“He’s still on it.” Wes side-eyes me, but I keep talking. “But the last time I talked to him, he wanted to do less traveling, settle somewhere family-friendly.”
Wes scratches his beard. “If you think he’ll be interested, give him a call. He can come and check out the place, see if it’s somewhere he wants to land.”
I nod. “Alright.”
We ride farther into the pasture, the herd grazing peacefully with their newborn calves.
I spot a tiny speck of black near some brush, and we ride over to investigate.
A small calf lies alone, its mother nowhere in sight.
“Whose calf is that?” Wes growls.
I glance at the calf and rattle off a number from the top of my head.
“You can see the tag from there?”
I shake my head. “Nah, but that’s whose calf it is.”
“You’re sure?”
“Ninety percent sure, yeah. But you can check the tag.”
He climbs out of the saddle. The calf doesn't move, not a good sign. He should be getting up, trying to follow the herd. The lethargy could mean disease—or maybe dehydration, if he hasn’t nursed in a while.
“You’re right,” he calls from the ground where he can easily read the number on his tag.
I expel an annoyed breath. “That cow’s a terrible fucking mother. This is the third calf she’s left.”
“Guess we know not to breed her again then, don’t we?”
“Guess so,” I chuckle.
“Toss me some rope and let’s get him to Quinn. Hopefully, a heat lamp and a bottle will perk him up.”
I throw my rope to him so he can tie up the calf’s legs and then hop down to help him haul it onto June’s back.
Looks like I get to see Quinn at work again. And there’s nothing sexier than watching that woman in her element, doing what she does best.
She’s waiting for us at the barn when we bring in the calf.
“I’ve got the heat lamp on in there,“ she says, pointing toward the corner stall, which is slightly larger than the others.
She looks at home in this barn, and I feel a twinge of sadness. It’s too easy to imagine her here every single day. Withme.
Mine. Not just Wes’.
Quinn shuffles into the stall behind me as I carry in the listless calf. Her hands are on him the second I set him on the hay under the heat lamp.
“Any idea how long he’s been down?” she asks, peeling back his lips to get a look at his gums.
“No,” Wes answers. “All the pairs were together in that pasture last night before we came in. His mom was nowhere near him. Useless damn cow.”
“We know she let him nurse for a few days this time, though. At least he got the colostrum,“ I say, trying to stay positive.
“That may be, but we need to get him fed now before he’s too weak to suckle,” she says, glancing up at me. “What’s the plan? You gonna bottle feed him or bring her in and try to get her to give a damn.”
“It’s her third rejected calf,” I say. “I doubt she’s gonna learn to give a damn. We tried with her last two. I’m a little surprised she lasted this long, to be honest.”
