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I open the door and get out. There's work to be done.

Tuesday and Saturday, six their time and four mine.

That's the shape of the week now, and everything else fits around those two.

I shave for them. The first call after the papers I sat down at the screen and Lis said something about the beard and I heard how it sounded, and now I shave Tuesday morning and Saturday morning whether I feel like it or not. A man ought to look like himself when his kids can see him.

I eat, because four in the afternoon is no good if you haven't. You can't hold a phone steady and talk to a baby when you've been running on coffee since dark. So I eat. Standing, usually, but I eat.

I sleep. Not all the way through, but enough to be up before Wade and know which gate I already checked.

The work comes back. In October I was chasing everything and patching after it broke. By November I’m getting ahead of it again. I change the tractor fluids before the cold hits, run the calves before anything goes wrong, and get the windbreaks stacked before the first real storm. Wade notices and doesn’t say anything, which is how I know.

Saturday, Lis has the phone and Hildie's sitting up against a pillow gnawing her fist. Somewhere behind her, Mackie laughs at something I can't hear.

I look up before I can stop myself. Lis doesn't turn the phone, but I see her look away, presumably at Mackie.

Graham makes a noise, and I put my eyes back where they belong.

The next call, Lis turns the phone. I’ve come straight in from the tank with my hat still on, and I take it off out of habit.

"Look at him. No hat for once."

"Ma'am."

"Don't ma'am me. I've seen you asleep on my couch."

"Yes, ma'am."

She laughs at that and tells me Hildie rolled over three times last night, both directions, and we go on.

The first of November falls on a Sunday, so I take Dutch's check over Saturday morning instead of putting it in the box. His truck's at the barn. He comes out wiping his hands on a rag, and I hand it to him at the barn door.

He looks at it, folds it once, and slides it into his shirt pocket.

"You didn't have to drive it over."

"I know that, but I thought I'd come say hi when I saw your truck."

The contract's current. I'm not behind on a thing. He knows that, which is why he doesn't say it.

"Supposed to get cold Thursday," he says.

"Heard that. Wind with it, they're saying."

"Get your tanks heated."

"Did it Tuesday."

He nods. Puts the rag back in his pocket next to the check and looks off at the sky like it owes him something.

I drive home and heat up a country fried steak, mashed potatoes and green peas frozen meal. It's a step up from ramen, but it's still pretty pathetic. I set the phone up on the sill for four o'clock.

The ranch is current, Dutch is paid, the calves are good and I'm finally sleeping again. Everything I stayed for is finally calming down to a manageable pace.

At four, Lis calls.

Wednesday, I saddle up before Wade gets here and put the little wire-bound record book in my coat pocket. I ride the whole herd.