit for the day?” Ryan squinted up at the sun. “Daylight’s running out on us.”
“One more?” Randy said. And everyone agreed.
Clem had her job down. She and Archie and two fresh dogs, started to herd two little ones toward the creek. Dexter had three and joined up with her. The cows were finally herding the way they should. A little nip on an ankle and the cows obediently trotted in the right direction.
“You want to switch places with me?” Dexter asked.
She shook her head. “We’re almost done. I’m fine.”
“Switch with me, anyway,” he ordered. “Part of the slope is eroding.”
“So you’ll fall into the ravine instead of me?” she inquired with a raised eyebrow.
“Don’t argue with me,” he said.
She nodded. She was too tired to argue. She reined in Archie and let Dexter take the side next to the eroding edge.
“Feel better?” she asked.
He didn’t say anything, just watched the cows, making sure they kept going where they were supposed to go. She looked over her shoulder, Ryan and a hand were coming up behind them with another five.
“We’d better move these along a little faster,” she said, tightening her thighs around Archie to get him move more quickly. “They’re right on our tail.”
Dexter glanced over his shoulder and then pushed Calisto into a trot.
“Come on, slowpokes,” Ryan called. “You’re holding up the train.”
Dexter had a few choice words for him.
Ryan just burst into laughter.
“Almost there,” Clem said. She could see the plateau as they turned the steep corner. But close as they were, they couldn’t let up. This last bit was the worst part of the whole trek. She pushed ahead to make sure the cows went into the portable corral rather than down the hill the way they wanted.
Dexter scooted behind a cow that had decided to stop right in the middle of the path. He nudged it forward.
It refused to move one way or another. A dog nipped its thigh. But all that did was make the cow mad. Dexter roped its horns, trying to tug the cow forward. But it stood as if its hooves were rooted in the dirt beneath it.
Clem’s throat closed as the cow began to move backward, twisting and turning in an effort to rid itself of the rope. The other cows became agitated, and in an instant, she found herself pinned to the wall. She yelped as the pressure on her leg increased. She kicked Archie’s side, and the horse bolted forward, sending two cows in different directions.
“Behind you!” Ryan hollered.
Clem watched Ryan’s herd advance quickly, not caring that Dexter and the furious cow were right in front of them. Dexter struggled as he tried to get the cow under control, but inch by inch the cow kept moving away until it was right on the edge. Then Clem realized that Dexter had made a mistake. He’d wrapped the rope around his forearm, and that meant if the cow went over, he’d go over.
CHAPTER NINE
DEXTER WAS FINALLY GETTING the upper hand. The cow bellowed at being caught, wriggling like a prize marlin, using all its weight to try to throw off the offensive rope.
What Dexter would have given for a good old-fashioned dart gun, the kind that could knock a rhino out with one shot in the shoulder.
“Right behind you!” Ryan called.
Dexter swore as he saw the advancing herd in his peripheral vision.
“Let the cow go!” Clem yelled. “Let the cow go.”
Dexter tightened his hold. He wasn’t going to let go.
WHAT WAS HE DOING? Clem felt tears of fright spring to her eyes. She was going to have to watch him die. Ryan couldn’t do anything to help. Dexter and Calisto were on their own. They worked in perfect tandem, muscles tense with the strain, but Ryan’s herd was advancing fast.
Clem watched in horror as the cow changed tactics, rather than pulling back, it charged forward, coming very close to clipping Calisto. At the last moment, the horse danced out of the way. The cow charged again, this time forcing Calisto and Dexter closer to the edge. Even though it was a small ravine, a fall from six feet could cause irreparable harm to a man and horse. Brush and hard rocks would be the only things that would break their fall. Finally an idea came to Clem. If she could distract the cow, Dexter would have a better opportunity to tie it down. Clem jabbed her heels into Archie and began to concentrate on fixing another lasso around the cow’s horns. Archie didn’t have the strength of Calisto, but he could certainly edge the cow toward the trees, away from the ravine.
It didn’t even occur to her that she might be hurt as she threw her rope, a perfect loop, and caught the horn of the cow mad enough to take everyone down.
The increased flow and volume of Dexter’s cursing indicated the level of his displeasure. Clem just smiled grimly at him, as she focused on the cow. She jerked hard on the rope, but instead of tightening, her perfect—or not so perfect, as it was turning out—loop slipped loose as Archie pulled back. At the lack of resistance, the horse stopped short. The next thing Clem knew, she was watching Dexter’s face freeze as her momentum kept her traveling backward, without the horse. She kicked her boots from the stirrups so she didn’t drag Archie down on top of her.
An object in motion stays in motion, until there’s something to stop it. Her eleventh-grade physics came back to her as she hurtled toward the ravine, the same ravine she was trying to save Dexter from. Gosh, the sky was blue, the hills green. Tuck and curl leapt into her mind before she crashed to the ground. The very hard ground.
“Oomph!”
She felt all the breath leave her body.
Everything went black, except for the stars exploding behind her eyes.
An object at rest stays at rest.
CLEM HADN’T THOUGHT being dead would hurt so damn much.
She also hadn’t figured the Grim Reaper would shake her shoulder, pat her face and curse her in such a strangled voice. She’d expected a better bedside manner.
“What the hell did you think you were trying to prove?” It was Dexter’s voice, gruff with panic. That meant she wasn’t dead.
“Clem. Wake up.”
“Can’t see.” Was that her voice, sounding as if it’d been dragged through a gravel pit?
“Open your eyes,” he ordered.
She did
as she was told, only to find his bulk blocking her view of the sky. He began to run his hands up and down her body, checking for broken bones.
Ryan skidded down the ravine, his face ragged.
“Sorry about that. Is she okay?” He knelt next to Dexter and helped him gently move her limbs.
She tried to raise her head.
A shaking hand pushed her down and placed something against her forehead.
“Don’t move until we know the extent of your injuries,” Dexter said.
“Archie?” was the only word she could gasp out.
“He’s fine. What the hell were you doing?”
Being dead would be better than hearing the disdainful reproof in his voice. Now, not only were her ribs killing her, but her ego throbbed. She tried hard to suck in some air, and found herself shaking with fear. Suck it up, Clem. Suck it up.
“Do?” She could hear herself moan, and bit back the sound, making her voice as rough as his, just so she wouldn’t cry.
“I was trying to save your ass, Scott.” Clem willed her heart to stop jerking out of her throat and the sharp pain to cease stabbing at her side. Neither paid her any mind. With the greatest effort she had ever exerted, she began to sit up, but a gentle hand on her shoulder, her very sore shoulder, effectively pinned her to the ground.
“Almost done, Clem,” Ryan said. “Just be a little more patient.”
“Don’t move,” Dexter ordered. His voice then gentled. “At least until you catch your breath.”
“I’m fine,” she protested, annoyed that her voice croaked.
“You’ve just taken a nasty spill, and you’ve got blood everywhere.” He eased the pressure from her forehead and she squinted. “Hold this,” he said, and put her hand on the handkerchief. “Where’s Randy?”
“He went to bring the truck in closer.”
Gingerly Clem tried to sit up again. This time both men just watched her. She felt around her forehead and then tried to move to her knees. Dexter’s hand was supporting her back. She welcomed his strength.
“Can you move your feet?”
She wriggled her ankles. No paralysis. That was good. Her shaking had subsided and she felt very cold. Dexter must have sensed that, because he wrapped her in his coat.