Claire McEwen - Return To Marker Ranch

“Yes, but did he hand you a certificate from a veterinarian? Did you have a vet look them over before you accepted them?”

“No.” He watched the doctor’s brows draw together as he surveyed the rest of the herd. About a quarter of the heifers were standing around listlessly. “I guess I should have.”

“Yup.” The vet sighed. “It’s okay, Wade. It’s a pretty common mistake.”

Dr. Hernandez wasn’t much older than him, and Wade appreciated his blunt honesty. It was what he was used to after the army. “So I messed up. What can I do to fix it?”

“It’s a respiratory illness. They probably never got their booster shots. It’s treatable. You need to separate out the sick ones and give them antibiotics. And they’re all going to need to be vaccinated. Come on over to my van and I’ll get everything ready for you.” He paused. “You know how to give them shots, don’t you?”

He’d read about how to give them shots. He knew he should confess his ignorance, but he couldn’t stand to have the doctor think he was an even bigger fool. “Yeah,” he said casually. “That’s not a problem.” But then he remembered Lori’s harsh words of advice. A rancher needed to face mistakes and fix them fast. These cattle depended on him. There was no room for pride here. “Actually, no, not really.”

“Look,” Dr. Hernandez said as he opened a box in his van. “I can show you really quick, but do you have anyone who can help you out? Maybe someone who can mentor you a bit? Cattle ranching is complicated—a lot can go wrong. And if too much goes wrong, it can be dangerous for you, for the animals and even for the consumer.”

Wade watched the doctor measure out liquid into a glass bottle. He didn’t relish folks around here knowing how little experience he had running a ranch. There was only one person he could possibly confess that to. And she’d called him a thief yesterday.

His sister had been right. He might need water, but he needed his neighbor even more. Lori was the smartest person he knew, and one of the most capable ranchers in the area as well. If he shared the water, she’d help him. She had to. He was desperate, and underneath her frustration with him, she was a generous person.

And maybe desperation was just what he needed to push him through the anxiety. To get him to finally say the things he should have already. Things like I’m sorry. And I wish I’d acted differently. “Yeah, I know someone,” he told the vet.

“Great. Have him get over here as soon as possible. You’ll need an extra hand.”

Funny how the vet immediately assumed that Wade was talking about a guy. Lori probably had to be extra tough, trying to make it in a profession so dominated by men. Which would help explain why she’d been so tough with him over the water. Though he’d also been an insensitive, scared jerk. That would probably explain it better.

He remembered, suddenly, being a kid at school. How he’d almost never had a lunch with him. How Lori had always offered to share hers. She’d fed him just about every day for years. And then he’d turned his back on her when she came to him about the water? What the hell was wrong with him? How had he started making all of his decisions out of fear?

He turned to the doctor with a new resolve. “I’ve got someone I need to apologize to. And if I do it right, I hope she’ll give me a hand around here. She’s the best rancher I know.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

JIM WALKED OUT of the barn with a cardboard shipping box and dropped it in the dirt at Lori’s feet. She stepped back as a small dust cloud rose up.

“What are these contraptions?” Jim reached down and pulled out a yellow plastic crescent, holding it gingerly between two fingers.

Lori grinned at the ranch manager. “They’re the calf weaners I was telling you about.” She grabbed one and held it up for him to see. “This part hooks into the calf’s nostrils. Then it can’t nurse.”

“Do you really think we need ’em?” Jim flexed the plastic between his gnarled fingers. “When your dad was here, we kept it simple. Cows in one pasture, calves in another. Split ’em up fast and got it over with. We didn’t need these crazy-looking nose flaps.”

Was it worth arguing? The last thing she wanted was Jim feeling like he’d been wrong all those years. “Ah, come on, Jim, they’ll look cute!”

Jim shook his head and tossed the weaner back into the box. Lori studied his weathered face. Beneath his resistance she saw all his old kindness there. He wasn’t trying to undermine her. He was just having trouble with change.

“The way you and Dad did it worked fine,” she reassured him. “But there’ve been some studies lately, proving that stress during weaning is bad for cattle. They lose weight. Calves get sick.”

Jim shuffled the heel of his boot in the dust. “I don’t know what scientists have to do with ranching.”

“With a weaner in place, a calf can’t nurse, so it can stay with its mom while it weans. That keeps it calm when it suddenly can’t drink milk. And since we won’t separate the calves from their moms until after they’re weaned, they don’t fuss nearly as much once they’re apart.”

“They’ve always gotten over it pretty quick.” He gave her a stubborn glare.

“Have they?” Lori tamped down her frustration and walked with Jim over to the fence where Dakota was tied. She pulled the strap on the mare’s cinch tight, looping the extra leather into a knot.

“The calves do a lot of bawling and pacing during weaning,” she reminded Jim gently. She untied Dakota and reached for the reins, slipping her boot into the stirrup. She was heading out to take a look at some of the weeds coming up in one of their eastern pastures. With the drought, more unwelcome plants were taking root.

Jim nodded slightly. “Well, sure, there was some of that.”

From up on her mare’s back, Lori tried one more time. “Last year Dad and I went to Reno for that seminar on calm cattle management, remember? This is the kind of stuff we learned. By making a less stressful environment for the cows and calves, we improve their well-being. And lower our workload and raise our profits.”

A snide voice interrupted their conversation. “Why don’t you just light them some nice candles and give ’em a massage?”

F off. Lori bit her lip to keep from saying it out loud. Seth Garner was such a jerk. She hadn’t realized he’d been listening in.

The ranch hand sauntered over from where he’d been loading hay into a truck. He was smiling, but his face didn’t hold the same kindness as Jim’s. She’d never liked him much, but ever since she’d taken over the ranch, Seth had been grumbling about taking orders from a woman. Lori wondered if he lay awake nights, thinking of new ways to undermine her. He certainly was inventive about it.

He glanced at his watch as if noting the lost time between his quip and her answer. Lori swallowed. Why should she be nervous? This was her ranch. She saw Jim wink at her and remembered his advice from the other day. Dish it right back.

“Don’t you have work to do?” She drew herself up extra tall in the saddle.

“I was just doing some work.” Seth leaned against the rail, folding his arms over his chest and crossing his legs casually. “Following my boss lady’s orders and loading that truck over there with hay.”

Boss lady. The words dripped with sarcasm and puddled like murky water. Lori backed Dakota up a few paces so she could see Seth’s face under his hat. She met the challenge in his eyes, but forced her voice into a tone way sweeter than she felt right now. “Well, thanks for getting that done. Now, I’m pretty sure they could use an extra hand cleaning up the floor over at the white barn. Since you’re taking the hay down there anyway, why don’t you take a shovel with you? You can stay and help them out.”