Page 12 of Live for Me

“What do you think about it?” I asked before clicking my tongue and kicking my feet, urging Spirit to walk. He walked us out of the main corral where we kept the cattle for treatments and into the first pasture.

“I don’t know what to think of that, but Denver has always had good intuition. So whatever he’s feeling, we need to trust it.”

I muttered a curse under my breath. “I was hoping you wouldn’t say that.”

“Do I need to come home?” he asked, his voice soft.

I looked up to the mountain, a lump growing in my throat. “No, no. You stay there. I know you need this time with Mom. You deserve a break from all this,” I assured him. “I just wanted to run this by you.”

“Alright then.”

Suddenly, hooves pounding against the ground came up behind me and I saw Denver and Ranger flying towards me.

“I gotta go, Pop.”

“Go do your cowboy shit, Son. I’ll be home in a few days.”

I hung up the phone and pocketed it just as Denver flew past me, hollering over his shoulder. “Get a move on, Beau!”

As he rounded the bend, I adjusted my hat and leaned down to talk to Spirit. “You see how Ranger runs super fast? That would be you if you’d stop being such a lazy bum.”

He groaned, blowing out this nose and flipping his mane. He was the sassiest horse I’d ever ridden, but hell, I loved him all the same—even though he was a pain in my fucking ass.

“Come on, boy,” I ordered. “We have work to do.” I snapped the reins, and we were off—not as fast as Ranger, but we made good time. It only took us ten minutes to get to the herd, and by the time we got there, all the cowboys were standing over a carcass.

“For fuck’s sake,” I groaned, Spirit trotting up to the group.

Mags was leaning forward on his saddle, resting his arms on the horn, his jaw working as he chewed his gum. Lance took his hat off, his eyes solemn as he stared down at the body. Lawson looked up to the sky, his jaw tight as Denver shook his head, muttering, “Fucking hell.”

The carcass was once a calf. The middle of it’s body was caved in, blood covering the dark fur, most of the organs eaten. Flies and ants had staked their claim. I exhaled and looked at the herd, my eyes scanning for the mother. When I spotted her, my chest ached.

In the end, half of these cattle were going to be sold for profit, and we’d never see them again. I shouldn’t have any emotional ties to them, but they were still animals. Innocent. They also felt emotions, which meant the mother would be in mourning. She was standing on the edge of the herd, facing us, standing still as a statue. She had a white spot on above her right eye. I ducked my head, closing my eyes for a moment.

“I helped birth this one,” I said, looking back up to the cowboys. All of them stared at me from behind their sunglasses.

“How old was it?” Denver asked.

“Tag number is 445,” Mags answered, sitting up and rolling his neck.

“It’s four months old,” I answered.

Lawson leaned back, reaching into his saddle bag and pulled out a clipboard and pen. “I’ll get it updated in the system tonight.”

Last year, Lawson developed a tracking system on his computer. It kept track of the cattle tag numbers, health, age, weight. He was working on developing a patent for it, and then he was going to try and sell it to other ranches across the country. He already had one of the biggest ranches in Wyoming interested.

Denver nodded and clicked his tongue, looking at me. “Guess that grizzly’s here to stay.”

“I can call Chase and get the wildlife warden out here,” I offered. The only reason why we didn’t call the warden directly was because he was a fucking dick. He hated everything about Hallow Ranch. So we let the Hayden Sheriff, Chase Bowen, be the ins and outs of communication for us.

“Do it,” Denver ordered, looking back to the herd. “We need to move them again.”

“On it,” Lance muttered, gathering his reins. “Come on, Lady.”

Mags said nothing, only snapping his reins before his horse, Midnight, trotted away, leaving Lawson, Denver, and me alone.

“How many is that this year, Lawson?” Denver asked as I pulled out the satellite phone, dialing Chase’s number.

“That’s the fifth calf, Den.”

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