Stay in it.
She did.
By the final calf, her muscles shook with fatigue, but the iron never drifted.Titus caught her elbow once when her footing slipped in the churned dirt.His touch stayed only long enough to set her right.Their hands met again around the handle, accidental if anyone asked, not accidental to either of them.
When the last calf cleared the chute, voices burst out from every side of the pen.Relief.Laughter.The rough joy that came after good work.Titus stayed at her flank, chest rising hard.
Then Kyla stepped toward the fence post beside him and pressed the iron to the wood.The hiss cut through every other sound.Smoke rose in a tight curl.Wood darkened under the mark.For one second, all the noise around them pulled back.
She lowered the iron and turned.Her fist closed in the front of Titus’s shirt and she dragged him down toward her before the crew or the cattle could decide this belonged to anyone else.
“Mine,” she said against his mouth.
He answered by turning her into the fence, one hand spread at the back of her head so the plank never touched skin.The kiss came rough, hungry, and entirely public.
Dust shook loose under their boots.Her hands went to his belt and then to his shoulders when he caught both her wrists and pinned them at the rail above her head.
“You sure.”
Her chest rose sharp.“Don’t ask twice.”
The crew made noise behind them.Someone laughed.Someone swore.No one stepped in.Titus kissed her again, slower this time, and then faster when she bit at his lower lip and dragged him closer with her knee between his thighs.His hand slid to her hip, then under the hem of her shirt to bare skin.Her breath broke.
The boards dug into her back.Dust clung to the sweat at her neck.The whole corral kept breathing around them, and still the moment belonged to them alone.He pressed his forehead to hers once, both of them breathing hard.
When he stepped back, it was only far enough to look at the brand smoking on the fence post.Then he reached for her hand.Their fingers locked, hot and dirty and shaking from labor.
Together they walked to the fire ring.The blaze had settled into low red coals.He crouched and lifted the new iron from the edge of the pit, showing it to her in the open light.The knife at the base.The B worked into the handle.
Kyla took it in both hands.No smile.No speech.Only that deep, intent focus she gave anything that mattered.Then she laid her free hand against his chest, right over the place where his pulse ran fast and hard beneath sweat and denim.
The crew gathered near the cookshack with cups raised and grins they did not bother to hide.A whistle cut through the air.Someone called out that the county would be talking by supper.Someone else answered that there were worse things.
Emmitt’s voice carried over them all.“About damn time.”
Kyla leaned into Titus’s side.He put his arm around her waist and kissed her temple, taking his time with it.This time, she leaned back into him in full view of everybody.Behind them, the post still smoked.Ahead of them sat coffee, bad jokes, dust, and all the work that would come after this.
Titus squeezed her hand once and led her toward the cookshack.Kyla went with him, head up, brand in hand, her place no longer in question.
The noise of the pen rushed back in all at once.Boots grinding, rope snapping taut, a calf bawling sharp enough to scrape nerves raw.
Kyla stepped away from the post, chest still rising hard, the taste of smoke and iron sitting heavy at the back of her tongue.Her hand tightened around the iron handle for one last second before she lowered it.
“Next one up,” Emmitt barked.
Work did not pause for anything.Not for marks in wood.Not for what had just passed between her and Titus in full view of the crew.Kyla turned back toward the chute.
The next calf came in sideways, legs kicking out, rope team swearing under their breath as they wrestled it into place.Dust kicked up around their boots.A dog darted too close and got shoved back with a curse.She rolled her shoulders once and stepped in.
Titus moved with her, already bracing at the head, hands sure on the animal’s jaw.He didn’t look at her right away.His focus stayed on the work, on keeping the calf steady, on making space for her to do what needed doing.That steadiness mattered more than anything he could have said.
Kyla lifted the iron again, tested its pull, and set it to hide.The hiss rose clean and sharp.Her grip stayed firm.No shake.No hesitation.
The calf fought, muscles jumping under her palm.Titus leaned in harder, his shoulder lining up with hers as he forced the animal back into position.His breath came fast, close enough that she could feel it brush her cheek without turning her head.
“Good,” he said under his breath.
Not praise.Not soft.Just confirmation.She pulled the iron free, stepped back, and reset for the next one.The rhythm returned.Brand.Lift.Shift.Breathe.Another calf.Then another.
