“How the hell did they come down with it?” I ask the question I know we’ll all be asking once we confirm this hasn’t spread to the rest of the herd. Pops and Ridge are always so careful that something like this doesn’t happen. We stay up on vaccinations and follow all protocol when introducing calves to the herd.
Ridge provides the answer, venom in his tone. “Goddamn calf got loose from the Kincaids’ the other day when we had that lightning storm. Spent the morning with our herd before I got her out. Been warning them for months that their fence was weak on the south side. Damn fools didn’t do a thing about it.”
With a nod, Shelby heads for the paddock. She’s got a job to do and probably doesn’t want to get mixed up in another Gamble versus Kincaid argument. We’ve hated that family for three generations, and one of their calves infecting our herd is only going to ramp up the feud. Entire herds can be wiped out by BRD, and if that’s what happens here, you can bet your ass we’ll be taking this feud to a courtroom.
“Those bastards have stolen land, horses, cattle, and Great Grandma’s famous blackberry pie recipe that they’re profiting from to this very day! Don’t let ’em steal our ranch!” Meemaw yells from the front porch with a chicken in her arms. Damn. She must have decided to wear her hearing aids today. And what the hell is she talking about with this blackberry pie?
Pops and I mount the horses, give Meemaw a wave, and with a click from our mouths, we’re off. We roam around in the dark with the help of three high-powered flashlights, checking over every cow, steer, heifer, and calf until we find five more who show symptoms. It takes us until mid-morning to complete the inspections and get those five over to Shelby for her diagnosis. I’m hungry and tired by the time we dismount. More of the cattle might come down with symptoms, so we’ll have to do rounds twice a day for the next week at least to stay on top of things.
Seven sick calves won’t ruin our business, but if this spreads, it could very well be the end of Big Ridge Ranch. It’s not like we turn a high profit anyway. The time for lucrative family ranches ended at least a generation ago. Commercial ranches with tens of thousands of head are where the money’s at.
We find Skye in the paddock helping Shelby with the calves. Noticeably missing is Tiff, Ridge’s wife. That woman couldn’t hit the water if she fell out of the boat. Needless to say, none of us have taken a liking to her much, and lately it seems like she and Ridge fight more than they share some kind of enduring love.
Ridge instantly goes to one of his calves, squatting down to scratch its cute head and whisper something in its ear. The poor thing looks and sounds miserable.
“Grab another syringe for me, would you?” Shelby asks of Skye, nothing but cool efficiency in her tone while she loads another calf into the squeeze chute.
She takes the vial from Skye and injects the calf in the neck while crooning to it to keep it calm. She finishes, unloads the syringe gun, snaps off her gloves, and faces Ridge. Now’s not the time to say it, but I’m proud of her. Seeing her work is a thing of beauty. Calm under pressure, highly effective, and knowledgeable as hell.
“We vaccinated all the newest calves for this just last week,” Ridge grumbles.
“Fourteen days is peak immunity. Just didn’t have enough time.” She sighs. “All seven of them have it. I’d bet my truck on it, but I took samples for the lab to confirm.”
Shelby lets the statement linger there. Skye looks at me. I look at Pops. Pops looks at Ridge.
“Fuck,” Ridge spits out, standing up and moving away from his precious calf. He pulls the cowboy hat off his head and runs his fingers through his hair before plopping the hat back on. “There’ll be more.”
Shelby winces. “I’m afraid you might be right.”
“Surely we can do something to prevent the rest of the calves from coming down with it, right?” Skye asks.
Shelby nods. “Definitely. Get the mothers on over here to calm the little ones and keep them nursing. Let’s keep the calves in a low-stress environment. Any storms, move as many of them into the barn as you can. And I’ll work on getting some higher-end colostrum. Give them as much as they’ll take.”
“I’ll text Houston and see if he can spare some time to come back and help us this week,” I offer.
Ridge huffs like an angry bull. “Save your breath. Houston will never put family before the rodeo.” Ridge’s voice is as harsh as one of those lightning storms. “I’ll go talk to the Kincaids.”
“Now, don’t run off with a hot head, son,” Pops drawls.
Ridge’s look could kill. “They need to be taught a lesson. ’Bout time they start ranching the right way and taking care of their calves.” With that ominous threat, he stalks out of the paddock and back to his horse.
Skye and Shelby return to the calves. Pops says he’ll go inside and make us all a late breakfast since we’re going to be here a while. As for me, I pull out my phone and text Houston.
Me: Enough with the jokes. We have a serious problem with the ranch. We need your help. Call me ASAP.
Chapter
Eleven
IF YOU FIND YOURSELF IN A HOLE, STOP DIGGING
Shelby
“Your fiancée is more stubborn than Skye’s one-eared mule!” Pops shouts to Dallas as the latter heads our way from the paddock.
No way am I letting any of the Gambles pay for my time this morning. “I could say the same about you, old man,” I volley back as I stash my bag in the back of my truck. I love my Blazer. She’s big, she’s quirky, she’s Cookie-Monster blue, and I don’t care what Dallas says. I’m driving us back.
“Who you calling old man? I’m sixty-five. I’m a spring frickin’ chicken.”
