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"No."

She looked at me.

"Dry socks first."

"Boone—"

"Thirty seconds."

I pulled spare wool socks from the office cabinet. Cash kept them there after spring thaw soaked everybody once a week. I put them on her feet myself, then slid her into a pair of rubber barn boots two sizes too large.

Josie stood again.

This time I let her.

She rolled her sleeves, looked toward the door, and became the woman I had watched work every emergency since March.

"Time to work," she said.

I opened the office door for her.

***

Pen four held a first-calf heifer flat on her side and trying to kick the world away.

Foam streaked her muzzle. Her eye rolled white beneath the lamp. Two ranch hands held the rope while I kept her hip off the panel.

Josie went down in the straw beside her. "How long?"

"Maybe twenty minutes," Wyatt said. "She went down after the water broke."

Josie gloved to the shoulder and reached.

The heifer strained around her arm. Josie's jaw tightened, but her voice stayed low. "Easy, mama. I know. Nobody asked you."

I watched her face.

"Head's back," she said. "One front leg retained."

"Can you reach?"

"Not if you keep asking questions."

There she was.

I put my hand against the heifer's flank and felt the contraction harden beneath hide.

Josie went deeper.

My arm wouldn't fit where hers did. My strength meant nothing in that narrow dark place. Her small hand found the calf's muzzle, pushed it back, caught the folded leg, and brought the hoof forward one inch at a time.

"Chain," she said.

It was in my palm before the word ended.

We worked without talking after that.

Her hand placed.