Page 5 of Saddles and Snowstorms
“Let me guess,” Rowan said, stepping closer to me than necessary as we moved through the barn. “She’s not supposed to be calving in January.”
I snorted. “Got it in one. Bull broke through the fence last spring. Thought I’d caught all the accidents, but...” I gestured toward the cow and her calf. “Clearly missed one.”
Rowan set his bag down and approached the stall carefully, speaking in a low, soothing voice that sent an unexpected shiver downmy spine. “Hey there, mama. Just need to check on you and your little one.”
The cow, who’d been ready to kick my head off not two hours ago, merely snorted and shifted her weight. Traitor.
“She likes you,” I said, leaning against a post. “Usually takes a swing at strangers as soon as she gets the chance, the old bitch.”
He just laughed. “Some of us just have a way with the ladies, I guess,” Rowan replied with a wink that caught me off guard. I felt heat rise to my face and was grateful for the dim barn light.
He approached the cow with practiced ease, his movements calm and deliberate as he examined the newborn calf. His hands moved expertly over the animal, checking its breathing, eyes, and joints. I found myself watching those hands—strong but gentle, confident in their work.
“Looks like a healthy bull calf,” he said, straightening up. “Good size too. You did a fine job delivering him.”
“Wasn’t my first rodeo,” I muttered, then immediately regretted my choice of words. Something about this new vet had me feeling off-balance.
Rowan turned his attention to the mother, checking her over with the same careful attention. I couldn’t help but notice how the muscles in his back flexed beneath his shirt as he worked, the way sweat began to dampen the fabric between his shoulder blades. The barn wasn’t particularly warm, but veterinary work was never light.
“She’s looking good too,” he said finally, stepping back from the stall and wiping his hands on a cloth from his bag. “No signs of tearing or excessive bleeding. You might want to keep an eye on her udder though, looks like it could get a bit engorged if the calf doesn’t nurse enough.”
I nodded, trying not to stare at the way his forearms flexed as he packed his equipment back into his bag. “I’ll make sure he’s feeding properly.”
“How many head of cattle do you run?” he asked, glancing around the barn.
“Small operation. Just twenty-five. Quality over quantity.” I shifted my weight, oddly self-conscious about my modest ranch. “I sell direct to a few restaurants and shops in the area.”
Rowan nodded appreciatively. “Makes sense. I’ve heard about yourbeef, actually. Dolly at the diner mentioned you’re her supplier when I stopped in for breakfast the other morning. I didn’t have a face to put to the name until now.”
“That so?” I felt an unexpected flicker of pride. “Dolly’s a good customer. Fair prices, pays on time.”
“She said it was the best in the county.” Rowan’s eyes met mine again, and there was something warm in his gaze that made my throat go dry. “Said I hadn’t lived until I tried one of your steaks.”
I shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise, but pleased all the same. “Just raise ‘em right is all.”
The new vet moved closer, and I caught a whiff of his scent—clean soap mixed with a hint of something woodsy, nothing like the antiseptic smell the old vet used to carry. It stirred something in me I hadn’t felt in a long time.
“Well, I’ll have to try it sometime,” he said, his voice lower than before. He was standing close enough now that I could see the flecks of gold in those forest-green eyes of his. Close enough that I noticed how his dark lashes framed them.
I cleared my throat and took a step back. “Yeah, well. Dolly’s got a freezer full.”
Rowan seemed to sense my discomfort and gave me space, turning back to the cow and her calf. “I’m new to Sagebrush,” he said conversationally. “Just moved up from Austin last week. Quite a change of pace.”
“That’s an understatement,” I replied, grateful for the shift in topic. “What brings a city boy out to the middle of nowhere? Not exactly where most vets want to set up shop.”
Something flickered across his face, a shadow of something painful that was gone almost as quickly as it appeared. “Needed a change of scenery,” he said simply. “And Sagebrush needed a vet.”
I nodded, not pressing. Everyone had their stories, their reasons for ending up in a speck of a town like this. Most folks didn’t come here; they either stayed or left. New blood was rare. Me though? I was one of the folks that stayed.
“Well, we’re glad to have you,” I said, surprising myself with the sincerity in my voice. “Old Dr. Mercer’s hands were getting too shaky for calving season.”
Rowan smiled again, that easy smile that seemed to light up hiswhole face. “Glad to be useful. Have you been in Sagebrush long?” he asked, running his hand along the calf’s spine with a practiced touch. The little bull twitched but stayed close to his mother.
“All my life,” I replied, crossing my arms over my chest. “Never had much reason to leave.”
Rowan nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “Must be nice, having roots like that.”
Something in his tone made me look at him more carefully. There was a melancholy there, hidden behind that easy confidence. “Sometimes,” I admitted. “Other times it feels like being stuck.”
