After she freshens up, we take her outside to get a close-up view of the land.
The ranch spreads out around us in gentle green waves. Sturdy fencing lines the pastures, and the big red barn stands proudly near the corral. A couple of ranch hands are working near the equipment shed. I introduce her to Hank and Riley, and they tip their hats politely, curious but respectful.
Hank keeps his questions to himself, which I appreciate.Riley gives Janey a friendly nod, then goes right back to checking a hydraulic line on the tractor.
We walk her through the barn, where she meets the horses. When we reach the last stall, I stop.
“This is Mabel,” I say, nodding at the big, gentle sorrel mare who pokes her head out with soft curiosity. “She’s older, sweet as pie, and about as bombproof as they come. Thought she might suit you.”
Janey’s face lights up as she lets Mabel sniff her hand. “She’s lovely.”
Mason grins. “We figured we’d saddle up and show you a bit more of the land if you’re feeling up to it.”
“Yeah. That sounds great.”
We ride out together with Janey on Mabel, Mason on his big bay, Bandit, and me on my gray gelding I named Storm. The air feels fresh, and the land looks good this time of year. We keep the pace easy, letting Janey settle into the saddle.
At first, she’s quiet. She takes in the low hills, the cattle grazing near the creek, and the old oak standing alone at the rise. Every now and then, her hand drops to Mabel’s neck to pat and caress, and the mare flicks an ear back like she’s listening.
About twenty minutes in, we spot one of our older cows standing apart from the herd. She’s clearly in distress, her sides heaving, straining hard with a calf halfway born and stuck.
Janey doesn’t hesitate, sliding from the horse in one smooth motion and hooking the reins over a fence post. The uncertainty that’s been clouding her expression disappears so quickly it almost steals my breath. One second, she’s a woman trying to find her place in a shifting world. The next, she’s all focus and instinct.
She moves straight toward the cow with calm confidence.
“Brookes, hold her head,” she says, already assessing the situation. “Mason, go back to my car and get my vet bag. The black one in the trunk. Quickly.”
Mason spins his horse and gallops away.
I move in to help, murmuring soothing words to the laboring cow while Janey works with quiet efficiency. Her voice is calm as she talks to the animal. When Mason returns at a run with her bag, she pulls on gloves, lubes up, and carefully repositions the calf.
I watch her in quiet awe.
With pure confidence and competence, she guides the calf through the birth canal. A few minutes later, a wet, wobbly little heifer slides onto the grass and lets out her first shaky cry. The mother begins cleaning the newborn, lowing softly.
Janey steps back, stripping off her gloves. There’s a small, satisfied smile on her face despite the mess on her clothes and arms.
“Nice work, Doc,” I say, unable to hide the admiration in my voice.
I might have handled it. Maybe Mason would’ve, too. We’ve had to learn to deal with the less complicated issues. But not with the professionalism that Janey showed. She has such a gentle way with animals that makes them calm and easy to manage.
She looks over at me, breathless and flushed, with loose strands of hair stuck to her cheek and sunlight catching in her eyes.
“Thanks,” she says.
Mason stands there holding her bag, staring at her withnew eyes.
I know the feeling.
She really is something.
Watching her today, all calm, capable, and completely in her element, makes one thing crystal clear. Having Janey here permanently wouldn’t only be good for her and the baby. It wouldn’t just make this house less empty or give Mason and me more to protect besides land and livestock and old family promises. It would be damn good for us too.
This isn’t about how much she needs us, but how much we already need her.
Chapter 12
Janey
