Page 104 of True North

I never found the remaining four wolves. Their day will come.

I estimate the loss, mentally calculating the deduction as I sway in the saddle, almost home. The loss of the breeding cow is the greatest. She would have produced calves for years. Closing my eyes, I let the long day melt from my shoulders, imagining coming home to Lou. The house lit up. Inside, the amazing fragrances of her cooking, everything warm and homey.

A fire crackling in the hearth.

Whiskey burnin’ down my throat as I toe off my old boots.

I let the twilight dream take me down...

The ruckus of family.

Little ones running amuck under her feet, her belly swollen with our latest addition to the Rawlins clan.

The gelding tosses his head, slapping me out of my wishful thinkin’.

Making it over the rise, the homestead comes into view. The house is dark and the driveway empty.

No truck.

No Louisa.

It smarts like nothin’ else.

I want her here.

I want her beside me. If the house is dark, it should be because she’s on the horse beside me.

“Hup!” I push the gelding into a lope in a hopeless attempt to catch that last dream. My rational mind gets the better of the stray hope, reminding me we lost five head. Our herd is too small already. The first mortgage payment comes due in a few months. The chance of this place turning over enough for both of us to work the ranch and have no external income is slim to none at this point.

We fly into the barn, and the gelding slides to a halt over the hay-littered ground. I’m out of the saddle and snatching the tack from his back a heartbeat later, all but tossing it back to the hooks in the run-down tack room.

The ranch is far too big for one man to work. I’d need at least another four men to cover every acre of this old place. But I can’t even afford the keep of the one man who lives here.

“Fuck!” I slam a hand into the side of the barn. The gelding jerks his head up. Cursing under my breath, I slide a rope around his neck and hose him off before tucking him away in his stall. At least he’s safe from the wolves.

I mix up his grain feed and dump it into his side feeder before replenishing his water. After I’m done, I tidy up and pad back to the house. My legs ache from hours in the saddle. The stress of losing good cattle and trying to piece this puzzle of working the ranch from the ground up has my shoulders bunched like nothing else.

I tug off my boots and toss my hat to the hook as I walk through the front door. The darkness greets me, and I remind myself Lou will be home in a few hours. Exhausted, I flop onto the old sofa and pull the whiskey decanter from the old coffee table Ma found in town before?—

I fill the small crystal glass too full and slam it down. The heat snakes down my throat and I drop back, letting my head fall on the back of the sofa.

I have no idea why I thought I could do this.

Maybe the old man was right.

Playin’ rancher and being a rancher are not the same thing.

The numbers alone are enough to balk any man. Even with a good year, the numbers only just add up, especially if you’re needin’ men to do the work.

Groaning, I slide farther down the sofa and pour another whiskey, this time a little smaller.

It warms me from the inside out, and I stare into the unlit fire.

Hunger pangs in my stomach.

Food would help.

I bet one meal of Lou’s would fix this thinkin’. I can’t cook to save myself. I push out of the sofa, slow. Padding to the kitchen, I pull the refrigerator door open. A casserole bowl with lid sits in the center with my name on it in Louisa’s handwriting.

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