Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Janey
“Have you talked to your sister yet?”
If it wasn’t for the brief hesitation before he closes the tailgate of his truck, I’d have thought he didn’t hear me.
He hasn’t said much about Saturday night at all. I haven’t pushed him on the subject, but he’s been here every free moment since then, and this isn’t the first time I’ve seen him ignore a call when his phone rings.
“No.”
He turns to face me and I expect to be told to mind my own business, but he surprises me.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said last Saturday. About falling back into old patterns. Well, I’m breaking them. I’m done getting stuck in the middle. If Una wants to fix things, she shouldn’t be calling me, she should be calling Ma.”
He’s right, she should. Still, it’s clearly not easy for him to ignore her, he’s been looking out for her for so long.
“It may take her a while to clue into the fact expectations have changed,” I offer tentatively. “But maybe if you communicate it to her. You don’t have to talk to her, but there are other ways to convey the message. If the new rules aren’t made clear to her, you’re just setting her up to fail.”
For a moment I wonder if I’m overstepping—I probably am, but sometimes it’s easier to see the big picture when you’re on the outside of a conflict—but then the corner of his mouth pulls up in a lopsided smile. One that makes the butterflies in my stomach dance.
“You’re wise.”
“It comes with age,” is my response.
At some point over the past few days, I’ve come to realize I’m more than a couple of years older than JD. I think it may have been last Saturday at his parents’ house there’d been some mention of a four-year difference between JD and Una. I know he stated later that night his sister is thirty, but for some reason—maybe the drama playing out was too distracting—I didn’t immediately put the two together.
I’m four years his senior, and I’m trying hard not to let that fall on the insecure side of my character. I’ve been trying to focus on the fact he’s known about our age difference since our Mexican picnic at the riverside, and he hadn’t even kissed me yet then. He doesn’t seem bothered, so why should I be?
Still, I can’t resist putting it out there.
He takes a step closer and slips his arms around me, pulling me close so I’m plastered against his front. There is no mistaking the hard length of him pressing against my lower belly.
“Wisdom is a major turn-on,” he shares, his dark eyes swirling with surprising heat. “Everything about you is, which is why I’m dealing with a permanent hard-on anytime I’m around you.” He rolls his hips, making it impossible to ignore the significance of his words.
A pathetically needy whimper escapes me. It feels like I’ve been craving a more carnal connection with him than the admittedly excellent kisses for days. It’s left me with a deep ache—a gnawing hunger—that is causing me restless nights.
“Yes,” I whisper, pressing my lips to the hollow at the base of his throat, where I can feel his heart beating.
“Later,” he promises. “When I don’t have a dump run to make, and you don’t have a horse and a dog to feed, as well as a few truckloads of cattle waiting to be cleared.”
“Spoilsport,” I groan, making him chuckle.
“Nah, just something to look forward to.”
He lays a hard kiss on me before tipping his hat and getting into his truck. I watch him roll down the driveway, passing Frankie in her Jimmy who is just arriving. I give her a wave before heading inside to grab Ginger and drop her off at the clinic where Frankie can feed her.
JD showed up here early this morning, so we could load up the old tub, toilet, and vanity from the master bathroom. I’d been too tired last night to be of any help, and aside from that, the landfill was already closed. This coming weekend we’re supposed to head to the Home Depot in Kalispell to buy my new bathroom.
I’m feeling a little guilty over all the time he’s spending at my house, but he swears up and down it’s what he likes to do, work with his hands. A lot of it is stuff I intended to tackle myself, even though I have no idea how to lay a subfloor or tile or hook up a new faucet. I guess I’ve been a little blinded by the numerous home improvement shows I’ve been watching on TV. They make it look so easy, and I figured I could watch some DIY YouTube videos to learn.
Maybe after the rodeo, I’ll have some more time and energy to invest in my to-do list.
“Come on, girl. You’re going to hang out with Frankie and Red today.”
Ginger has become quite agile with her cast. It doesn’t seem to be slowing her down much anymore. Last night after dinner, JD was even throwing a ball for her in the backyard. I still don’t have a fence, but as JD predicted, Ginger didn’t make any effort to take off. Regardless where she came from, she knows she has a good life here.
I leave Ginger in Frankie’s good care, and she also promises to look in on Red, who I found moping around his stall. He’s used to being around lots of other animals and I bet he’s lonely here, which is something else I need to think about.
It’s not until I get behind the wheel, I start feeling a little anxiety for the day ahead. Yesterday’s confrontation with Mackey was not something I care to repeat. Not that he scares me—I think he’s more bluster than substance—but I hope to heed Phil Jericho’s advice, and avoid him all the same.
Instead of parking at the trailer and walking over to the stockyard, I drive straight there when I pull into the grounds and see two large trucks have already arrived. It’s only eight twenty, so they’re earlier than expected.
I’m relieved to see Logan’s pickup already there. He’d called in last night to ask what time he should be here, so I wasn’t expecting him until nine thirty. He’s way early, which I suspect has something to do with his excitement about the rodeo in general. He’s been lapping it up these past two days. I don’t care about the motivation, I’m just glad he’s here, so we can get an early start.
I park my truck next to his and go in search of him. Unfortunately, it’s Mackey I bump into first. He’s just coming out of the rear of one of the trucks. He seems surprised to see me at first, then his expression quickly morphs into anger, but he doesn’t say a word as he ducks back out of sight. I see movement inside through the ventilation holes and can hear urgent voices. A moment later he appears again, this time ignoring me as he comes down the narrow loading ramp and brushes past me. Then he stalks off to the impromptu campground set up behind the livestock pens. It’s where Mackey and his employees, as well as some of the contestants, parked their RVs.
Curious, I walk over to the back of the massive trailer. Each of these probably holds anywhere from thirty to fifty head of cattle. When I start up the ramp, I recognize one of Mackey’s hands along with Logan standing among the cows. It’s not exactly safe, it wouldn’t be the first time someone got trampled and seriously injured in a situation like this.
“What are you doing?” I ask sharply, drawing the men’s attention.
“One of the cows is sick and went down,” Logan answers. “We’re trying to make sure she doesn’t get crushed by the others.”
“The boss went to grab a few more hands to set up the gates so we can unload them,” the other guy shares.
Rather than try to maneuver these large trucks into position, given the limited space, it’s easier to create a chute to lead the cattle into a pen. Once Mackey returns with a couple of men, it doesn’t take them long to put one together, and I help, opening the dividing doors inside the trailer to release the next handful of animals down the ramp.
When I get to the section where the cow went down, Logan and the hand usher the rest of the cattle out, while I crouch down beside the motionless animal. It’s obvious she’s dead, her eyes are fixed and dull. Her tongue is protruding and slightly swollen, and what looks like vomit is crusted on the side of her muzzle and in her nostrils.
That’s odd. Cows rarely ever vomit unless they’ve chewed on a noxious weed, or ingested bad feed or some kind of poison. I’m going to need to get some samples from this cow.
“Logan!” I call out when I see him hustling the last of the animals down the ramp. “Can you grab the kit from the back of my truck?”
When he brings it to me a few moments later, I quickly collect a variety of samples, including blood and vomit, and slip the vials into my pocket.
“She was still alive when you first saw her?” I ask Logan, who crouches down beside me.
“She was, but barely. She was down and struggling to breathe.”
“Did you try to get her to stand?”
“There wasn’t any room, that’s why we were gonna unload, but I guess it was too late.”
“Yeah. I don’t think there was any saving her,” I assure him.
“What do you think it was?”
I shrug. “Not sure. It looks like some kind of poisoning but until I can figure it out, we’re going to be extra cautious and isolate the other cattle that came off this truck.”
“You think it could be some infectious disease?” Logan probes.
“Doubtful. I just want to be cautious, and isolating them also makes it easier to monitor the others for any signs they may be getting sick.”
“What’s going on?” Mackey walks in, followed by a portly older man wearing a ball cap.
“You’ve got a dead cow,” I inform him.
“Dead? Fuck . More fucking paperwork.”
This comes from the man in the ball cap who, I’m guessing, is the truck driver.
Mackey claps him on the shoulder. “Can’t be the first time an animal gets trampled on your truck, George?”
“I’m pretty sure she wasn’t trampled,” I interrupt. “I don’t see any evidence of any kind of contact on her, but what I do see are signs of some kind of poisoning. I was just saying to Logan, we’re going to have to monitor the rest of the cattle from this truck so they’ll have to stay isolated from the rest until we know what we’re dealing with.”
Mackey bursts out in a litany of curses, expressing his displeasure with both me and the situation. Ignoring him, I turn to the other man.
“George, is it? Are you the driver?”
He nods.
“If you could move this truck away from the stockyard, I need to open this cow up. I want a look at her stomach contents.”
“You wanna cut her open in my truck?”
“Best place for it,” I return. “I assume you were gonna hose it down anyway?”
He doesn’t seem happy, and neither is Mackey, who seems near apoplectic with rage as he rants on about having me kicked off the grounds, making sure I’d never work again, and threats of that nature. I’m ignoring him pointedly, which is the best thing to do with bullies; don’t give them the satisfaction.
“But first I need to have a quick look at the other animals,” I continue to explain to George.
I close my kit and get to my feet, grimacing at the pop and crackle of my knees.
“Come with me,” I instruct Logan.
He’s a good kid and instinctively places himself between me and Mackey, as we walk past him and down the ramp.
There are thirty-seven other cows in the pen. By the time we have the cattle chute set up and run each of them through, taking blood and stool samples, almost two and a half hours have passed. The second truck has been unloaded in a neighboring enclosure, and a third truck is just pulling in.
“Did you see where they took the truck with the dead cow?” I ask Logan as I scan the grounds.
“I thought I saw him head that way.” He points toward the road heading out of the park.
Goddammit .
I shouldn’t have let that truck out of my sight. Mackey doesn’t want anything standing in the way of getting his cattle to auction tomorrow. I wouldn’t put it past him to try and haul that cow off somewhere before I get a chance to examine it.
I immediately grab one of Mackey’s guys, the one who’d been in the trailer with Logan when I first got here.
“Where did your boss send that truck?”
“Which truck?” he asks, feigning ignorance.
“You know which one I’m talking about,” I push.
“Tell her.”
I swing around to find Phil Jericho walking up, JD is right behind him. Jericho is staring down Mackey’s hand, while JD sidles up beside me.
The guy shrugs, like he really doesn’t care what the outcome will be, and points at the public parking lot.
“There’s a clearing on the other side. I’m guessing he’s there.”
When I look in that direction, I see a plume of smoke rising above the trees.
“That son of a bitch,” flies from my mouth as I start running toward my truck.
I hear JD’s heavy footfalls right behind me.