Winds of Wyoming (A Kate Neilson Novel) (10 page)

He instinctively knew prayer was the key to the WP’s survival. He also knew he had to handle the situation himself, with God’s guidance. His mom had too much on her mind to think about dead bison. He reached for Tramp. But instead of stroking the furry back of his collie, he found himself patting a denim-clad thigh.

“Oh.” He snatched his hand back as fast as if he’d touched a red-hot branding iron, nearly driving off the road. “I’m sorry. I didn’t, I …” He steered back into the track.

Kate grabbed the door handle.

Heat blazed up his neck and into his ears. “I forgot you … I mean, I forgot Tramp wasn’t—he’s always…”

“With you? Sitting where I’m sitting?”

Mike nodded and stared straight ahead, too embarrassed to try to explain further. But out of the corner of his eye, he saw her release her death-grip on the handle.

She turned his direction. “I think it’s nice you can take your dog wherever you go.”

He gave her a sideways glance. She was smiling, thank God. “Yeah, he’s a good dog.”

She snickered. “Except for yesterday.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, except for yesterday.” He slowed the truck. “I apologize for what just happened. I—”

“Apology accepted.”

They exchanged smiles. When she looked out the window, Mike stole another look at his passenger. His heart beat a strange pattern in his chest. Beneath her bruises, she was really quite pretty—a brown-haired, brown-eyed beauty. And that smile. He shifted his hat back and scratched his head. How had he missed it before? Did he always walk around with his head in a hayloft? Maybe he wouldn’t mind seeing her behind his dad’s desk, after all.

Her sun-burnished hair swirled in the breeze, reminding him of an eddy in the creek and filling the cab with a coconut scent. Her dark eyes were soft but guarded, like she’d suffered for caring too much. And there was something else about her, something raw and painful that made him want to draw her close and tell her she could depend on him.

He turned away. Where in the world did that come from? He’d proven years ago he wasn’t dependable when it came to taking care of people. He cleared his throat. “Did you have any pets in Pennsylvania?”

She wrapped a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

He saw the red streaks on her palm, remembered her fall and slowed the truck.

“We had a red-and-white cocker spaniel named Trudy, who slept at the bottom of my bed every night. She loved to play. Could chase balls and play tug of war for hours.” Kate looked down at her hands. “I never knew what happened to her.”

“Did she run away?”

Kate stared out the side window.

He lowered his voice. “Did she get sick?”

She took a long breath. When she spoke, she spoke softly, gazing beyond him.

Mike, who’d already turned off his radios, bent closer to hear her above the clanks and clinks of the pickup.

“My only sibling, Kenny, and both my parents were killed in a car accident when I was nine years old. They had dropped me off at my friend Cindy’s house several blocks from ours. My mom told me they would pick me up on their way home from grocery shopping. Instead, Cindy’s mom called me out from the playroom to their living room, where a policeman stood by the door.”

She clasped her hands. “Years later, I learned from my great-aunt that my dad survived long enough to tell officers where to find me. But when the cop saw me, he didn’t say anything about my family—just, ‘Get your coat, kid. You’re coming with me.’ He was so big and gruff.

“Cindy’s mom was crying, but she didn’t say why. Just hugged me. That was the last time I saw her or Cindy. And the last time I saw my house. The officer drove past it but didn’t stop. Nobody took me to the funerals, nobody took me home to get my things, and nobody ever told me what happened to Trudy.”

Mike blew out a breath. No wonder she seemed so sad. “What a bum deal. I had my dad into my adulthood, and I still have my mom. I’ve been feeling way too sorry for my—”

She interrupted. “You need to feel sorry for yourself. I wasn’t given an opportunity to grieve. Just uprooted from everything familiar and thrown into a foster home. I don’t remember staying anywhere long, and I don’t remember their pets. I was probably afraid to love anyone, human or animal.” She frowned. “I didn’t mean to remind you about your dad’s death.”

“That’s okay. It’s always good to realize other people have problems, too. If you don’t mind me asking, why foster homes? Didn’t you have any relatives you could live with?”

“My great-aunt, Aunt Mary, who has multiple sclerosis, told me a few weeks ago she tried year after year to convince Family Services to let her be my guardian, but they always said she couldn’t handle me due to her health. I was a difficult child, to put it mildly.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I was lost, confused. Lonely. And angry—
very
angry.”

“I’m still angry about my dad’s death and about …”
No need to bring up Matt.
“Anyway, I was old enough to understand the situation. I watched Dad die, and I got to say goodbye. I’m sorry the supposed experts were so callous toward you.”

“I hear the agency does a better job these days with orphaned children.” She smiled. “At least I have happy memories of my family to carry with me through life.” She shifted in her seat then gave him a sideways glance. “Speaking of memories, what kind of adventure did you and your dog have yesterday?”

He guffawed. “Ha. You snuck that in the back door.” Slowing Old Blue, he parked behind Clint’s pickup on the shoulder of the road. “But lucky for me, we have arrived at our destination.” He assumed an exaggerated drawl. “The infamous bison-versus-Old Blue standoff happened right here at the OK Corral. I’ll tell you all about it, one of these days.”

Chapter Nine

KATE AND MIKE SLID
from Old Blue’s passenger door as Clint stepped slowly around the pickup, examining it. “Good thing you were in your dad’s rig, Duncan. A newer model couldn’t take a blow like that with all the plastic they use these days.”

“I told Kate this is the truck that keeps on trucking.” Mike turned to her. “Have you met Clint Barrett? He’s our ranch foreman and head wrangler.”

She smiled at the stocky, dark-haired man. He looked about her age and had no ring on his left hand. “We met at breakfast.”

Clint shook her hand. “The pleasure is mine, again.” He adjusted his hat. “Ready to roll, bossm—Mike?”

“Where’s the cow?”

“Clear up at the northeast corner of the pasture. Do you want to ride together?”

“We might need both vehicles.” Mike headed for his truck. “You lead the way.”

Clint whispered in Kate’s ear. “I’m amazed at how calm he is about the dead cow. When it comes to buffalo, he can get riled up over an ingrown nose hair.”

She giggled. “Maybe that’s why his mom wanted me to ride down here with him.”

“Mrs. D is a smart lady.”

Kate rode with Mike up the hill. She made no attempt to interrupt his thoughts as they bumped toward the fallen bison. He couldn’t have heard her, anyway, above the creak of the truck’s worn-out joints and the clatter of boards and wire bouncing in the bed of the pickup.

She stared at the enormous animals grazing near the fence they followed. With their huge shoulder humps and curved horns, the bison looked to her like lopsided leftovers from the Ice Age. Though their hindquarters were slender, they had massive, hairy heads and wide chests. How much did they weigh? Had to be hundreds of pounds.

As if he’d read her mind, Mike nodded. “Yep, they’re as big as they look. Bison are the largest land mammals in North America.” He talked above the noise. “The cows can reach eight feet in length, weigh around a thousand pounds, and stand as high as five feet at the shoulder. I’ve heard of bulls that were twelve-feet long and six-and-a-half feet tall. Those guys weigh twice as much as cows, up to twenty-two-hundred pounds.”

He pointed toward a big brown lump on the ground ahead of them. “There she is—with the calf standing beside her.”

The forlorn calf, its dark nose in the air, bellowed the loss of its mother, halting its cry of abandonment only long enough to nuzzle her cold bag and lifeless teats.

“Poor baby.” Kate rested her elbows on the dashboard and stared at the calf. Her heart hurt for the little creature. It was all alone. She knew how that felt.

“Pardon?”

“I feel sorry for the calf. Some reprehensible person destroyed everything good about its young life—its only source of food and nurturing.”

“Yeah. I don’t understand how anyone could be so cruel—if the cow was really shot, that is.” He turned off the engine and sat quietly, just looking at her.

She squirmed. “Did you want to say something?”

His serious expression dissolved into a grin. “Just that I can’t get out until you get out.”

“Oh.” She snickered. “Sorry.”

Still laughing, they joined Clint at the fence, standing on each side of him. Clint elbowed Kate. “You must be a magician.” His voice was barely a murmur. “He’s actually smiling.”

She grinned. After the rough ride up the hill, every bruise and scrape throbbed, but Clint’s friendly camaraderie made her feel accepted and appreciated, like one of the crew.

He motioned toward the cow. “Want to drive in to take a look at her, Mike?”

Mike studied the pasture, his gaze shifting back and forth. “The rest of the herd is a ways off, which is a good thing. But it won’t be long before they come over to check us out—or to protect that calf. Our first priority is to get it out of there and put some food in its stomach. We lost the last calf we tried to bottle feed, the one that got separated from its mother when we moved the herd last spring. This one’s only a couple weeks old, so maybe it’ll be okay.”

He looked around Clint to Kate. “After we load the calf into the truck, would you mind driving it to the barn? I’ll radio Mom, so she can warm some milk.”

“I’d be glad to.” Kate was happy she could do something to help the pitiful, hungry beast. “But I’ve never driven a truck before.”

“You know how to shift gears?”

“My Honda has a manual shift.”

“Good. You know how to use a clutch. It’ll just take a couple minutes for you to get a feel for Old Blue’s gears.” He clasped Clint’s shoulder. “Have your rope with you, bud?”

“You bet.”

“This is a perfect opportunity to show off your calf-roping skills.”

Clint laughed. “Not much of a challenge. The critter just stands there wailing its head off. What’s your plan?”

“I can’t believe I’m dumb enough to use a truck again. But unless you have a better idea, let’s drive our pickups in front of the cow and form a V aimed at the herd to block their view while you rope the calf’s legs. If we’re lucky, it won’t run too far from the cow, and you can get a good shot at it. Kate can man the gate.”

Kate stuck her hands in her back pockets. “This is probably a dumb question, but why are you roping its legs instead of its head?”

Mike smiled. “That’s a good question, not a dumb one. You wouldn’t think it to look at them, but a bison’s esophagus is twice the size of a beef animal and closer to the surface, so roping around the neck is dangerous. Plus, buffalo tend to run up the rope, toward the roper, instead of away, like a cow would.”

He adjusted his hat and looked at Clint. “I’ll help you tie the legs and toss it in the truck. Kate can haul it to the ranch, while we deal with the sheriff or the vet—maybe both. We’ll decide who to call after we check out the cow.”

“It’s a plan, Stan. Good thing we put in a gate at the corner.”

Mike nodded. “How about you drive Kate to the gate and show her how to operate it while I unload the stuff in the back of Old Blue.”

Clint and Kate jounced the short distance to the fence corner and got out. He led her to two posts at one end of the gate. Smooth wires attached to the top and bottom of the larger post were looped around the smaller one. “This isn’t rocket science.” He raised the top loop off the smaller pole then lifted the pole from the bottom loop. “You just have to be careful not to tangle with the barbs when you move the gate.” He pointed at the four strands of barbed wire strung from a stationary post at the other end of the gate to the post he held in his hands. “They’ll eat you alive.”

Kate wrinkled her nose. “They look nasty. Don’t the barbs hurt the animals?”

“That’s the idea. Keeps them from trying to get out—and discourages predators from getting in. We also run electricity through the top wire.”

She backed away. Patterson had used electric fencing.

He chuckled. “Don’t worry, the gate’s not wired. And the current in the fence won’t injure or kill livestock. It just gives them a zap.”

Patterson’s stun-lethal fence supposedly delivered a shock on first contact and a fatal jolt if immediately touched again. She’d wondered for years what would keep a stunned person from falling into the wire and being electrocuted.

“Is the electricity really necessary?”

“Buffalo are strong, agile and fast, even though they look clumsy. They can jump or break through ordinary cattle fencing.” He tapped the top of the pole. “That’s why this fence is six-feet tall. They can also sprint to thirty miles an hour from a dead stop and pivot on a dime, with their hind feet
and
their front feet.” He raised his eyebrows. “They’re amazing animals and a challenge to control, especially if they get loose.”

He dragged the pole several feet from the fence. “That’s how you open the gate.” He hauled it back. “To close the gate, place the bottom of the pole into the lower loop then stand it flush against the other post, so you can drop the upper wire over it.” He grunted as he shoved the pole upright and even with the taller post then flipped the loop down. He stepped back. “Think you can handle that?”

“Mm-hmm.” She made a mental note to buy work gloves the next time she was in town.

Clint unhooked the gate again and pulled it wide so Mike could drive through and park near the downed cow. Then he handed the pole to Kate, got in his pickup and followed. After angling headlight-to-headlight with Mike’s vehicle, he grabbed a coil of rope from the bed and strode toward the calf, which had scuttled away but was circling back.