“In that cabinet. Far left.”
I can feel his scrutinizing gaze on my back, and I hunch my shoulders, wondering if he’s about to give me a tongue lashing for being hungover on the day we’re supposed to separate the herd. The cross words I’m expecting don’t come, and I relax as I grab a travel mug of coffee and pop a few aspirin.
Today is going to be a long day.
“I’m hoping to get the cow/calf pairs sorted and vaccinated before nightfall, so you’d best put on those big boy britches and get yourself out to the corral. Sawyer’ll be there waitin’ already.”
I take a swig of the hot swill and grunt again in acknowledgment, following Pops out the door with my head pounding and my stomach tied up in knots.
Last night, I told Tripp about my plan to persuade Pops to sell the ranch. While I could tell he didn’t love the idea, he hadn't lost his temper like Sawyer had. I’m pretty sure he doubts my ability to convince Pops at all, so he’s content letting me flail on my own. No harm, no foul.
When Sawyer stormed off yesterday, I realized having her on my side could be an advantage, as close to Pops as she was. Who knows? I might need her support at some point down the line. So, I’d roll over and show her my underbelly if need be.
Sawyer is exactly where Pops said she’d be, her elbows resting on the gate and her hat pulled low over her eyes so I can’t make out her face. Her body language is telling me she’s a little worse for wear today, too, so I decide I won’t feel too guilty about the state I’m in.
I hearTripp’s truck pulling up the drive, and I wince as the slam of his door reverberates in my head.
“Feeling those tequila shots this morning?” Sawyer’s voice taunts.
“I think it was whatever you slipped into Allie’s glass. That drink about put me on my ass.”
She angles her chin up and somehow manages to look down her nose at me even though she’s shorter than I am. “Can’t handle your liquor, city boy?”
I glower at her. It’s too early and I’m too hung over to argue, so I let her question stand.
Her gaze treks over me slowly from head to toe, like she’s taking stock. I’m in a pair of Levi’s I bought from the farm supply store yesterday and a plain black T-shirt since it’s supposed to be in the eighties again today. I’m grateful that the morning is overcast since my head feels ten times worse out here than it did in the house.
“You look like you need this more than I do,” Sawyer comments, handing me her travel mug.
I raise my own. “I have coffee.”
She shakes her head at me, placing her mug in my hand and taking the one I’d been holding. “It’s my hangover remedy. You’ll be feeling right as rain after you drink it.”
I shoot her a questioning look, but she only nudges the cup toward my lips. I sigh in resignation and take a drink. It burns my throat on the way down, and I sputter out a cough, which makes her lips quirk up in a smile that lights up her entire face under that cowboy hat of hers.
“You put whiskey in your coffee,” I croak out, slow to regain my composure.
“A little hair of the dog that bit ya usually does the trick.” She tosses me a wink and says, “You owe me one,” before taking a long, deliberate sip of the coffee I made for myself this morning.
I’m about to thank her when Pops walks up from behind to stand next to me. “I hope you’ve still got those ropin’ skills I taught ya. We’re gonna need them tomorrow,” he says, eyeing me like he’s not sure I have it in me anymore.
“It’s just like riding a bike, right?”
Sawyer’s cackling laugh echoes in the air, and I shoot her a daggered stare.
“Sure.” Pops’ mustache twitches in amusement.
Tripp comes up behind me and grips my shoulders. “Wes was one of the best ropers in the county back in the day. He’ll be just fine.” His show of confidence warms me from the inside out, which is nice since clouds hang heavy in the sky, making the morning a little chilly.
Sawyer mutters something under her breath that I can’t quite make out over the sounds the cows are making. I ignore her and roll out my shoulders, hoping Tripp is right.
The calves are ready to be weaned, so we spend the morning separating them from the cows. It sounds simple, but getting between an animal this large and her offspring is anything but. Tripp and Pops have sorted the herd together for years, and while I thought I’d be able to jump in and be of help, it feels like I’m in the way more than anything.
Splitting up the cow/calf pairs always gets a little hairy, but separating them now gives the dam some time to put on some more weight before the cold months. Winters can be harsh in western Nebraska and extra weight does them good in those conditions.
I dodge the dam that charges me for trying to mess with her calf and end up on my ass in the muck. Tripp saves me from getting trampled bygetting her to turn the other direction, and I spare a glance in Sawyer’s direction. She looks pleased as hell to see me covered in mud and cow shit, but at least she’s not laughing at me today.
The calf gets chased into a pen and the mama puts up a good fight, but eventually relents to the four of us getting her in a separate corral where the calf can be near her but can’t nurse.
