Page 23 of Secret Heart
He wraps his arms around me, holding me tight to him as our breathing settles and the last of the aftershocks fade from my fingertips. A rustling sound comes through the monitor. We both freeze, but a second sound doesn’t follow, and I relax back into his broad chest. He kisses my temple.
“I love you,” I whisper.
His chuckle is warmer than the sun in July. “I love you, too.”
Chapter Thirteen
TRISTON
There’s no reason for the sick feeling weighing down my stomach like a ton of bricks as I pull the Monroes’ ATV up to the nondescript, utilitarian buildings that house the Hereford herds that comprise most of the ranch’s commercial beef ventures when they’re not out in the mountain pastures. Several curious calves are exploring the grass that’s just started to green up while their mothers focus on the hay feeders spread around the barn’s paddock. There aren’t any visible injuries. No calves that are listless. No fencing is missing. No gates are open. There’s no evidence of wolves or coyotes in the still-muddy pastures nearest the large building where the prairie grasses haven’t quite come in. There’s not any of the bachelor bulls that are kept separate when it’s not breeding season.
Part of me wants to brush the feeling off as leftover from two nights ago. It certainlycouldbe lingering fear and panic over meeting Penny and realizing if I hadn’t had a Drop in Oakland, I might never have known I’d even had a daughter. Or even guilt over the reality that I’ve missed out on nearly a year ofher life—and Emily’s entire pregnancy—in favor of chasing the only dream I’ve had since getting out of my Dad’s clutches at eighteen.
It could even be that agitation that’s eating away under my skin that I refuse to name, that the Haven doctors warned could become nearly as dangerous as going into heat in an unsafe location. As if to drive the reality home, my clove scent grows stronger, already breaking through the scent blocking lotion.
Except if that was the cause for the anxiety, wouldn’t I have felt it all morning while getting ready? Wouldn’t it have been festering while the sun rose above the mountains while I waited for the coffee to finish brewing? And it shouldn’t be digging deeper every moment I’m staring at the cows in front of me.
I turn off the vehicle, shove the key into a pocket of my jeans and quickly cross to the nearest of the barn duo. Without bothering to open the gate, I climb over the nearest bit of barbed wire fencing, the move instinctual even after being away from ranch work for as long as I have. One of the red cows looks up from the hay feeder.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice level. “You girls doing okay out here?”
I carefully scan each cow as I head toward the barn, but nothing’s visibly wrong. Some of the worry trying to strangle me eases. I reposition some of the half-eaten bales in the feeders as I pass them, making sure the inner portion of the bale is accessible. The smallest of the calves I pat down, quickly confirming they’re not dehydrated or cold.
By the time I get to the barn’s side entrance, I’m ready to admit that maybe that sixth sense you develop when working with cattle isn’t quite as accurate for me as it used to be.
As I’m cleaning and relaying the straw bedding just inside the barn’s entrance, there’s a distressed sound from the far corner of the barn. My heart drops to my feet. I set the rakeagainst the wall nearest me and then fly across the barn, praying it’s not what it sounds like. I skid to a stop about five feet from the cow and curse.
“You arenotsupposed to be calving, sweetheart,” I mutter. “And that is not the way those hooves should be pointing.”
The ranch is supposed to be a couple weeks outside of the last batch of cows that could be dropping calves. Ethan’s never let calving fall into May, especially not with the main herds. I pull my phone and dial Ethan’s number by memory, my heart pounding in my ears. Then I run to the supply room and hope the guys restocked the calving supplies after the last batch and that they’re in the same place they used to be.
“Triston?” Ethan’s voice is hoarse, like he’s just woken up. There’s a woman’s voice and then a baby’s cry. Shit, I was probably supposed to call Beau. “What’s wrong?”
My scent surrounds me, edged with my panic.
“Sorry, I automatically called you instead of Beau.”
There’s murmuring in the background and then a door closing. “You’re fine. What’s happened?”
“One of the Herefords is calving.”
His curse is more colorful than mine. “How the hell is she so late?”
Thank the gods, the calving kits are stashed where I expect. I pull one and the emergency pack, too, then shed my chaps. I should probably keep them on, but I don’t want to have to risk going into Jackson to replace them if this goes as poorly as is probable. Getting blood out of leather is a bitch.
There’s more conversation between Ethan and his pack, but I tune it out as I scoop up both kits and head back to the poor cow.
“Okay,” Ethan says, his voice louder. “I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes and can help you process it.”
“Well, that might not be necessary,” I mutter, more than a little doubtful of how this is all going to end up.
Ethan misreads the melancholy in my voice.
“Not a slight against you,” he says, his tone warmer than before. “We always do them in pairs now.”
“No, that’s not—” I curse again and wedge my phone against my shoulder. “Sweetheart, you need to stand up so I can get you away from that wall.”
The cow lunges as I close the last couple feet of distance, her horn way too close to my stomach for comfort. It doesn’t stop my forward progress, though. I need to get her pulled away from the rest of the herd. Now.
