Chapter Three #2
Trev pushed his hat back. “At that point, we’ll renegotiate.”
Exactly what she was afraid of.
*
Trev was damned happy that all structures were still standing when he and Maclyn climbed out of the tractor cab.
He understood that maneuvering a large piece of machinery with a bucket extending well beyond the grille could be tricky, but he needed to trust that Mac could work on her own without creating more work by, say, knocking down the windbreak or one of the pole fences.
On the other hand, he did have an employee who most likely wouldn’t dance on the bar in Grey’s Saloon and get herself arrested.
Too bad her experience in what he needed most was lacking.
You owe her. If it wasn’t for him, she’d probably be secure in a job at Buckley Livestock, an outfit known for hanging on to their employees.
Even so, how was he going to explain to Wade that they were paying someone who wasn’t up to the job for three weeks if she didn’t work out?
Best to find out what she could do now.
“We’ll check the bulls then I’ll show you how to load a round bale for the steers in the far field, show you the fence lines that need checked for sagging wire tomorrow.
Before all that”—Trev tilted his head toward the maternity pasture where the pregnant cows were happily munching breakfast—“we’ll walk the herd and let the cows get used to you. ”
“I thought you were assigning me non-cow-related tasks.”
“I am, but if Wade’s leg doesn’t hold up, I’ll need help.”
She pushed her hands into her back pockets. “Can I let Raisin out of the truck for a break before we do that?”
“Put her in the yard. Cows hate dogs.”
“She’s something of a Houdini.”
“The yard is secure. Hayes adopted a puppy last fall.” He fell into step with Maclyn as they crossed the driveway to the truck. Honestly, he couldn’t remember when he’d spent this much one-on-one time with a new hire, but at most he was losing a day.
“You have no other dogs on the ranch?”
“We had dogs growing up. Wade had a big old Pyrenees that passed away about the time I left home, and he never got another. I think Big Ben kinda broke his heart, to tell you the truth.”
“I get it,” she said softly.
So did he. Some people rushed to get a new puppy after losing an old friend. Others couldn’t face attempting to replace a one-of-a-kind companion.
Mac opened the truck door, and the little dog danced on the seat. “Okay,” Mac said, releasing the dog to jump to the ground. Her paws hit gravel, then she made a mighty leap, landing in Mac’s arms. Trev grinned as the dog gave him a what-do-you-think-of-that? look.
“What kind of dog is she?” he asked as he ruffled the curly hair on top of her head.
“A poodle-terrier cross.”
“A toodle, then.”
“A Perrier,” Mac corrected, pronouncing the name like the bottled water.
Trev grinned. He liked it. “And her name? Raisin?”
“Her full name is Raisin Kane.” Amusement lit her gray eyes, temporarily erasing her overly serious expression. Trev found that he liked that, too.
“When Raisin was a new puppy, she was plum-colored, and with her curly hair, she looked very much like a big raisin. Or a purple guinea pig. The curly kind.” They reached the yard and Maclyn opened the gate, allowing her dog to trot into the enclosure.
When she shut the gate, Raisin turned swiftly and gave Mac a look of deep betrayal before jumping on the gate, silently demanding to know what the deal was.
“I’ll be back,” Mac told her.
Raisin plopped her butt down in front of the gate, looking none too happy.
“Honest.” Maclyn reached over the gate to rub the dog’s head. “You be good.” She turned to Trev who motioned toward the barn with his head. Back to business.
“Gotta pick up some equipment.”
Five minutes later they were weaving their way through the feeding cattle, making sure not to get too close to the kicking ends.
A cow could casually shoot out a foot and break a leg without raising her head from the feed.
Trev knew. He’d never had a break, but he’d had some decent bruises when he hadn’t been paying attention.
Maclyn listened closely to his admonitions but did not act nervous as they moved through the herd, which was a plus.
Cows picked up on that sort of thing. She was used to horses, used to handling large animals, and if she was on the ranch through the end of the calving season, she would most likely leave with some cow experience.
He just had to make sure she didn’t get mashed in the process.
“Like I said, you do have to be careful of letting your little dog run through the cattle. Cows hate dogs.”
“I’m actually aware of that.” Maclyn used the cow stick he’d given her as a staff while she picked her way through the muddy field.
“Sweet Grass Ranch had a herd, but they were tended to by their own crew. The Benningtons liked everyone to stay in their lane. I think they were afraid that we’d join forces and overthrow them if we were allowed to fraternize between job areas.
” She didn’t sound like she was kidding.
“Did you like working there?” He asked the question casually, but his body stilled as he waited for her answer. He was part of the reason why she’d been there in the first place.
“Wrangler jobs don’t grow on trees.”
“Do you think that Buckley Livestock would have been better?” Stupid question that he probably shouldn’t have asked.
She gave him a quick look. “Are you looking for absolution?”
“Guess I want to know how badly I screwed up.”
*
How badly had he screwed up?
Maclyn would put it at an 8.5 on a scale of 10.
She’d learned things at the Sweet Grass Ranch, but Buckley would have been a better fit for her, and as far as she knew, they didn’t attempt to murder horses who could be saved.
The place was famous for their well-trained cutting, roping, and barrel horses.
Riding a Buckley Quarter Horse was a badge of honor whether in the arena or on a ranch.
She had so wanted to be part of the operation.
Dealing with horses only, and not having to wrangle guests as well, would have suited her so much better.
Especially when she saw herself in some of those guests, which always gave her a touch of cringe.
She’d been clueless and privileged before Frank had changed all that by taking away everything she’d depended on.
She hadn’t been afraid of hard work or lacking in empathy in her late teens and very early twenties, but she had been blissfully unaware of what a lot of people were going through …
unaware that is, until she went through it herself.
That said, what was done was done, and Trev had given her a temporary job, so it made no sense to rub his nose in her disappointment.
“Let’s say things worked out.”
“Did they?” he asked with a lift of his eyebrows.
No …
Time to change the subject, because rehashing the past wasn’t going to help either of them. Trev saved her the trouble of coming up with something innocuous by pointing to a cow standing a little way from the feed line. “See how she’s switching her tail? And … yeah … see that?”
“She’s shaking her head at her belly, just like a mare about to foal?”
“Exactly.”
“Do we need to bring her in?” She knew that Wade had brought in three cows the previous night and all three were now chilling in calving pens, looking like they had no interest in being mothers at all.
“No. The wind’s dying, and it’s supposed to warm up, so we’ll keep an eye on her.” He pulled a notebook out of his shirt pocket. “Number 4M,” he noted, reading her ear tag. “She’s a veteran. Should be no trouble there.”
“Unless there is?”
“And you said you didn’t know cows.”
“I know Murphy’s Law,” she replied.
They were nearing the end of the line when a heavily pregnant cow lifted her head and did a double take as she zeroed in on Mac, her brown eyes taking on the light of battle. The cow lowered her head and started toward them with deliberate steps when Trev yelled, “Hey!” and waved his stick.
The cow stopped but continued staring malevolently at Mac.
Trev took an aggressive step toward her. “Behave.”
The cow slowly shifted her focus from Trev back to Maclyn, who now knew that Trev had not been exaggerating about watching herself while in the herd. Finally, after giving her head a warning shake, the cow lumbered away, pushing aside one of her sisters to get a new spot in the feed line.
“Okay then.” Maclyn moistened her lips as the cow went back to feeding as if nothing had happened. Being on the animal’s radar had been chilling.
“Number 13F,” Trev said, reading the ear tag, the only way to identify one black cow from another. “Keep an eye out for her.”
“Number 13F. Killer Moo. Right.”
His lips twitched at the nickname, but his tone was serious when he said, “If a cow comes at you, run for the fence. If you have to stand your ground, hit her hard between the eyes with the blunt end of the stick.” Mac gave him a horrified look.
“Trust me,” he said, “you can’t hurt a cow by hitting her between the eyes with something that light, but it gives her something to think about.
And it gives you time to run. Cows are not like horses.
You can’t always count on them avoiding you if you wave your arms. Sometimes you have to make contact.
If they get you onto the ground … well, that rarely ends well. ”
He stopped walking when they reached the last cow. “Most of the time cows will ignore you, unless we’re handling a new calf, or they get you in their sights.”
“Yeah. I kinda know what that feels like now.” And it had surprised her. A soft brown gaze had shifted to calculated aggression in a heartbeat.
“Some cows take exception to certain people for no reason, and they definitely hate strangers and dogs.” He gave her a thoughtful look. “You’re a stranger, and you might also smell like a dog.”