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Trevor’s door closed. Seconds later, through the wall, Cooper heard his son’s radio come on—the volume turned low, as was the rule.
Cooper listened for a moment. A faint half-smile tugged at his lips. He shook his head.
Cowboy music.
* * *
The next day, Cooper buried himself in his work, doing his best to keep his mind off Jess. But that was easier said than done. Every time he saw the Christmas tree or even smelled it from the other room, he remembered watching her hang those precious ornaments. When he took a lunch break and warmed up the food she’d cooked, the pain of her leaving hit him all over again. When he walked into the bedroom, where she’d stripped the bed and piled the sheets for washing, it was all he could do to keep from pressing his face into those sheets and filling his senses with her womanly aura. At the sound of any vehicle coming down the lane his pulse leaped—but at least he’d known better than to jump up and look. Jess was a woman who guarded her trust. He had broken that trust. She wouldn’t be coming back.
Trevor’s return home provided a welcome distraction. Glory leaped off the porch and ran to meet him as he climbed off the school bus and came striding up the lane. From the front window, Cooper watched him approach, thinking how tall his son was getting. All too soon he would be a man.
Trevor paused outside the pasture, as if studying the cows, before coming inside.
“Dad,” he said, “I think one of those cows is limping.”
“Let’s have a look.” Cooper followed the boy outside to the pasture fence.
“That one.” Trevor pointed. “See how her front leg stumbles a little when she walks, like it hurts? Do you think we should call Mr. Rankin? If we wait till his helper comes in the morning, she could get worse.”
“Good call,” Cooper said, feeling proud of his son. “Those purebred cows and the calves they’re carrying are worth a lot of money. He wouldn’t want to lose even one. But I don’t recall that Judd Rankin ever gave me his phone number. We’ll need to drive to his house. If he’s at home, I’ll let you give him the news yourself.”
They piled into the Jeep, with Glory in the back, and drove out through the ranch gate.
The ranch’s main gate was open. Close up, the house was impressive, not unduly large, but it looked as if it had undergone some extensive remodeling: a broad porch and timbered entrance with double doors in front and a built-on extension in back. The sight of it started Cooper thinking of changes he could make to his own simple house when he had the time and money.
A network of corrals, chutes, metal sheds, and a modern barn stretched behind the house. Cooper glimpsed cattle and horses in some of the pens. He recalled Abner mentioning that Judd Rankin had appeared out of nowhere after his parents died. There had to be an interesting story here. But that wasn’t the reason Cooper had come today.
“Wow.” Trevor climbed out of the Jeep, commanding the dog to stay put. “Now this is what I call a real ranch.”
“Stick around long enough and we’ll have a real ranch, too,” Cooper said. “I see Mr. Rankin’s pickup next to the house. With luck, we’ll find him at home. Come on, let’s ring the doorbell.”
They rang the bell and waited for what seemed to be a long time. At last, they heard footsteps. Judd Rankin opened the door, a surprised look on his face.
“Hello,” he said. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“Sorry, I would’ve called,” Cooper said, “but I don’t have your phone number. Trevor here noticed something about one of your cows. He wants to tell you about it.”
Trevor described what he’d seen. “It looked like she might have something in her hoof,” he said. “I thought you’d want to check her before she got worse.”
Rankin frowned and nodded. “Thanks, Trevor. I appreciate your letting me know. I don’t suppose you noticed the number on her ear tag, did you? That would make it easier to pick her out.”
“I tried to make it out, but she wasn’t that close,” Trevor said. “It looked like 2022, but I can’t be sure.”
“That’ll help. Good job, Trevor.” He lifted the two-way radio that hung by a clip from his belt and spoke a few words into the transmitter. “I’m sending a couple of men over to check out that cow. If the problem’s serious, they’ll call me back. Meanwhile, if you’ve got time to stay, I’ve got some cold Mexican Cokes in the fridge.”
“Mexican Cokes? That sounds almost illegal,” Cooper joked, although he did know what the man was talking about.
“The Coca-Cola bottled in Mexico is sweetened with cane sugar,” Rankin said. “The stuff sold here is sweetened with corn syrup. Some people like the Mexican Cokes better.” He stepped into the kitchen and came back with a couple of glass bottles, already opened. “Here.” He handed one to Cooper and one to Trevor. “What do you think?”
Trevor took a swallow. “Hey, it’s good. I could get used to this!”
“I’m sorry you had to wait at the door,” Rankin said. “I was working in my shop.”
“Your shop?” Cooper was instantly curious. “Do you mind my asking what you do?”
“Not at all. I make custom saddles, everything by hand. It started as a hobby but it’s grown into something bigger. That’s why I need help with the ranching. Come on back. You might find this interesting.”
Cooper and Trevor followed their host down a hallway and into a large, shed-like room with a high ceiling. The rich aromas of wood, leather, and various oils hung in the air. A long table was strewn with tools and leather pieces. Tanned hides hung like rugs along a sliding rack. Wooden saddle trees, each one labeled, sat on wooden sawhorses. A heavy-duty sewing machine stood along one wall. “I custom make them to fit the horse or the rider or both,” Rankin said. “If the customer wants a fancy, tooled look, I can do that. But the main thing is a saddle that will be comfortable for hours and days of riding.”
