Chapter Two
The first pot of coffee had perked and brewed, its rich aroma mingling with the dewy morning. Pouring herself a mug with a dash of milk and sugar, Alice practically inhaled the first sip. She didn’t know how anyone could start their day without this delectable, eye-opening brew.
A glance out the kitchen window confirmed what her bones already knew—a dark canvas with the warm glow of a sun that wasn’t quite ready to make its morning appearance.
When it did, the sun would shine brightly on the Sweet Ranch.
Stealing a glimpse at the old clock over the fridge, the time, four forty-five.
The family would be stirring soon, needing breakfast before the day’s work began.
The darkness, the horizon, this kitchen, and her morning ritual, all of it familiar and comforting.
One more sip, one more look into the horizon before she began cracking eggs, and a flicker of motion near the paddocks caught her eye.
She squinted, peering through the glass, but the darkness made it hard to distinguish shapes.
Could have been Brady on his nightly rounds.
Coyotes, maybe, or one of those pesky skunks that had been getting into the trash lately.
No rancher let their imagination run amok with boogeymen. She was no different.
She grabbed her favorite heavy sweater from the hook by the back door and slipped outside.
The air hit her with a surprising chill, the grass beneath her boots wet with dew.
She pulled the sweater tighter around her shoulders, wishing she’d thought to grab a proper coat.
In the gray half-light before dawn, shadows took on strange shapes, stretching across the yard toward the barn.
This was no horror movie where the stupid heroine went down into the basement where the axe murderer hid; this was her ranch and she had nothing to fear. Still, she wished she’d thought to grab her gun on the way out the door—just in case.
A crash from the direction of the equipment shed made her jump. Then came a string of colorful curses that definitely weren’t coming from any shadow. “Come back here, you little troublemaker!”
Clint? Alice moved toward the voice, curiosity quickening her steps.
As she rounded the corner of the barn, her hand flew to her mouth and she stopped in her tracks.
Clint, normally so composed and capable, was flat on his backside in the mud, while a small calf pranced just out of his reach.
The little thing looked for all the world like it was laughing at him.
“Need a hand?” Alice couldn’t keep the amusement from her voice.
Clint’s head whipped toward her, surprise flashing across his face. “Mrs. Sweet. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“You didn’t. I was just about to start breakfast.”
The calf, taking advantage of Clint’s distraction, darted behind the water trough.
With a muttered curse that cut off abruptly, Clint scrambled to his feet. “Little escape artist got out of the pen somehow.” Wiping his muddy hands on his equally muddy jeans, he shook his head. “Mama’s raising a ruckus in the barn, and I’d rather not wake the whole county.”
As if on cue, an angry bellow echoed from inside the barn. The calf’s head popped up, ears perked, before it took off again.
“Well, we can’t have that.” Alice pushed her sleeves up her forearms. “I’ll circle around the other side. We can herd it back together.”
Clint looked like he might object, but another crash had him nodding in agreement. “Just be careful. Ground’s slick.”
They split up, Clint heading left and Alice circled wide to come around from the other direction.
The sky was lightening now, the first hints of pink and gold touching the horizon, giving her just enough light to see by.
The calf emerged from behind the shed, spotted her, and changed direction.
That little stinker was small but surprisingly quick, darting around with the agility of something much less clumsy-looking.
“This way!” she called to Clint, who was now behind the calf, trying to drive it toward the barn.
“If we can get it to the paddock gate…” Her words cut off as the calf made a sudden, sharp turn, heading straight for her.
Instinctively, she spread her arms wide, making herself bigger. “Whoa, little one!”
The calf skidded to a halt, looking confused.
For a moment, they stared at each other, Alice and this small, stubborn creature caught in a silent standoff.
Then, from behind the calf, Clint lunged.
Everything happened at once. The calf bolted sideways.
Clint’s momentum carried him forward, straight toward Alice.
She stepped back reflexively, her heel hitting a patch of slick mud.
Her feet went out from under her. Arms windmilling, she felt herself falling.
A strong hand grabbed for her, catching her arm.
Startled by the commotion, the calf took off across the yard. From the barn came the mother cow’s frantic bellow, louder now, more insistent.
“Oh, crud. If it makes it to the main gate, it might get hurt trying to cross the cattle grids.”
Clint nodded, and as if the dang animal could understand English, it circled around and began rushing in the opposite direction.
“At this rate,” Alice heaved a sigh as she started running, “we could be at this all day!”
The chase was on again, the two of them circling wide, trying to flank the small black-and-white blur that darted back and forth across the yard with the energy only a young animal possesses.
As the morning light strengthened, Alice caught glimpses of Clint’s face—focused, determined. Thank heaven for their new foreman. Now if they could just nab the blasted calf.
This blasted calf was going to be the death of him.
Clint cut across the yard at a diagonal, boots digging into the wet earth, trying to head off the small blur that was currently making a beeline for the south pasture.
For such a small creature, it moved with incredible speed and agility, darting left when he went right, feinting one way before breaking in another direction entirely.
Near him, Alice Sweet kept the pace, her breath coming in quick puffs of white in the cold morning air.
This wasn’t the first time he’d seen her working the ranch—hard, and yet, with mud splattered up the legs of her jeans and determination etched into every line of her face, he was struck by the strength of the family matriarch.
“We need to cut it off before it escapes again!” She changed direction to circle wide around the water trough.
Clint nodded, adjusting his own trajectory.
The sky was lightening rapidly now. If they didn’t catch this little troublemaker soon, the whole household would be up and witness to their ridiculous chase.
The thought of the Sweet siblings seeing their dignified mother covered in mud and running after a calf was almost enough to make him smile. Almost.
The calf skidded around the corner of the equipment shed, hooves kicking up divots of wet earth. It spotted Alice coming from the left and veered sharply right—straight toward Clint.
“I’ve got him!” Clint dived forward. His fingers grazed the calf’s hide before the little escape artist spun away, bleating what sounded suspiciously like laughter.
Clint landed hard on his knees, mud splattering up his already-filthy jeans.
“Son of a—” He bit off the curse, remembering who was with him.
“I’ve heard worse.” Alice hurried past, surprisingly spry for a woman wrestling mud that gripped at your boots like suction cups and a calf that might just outwit them both.
The calf made a break for the open space between the barn and the corral. From inside the barn, the mother cow’s bellows were reaching a fever pitch, echoing across the yard. He had no clue how the young calf had managed to escape and not the mama.
“We need to work together,” Alice called, circling back. “Drive him toward the barn door. I’ll block the exit if he tries to bolt.”
Clint nodded, pushing himself up. They moved in tandem, Clint herding from behind while Alice positioned herself to block potential escape paths. The calf darted one way, then another, finding itself increasingly boxed in. Its movements grew more frantic, less coordinated.
“Easy now,” Alice murmured, her voice suddenly gentle. “Easy, little one. Your mama’s waiting.”
The calf slowed, seeming to respond to her tone. Its head turned toward the barn, ears perked at the sound of its mother’s calls.
“That’s it.” Alice took a slow step forward. “Just a little closer…”
The moment shattered as the calf spooked, bolting straight at Clint with the speed and determination of something three times its size.
He braced himself, arms spread wide, ready to make the catch—and slipped.
His boot heel shot out from under him on the mud-slicked ground, arms flailing as he fought for balance.
This was insane. How could one little calf turn two seasoned ranchers into a routine worthy of the Keystone Cops?
Again the mother cow called and the calf flicked an ear toward the bawl, then bolted along the fence line—toward the alley this time.
“That’s you!” Clint shouted.
Alice moved like she’d been born in a barn. The calf checked, swung, and there it was, lined up on the run that led straight to the barn door.
“Go,” Alice breathed.
They went.
Clint kept pressure steady, not crowding, eyes on hips, not head. If you moved the hip, the front end followed. The calf zigged once more at the broken pallet by the wall, found nowhere to go, and took the center like it was his idea.
“Door?” Alice asked.
“Leave it open.” He stole a glance in her direction. “We’ll close behind.”
Frantic to find her calf, the mama’s bawl rolled over them, even louder now, and the calf answered with a thin, ridiculous sound.
Clint opened his palm to wave at the confused calf and the animal hurried down the center aisle toward the sound that belonged to it.
“Stall three.” He pointed. “If she’s in there—”
“She is.” Alice nodded. “Boots is on four. We moved the pair last night.”
He liked that she knew where every animal slept without checking a board.
The cow threw her head when she saw them, whites showing, big body swinging to guard the stall door, then swung again when her nose caught the calf. A different sound came out of her, relief and irritation braided together. Alice was already at the latch, fingers quick. “On your count.”
“Now.”
He slid, she pulled, and the door eased open just enough to let a calf through and not a freight train of a worried mama.
The calf shot inside. The cow dropped her head, checked the baby like she was counting toes, then bumped it toward the udder with all the softness a thirteen-hundred-pound animal could manage.
The calf latched. The cow blew. Horses shifted in their stalls.
Only then did he let his shoulders fall.
“You okay?” Her voice was low enough not to rile the cow.
He nodded. His lungs were still dragging at the air like it was heavy. Sweat cooled at the base of his neck. “He’s got legs.”
“He’s got opinions.” The corners of her mouth lifted in a smile. “We should name him Houdini.”
The cow lifted her head and huffed at them. Alice huffed back, softer. “We’re going,” she told the cow.
They stepped back from the stall in unison. Backs against the wooden walls, each heaved a relieved sigh. Slowly, Alice slid to the ground, her legs stretched out.
Clint slid to sit beside her. His head resting back against the wall, he shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve worked that hard in years.”
“Tell me about it.” Her shoulders began to shake and for a moment, he thought she was crying.
Then he heard it—laughter. Not the polite chuckle he’d occasionally heard from her over the last several months, but full-bodied, unrestrained laughter that seemed to bubble up from someplace deep and genuine.
“The look on your face,” she gasped between fits of giggles, pushing herself up slightly to look at him.
There was mud on her cheek, in her hair, and her eyes were bright with tears of mirth. “When that calf charged you…”
Suddenly, inexplicably, Clint was laughing too.
The absurdity of it all—the dignified foreman and the ranch matriarch sprawled in the mud, outwitted by thirty pounds of stubborn calf—struck him full force.
The laughter felt rusty, unfamiliar, but it came anyway, rumbling up from a place he’d thought long since gone quiet.