Chapter 2 Everett
EVERETT
Ipat over the heifer’s flank as soothingly as I can while being halfway up my arm in her birth canal.
She passed the water bag almost half an hour ago, but her calf has one foreleg retained.
It’s the same thing that caused her issues last season, and I’m regretting my decision to keep her in the rotation this time.
“How’s it looking back there?” asks Katie, the veterinarian that we’ve been working with since she was still in school. “Her vitals are all stable so far, but I don’t want her stuck for much longer.”
I grunt as I push in a little further, feeling around for the foreleg. The calf’s head is in position, which is good, but it’s never easy finding the right bony little leg when you’re rooting around blindly.
“Think I got it,” I say.
I wrap my fingers around the leg, gently working my way up to make sure it’s not a rear leg.
A sigh of relief falls from me when I reach the calf’s shoulder, and I get to work on straightening that leg out.
It’s slow work, and I have to be careful I don’t twist anything on the calf or the heifer as I move things around inside.
The vibration of the heifer’s uncomfortable lowing goes straight through my whole body, but she relaxes almost instantly when I finally get that leg free.
“Alright, we’re all set,” I say. “Should I give her a minute, or do you want me to pull?”
Katie glances at her watch and considers for a moment before shaking her head.
“Go ahead and pull,” she tells me. “I want to get her into recovery ASAP.”
It’s as I’m pulling that I hear a shocked gasp behind me, but I don’t have time to pay attention when I’ve got an armful of slippery calf taking its damn time breaching the rest of the way.
It’s slow going for a moment, but then the calf practically shoots right out, and I just barely manage to catch it before the heifer shakes heartily and steps away.
The amniotic sac is still intact, so as soon as I’m sure that Katie and her students have a handle on the heifer, I kneel down to start tearing the sac open. Time to get this kiddo out in the world.
That’s when I catch sight of her.
There’s a woman standing in the mouth of the barn, staring at us in total horror. She looks like she wants to either scream or throw up.
She’s fucking stunning.
Even just the glimpse of her I get is enough to take my breath away. Her body is something right out of my dreams, and she has these pretty blue eyes that are blown wide in disgust. It’s a surprisingly good look on her.
I have to tear my eyes off her before I get distracted from what I need to be doing right now.
Katie’s got her hands full, and I don’t think the woman in front of me is going to be of much help with this, no matter how pretty she is.
If I had three guesses, all of them would land firmly on her never having stepped foot on a ranch before.
She’s wearing a fancy little purple suit and heels, and she looks more than half ready to faint at the sight of the calf that I’m currently working free from its amniotic sac.
“How’s ol’ Bessie doing up there?” I ask, trying for humor.
Katie rolls her eyes at me as she works her way through her own examination.
“Cowthilda is doing just fine,” she tells me. “Looks and sounds good, but I agree this should be her last baby. I doubt she’d catch again, but she’s getting old, and after how hard she took last season, I think it’s time for her to head to pasture.”
I grunt in agreement, slinging the remnants of the sac off to the side and stepping aside so Katie can take a look over the calf while one of her students logs Cowthilda’s vital signs.
As I strip off the shoulder high gloves and toss them over one of the fence posts, I turn to face the marketing woman—or, at least, I’m assuming she’s from the marketing team.
No one else would come out here in such a perfectly sensible ponytail.The vanilla perfume I can faintly smell wafting from her is actually rather pleasant, alongside being familiar—it reminds me of the scent my wife wore, before she passed—but I don’t linger on the thought.
I wasn’t sure about this whole marketing idea when Jennifer first brought it up to me, and I’m growing less sure about it by the second.
I’m not quite foolish enough to get in my daughter’s way, though, and she’s been the one spearheading everything.
It hasn’t changed anything yet, and frankly I don’t think it’s going to in the long run.
Adding to the neverending to-do list that bounces around in my mind every day seems kind of counter-intuitive, especially since I’m only keeping the ranch running by the skin of my teeth right now.
Marketing is just another expense and a million more meetings than I ever want to be a part of, which is why Jennifer is in charge of dealing with the… people part of this whole thing.
Which is why I’m so confused about what this woman is doing here now.
“You from that marketing place?” I ask gruffly, not bothering to hide my frown.
I almost hope she’ll say no, but there’s no one else who would be walking around the ranch in heels and be damn-near-fainting at the sight of a birth. Even if she is two weeks early, for some godforsaken reason.
“Mary Bryce.” She introduces herself. “From Branded.”
She hesitates when I hold my hand out, and I almost want to grin when I see the look of disgust be replaced with stark determination.
Her hand is small in mine, and soft, but that’s to be expected.
I wonder how many times little miss city girl will wash her hands to get the nonexistent cattle cooties off her skin.
I may be no stranger to filth, but even I know better than to not wear gloves during calving season. I’m often willing to risk my own health, but keeping my animals in good shape is a non-negotiable. They’re the only things keeping the ranch from going under entirely.
“It’s lovely to meet you,”she says.
I snort out a laugh as I lean against the side of the barn and cross my arms over my chest. I don’t think lovely is quite the word either of us would choose, but it’s kind of cute to see her struggle for her manners.
Her eyes keep flicking back behind me, where I assume Katie and her assistant for the day are dealing with the placenta and tagging the calf, and she looks like she’s caught between disgust and horrified intrigue.
“Sure,” I say. “Everett Riggs. Jenny’s not here.”
She properly falters at that, long lashes fluttering over pale blue eyes, and her smile goes from confident to confused.
“Jenny?” she asks, politely uncertain.
“My daughter’s handling all this,” I tell her bluntly.
I don’t exactly want to be rude about all this, but Jennifer is supposed to be handling everything. While grunting at her until she goes away might work if I try hard enough, it’s probably going to be easier to actually use my words for once and send her right back to the city.
She may be the sort of pretty that I don’t see often out here—all clean and prissy and sweet-smelling—but that doesn’t mean that I’m going to sit through some pitch about pulling the weeds and wearing monogrammed uniform shirts to turn the image of the ranch around.
It was Jennifer’s idea, and it can be Jennifer’s problem.
“We had a meeting scheduled for this afternoon,” she says after a long, uncomfortable pause. “My manager has been corresponding with you via email, Mr. Riggs.”
“With my daughter,” I correct her, sighing in frustration. “She just uses my email. She’s out of town for the next two weeks or so.”
Part of me thinks that Jennifer may have done this on purpose to try to force me into actually putting effort into this scheme of hers, but I dismiss the idea quickly. She’s too dead-set on this actually working to let me mess it up, and we stopped needling at each other years ago.
The marketing woman takes a breath, hesitates, then reaches into the pocket of her fancy little purse to pull out her phone.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Riggs. Could you excuse me for a moment?” she asks politely. “I just need to call my office.”
I shrug, turning my back on her before she even makes the call. With any luck, her office will realize the mistake and reschedule her to come out here when Jennifer’s back, and it’ll be no skin off mine. Maybe she’ll wear something that isn’t dry clean only.
“Everything good with this one?” I ask as I crouch down next to Katie.
“A healthy little girl,” she says, shifting her stethoscope over one more spot before leaning back. “Got a name in mind?”
I reach out to finger the tag on the calf’s ear, rubbing my finger across her new ID.
“BSR207 rolls off the tongue pretty nice, don’t you think?” I ask with a grin.
Katie shoots me an unamused glare, but the way her nose crinkles when she bites back a laugh gives her away. I don’t often bother with jokes, and when I do, they’re lazy, but the attempt seems to be enough to keep her and the rest of my ranch hands from worrying about me too much.
“Thanks so much for your input,” she says drily. “I’ll come up with something myself.”
I’m saved from having to come up with something else witty when Mary’s voice calls out to me.
She’s standing at the edge of the concrete, not taking a step into the dirtied hay with those expensive shoes.
I sigh through my nose and make my way over to her, slipping my hands into my pockets when I stop in front of her.
“I apologize for the miscommunication, Mr. Riggs,” she starts. “Some of the dates got a little messed up in scheduling, so it looks like I’ll be working with you instead of your daughter.”
The thousand-watt smile she sends me is almost enough to distract me from what she’s just said, but by the time I manage to focus past the certainty in her eyes, all I can do is laugh.
There’s no way she can be serious.