Linda Lael - Cowboy Country

“No,” he replied smoothly, “I don’t know what time it is, and if I did, I probably wouldn’t give a rat’s ass anyway.”

Conner glowered at him, hard, but when it came right down to it, he couldn’t sustain his bad humor. Hoarsely, and entirely against his stubborn Creed will, Conner laughed.

Brody grinned and slapped his brother on the shoulder. “That’s better,” he said. “You’re going to be somebody’s daddy one day soon, little brother, and that means you’ve got to stop stressing out about everything. What good will you be to that kid if you keel over from a heart attack?”

Conner shook his head, took his hat off and then plunked it back in place again. Shoved out a loud sigh. “You’re impossible,” he finally said.

“So they tell me,” Brody replied lightly. “What’s on the schedule today, boss?”

Conner let the word boss pass without comment and arched one eyebrow. “The usual. There are strays to round up, calves, mostly. Davis spotted half a dozen of them down by the river, but he didn’t go after them because that gelding of his threw a shoe, and he had to head home to fetch another horse.”

“We running low on horses these days?” Brody asked, with a pointed glance at the barn, and the surrounding corral and pasture area. He counted eight cayuses right there in plain sight.

“You know Davis,” Conner said. “He wants to ride the roan, and it’s up at his place, in the pasture. He’s pigheaded and set in his ways, our uncle.”

Brody grinned. “You’d think he was a Creed or something,” he said.

Conner laughed again, started back toward the barn. “Let’s ride, cowboy,” he replied. “Calves aren’t known for their intelligence, and we’ll have a hassle on our hands if any of them take a tumble into the river and get swept off by the currents.”

The possibility was real enough; they’d lost plenty of cattle, a few horses and a handful of people to the falls. The plunge was better than a hundred feet, and there were boulders directly below, in the white water.

This probably explained Conner’s sour mood earlier, during that phone call.

Brody and Conner saddled their horses at the same pace, with the same motions, and when they rode out, they were side by side.

Barney and Valentino kept up.

Brody enjoyed that ride, enjoyed being with Conner, on horseback, and out in the open air.

But once the brothers reached the ridge overlooking the river, where a narrow trail ribboned off the dirt road and down the steep side-hill to the stony bank, the fun was over.

Five yearling calves bawled in loud dismay at edge, and a sixth was already in the drink, struggling in vain to regain its footing and get back to shore.

“How’s this horse in the water?” Brody asked Conner, with a nod to his own mount, resettling his hat as he spoke.

“He’s good,” Conner said, with grave reluctance. “Brody, maybe you oughtn’t to—”

But Brody cut him off with a whooping “Yee-haw” and headed straight down that hill, Snowy-River style, unfastening the leather strap that secured his coiled rope as he went.

Conner yelled a curse after him and followed.

Having gotten a head start, and with the trail barely wide enough for one horse, forget two, Brody reached the riverside first. He and the gelding he’d saddled back at the main barn splashed into the water at top speed.

Back in his rodeo days, Brody’s event had been bronc riding, but he was a fair roper, as well. He looped that lariat high over his head, shot a wordless prayer heavenward and flung.

The rope settled around the calf in a wide circle of hemp, and Brody took up the slack. The yearling beef bawled again and paddled furiously, being too stupid to know he’d already been helped.

The current was strong, though, and it was work, for man and horse, hauling that noisy critter back to the riverbank.

Conner was mainly dry, except for a few splashes on his shirt and the legs of his jeans, and he’d corralled the other calves into a loud bunch, his well-trained cow pony expert at keeping the animals together.

Brody, of course, was soaked, but he laughed as he brought that calf out of the water, out of sheer jubilation.

“Looks to me like your horse is doing all the work,” he called to Conner, swinging down from the saddle to grab hold of the rope and pull that calf along.

“You damn fool,” Conner retorted, messing with his hat while that pony danced back and forth, containing the calves in a prescribed area, “you’ve been away from this ranch—and this river—for too long to go taking chances like that!”

Brody grinned, removed the lasso from around the calf’s neck and prodded it toward the herd.

The poor critter didn’t need much persuading and, for a bit, the cacophony got louder, while the baleful tale was told.

This time, Conner was in the lead as they drove that pitiful little herd back up the trail to high ground. Valentino and Barney waited up top, their hides dry and their tails wagging.

It just went to show, Brody figured, that they were the smart ones in this bunch.

“What is it with you and rivers, anyhow?” Conner grumbled, as they walked their horses slowly along the dirt road curving along the edge of the ridge.

Brody sighed, took off his hat and wrung the water out of it, leaving it a little worse for wear. “First you bitch because I wasn’t here at the crack of dawn, punching cattle. Then, when I get a little wet pulling one out of a river, you complain about that. Damned if I know what, if anything, would make you happy.”

Conner shook his head. “You always were a grandstander,” he accused, though not with much rancor.

“Oh, hell,” Brody groused back, “you’ve just got your tail in a twist because you wanted to show off your roping skills.”

Conner let loose with a slow grin. “I can outrope, outshoot and outwrestle you any day of the week,” he said, “and you know it.”

Brody laughed at that. His clothes felt icy against his skin, and his boots were full of water—again. At this rate, he’d need a new pair every payday. “Keep telling yourself that, little brother, if it’ll make you feel better.”

“You could have roped that calf from the bank,” Conner pointed out, almost grudgingly, after tugging his hat brim down low over his eyes because they were riding straight into the sun. “Instead, you risked your life—and the life of a perfectly good horse—to pull a John Wayne.”

“I was safe the whole time,” Brody replied, “and so was this horse. It was the calf that was in a fix, and I got him out of it. Seems like you ought to be glad about that, in place of griping like some old lady whose just found muddy footprints on her carpet.”

Conner’s jaw tightened and he looked straight ahead, as though herding six yearling calves along a country road required any real degree of concentration. When he did speak up, Conner caught Brody off-guard, as he had a way of doing.

“I reckon Carolyn’s out to find a husband,” he said, with a hint of a smirk lurking in his tone. “And she’s not too picky about her choice, as long as she doesn’t get you.”

The words went right through Brody’s defenses, as they’d no doubt been meant to do. Heat surged up his neck, and he glared over at Conner. The two dogs were traveling between them now, both of them panting but otherwise unfazed by the morning’s adventure.

“If you’re looking for a fight, little brother, you’ve found one,” Brody said. “As far as I’m concerned, we can get down off these horses right now and settle this discussion in the middle of the road.”

Conner smiled without looking at Brody and rode blithely on. The main part of the herd was up ahead, grazing on spring grass.