“That’s the last of ’em, for now,” Benny says.
She nods. “Okay, good. I need to get to the next ranch and see what I can get done.”
“Is Caleb going with you?”
“Nah, he has homework to do,” she answers quickly as she grabs her bag and scurries out of the barn.
“Hey,” I call out as I follow her. She stops and turns, one eyebrow raised in question.
“What is it, Wade?”
I hesitate for half a second before diving in. “Let me come with you on the next herd check.”
She hesitates, her gaze searching mine. “You sure?”
“Absolutely. It’ll take you twice as long to inoculate or medicate and test the cattle if it’s just you.”
She crosses her arms, still skeptical. “First stop is my dad’s place.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Guess I can’t back out now, huh?”
Her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile. “Nope. Get in.”
We climb into her truck, and there’s a comfortable, almost companionable silence. The hum of the engine and the soft sound of the road beneath the tires fill the space as we drive.
Loose strands of hair are starting to fall out of her ponytail, and they’re floating in the breeze as our windows are rolled down for the short drive. She’s tapping her fingers against the steering wheel, lost in thought. I watch her carefully, taking in the way her nose turns up just a little at the end and the set of her jaw.
She’s nervous about going to her dad’s, I can tell that by how her shoulders are practically up to her ears. I’m about to reach over and put my hand on her knee, but we pull into her father’s driveway.
The man himself steps out of the barn, wiping his hands on a rag. He spots us and shakes his head, his expression a mix of exasperation and hatred.
“You brought a Callahan onto my ranch?” Frank growls.
“Are you going to wrestle a three-hundred-pound cow for me?” Sutton asks quickly.
“I could,” he replies.
“You don’t have a problem with Caleb being here, and Wade’s his dad. He stays or I go.”
Frank narrows his eyes at his daughter before he nods at me. “Wade,” he says in greeting, his tone dry.
“Mr. Bishop.”
He grunts, then turns to Sutton. “The meds you gave yesterday worked on some, but not on all.”
“I expected that.”
She turns around to me. “I did the same thing here that I did with yours just now. This illness isn’t fully textbook to BRD, and I just want to change up the antibiotic course to see if it responds or not.”
We follow him into the barn, and the smell of hay and animals surrounds us. Sutton moves with purpose, checking the cattle with practiced efficiency. I stay close, watching her work and stepping in to help when needed.
“Hand me the thermometer,” she says without looking up.
I grab it from the kit and pass it to her. “Here.”
“Thanks,” she mutters. She checks the cow’s temperature and then writes something down in her notebook: “This one’s borderline. Keep an eye on her, Dad.”
“Borderline? What does that mean?”
