“I guess I was a colicky baby. She says she never gained a pound until I was done teething cuz she walked me so much. Not that she's fat now. Nicely rounded, Doug says.”
“You must miss her.”
“Sure. I mean, you probably miss your mom, too, right?”
“Yeah, but at least . . .” She shrugged, concentrating on beating the milk with demonic vigor. “She was here for me while I was home. I'm not a kid anymore.”
“Me neither. Eighteen's old enough to vote.”
“Listen, Emily,” Casie said and turned. “There's nothing wrong with living with your mother. In fact, I think you should.”
“Are you kicking me out?”
“No. Of course not. I justâ”
Em's fists were clenched, her eyes anxious. “I'll check them more often.”
“What?”
“The cattle,” Em said. “I don't need much sleep. I guess I'm like Mom that way. I can check them four times a night if you want. It doesn'tâ”
“Emily, this wasn't your fault.”
“No. I know. I justâ”
“But it's not your responsibility, either.”
“I
want
to get up more often.”
“Emilyâ”
“I'm going to go out right now,” she said and turned toward the front entry.
“Emilyâ” Casie said, but the girl didn't turn around.
“I didn't get a chance to check them before I saw the . . . the orphan,” she said.
“You don't have toâ”
“I'll be back in a few minutes,” she said and ducked outside.
Casie closed her eyes and wondered vaguely if this was what motherhood was like. Being constantly confused by someone else's moods; Emily was usually about as uncertain as a pit bull.
Sighing, Casie slipped a funnel into the neck of a plastic bottle and poured the warm milk inside.
In a few moments she was back down the stairs. A short while later, the lambs were drinking hungrily, little tails writhing happily until the last drop was gone.
Casie smiled and lifted her gaze to the desolate calf huddled under the nearby blanket.
What now? It would be kinder to shoot the animal than to allow it to die of dehydration or hypothermia. But she'd never shot anything in her life and . . .
A knock sounded on the door upstairs, startling her from her reverie.
Guests? At this hour of the morning?
The knocking sounded again, louder this time. Casie rose to her feet and turned toward the stairs, but the door above opened even before she reached them.
“Hey. Head Case,” Dickenson yelled. “You down there or what?”
C
HAPTER
13
B
y the time Casie reached the top of the stairs, Emily was standing beside Dickenson on the rickety porch. They were little more than two silhouettes in the rectangle of the open door.
“Thanks for coming.” Em's voice sounded breathy and small, depleted of its sassy bravado.
Dickenson grinned, teeth flashing in the light that spilled from the entrance. “I was just sleeping anyway. You okay?”
“Yeah,” Emily said, then twisted toward the cluttered entry as Casie reached the top.
“What's going on?” she asked, but she was afraid she already knew. There was a moment of silence before Dickenson spoke.
“Em here said you were having a little trouble.”
Em?
When had they become bosom buddies? And how had
Em
even gotten his phone number? And why had
Em
allowed Casie to believe she had been calling her mother whenâ
“Where is it?” he asked.
“Where's what?” Casie's voice sounded cranky and suspicious to her own ears, but Emily was already nodding toward the basement.
“We took her down there to get her warmed up.”
“All right. Well, let's get her back out here again,” Colt said and moved to step past Casie. But she blocked his course, inadvertently or intentionally, she wasn't quite sure.
“What are you doing?”
He grinned a little. “Trying to save your bacon. Or in this case . . . your beef,” he said, and brushing past her, trotted down the stairs, without the modicum of courtesy it would have taken to look fatigued.
Casie followed more slowly, refusing to be embarrassed by the state of the house. After all, it wasn't really
her
house. Or her fault. Or her . . . Who the hell was he anyway to be barging in like this? “We can take care of this ourselves,” she said, but despite the cast that impeded his movements, he was already scooping the calf into his arms as if it were little more than a bundle of linens. The newborn blinked at her from the ratty cocoon of the blanket, lashes snowy white and enchantingly long.
“You don't have much time with these babies,” Colt said. “If they don't nurse right away, they get too cold and quitâ”
“I know they get cold. That's why we brought her down here,” Casie said. The tattered blanket spilled to the floor like dusty spiderwebs, making the little bovine face look even more forlorn as it peeked out from the ragged hood.
Ignoring her irritable tone, Dickenson motioned toward the trailing blanket. “Can you wrap the tail end of that thing around her?” he asked, which prompted Emily to rush forward to bundle the calf up like a misbegotten infant.
“All right, here we go,” he said, and cradling the calf against his chest, took the stairs two at a time.
Casie refused to remember how she and Emily had puffed and stumbled in an attempt to get her
down
there. Damn testosterone. Just when a girl started thinking it was more trouble than it was worth, she needed a little heavy lifting done. “Where do you think you're going anyway?” she asked and hurried up the stairs behind him.
“I know you're unorthodox, Case,” he said, shoving the door open with the toe of his boot and stepping into the darkness outside, “but most farmers keep their livestock in the barn.”
“Hey there, Ty.”
Casie jerked as another shadow joined them on the porch. “Tyler?”
“Hey,” he said.
“What are you doing here?”
“Em said you had an orphan.”
She turned toward Emily, but the girl was already rushing past her.
“You sure this'll work?” Her face looked pale and painfully young in the darkness.
“Sure?” Colt chuckled. “Heck no, I ain't sure of nothing but the time of day. Ty, run and get me some twine from the barn, will you?”
“Already got 'em.”
“Good man,” Colt said and rapped quickly down the rickety stairs of the porch.
“Are you sure
what
will work?” Casie asked, dogging behind, temper simmering.
“We're gonna try something a little radical,” he said, heading for his pickup truck. “Open that tailgate, will ya, Ty?” he asked, but Casie had had enough.
“Wait a minute!” she snapped, and spreading her legs, she stood between him and his vehicle like a snarling rottweiler. “That's my calf.”
He stared at her.
“And that's my . . .” She stabbed a thumb toward Ty. “My . . . twine.” She almost winced at her own words. Was she really becoming possessive of used string? she wondered, but it was too late to back out now. “And you can't have them.”
The night went perfectly silent. Even Jack stopped his dancing to flick his gaze from one face to the next.
“Geez, Head Case, who put a crimp in your tail?”
She narrowed her eyes a little, ready for battle. “Listen, you half-baked broncâ”
“He brought the hide,” Ty said, breaking into her tirade.
“What?”
“The hide . . . of the dead calf,” Ty said.
Casie lowered her brows and sent her glare back toward Colton.
“You know I took the dead calf home, right? I mean . . .” He grinned a little. “You didn't want that one, too, did you?”
She drew a careful breath, steadying her nerves. “What the hâ” She paused, cleared her throat. “What are you talking about?”
“The dead calf,” he said. “I didn't think you'd want it lying around here making you all . . . Well, they can spread diseases and it's easier on the mama sometimes if you get rid of the body.”
She nodded and refrained from kicking him in the shins for this new brand of patronizing bullshit.
“So when Em called and said you had a dead mother, I thought what the hell . . .
heck
. . . it was worth a try to skin the poor thing.”
She blinked.
“Grab that hide, will ya, Ty? No use standing around here gabbing,” he said and turned away.
Casie glanced at the unidentifiable item Ty dragged from the back of the truck. It was about the size of an infant blanket. “You skinned the calf?” she asked.
“Sure,” Colt said. “Clay must have done this a time or two when he had an orphan.”
“Done what?” she asked.
Ty reached around the corner of the barn and switched on the lights.
“That the mama over there?” Colt asked, nodding to the heifer in the isolation pen.
Emily nodded.
“All right, let's see if we can get this little girl on her trotters,” he said and placed the calf on its feet, blanket dragging. She tottered once, wobbled sideways, and found her balance. “Keep her up, will ya, Em?”
Emily hurried forward, balancing the calf as best she could.
“There you go. It might be easiest if you straddle her.”
She did so while Colt thrust his hand into the front pocket of his jeans and came up empty. “You got a jackknife, Ty?”
The boy shuffled the silky hide onto his left arm, dug into his own pocket, and handed over a folding knife, which Colt popped open. After spreading the skin out on the dirt floor, he squatted to pierce the pelt in six different locations.
In a minute he was standing again. “Okay, we ready for this?” he asked.
Emily and Ty nodded. Casie remained mute. He brightened his grin at her obvious anger and picked up the hide. It looked soft and dry on the outside, but it was already beginning to curl a little, showing the crusty gore underneath.
“All, right, Em,” he said, “we're going to have to be able to get at her.”
Emily backed off the little animal, allowing Colton to fit the rough pelt over the animal's spine and slip the twine through the holes he'd made. In a minute he had them tied around the animal's chest, barrel, and haunches.
The duo by the calf straightened as they all stared at the little knobby-kneed animal, standing forlorn and forsaken in her ghoulish coat.
“Well, here goes nothin',” Colt said, and exhaling heavily, urged the calf toward the isolation pen. At the first nudge, the baby nearly fell to her knees, causing Emily to rush forward to steady her. Ty hurried to her opposite side. Together, they herded the animal toward the heifer's gate and hustled her through. Once inside, she stood stock still, legs spread as if braced against the world.
“Curly won't hurt her, will she?” Em whispered.
Colt shook his head, but it was more a motion of uncertainty than anything else.
“Let's let 'em alone for a minute,” he said and backed out. The kids went with him.
Then they waited, no one breathing. The cow stared wide-eyed and unmoving, not daring to take her gaze from the humans who intruded on her grief. Nothing else happened.
“Come on, cow,” Colton crooned.
“Curly,” Em whispered. “We call her Curly.”
Colt canted his head in concession. The heifer switched her tail and swung her head nervously toward the big door at the end of the barn as if longing to escape.
That's when the calf took one tottering step forward before toppling onto her side like a broken toy.
Curly snapped her attention to the felled baby, ears sweeping forward, eyes gleaming with sudden interest.
“Thata girl,” Colt murmured.
“Come on.” Emily's plea was barely audible, just a frosty breath of hope in the still air.
Curly shuffled nervously sideways, but her attention remained riveted on the calf.
“Maybe we'd better back off a little,” Colt said. They all retreated slowly, easing back against a small stack of straw bales piled against the wall.
Then the wait began in earnest.
Fifteen minutes later, all four humans were huddled up in the straw, their backs against the bales, their eyes rarely straying from the pair in the pen.
It was a slow, breathtaking dance to watch. The cow would move forward tentatively, then flick her ears and back away. The calf remained as she was, her rough coat bunching over her withers and buckling at her flanks.
But finally the cow was near enough to touch the rough hide with her nose. A low rumble issued from her throat. She sniffed the small creature's back, tried a tentative lick, then moved to the orphan's head to give it a swipe with her sandpaper tongue.
And suddenly it was as if a switch had been flipped. The calf stumbled clumsily to her feet, and the cow, jittery with excitement, flicked her ears forward but stood absolutely still as the baby tottered up to her.
Unsteady but determined, the newborn staggered toward the mother, nearly fell, righted herself, then thrust her head under the cow's belly. The older animal twitched but turned her head and licked the baby's borrowed coat.
It seemed like a breathless eternity before the calf found her way. But finally, knobby knees splayed, she nursed noisily as the cow rumbled a greeting filled with hope and budding adoration.
“That's amazing,” Emily said and glanced at Colton with a shyness she rarely exhibited. Her voice sounded strained.
He shrugged, shoulders wide beneath the popped-up collar of his canvas jacket. “Sometimes it works.”
And sometimes there was magic, Casie thought, and watched the bovine pair bond before her very eyes. It was an earthy sort of magic. A magic as old as the earth beneath their feet, but magic nevertheless.
Minutes drew softly away. The calf, sated finally, flopped bonelessly onto the straw, and the cow, exhausted by grief and overwhelmed by happiness, licked her back, then settled down beside her. The picture was almost painful in its odd perfection. The cow, so recently terrified and sorrowful, the calf, dejected and alone, side by side now, content.
“Pretty, huh?” Colt said.
Casie sensed him watching her and managed a nod, but her throat was too tight to speak.
“You okay?”
“Sure. Of course.” She rose abruptly to her feet, brushing the straw off her backside as she did so. “It's not like . . .” She meant to dismiss him, to leave, but her eyes stung and her emotions felt tangled. Her gaze met his.
“Thank you,” Emily said, righting the situation with her obvious gratitude and making Casie feel even cheaper by comparison. “You were awesome.” She glanced toward Casie. “Wasn't he amazing?”
“Like a superhero.” Casie meant to make the words sound sarcastic, but somehow she missed the mark. Her tone was strangely husky, a little weepy, kind of broken. What was that about? It could probably be explained away by fatigue, but if she burst into tears, she fully intended to jump off the roof come dawn.