Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
TRISTON
T here’s no reason for the sick feeling weighing down my stomach like a ton of bricks as I pull the Monroes’ ATV up to the nondescript, utilitarian buildings that house the Hereford herds that comprise most of the ranch’s commercial beef ventures when they’re not out in the mountain pastures.
Several curious calves are exploring the grass that’s just started to green up while their mothers focus on the hay feeders spread around the barn’s paddock.
There aren’t any visible injuries. No calves that are listless.
No fencing is missing. No gates are open.
There’s no evidence of wolves or coyotes in the still-muddy pastures nearest the large building where the prairie grasses haven’t quite come in.
There’s not any of the bachelor bulls that are kept separate when it’s not breeding season.
Part of me wants to brush the feeling off as leftover from two nights ago.
It certainly could be lingering fear and panic over meeting Penny and realizing if I hadn’t had a Drop in Oakland, I might never have known I’d even had a daughter.
Or even guilt over the reality that I’ve missed out on nearly a year of her life—and Emily’s entire pregnancy—in favor of chasing the only dream I’ve had since getting out of my Dad’s clutches at eighteen.
It could even be that agitation that’s eating away under my skin that I refuse to name, that the Haven doctors warned could become nearly as dangerous as going into heat in an unsafe location.
As if to drive the reality home, my clove scent grows stronger, already breaking through the scent blocking lotion.
Except if that was the cause for the anxiety, wouldn’t I have felt it all morning while getting ready?
Wouldn’t it have been festering while the sun rose above the mountains while I waited for the coffee to finish brewing?
And it shouldn’t be digging deeper every moment I’m staring at the cows in front of me.
I turn off the vehicle, shove the key into a pocket of my jeans and quickly cross to the nearest of the barn duo.
Without bothering to open the gate, I climb over the nearest bit of barbed wire fencing, the move instinctual even after being away from ranch work for as long as I have.
One of the red cows looks up from the hay feeder.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice level. “You girls doing okay out here?”
I carefully scan each cow as I head toward the barn, but nothing’s visibly wrong.
Some of the worry trying to strangle me eases.
I reposition some of the half-eaten bales in the feeders as I pass them, making sure the inner portion of the bale is accessible.
The smallest of the calves I pat down, quickly confirming they’re not dehydrated or cold.
By the time I get to the barn’s side entrance, I’m ready to admit that maybe that sixth sense you develop when working with cattle isn’t quite as accurate for me as it used to be.
As I’m cleaning and relaying the straw bedding just inside the barn’s entrance, there’s a distressed sound from the far corner of the barn.
My heart drops to my feet. I set the rake against the wall nearest me and then fly across the barn, praying it’s not what it sounds like.
I skid to a stop about five feet from the cow and curse.
“You are not supposed to be calving, sweetheart,” I mutter. “And that is not the way those hooves should be pointing.”
The ranch is supposed to be a couple weeks outside of the last batch of cows that could be dropping calves.
Ethan’s never let calving fall into May, especially not with the main herds.
I pull my phone and dial Ethan’s number by memory, my heart pounding in my ears.
Then I run to the supply room and hope the guys restocked the calving supplies after the last batch and that they’re in the same place they used to be.
“Triston?” Ethan’s voice is hoarse, like he’s just woken up. There’s a woman’s voice and then a baby’s cry. Shit, I was probably supposed to call Beau. “What’s wrong?”
My scent surrounds me, edged with my panic.
“Sorry, I automatically called you instead of Beau.”
There’s murmuring in the background and then a door closing. “You’re fine. What’s happened?”
“One of the Herefords is calving.”
His curse is more colorful than mine. “How the hell is she so late?”
Thank the gods, the calving kits are stashed where I expect.
I pull one and the emergency pack, too, then shed my chaps.
I should probably keep them on, but I don’t want to have to risk going into Jackson to replace them if this goes as poorly as is probable.
Getting blood out of leather is a bitch.
There’s more conversation between Ethan and his pack, but I tune it out as I scoop up both kits and head back to the poor cow.
“Okay,” Ethan says, his voice louder. “I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes and can help you process it.”
“Well, that might not be necessary,” I mutter, more than a little doubtful of how this is all going to end up.
Ethan misreads the melancholy in my voice.
“Not a slight against you,” he says, his tone warmer than before. “We always do them in pairs now.”
“No, that’s not—” I curse again and wedge my phone against my shoulder. “Sweetheart, you need to stand up so I can get you away from that wall.”
The cow lunges as I close the last couple feet of distance, her horn way too close to my stomach for comfort. It doesn’t stop my forward progress, though. I need to get her pulled away from the rest of the herd. Now.
“ Fuck . Ethan, it’s upside down.”
Ethan doesn’t say anything else before cutting the call.
I drop my phone onto the supplies then halter the cow.
She shakes her head, trying to force me to back off, but I’ve spent most of my adult life avoiding irritated bulls.
It’s honestly easier to keep her from hitting me with her horns when I’m right up on her than when she has a few feet to really put her weight into the lunge.
It takes me a few tries to get the cow to her feet, but she follows easily enough once she is.
As I’m settling her on some straw in the middle walkway, one of the calves tries to slip through the halfway open gate.
“Yeah, not a good idea, little dude.” I guide it back into the barn paddock. “There’s about to be way more people here.”
I’m assuming, at least. Upside-down is one of those presentations that often needs the vet and not just experienced ranch hands.
My scent explodes from me again, and I groan.
I don’t even have the lotion with me to try and cut through the worst of it.
I close my eyes and try to slow my breathing and calm my racing heart.
Nothing good will happen if I’m this reactive while Ethan’s trying to keep this situation from being an outright catastrophe.
Tires crunch on gravel. I grab the supplies and set them on the other side of the gate and then lock it. I’m climbing over it as a tall figure walks through the main access door.
“Triston?”
My heart launches into my fucking throat so fast I gasp.
“Ethan said we have a calf problem and to get my ass down here. Which—” Beau’s question cuts off on the same colorful curse Ethan had used. “How in the hell is she even pregnant? She slipped it back in July right after cutoff.”
I count back the months. “So she’s early, too, then?”
“Probably,” Beau says, voice bleak.
He silently puts on protective gear, taking over the decision making, and I slip into the much more comfortable role of being the second helper.
My scent still pulses out from me, the distress edge to it bound to be a problem at some point, but I do my best to ignore it, focusing on the cow and calf we’re trying to save.
By the time Ethan walks in, his large strides eating up the distance, Beau’s already trying to reposition the calf while I keep the cow from kicking him.
Every other adjustment he makes has his leg brushing against mine, his bare arm touching my own.
My hands are shaking, the agitation pressing against my skin like tiny, never-ending pinpricks, and my scent betrays more than just my anxiety.
The sour edge gives away my secret, and the warmth of it tells more about how Beau’s affecting me than I really have the capacity to admit to.
It’s easy enough to tell when Ethan’s close enough to catch my scent.
A growl rips up his throat, the sound entirely primal. A shiver races down my spine, but I manage to swallow back the whine trying to break free. Thankfully Ethan is bonded already, or that sour twist to my scent would likely have driven him right over the edge of reasonable and into a rut.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “I didn’t think I’d need… Oh, fuck .”
The kick to my thigh is hard enough I want to crumble from it, but I try to distance myself from the pain and continue to block access to Beau so he can keep working.
“You’re fine,” Ethan breathes. “I can handle it.”
His growl doesn’t stop, though, even as he slides between Beau and me, easing me away from the cow. Just like the growl, the protectiveness is instinctual, and I don’t try to fight against it. It takes another few minutes before I can feel my leg enough to move away and give Ethan a bit of space.
“You got it yet?” Ethan asks.
Beau tries another maneuver and then groans. “Fucking finally.”
It only takes a few more minutes after that, and then we’re trying to determine if the calf is too preterm to save.
Ethan and Beau do most of the evaluating while I work to clean up the worst of the mess and deal with the afterbirth.
The cow’s alert and responsive, and her agitation drops away considerably now that the calf isn’t stuck.
Once I have her back on her feet, I fill a small bucket with the high calorie feed supplement and bring it over to her.
My scent at last starts to fade, the sour edge to it taking the longest to disappear.
Ethan’s growl finally cuts off.
“There you go, bud,” Ethan says, his voice still hoarse.
Beau eases the calf, still mostly wet and not yet standing, up next to the cow.
Sometimes they reject the calves when we have to intervene so heavily, but hopefully this one will work out.
His focus stays on the pair even as he sheds out of the protection wear and gloves, dropping them into a pile that Ethan’s quick to take care of.
I wash away the worst of the mess with the hose and then stretch out my leg, trying to ease the pain.
It’ll be a bitch of a bruise, I’m sure, but nothing feels particularly wrong with it.
I reorganize the kits and then settle against the fencing. It’ll be a few hours before we’re safe to reintegrate them with the herd and leave them alone.
“You good?” Ethan asks, brushing his hands on his own soiled jeans. “I can call Kyle if you need to reset.”
Beau frowns as he looks between us. I shake my head.
“N-no, I’ll be fine.”
Ethan’s look is cynical, even more than usual. The question regarding my secret is there in his eyes, too. I swallow heavily, silently pleading he doesn’t bring it up. He frowns but doesn’t push any more.
“Call me if something changes with them,” he instructs Beau.
He nods and waves toward Ethan’s car. “Go back to your Omega, man. We’ve got it.”