Add to that, Ember didn’t want to be a mother to any other children... Maybe that should have come first. They wanted different things, valued different things. Kissing her—he had no right to be crossing those lines with her.
And yet he wasn’t sorry, and that frustrated him. He should feel bad about that—except that kiss had been honest. What he felt for her might be dumb as a bag of rocks, but that was how he felt when he looked at her. She was beautiful, wounded, more vulnerable than she liked to admit, and when he was next to her, all he could think about was if she was comfortable, and what she was thinking...
Casey put his foot into the stirrup and swung up into the saddle. He made a clucking sound with his mouth and pulled on the reins, guiding Soldier out of the barn.
Horseback was where he did his best thinking, so maybe this ride would do him good.
“Lord,” he murmured aloud. “Take away whatever I’m feeling for her. I know she’s all wrong for me. I don’t even need help in seeing that. Just—take it away. Give me that peace that passes understanding.”
God had always answered that prayer for him in the past. If something wasn’t meant for him, he asked God to remove the desire for it. Like a woman he was interested in who wasn’t a believer, or even some fancy truck he knew he couldn’t actually afford. He’d pray for that peace, and he’d get it. Every time.
Except with Ember. He’d been praying for peace for days now, and God had gone silent.
Casey rode the rest of the way, the scenery passing him by without him giving it much notice as his mind gnawed over the problem. He was the problem—that was clear enough. Ember had come for one reason—to buy this ranch—and he’d been the one to overstep, pull her into his arms and kiss her. Given a chance to think that one over, she’d have every reason to be angry with him.
“Hey, boss!” Bert called as Casey rode up to where the old cowboy stood. The sun was lowering in the sky, shadows stretching long and languid. Cattle dotted the grassy field, grazing and chewing their cud. Casey spotted a few new calves since he’d last been out this way. He swung down from his horse and pulled the tools he’d brought with him out from the side bags. Then he patted the horse’s rump, letting Soldier go graze with the cattle. They were close by Milk River, and Casey could see the glitter of the water from here. A creek snaked between two hills, copses of trees thrusting up from the banks.
“Right there.” Bert nodded toward the cow. She was pacing, her head down as a ripple of contraction moved over her bulky middle. Her udder was leaking a steady drip of milk, and a pair of hooves poked out from beneath the tail. The baby was in the birth canal, but the mother looked exhausted. “Been like that for the last hour. No progression. I’ve tried getting in there to pull, but she won’t let me close.”
The cow shook her head, ear tags rattling, then hung her nose down again as another contraction hit.
“We’re gonna have to get in there,” Casey said. “That calf has to come out.”
“Agreed,” Bert replied. “But it’ll take us both. I’ll go around front and keep ’er occupied, and you see if you can get a hold of those hooves.”
Bert and Casey had worked together on births for years now, and they had a well-oiled system. Cows had an instinct to go give birth alone, and they didn’t welcome intervention, either, but this cow just might be tired enough to allow them to give a hand.
Casey had brought the calving chains with him—a device that settled over the cow’s hips and attached to the hooves that were protruding. It gave the cowboy some leverage as he pulled the calf steadily out of the mother with every contraction. Closer to the barn, they’d put the cow in the head gate to keep her from getting spooked and trampling them, but he’d just have to be light on his feet tonight. Because there was no head gate available, and if this cow didn’t get assistance, they’d lose them both.
“There’ve been wolves out—past the barn, on the east part of Milk River,” Casey said, and Bert instinctively looked in that direction.
“How brave were they?” Bert asked.
“I shot two.”
Bert’s eyebrows went up, and he chewed the side of his cheek. “We’d better have a man with a gun patrolling tonight, or we’ll lose the new calves.”
“My thoughts, too,” Casey agreed. “You ready?”
They moved toward the cow, and it took a few steps away from them. They approached again, and she did the same, moving steadily toward the river.
“Oh, no, you don’t—” Casey got in front of the cow, cutting her off so she couldn’t make more trouble for herself by getting too close to the water, and this time the cow stumbled to a stop as another contraction took over. For the next forty minutes, they assisted the cow in the delivery of the calf. It was a big male, and when it dropped to the ground, it didn’t start breathing until Bert rubbed its chest with a handful of grass and Casey tickled its nostrils with another long stem. Finally, it pulled in a breath and they left the mother to clean up the baby.
They backed away to give the cow some space to
