There’s not a cloud in the sky, sweat pouring down my body as I fix this section of fencing. I’m wearing my cowboy hat today. It’s better for my neck but worse for my chances of going unrecognized. Not that it matters, really. The work has been honest, and the fog is definitely clearing.
Working out in the field has given me a lot of time alone in my head. Living in Tulsa isn’t working for me. I need property, somewhere like this where I can work the land. I don’t want a place where it snows all winter, so Montana is out. Maybe in my home state or here in Texas. I’ll check in with Nash and see who his realtor is. He or she should be able to help, even if it’s putting me in touch with someone in Oklahoma.
I wrap the final piece of barbed wire around the first post several times before unrolling it, my thoughts drifting to Mallory. It’s only been eight hours since Dark & Prickly left me at those picnic tables, and the memory of her at the pond keeps surfacing. The way she sat cross-legged on that table’s surface, her braids falling forward as she sketched, completelyunaware of how the moonlight caught the curve of her neck. I grip the wire tighter. Eight hours isn’t nearly long enough to stop thinking about a woman’s throat.
And damn if I didn’t miss her at breakfast, which shouldn’t surprise me since I ate early and started with ranch projects. I want to see her so badly that a tiny piece of me wants to tell Lucinda that I quit and tell Mal everything. Thankfully, sense overrides my reckless tendencies, and my ass has stayed put out here.
I reach the end post, tying the wire and securing it to the ratchet strainer, testing the tension. I’m just about ready to staple it to each of the intermediate posts when my radio buzzes.
“Lucinda to Cam.”
“Yes, ma’am, this is Cam.”
“Can you head over to the cuddle barn? We need another hand to help out with this last group.”
“Give me ten.”
“Thanks.”
I drive the last staple home, collect my tools, and head for the barn, glad for the extra shirt in my toolbox. The barn isn’t too far, so a few minutes later, I step inside, seeing another ranch hand, Ford, and Cheyenne, the activities director.
“We’ve got about five minutes before people start showing up.” Cheyenne smiles as she lines up nursing bottles for the calf feeding.
“Thanks.”
I head over to the outdoor sink, wash up, and pull my fresh shirt over my torso a minute before the first family walks in. And damn if they aren’t cute. The mom and dad are in their mid-to-late thirties, with three kids that look to be high school, middle school, and a toddler. The way the high schooler holds the three-year-old is something that belongs on a Hallmark card.
“Mama, look!” The toddler hides her face in her big sister’s shoulder, shyly watching the calves prance around the barn. The boy, who’s maybe twelve or thirteen, heads over to one of the calves that’s sitting down.
“Look, Holly, they’re just babies. You’re older than them!” He holds out his hand so that his sister can see there’s nothing to fear. “They’re more scared of you than you are of them.” The boy sits on the ground next to a sleepy calf, who promptly puts its head in the boy’s lap and closes its eyes. The teenager squats down so her sister can pet its head, the little one’s touch soft and gentle.
As I watch the family, a sense of awareness jars me. I know without even looking that Mallory is here. I turn slowly, scanning the ranch guests who are milling in. Yep. There’s my Dark & Prickly.
She’s with her sister, as well as Bree and Izzy. Just great. I’ve done my best not to be around them because I don’t really like putting them in a tough spot if I don’t have to. But they want to see the calves, and I can’t leave.
Bree and Izzy both look at me and nod subtly as they settle on the ground next to one of the calves. The ranch provides blankets for guests to lounge on, which all four ladies sit on as they get comfortable. Mallory looks my way and catches me staring. I give her a chin tip and proceed to the family with the three-year-old, offering them a bottle for a different calf. The teen and the girl bottle-feed the calf together, oohing and awing at how hungry the little thing is.
“I used a bottle when I was a baby,” the little girl says.
“You sure did.”
They have a conversation as the parents sit on their own blanket, watching their children enjoy the babies. Part of a bachelorette group comes in, finding their way right to me. After giving them instructions and trying to find polite ways to excusemyself, a cute little calf sits on the blanket right in the middle of Mallory and company, so I grab a bottle and head over there.
“Hi, ladies.”
“Hi.”
“Would you like to feed her? You can rotate, each of you giving it a quarter of the bottle if you want. Just be careful not to tease it. You might get cow in your lap.”
I hand the bottle to Kate because she was the most excited about it, but she hands it over to Mallory with a softened grin.
“Why don’t you go first?”
Mallory takes the bottle, and the calf walks right over, opening its mouth, ready to eat. I guide Mallory’s hand to make sure the nipple is properly inserted. Her hand is warm under mine, and she doesn’t pull away, so I stay exactly one second longer than is strictly necessary before letting go. The little baby begins to eat, its little tail swishing sweetly. I make a note of which calf this is and mark it on one of the beams.
Outside, a gust of wind rattles the barn door, pushing loose hay toward one of the calves who decides to play with it.
“That’s about a fourth if y’all want to switch. If not, we have other calves to feed.”
