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“We’ve been having trouble with the herd in that front paddock.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Bloat.”
“Every herd faces bloat now and then—”
“I’m saying we have more cows with it than normal,” he broke in. “Ranson and I are thinking we might need to adjust their diet.”
Ranson was the fourth brother, who was three years younger than Miles. He’d skipped college, figured he didn’t need a degree to continue working on the ranch the same way he had his whole life. But Brant felt the degree he’d gotten in natural resources and rangeland ecology at the University of Montana in Missoula had helped them modernize. Although his father had resisted the changes—Clive was as old-school as a guy could get—ever since Brant and his brothers had taken over and switched to rotational grazing, they’d increased the amount of forage harvested per acre by nearly two tons. “They might be getting too much potassium,” he said.
“Or not enough salt.”
“Have we lost any?”
“Not yet. Thank goodness. I nearly had to call the vet a few minutes ago, though. One poor steer was in so much pain I thought he was a goner. But I finally got that damn tube down his throat and relieved the gas.”
Had he not been able to do that, the steer might’ve suffocated. “He’s okay now?”
“Seems like it.”
Bloat was caused by rumen fermentation gases and wasn’t uncommon in cattle who were fed alfalfa or other legume grasses. Without help, a cow with bloat could die in an hour or two, so it was a condition all ranchers took seriously. When a tube didn’t work, they had to stab the animal on the left-hand side to let the gas escape. “I’ll change up the feed,” he promised.
“Okay. I’m going to the feed store to buy a few more salt licks in case that’ll help.”
“Sounds good.”
Miles started to leave, but turned back at the last moment. “By the way, what was with Charlie this morning? Is he mad again?”
After getting sunburned while fixing the roof the other day, Brant had put on a long-sleeved shirt. He used his forearm to mop the sweat from his face. “It’s nothing.”
Miles sized him up. “Kurt told me it’s about that runaway bride with the weird name.”
Brant might’ve referred to Talulah in the same way once, but now he felt immediately defensive and was tempted to tell his brother never to refer to her like that again. Resisting the impulse, because it would only make his brothermoreinterested in what was going on in his life, he said simply, “Talulah Barclay.”
“Yeah, that’s her. So...what’s the deal? Are you really seeing her—the woman who stood Charlie up at the altar?”
“She won’t be in town long,” he replied. Although that didn’t really answer the question, he wasn’t sure how to describe their relationship. And since his loyalties were suddenly split and he didn’t know what to do about it, he’d rather not have this conversation.
“But you’re seeing her while she’s here? Is that what you’re saying?”
Brant’s phone went off. Relieved to have an out, he removed one leather glove and pulled his cell from his pocket.
The second he saw who was calling, however, he wasn’t nearly as pleased. “This is Charlie now,” he said. “You and I will have to talk later.”
Miles gave him a funny look. He’d been dismissed, something he wasn’t accustomed to. Normally, Brant didn’t have any secrets. Even if he did, he didn’t keep anything from his brothers.
“Hello?” he said, answering his phone before it could transfer to voice mail.
“There you are,” Charlie said.
“Give me one sec.” Brant gestured for Miles to allow him some privacy.
“What’s going on with you?” Miles grumbled but finally left.
“I’m here,” Brant told Charlie when his brother was out of earshot.
“Where’ve you been? I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.”
