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Some say the atmospheric pressure bothers them, and others say they stake their claim by lying down on dry grass before a heavy rain.
“What should we do, boss?” Wade asks at the first rumble of thunder.
We’d normally wait out the storm, but since we’re only running about half of our herd today, and most are pregnant, better safe than sorry.
“I think we can outrun the storm clouds, and even if we can’t, we can still get them safe and under cover.”
“Sounds good,” he says, then yells to his men, “Round ’em up. We’re headed back.”
No one questions the decision. These men have been through enough inclement weather to last a lifetime. They know exactly what to do as they surround the cattle and begin moving them in the direction of the cattle barn. It’s not large enough to hold seven hundred cattle, but we use it in times like these, and especially for the two hundred or so pregnant cows. The dogs join in, barking and herding any that get out of line. We’re like a well-oiled machine, and with the addition of Porter, it feels even more gratifying. Even though it shouldn’t.
By the time we get in viewing distance of the cowshed, we’re drenched. Given that the storm seems to be sticking around, it was the right decision. The lightning is making all the animals jittery, and they’ll be more comfortable in their enclosures.
Wade and Porter lead the cattle into the stalls, while the others take the back end of the herd. My parents would’ve made sure the cattle have plenty of water, hay, and alfalfa as soon as they caught wind of the impending storm.
I leave the barn and head toward the stables to make sure Pixie is ready for us. She’d had help from the other grooms, whose sole job is to care for and train our horses, but I like giving her the responsibility. She always rises to the occasion. I think her dad appreciates it too, though he doesn’t always show it. Besides, once school starts in the fall, she won’t be around that much anymore.
“You okay?” Dad yells to me as I pass by them. He and Mom are on the porch of the ranch house, watching the storm.
“All good.” I lift my hand in a wave. “Got the pregnant cattle in the barn and about to take care of the horses.”
Dad smiles, and his forehead softens. I feel relieved that I can give them that. The satisfaction of knowing I’ve got it covered and they can retire in peace whenever they’re ready.
I dismount Midnight and lead him inside his stall.
“How you coming along?” I ask Pixie, and wink at one of the grooms holding a pitchfork.
“All set,” she says. “Working on my last stall.”
“Good job, young lady.”
I clap the groom on the shoulder, and he smiles.
There’s fresh hay for my horse to munch on, but first I make sure to dry and brush him. It’s a routine Midnight appreciates. Any horse would after a long and tiring day of work.
I remove my wet hat and set it on a hook as the rest of the men enter one by one to take care of their horses. Midnight whinnies in appreciation as I brush his hindquarters, patting him as I go. I’ll return later with an apple or two as a special treat.
Across the way, I can hear Porter cooing to his gelding and smile at the sound. It reminds me of when we were younger and he’d spend extra time in the stables before leaving for the day with his mom. “See you tomorrow,” he’d say to the horses.
By the time the horses are taken care of, the men are spent. It’s no fun working in wet clothes, and everyone is sure to be famished.
“What’s on the menu?” I ask the men as I follow behind them to the stable door. The rain is still coming down, so we’ll wait out the storm to get our evening chores done.
“Whatever Big Jimmy makes,” Wade replies, and the other men chuckle.
“Sounds about right.” We finally hired a family cook named Lloyd, but the men have taken to Big Jimmy’s food, and he enjoys making it most days. “Could use a cold one too.”
“Amen to that,” Jeb replies as I pause at the door and watch them trek back to the bunkhouse.
Porter is the last out of his stall, which is probably coincidental rather than anything having to do with me. I hear him chattering away with Pixie. Or rather, Pixie talking his ear off, which she’s known to do when she gets going, just like her daddy—though for him it’s normally after a few beers.
I smile, watching them interacting in the middle of the barn.
“You should go grab some dinner,” I tell them.
“Yes, sir,” Pixie says and runs off to no doubt find her father.
The barn grows silent as we look at each other across the space, both of us damp and muddy. But he’s fucking gorgeous regardless. He blinks the raindrops from his lashes as he rubs the back of his hand across his mouth. I try not to focus on those pouty lips and how they used to taste.
