It’s all for the freight business, he told himself. If he could survive the next few months, he’d never have to look at another cow rump again.
The calf bellowed and twisted in protest as Jennie put down the iron and took up her knife to cut a small notch in the animal’s right ear.
“All right,” she said, using the back of her hand to brush hair from her glistening forehead. “He’s done.”
Caleb untied the rope from the calf’s feet and released it. He jumped out of the way as the animal scrambled through the brush in search of its mother. “How many have we done?”
Jennie blew out a long breath and plopped down in the dirt. “Twenty calves in all. We had twice that many last spring. It took me and Will three days to round them all up and brand them. We’ve lost quite a few since then.”
“What happened?”
“A few died over the winter, but mostly it’s been rustlers.”
“You mean the Indians that shot your pa?” She looked up sharply at his words, so he quickly added, “Will told me what happened.”
She nodded. “They took some, yes. But I think one of the other landowners around here might be stealing from us, too.”
Caleb’s eyebrows shot up. “Why would you think that?”
“The Indians might want a few head of cattle here and there, but since they don’t have the setup to handle anything more, there’s no cause for them to take very many. But the other landholders...they could add my calves to their stock with no problems at all, and have the bonus of driving us out at the same time. There are plenty of folks who think I can’t handle this ranch on my own. I think someone’s trying to prove it.”
Her voice was strong and steady, but Caleb could see how tired she looked, how the responsibility for running and protecting the ranch wore away at her. A surge of protectiveness filled him and he promised himself that, for as long as he worked on the ranch, he’d help lift some of that load. But that brought up another question. Would his wages take away from the family’s ability to survive? Could they support another mouth to feed? “Can you afford to pay me?”
He realized she’d misunderstood the motivation behind his question when her cheeks flamed red.
“That’s not what I—”
“I said I would,” she interjected. “It’s going to take another set of hands to make this place what I want, what my father wanted.” She climbed to her feet and threw him a haughty look. “I can afford to pay you when our agreement is up. Just as I promised. And I’ll pay you for every month you stay after that.”
“Then I’m not a mail-order cowboy anymore?” he teased, hoping to defuse her anger.
She scowled at him, but only for another few seconds, before she laughed. “I’ll admit you’ve done well.”
Will approached them carrying a calf, its ankles tied. “I think she’s the last one.”
“Caleb and I’ll finish up,” she said. “Why don’t you go get some drinking water from the creek?”
Nodding, Will transferred the calf into Caleb’s arms and headed off into the brush with one of the buckets.
As Caleb wrestled to keep the calf still, Jennie crouched beside the fire and pulled out the white-hot branding iron. When they were finished, Caleb let the calf go and stood to stretch his sore back. “You’re good with that iron.”
“I should be.” She dropped the branding iron into a nearby bucket. The hot metal sizzled against the water inside. “My mother hated this part of ranching, but I found it fascinating. I was always getting in the way during branding season until my father finally agreed to teach me what to do. I’ve been branding cattle since I was twelve.”
“Where’s your mother now?”
Jennie eyed him with suspicion. “Why do you want to know?”
Caleb shrugged, unsure why the simple question had struck a wrong chord in her. “Just wondered, since she’s not around.”
Frowning, Jennie picked up a cloth and wiped off her knife. “My mother passed away two years before my father did. She wasn’t living with us, though. She went to live with her sister when I was thirteen and Will was six.”
The casualness of her words didn’t disguise the pain Caleb heard behind them. He sat down on the ground and stretched out his legs, thinking of how to redeem himself. He hadn’t meant to dredge up hurtful memories. Sometimes they were best left buried in the past.
“I’m sorry.”
She stared off into the distance, the knife and cloth motionless in her hands. “You didn’t know.”
“That must’ve been tough.”
“The next few years were difficult.” She finished cleaning her knife and set it aside. “This is the point when you tell me it was all for the best. She couldn’t care for us. She was obviously ill in mind and body. We were better off without her.”
“Why would I say that?”
“Because that’s what people said after she left.” Jennie sat on the bare ground and wrapped her arms around her knees like a frightened child. Her vulnerability made Caleb want to put his arm along her stiff shoulders, but he didn’t. She was his boss, after all.
“Maybe that’s why my father stopped going to church,” she said. “He couldn’t stand people’s feigned sympathy.” Her eyes, dark with anguish, met his. “I couldn’t stand it, either.”
The urge to comfort her grew stronger, so he busied himself with opening the saddlebag that held their supper things. He unloaded the jerky, bread and dried fruit that Grandma Jones had packed for them. They’d stay tonight on the open range and return to the ranch tomorrow, once they’d doctored the few cows that needed it.
“I felt like that before,” he finally said.
“What?” She spun her head around and blinked at him as if she’d forgotten his presence.
“There was a time I felt alone and angry, and couldn’t stand it when people tried to sympathize.”
“Why?”
Caleb took a long breath, steeling himself against the rush of memories. “It was right after my fiancée, Liza, died.”
“Your fiancée?” Jennie brought her hand to her mouth. “What happened?”
“She...um...came down this way on the stage to visit her aunt, about a month before our wedding.” He regarded a group of trees in the distance, embarrassed to see the pity he imagined he’d find on Jennie’s face. It had been more than a year since he’d last recounted the story, but the pain felt as fresh as ever as the words spilled from him. “There was...an accident with the stage, and she was killed instantly.”
“I’m so sorry.” She set her hand on his sleeve for a moment. “That must have been devastating.”
“We attended the same church congregation with our families. I tried going a few times after Liza’s death, but I couldn’t take the pity I saw reflected in everyone’s eyes, how they’d stop their whispered conversations when I came close. I quit going to any kind of church for a long time.” He tore his gaze from the landscape back to hers, hoping to make his next point understood. “About a year ago, after making peace with God, I finally realized those people who knew Liza weren’t being cruel or unkind on purpose. The real reason I’d quit going to church back then had nothing to with them, and everything to do with me.”
With a shake of her head, Jennie scrambled to her feet. “You make it sound so easy, but it’s not. You don’t know what they said about my mother, the horrible rumors that they spread.