Page 16 of Taming the Wild Cowboy

Maclyn listened closely to his admonitions but did not act nervous as they moved through the herd, which was a plus. Cows picked up on that sort of thing. She was used to horses, used to handling large animals, and if she was on the ranch through the end of the calving season, she would most likely leave with some cow experience. He just had to make sure she didn’t get mashed in the process.

“Like I said, you do have to be careful of letting your little dog run through the cattle. Cows hate dogs.”

“I’m actually aware of that.” Maclyn used the cow stick he’d given her as a staff while she picked her way through the muddy field. “Sweet Grass Ranch had a herd, but they were tended to by their own crew. The Benningtons liked everyone to stay in their lane. I think they were afraid that we’d join forces and overthrow them if we were allowed to fraternize between job areas.” She didn’t sound like she was kidding.

“Did you like working there?” He asked the question casually, but his body stilled as he waited for her answer. He was part of the reason why she’d been there in the first place.

“Wrangler jobs don’t grow on trees.”

“Do you think that Buckley Livestock would have been better?” Stupid question that he probably shouldn’t have asked.

She gave him a quick look. “Are you looking for absolution?”

“Guess I want to know how badly I screwed up.”

*

How badly had he screwed up?

Maclyn would put it at an 8.5 on a scale of 10. She’d learned things at the Sweet Grass Ranch, but Buckley would have been a better fit for her, and as far as she knew, they didn’t attempt to murder horses who could be saved. The place was famous for their well-trained cutting, roping, and barrel horses. Riding a Buckley Quarter Horse was a badge of honor whether in the arena or on a ranch. She had so wanted to be part of the operation. Dealing with horses only, and not having to wrangle guests as well, would have suited her so much better. Especially when she saw herself in some of those guests, which always gave her a touch of cringe. She’d been clueless and privileged before Frank had changed all that by taking away everything she’d depended on. She hadn’t been afraid of hard work or lacking in empathy in her late teens and very early twenties, but she had been blissfully unaware of what a lot of people were going through … unaware that is, until she went through it herself.

That said, what was done was done, and Trev had given her a temporary job, so it made no sense to rub his nose in her disappointment.

“Let’s say things worked out.”

“Did they?” he asked with a lift of his eyebrows.

No …

Time to change the subject, because rehashing the past wasn’t going to help either of them. Trev saved her the trouble of coming up with something innocuous by pointing to a cow standing a little way from the feed line. “See how she’s switching her tail? And … yeah … see that?”

“She’s shaking her head at her belly, just like a mare about to foal?”

“Exactly.”

“Do we need to bring her in?” She knew that Wade had brought in three cows the previous night and all three were now chilling in calving pens, looking like they had no interest in being mothers at all.

“No. The wind’s dying, and it’s supposed to warm up, so we’ll keep an eye on her.” He pulled a notebook out of his shirt pocket. “Number 4M,” he noted, reading her ear tag. “She’s a veteran. Should be no trouble there.”

“Unless there is?”

“And you said you didn’t know cows.”

“I know Murphy’s Law,” she replied.

They were nearing the end of the line when a heavily pregnant cow lifted her head and did a double take as she zeroed in on Mac, her brown eyes taking on the light of battle. The cow lowered her head and started toward them with deliberate steps when Trev yelled, “Hey!” and waved his stick.

The cow stopped but continued staring malevolently at Mac.

Trev took an aggressive step toward her. “Behave.”

The cow slowly shifted her focus from Trev back to Maclyn, who now knew that Trev had not been exaggerating about watching herself while in the herd. Finally, after giving her head a warning shake, the cow lumbered away, pushing aside one of her sisters to get a new spot in the feed line.

“Okay then.” Maclyn moistened her lips as the cow went back to feeding as if nothing had happened. Being on the animal’s radar had been chilling.

“Number 13F,” Trev said, reading the ear tag, the only way to identify one black cow from another. “Keep an eye out for her.”

“Number 13F. Killer Moo. Right.”