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I work through them slow enough to read every tag, though I know most without looking. The book is to be sure.

By noon I've marked twenty-five.

I take the younger proven cows first, four- and five-year-olds that calve clean, mother hard, and don't make trouble in the chute. Two fourteen goes down. So does the heifer Mackie named on a phone call last spring, a good cow now with her first calf shipped in September.

The old broken-mouth cows stay where they are. So does anything with bad feet, bad udders, or a history I don't trust.

I take the sound ones. Thursday I cut them out.

I bring the horse up early and work them off the main herd one and two at a time, easing them toward the wire gate into the east pasture. It's slow work alone. I don't ask Wade to help, and he doesn't offer.

He watches from the corral with his coffee while I push the last one through and chain the gate. The twenty-five spread out on the far side and put their heads down as if nothing has changed.

Wade walks over.

"You culling?"

"No."

He looks through the wire. "Those aren't culls."

"I know. I just said I'm not culling."

He waits for me to explain.

"I just wanted to do a little experiment."

"All right, if you say so."

He drinks his coffee and leaves it alone. The pup that's still his sits beside his boot, one ear standing and the other folded halfway over.

"Nobody's took him," Wade says. "You want him?"

"Wade, I'm barely keeping myself alive. I appreciate it, man."

"He'll keep."

He tips out the last of his coffee and heads for the truck.

Friday, the light is already going when I finish in the shop. I get the horse back out instead of turning him loose and ride the two-track behind the house to the top of the hill.

Below me, everything is where it belongs. The ranch is in better shape than it was when I came home.

I take my phone out and get one picture of the sunset before the light goes. Then I put it away, get back on the horse, and ride down.

There's still feeding to do before dark.

TWENTY-TWO

Mackie

Good Christian men, rejoice / With heart and soul and voice / Give ye heed to what we say / News! News!

Sadie is the first of the Holly Ridge Six to make it back to town long enough to sit on my floor with both babies. We grew up together, but motherhood got to her years before it got to any of us. She had Zoe at eighteen and raised her alone until she met the man she eventually married.

"He does this thing where he sighs like a little old man before he goes down." I nod at Graham on the quilt. "Every nap. Full sigh."

Sadie laughs softly because Hildie's asleep on her chest with one fist curled against her collarbone. "Zoe did that. Still does, honestly."