I glance at him, one brow up. “Been doing your homework.”
“Course. A man ought to know the bloodlines if he’s gonna bet his paycheck on ’em.” He jerks his chin toward the next pen. “Old Big Red’s not gonna like the competition.”
Big Red, my other Angus bull, shifts his massive weight against the fence, eyeing me as if asking, “Who’s your favorite?”
He’s a good bull—proven, reliable. But standing nextto Thunder, he looks older, slower, like a heavyweight champ past his prime.
“Red’s still worth his salt.” I scratch the old bull between the ears through the rail. He swings his massive head, grumbling low in his throat. “But we’re breeding for the future. I want calves that’ll push this ranch forward. Buyers are now paying top dollar for efficiency. Genetics is everything.”
Dodge chuckles. “Man talks about cows like other men talk about fine whiskey.”
I chuckle. “Whiskey won’t pay the feed bills.”
“Ain’t that the truth!”
We spend the next half hour running the bulls through a short chute to check them over.
Dodge slides the gate, and I push them forward, both of us mindful of how dangerous this much beef on hoof can be. Each step rattles the steel like a drumbeat.
I run my hands along Thunder’s flank, noting the muscle, the width of his chest, the clean lines in his legs. He’s a breeder, all right. Worth every damn penny.
When we finally let him back into the pen, he wheels, tossing his head like he knows he’s the future of Blue Rock.
After Dodge leaves to get breakfast in the mess hall, I rush back for a quick shower and breakfast with Evie.
After Tillie takes her to kindergarten, we push pairs—cows and calves—out to fresh pasture.
The hands ride ahead, swinging gates, whistling, slapping leather against saddle horns. Calves buck and kick at the cool morning, mothers lumbering after them,lowing softly. Dust rises with the sun, coating everything in a fine red film.
It’s hard and honest work. Used to be the thing that steadied me. Not today. Not since she told me she tried to kill herself. The thought of living in a world where Sarah doesn’t exist is anathema. I’ve been hating the woman for years, but now I know—mixed in with the hate is obsession. Maybe even love, which didn’t die.
My heart kicks up whenever I see her. I thought it was anger. Now I know better.
“Thunder’s lookin’ mean,” one of the hands, Rufus, calls over from his saddle, reins loose in one hand, the other holding his loop ready in case a calf strays. “Ain’t no mistakin’ who’s boss in that pen.”
I grunt, shifting my weight in the saddle. “Better be. Cost me more than my first pickup.”
One of the younger hands snorts. “Hell, boss, for that price, that bull better make coffee and fix fences, too.”
The men laugh, and Dodge shakes his head, smirking. “You’re all full of shit. That bull is gonna throw keepers.”
I watch a calf dart sideways, mother bawling as she follows. Dodge nudges his horse after a straggler.
We work until the herd flows through the gate like a living river.
By the time we’ve pushed the pairs into fresh pasture, the sun’s cleared the canyon rim. My shirt sticks to my back, and the brim of my hat is already damp with sweat. April’s supposed to be cool, but this morning feels more like August.
We stop at a pond—a pocket of water tucked into a low curve of the pasture, mirror-flat and the color of old steel. Reeds crowd the shallows, cattails nod in the breeze, and dragonflies skim the surface. On the far bank, willows dip low over the water.
The air smells green and clean: wet earth, sun-warmed algae, and a trace of cedar smoke drifting from a distant burn pile.
For a second, the stillness drags me to a lazy afternoon—just Sarah and me.
“Promise me, Cade, you’ll always be there,” she whispers, nuzzling my chest as we lie on a blanket on the banks of the pond. We swam, made love in the water, and took a nap, naked as jaybirds. Just as free.
“I promise, Dove.” I roll over her, nestle my growing erection between her thighs, and kiss her. “I can’t live without you.”
Tears fill her eyes. “I love you, Cade.”
