Page 78 of Slow Burn

“Where’s Bandit?”

“Austin’s out with him today.” He pats Willow on the shoulder and throws me a wink. “You’re riding with me.”

My cheeks hurt now, but I can’t stop smiling as I go over to Willow, and Beck helps me up. His hands linger for longer on my waist this time, and he gives my ass a playful smack as I throw my leg over.

He climbs up next, settling in behind me. His strong arms reach around me and grip Willow’s reins as he gives her a nudge with his thighs to start walking. I lean back slightly with the slow rocking motion of Willow beneath us, and Beck’s chest is solid and warm behind me.

“Where are we going?” I ask as he steers Willow out to the pasture, heading toward the south end of the property.

“Tate has some cattle on the other end of his land, we’re meeting him and Sutton out there. He has a calf he wants me to bring back here.”

“Why?”

Beck seemed to be very concerned over the thought of his cattle getting through the fence, sharing livestock doesn’t seem like something ranchers like to do. There’s a reason they brand them. I shudder at the thought.

“Poor little gaffer’s mom died in the flood. Tate’s property got hit bad, since it borders the river. The heifer got her leg stuck in a mud pit and injured herself real good. He only found her out there in the morning. Died from the stress of it all he figures.”

My heart clenches. “That’s awful. But what can you do for the calf?”

“I’ve got a cow who lost her calf last season. She’s never really been the same since. Sutton’s hoping the situation might help the both of them.”

Ok, Beck has officially wrapped himself around my heart.

“That’s really sweet.”

We crest a hill and spot Tate’s herd down on the other side, where a few horses with riders are off to the side. As we near the group I spot Sutton, and a man with a very chiseled jaw and salt and pepper hair sticking out from under a cowboy hat. I assume it’s Tate, and damn. Whatever’s in the water in Sage Valley has aged him well.

The others must be a couple of his ranch hands, because I don’t recognize them.

Tate tips his hat at us as we approach. “Thanks for coming.”

Beck tilts his head toward a small calf, still on somewhat wobbly legs, knees knocking. “She’s young.”

“Only born two days ago. Poor thing’s all alone in the world, now,” Tate says.

I look down at the little calf and my heart aches. The statement reaches a place within me that has become so much a part of me, woven into the very fibres of me that sometimes I forget how much it affects me.

“She’ll need bottle feeding, at least until we can get an idea of whether your cow will bond with her,” Sutton says. “But I’m hoping it will be beneficial for both of them.”

Beck nods, and we tie the calf with a lead rope to the back of Willow’s saddle. She follows along and keeps up, but Beck makes sure to keep Willow at a slower pace as we make our way back across the fields and to the cattle barn.

“There she is,” Beck points toward a cow standing off to the side of the herd as we approach them. “She’s been isolating herself from the herd since last season. Doesn’t eat as well, so I wasn’t able to breed her this year. We’ll see how she likes having a little one to take care of.”

Beck hops off of Willow, and I follow him while he corrals the cow over to the barn and brings them both inside. The calf runs over to her immediately, looking for milk, but the cow pushes her away.

“It’ll take some time,” Beck explains. “Are you hungry little one?”

He disappears into a supply room and reemerges with a bottle full of milk. He hands it to me.

“Don’t look at me, Beck. I don’t know how to bottle feed a calf,” I say.

“I know. I’m gonna show you. That’s why I brought you down here,” he says. “I thought you might like doing this.”

I hesitantly take the bottle from him, and look at the calf laying curled up on some hay. I kneel next to her, and hold the bottle up to let her sniff it.

Beck moves so he’s behind me, that solid warmth I’ve been missing ever since he got off of Willow. He positions us so we’re next to the calf, and wraps his arm around mine to show me how to hold the bottle. The calf laps at it a few times before suckling at it vigorously, and I let out a laugh as milk dribbles everywhere.

I turn to look at Beck over my shoulder, but his eyes are on the baby cow, and he’s petting her gently between the ears as she drinks. There’s something soft and kind in his expression, something loving. It’s the same way he looks at me, and a warmth expands behind my ribs watching him with her, the way he knows how to feed her, the tenderness with which he does it.