“You’re finally getting the memo,” McKenna says with a soft laugh.
“Yeah. And I like him for you,” I remind both of us.
“Me too,” she says with a silly lovesick grin. “A lot.”
We settle around the table, the gravy Mom had on hand slathered over the fresh biscuits. My phone pings with a text. I pull it out.
Garrett: North fence is down—got eight cows out with some calves. We need all hands. Hoss is not happy. He’s pushing at an old post.
I type out a quick response, the scrape of my chair marking the shift in my morning. I shove the last bite of biscuits into my mouth mid-stride. My heart rate kicks up. Dropping my plate into the sink, I head toward the door.
Hoss is one of our breeding bulls. If his herd broke through the fence, he’s itching to get to them. This time of year, the bulls get restless. We’re calving. All that action tempts the bulls to reunite with their cows.
“Sorry,” I say to the three women still gathered around the table. “Fence down. We’ve got some escapees.”
“Need help?” Carli’s already standing, carrying her plate to the sink.
“I’ve got a Zoom call, or I’d go with you,” McKenna says.
“Yeah, you’re definitely not being converted to the life of celebrity ease and leisure, Hollywood,” I tease her.
“I had Zoom calls when I lived here full time,” she defends.
“I know. I’m just giving you trouble. We’ve got this. Don’t worry. They’d be handling it without me if I were on shift.”
I grab my coat from the hook. Carli steps up next to me and grabs hers.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
She pops a hand on her hip and says, “I can wrangle.”
“Never been a question, Chuck. Let’s go, then.”
Carli walks out with me. I head to the barn. She jumps into the passenger seat of the side-by-side while I throwpliers, wire and gloves into the back bed. I take my place in the driver’s seat, the engine roaring to life when I turn the key. We lurch forward, tires crunching frozen dirt and gravel as we head toward the back pastures.
The drive’s only a few minutes. Carli and I ride in silence, her hair whipping in the wind, a comfortable smile on her face. I only glance over a few times, taking in the sight of her like a man gasping for oxygen.
By the time I pull up and kill the engine, my older brothers and a few of our hands have the herd surrounded in a semi-circle. With cattle, you never spook or intimidate them. They respond best to pressure.
I hop out and Carli climbs out the opposite side. She's watching the cows.
“Hoss,” she says, pointing.
I nod. “I wondered if those posts would hold. We’ve been making repairs, but not fast enough.”
“Don’t get between a bull and his herd,” she says with a wisdom that only comes from living our lifestyle for years.
She approaches the bull carefully. I walk toward some of the cows and heifers roaming around, grazing outside the pasture like it’s just another day on the ranch.
Carli starts negotiations with Hoss, talking calmly. He plants himself, staring at her with a dare in his eyes. Everything about him says he’s not budging.
I fall in with my brothers and the other hands, moving at a distance from the herd, using our movements to lightly encourage them to return to the pasture. We press in, slowly and intentionally.
Carli’s still talking to Hoss. His face could be the cartoon of a grumpy, stubborn bull. She returns the favor, drawing in her brows and thinning her lips.
Her eyes narrow and she says, “Come on, Hoss. Let’s move back where you belong.”
She’s showing strength, not force.
