Page 49 of The Texan Duke
“They’ll eat almost anything. It’s why we have to keep the branches around the lower pastures trimmed. Otherwise, they’d eat all the leaves. They’ll eat weeds and vines and anything that remotely looks like food.”
She was warming to the topic, and he wasn’t about to stop her, fascinated by her smile and the light in her eyes.
“In winter we feed them hay,” she said. “This year we were lucky. We had only an A herd.”
“An A herd?”
She nodded. “I grade the herd in autumn. If a cow is too thin, it’s a B. If it’s too fat, it’s a C. They get separated into different sections depending on their condition. That way the thin ones are fed more and the fat ones less.”
“So an A cow is one that’s just right?” he asked.
She nodded.
“And you do this grading yourself?”
“With the help of our steward,” she said. “He doesn’t like the task much,” she added, smiling. She glanced over her shoulder. “I think he’s afraid of them.”
“It’s a good-sized herd,” he said, having estimated the number to be about one hundred fifty. Nothing like the thousands of head of Longhorn on the XIV Ranch, but acceptable for a small pasture.
“This is just one of them,” she said. “There are six more pastures.”
“And you oversee all of them?” he asked, amazed.
She shook her head. “Not all of them. Some are too far to easily reach. We have crofters who look after the cows and ensure they’re well fed.”
She came and stood beside him, looking out over the pasture.
“They’re normally very healthy, even in the winter. And they calve small babies so they rarely need any help.”
One of the cows raised its head and stared at her. At least he thought it stared. It was difficult to tell with all that hair.
“The whole herd seems to protect them,” she said. “They seem to shield the little ones, forming a barrier between the calves and the outside world.”
“You didn’t tell me they were so hairy,” he said.
“Oh, that’s one of their best traits. Of course, in the summer their hair isn’t as long, but it still protects them from flies. Summers are harder for them than our wet, cold winters. In summer we move them to the western pasture. It’s shadier in the afternoon, and they stay cooler.”
A tendril had come loose from her bun. He wanted to push it back into place, but he kept his hands in his pockets.
“I’ve been listing all the cattle in a book,” she said. “A registry, of sorts, for Bealadair’s herds.” She glanced up at him. “Did you know that they were written about as early as the thirteenth century? The crofters used to bring them into their homes to sleep in the winter.”
“I guess that kept them from being rustled,” he said.
“And they kept the owner warm,” she added. “They’re good milk cows and good oxen. They’re a very hardy breed.”
She looked around her. “This afternoon, we’ll send some men here and to the upper pasture to plow some of the snow.” She glanced at him. “I hope that when you sell Bealadair you find someone who’ll treat them well, Connor.”
“Perhaps you should stay on at Bealadair,” he said. “I doubt anyone would be as conscientious as you.”
She turned and stared out at the pasture and beyond, to the windbreak. “No, it’s time for me to leave.”
The words irritated him for some reason. If all went well, Bealadair would sell quickly. Perhaps the servants would remain, but that was all. His aunt and cousins would have to find other living arrangements.
He was land rich but cash poor. He needed an infusion of money to ensure that the ranch lived on, just as his father had intended.
Still, it annoyed him to think of Elsbeth leaving.
“Your Highland cattle sound a lot like a Longhorn,” he said, deciding that cattle were a safer subject. “They can live on the open range and eat things most other animals ignore.”
