Page 56 of Barbed Wire Hearts

ChapterThirty-Six

LEVI

For a few days, Kate is a little less bubbly than usual. It’s not often I’m reminded by how brutal ranch life can be, but to see her pain for a calf that survived only a short while is awakening. I’ve dealt with calves who got sick, who were stillborn, who just couldn’t cut it breathing oxygen. Two-headed calves are rare, and this is only the second one I’ve seen in all my years, but I’ve become so hardened to the loss of life that I wouldn’t have let it bother me.

Until I saw her pain.

I’d watched Kate help that calf and cow out of the barn and settle them beneath the stars and my heart broke. She’d fought so hard for the calf to have a fighting chance, and when it came down to it, she’d spent that calf’s last moments showing it love and care. She supported the mama and offered her warmth. I’d almost been as struck as she was when we realized the calf had passed in the night. I’d wanted it to live.

For her.

I’d wanted that calf to prove me wrong, to live and galivant through the sunshine with my sunflower. Instead, I’d been right, and the heartbreak that comes with that knowledge is surprising. But I’d seen a side of Kate I hadn’t seen before. I watched her lay out there and offer comfort. I watched her look to the stars with a new light. And now she aches with pain for a calf she hardly knew.

I stride out of the barn and find Kate sitting on the front porch already, waiting for whoever she’s going to be working with to come get her. I’d planned on telling her to come help me with the cows currently tending their calves, but that feels like it’ll still be too raw to tackle. I’ll just take care of it later by myself. I’d rather do that than cause her anymore unnecessary pain.

“Anyone show you how to throw a punch yet?” I ask as I step up on the porch.

She’s sitting in a rocking chair, her hand down on Ole Red as she pets him. He lazily twists until she’s scratching his belly, panting with happiness. He’s a good dog. Once a proud coon dog that happily protected this ranch, he’s earned his retirement now. Dakota will be a mess when something happens to him. I suspect we all will be. He’s not getting any younger. I think the old man is coming up on twelve now.

“Dakota taught me how to shoot a gun,” she offers, her voice strained as if she hasn’t been sleeping well.

That won’t do. She needs to sleep. Sleep is vital.

“Well, come on,” I tell her, gesturing for her to follow me off the porch. “There’s no way to make you a fighter quickly, but I can at least teach you how to throw a proper punch.”

She stands and stretches before following after me. Ole Red and the other cattle dogs lying on the porch immediately rise and follow behind her, their tails wagging. She’s befriended every damn animal in this place, apparently. All but Dozer. Not for lack of trying. I found the damn goat the bull doesn’t mind walking around his pasture with half eaten apples speared on her horns the other day. Clearly, it was Kate’s doing, a peace offering. Ninny, the goat, is the only thing allowed in that pasture and the only thing that won’t end up dead. The bull has a soft spot for her. God knows why.

“I can probably throw a punch,” she says as she pets all the dogs who press against her legs. “It’s not that hard.”

“You ever thrown one before?” I ask with a raised brow.

She hesitates. “Not really.”

I nod. “There’s a right and a wrong way to do it. The wrong way will break your hand and won’t hurt your enemy. The right way will knock them out and give you time to run.”

She tilts her head. “Am I gonna need time to run?”

“Yes,” I reply honestly. “Unless you’ve got a gun, you get out of harm’s way. Let one of us take care of it.”

A cute little huff escapes her lips that makes me want to kiss her. “I don’t particularly like being a damsel.”

“I doubt we have enough time to make you a warrior,” I point out. “But we’ll do the best we can. Show me how you hold a fist.”

She curls her fingers over and tucks her thumb inside her palm. At least she doesn’t have fancy nails anymore. When she’d first come here, she’d been all manicured up. Now, her nails are short but well-kept. Doesn’t matter. She’s beautiful no matter what, but the longer nails would have made a proper fist impossible.

“Nope, untuck your thumb,” I instruct, coming over to unfold her fist and refold it the proper way. “Just like this. You’ll have more power, and you won’t break your thumb.”

She nods. “Okay. And then I just hit you?”

“You use your body weight. You’re not strong enough to cause damage otherwise. As it is, you don’t even have much height to your advantage. When you bring your arm back, you throw your entire body into the hit. All five feet nothing of it.”

Her lips twist into a scowl. “This five feet nothing will kick your ass,” she warns.

“Good,” I nod. “I expect you to.” I close my fist around hers and pull her closer. “Weak points. Everyone has them. You punch somebody in these, it’ll cause the most damage.” I press her fist against my jaw. “Use your height to your advantage and punch up with everything you have. Everyone is taller than you. You hit just right, and you’ll knock them out cold.”

“Good to know,” she muses, her eyes on where my hand holds hers.

“If you can reach their nose, that’s a good place to hit,” I advise. “But if they’re taller than five feet five, you’re not gonna have enough power for that.”

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