Page 16 of Wyoming Heart

Bart almost told him. Almost. But it was fun watching his cousin make assumptions. When it came, the end result was going to be hilarious. “Oh, they invited the whole community,” he said instead.

“It was supposed to be for some up-and-coming author, they said,” Cort returned, “but I never got introduced.”

“Too many people,” Bart said easily. “I just stood in a corner with the Callisters and Mina.” His mouth pulled down at one side. “None of us drink.”

“Your loss,” Cort chuckled. “They had some fine liquors.”

“I like my brain functional.”

“So do I, but the occasional drink helps to give it a brief vacation,” his cousin quipped.

Bart chuckled. He got to his feet. “Well, I’m off to bed. I’m not much for parties, and I’ve got a man coming over in the morning to look over my yearling bulls to see if he feels like spending some money.”

“Your stock is outstanding,” Cort said. “I like your breeding program.”

“Well, it’s not quite up to Grier standards,” Bart said with a grin, “but I make enough to keep the ranch going, even if I do run Black Angus instead of Santa Gerts.”

“All you need is a wife, and a few kids to inherit the place when you’re gone.”

“Chance would be a fine thing,” he said, sighing.

“That ‘friend’ of yours seems to like you enough,” he returned with a scowl.

“I told you, there’s no spark,” Bart returned with a sad smile. “It’s like dancing with a sister. Nothing like I felt with the woman who married and moved away. I have the damnedest bad luck with women.” He shook his head. “I guess some of us just aren’t destined to help populate the planet. Maybe that’s not a bad thing. See you in the morning.”

“Yeah. See you.”

Cort went into the guest room and stripped down to his shorts. He wasn’t sleepy. In fact, he hated sleeping, because the dreams came. Every time, he was back in the war, back in the horror, the blood, the carnage. He pulled up the covers and rolled over. Maybe, just maybe, tonight he could manage to sleep without dreaming at all.

MINASTOODQUIETLYby while the local veterinarian, Ted Bailey, checked the stitches he’d put in her young bull.

He stood up and smiled. “He’ll do, Miss Michaels,” he said after a minute. “No evidence of infection and he seems to be healing well. But I’d keep him up for a few days, just the same.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks, Dr. Bailey.”

“No problem.” He shook her hand and went to his truck. She followed him outside after another glance at her young bull. She was grateful that Old Charlie hadn’t done any worse damage to him.

Bill McAllister had just loaded Charlie onto his horse trailer, with a little help from her other part-time cowboys and a few false starts. The old bull hated trailers. He fought the ropes and the cowboys, but they managed to get him into the trailer without anyone being injured.

“Well, that was an experience,” Bill chuckled.

“I noticed,” Mina said with a grin. “Thanks for the help, guys,” she told the part-timers, who nodded and went back to work.

“I’ll get Charlie home and into the pasture, then I’ll be back. Thanks again, Miss Mina.”

“Oh, you’re welcome,” she told him with a warm smile. “I’m just happy we don’t have to put him down. He’s been around here for a while. Since I graduated from high school, in fact.” Her face tautened at that memory of what had come before her graduation.

“You’ve got a good bull crop, and more expected,” Bill said at once, hoping to wipe the frown off her face. He smiled. “You’ll have ranchers milling around here like cattle, hoping to buy them on sale day.”

She grimaced. “My operation isn’t big enough for sale days, I’m afraid,” she said. “Bart and I are going to go in together and do it at his place. He’s going to get Dan Carruthers out of retirement to cook steaks for it. Dan’s got that secret spice recipe,” she added with a grin. “I’ve been after it for years.”

“It will be buried with him,” Bill predicted. There was a loud clang from the horse trailer. “I’d better get going. Be back soon.”

“So long,” she said.

She watched him drive off. She’d just finished a chapter of her new book that morning and she needed some fresh air. She saddled Sand and climbed into the saddle, dressed in jeans and boots and a red plaid wool shirt under a leather jacket, with a cowboy hat on her loosened hair. She’d meant to put it up, but Bill’s arrival with the horse trailer had interrupted her. It didn’t matter anyway, she considered, because nobody would see her except her part-timers, and even then from a distance.

She rode along the fence line, through the lodgepole pines, toward the boundary she shared with Bart Riddle’s ranch. They ran the same breed of cattle, Black Angus, so there was no worry of crossbreeding if a bull wandered through a downed fence. Besides that, it was the wrong season for breeding. Her cows, and Bart’s, would be dropping calves soon, just in time for spring grazing. While she rode, she looked for breaks and posts that needed replacing. She noted them on her iPhone with GPS, so that she could tell her part-timers where to find them.

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