“I appreciate your apology and that you finally see you were wrong about me, but nothing can happen between us again,Wade. I have a job to do, too many people are counting on me, and I can’t be distracted.”
She doesn’t wait for me to respond before she climbs into the truck with Caleb. She’s barreling down the driveway before I can even form words.
I let out a sigh as I watch them go. I can’t blame her for icing me out; I haven’t exactly been kind to her over the last few decades. Not to mention, she’s been under attack since she got back to Hicks Creek because I’m not the only one who felt she turned her back on her family. I shake my head.
Much like a mustang, a wild thing like her don’t need breakin’—just a steady hand and a hell of a lot of patience. And I got both.
Chapter Thirteen
Sutton
The moment Caleb jumps into the truck, he’s talking. I’ve barely had time to buckle my seatbelt before he launches into what feels like a rehearsed monologue, his voice buzzing with energy.
“Okay, so here’s what I was thinking,” he says, twisting sideways in the passenger seat so he can face me. “I’ve been looking up cattle health issues online—like, a lot—and there are a ton of things that can cause nasal discharge. Some of them are viral, but there are also bacterial infections, and sometimes it’s just environmental, like dust or mold. But fever? That’s the kicker. Fever usually means infection, right? And the lethargy could be tied to that. I mean, if you’re sick, you don’t wanna do much, right? Same for cows.”
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye as I steer the truck down the long dirt road toward the Nance Ranch, smiling to myself.
“You’ve been doing your homework.”
“Yeah, well…” Je shrugs, though his grin says he’s proud of himself. “I like knowing stuff. Plus, I figure if I’m gonna help Dad out, I need to know what I’m talking about.”
“That’s true. Your dad is lucky to have you. I hope he knows that.”
“He does. I’m lucky to have him, too.”
“He seems like a good dad.”
“He is. I don’t think he really knew what he was doing in the beginning, but he’s recovered well,” he jokes.
I laugh. Caleb mentions Wade like his dad walks on water. It would be sweet if I didn’t want to ring his father’s neck.
Caleb keeps going, his words tumbling over each other. “You know, Dad’s been dealing with stuff like this forever. He doesn’t say it, but he’s really good at what he does. I mean, ranching’s not easy, right? There’s so much to keep track of—fences, feed, water, herd health. And he does all of it. I don’t know how he doesn’t just collapse at the end of the day.”
“Your dad does work hard,” I agree.
“Yeah,” he says, leaning back in his seat. “And, you know, he went to school and learned more about animal science, business, and whatever else he could learn so that he could help the ranch be better. He self-taught a lot of it, too. He doesn’t have a degree or anything, but he’s super smart. He does everything alone, though, and that makes me sad. He doesn’t really date or anything. Which is weird, right? I mean, he’s single, and he’s—well, he’s Dad. All the women in town practically break their necks to get him to notice them. He could totally find someone if he wanted to.”
I clear my throat and keep my eyes on the road.
“I’m sure he’s got a lot on his plate.”
“Yeah, probably,” he says, unbothered. “But still. You’d think someone would’ve snatched him up by now.”
Don’t touch that one. Let’s change the subject to something safer.
“You said you’ve been looking into cattle health issues. Any guesses about what we’re walking into today?”
“Oh, totally.” He grins. “I mean, it could be bovine respiratory disease. That’s pretty common. But if it’s spreading between the cows, maybe it’s something more contagious. You know, like IBR—infectious bovine rhinotracheitis. It’s a mouthful, but it’s super common in herds that aren’t vaccinated. Or it could be something else entirely, like pneumonia.”
This kid has done better research than most college-aged kids. This is impressive.
“You’ve really done your research,” I say. “But research is only good if you can learn to ask questions and think outside of the box, too. Why do you think IBR is possible? All the herds should be vaccinated. A good rancher wouldn’t risk losing so much money by cutting a cost there.”
“You might assume that, but there are some newer, less experienced ranchers in town. They might not realize what a big deal it is until they suffer a loss.”
I grin proudly back at him. If there’s one thing I learned early on in life, it’s to never assume that everyone does things the same way or by the book. The kid’s smart—there’s no denying that. He’s got Wade’s work ethic and, apparently, his curiosity. He’s going to be a big help. I like someone who doesn’t write things off automatically.
“Excellent assessment; you’re going to go far. I think the biggest thing to keep in mind, especially in this case, is that you have to look outside of the norm. If it was a typical outbreak, I wouldn’t have been called in. Doc Lucy has done a lot of the legwork for me, but she’s only one person. One would assume that because they’re a seemingly successful rancher, they know all the protocols for handling an outbreak, but I’ve learned that’snot always the case. The first time I got called into fieldwork, the regular vet swore up and down that the ranch owner wasn’t contaminating the samples and had been sanitizing everything, but they hadn’t been doing it properly, which caused it to spread wildly through the herd. Sometimes, taking a little extra time to ask questions and to observe the practices goes a long way.”
