His Favorite Cowgirl by Leigh Duncan

Author:Leigh Duncan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-10-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

From his seat atop Star, Hank studied the buzzards that looped in lazy circles over the pond. His gaze dropped to the wide-eyed calf that had wandered into trouble and now stood, mired in muck, twenty feet from shore. Sammy barked at the weaner, his four paws planted at the water’s edge. The cow dog spun, chased his tail and yipped again. The calf strained at the rope, but didn’t budge. The little one’s mother could probably tempt her baby out of the water, but Hank scanned the endless stretch of patchy grass beyond the pond without spotting her.

Not that he’d exactly call a hundred-pound calf “little.”

He tipped his hat, mopped sweat from his brow. Leave it to him to be on his own when he found a Brahman stuck in a mudhole. He hadn’t planned it this way. No, when he’d pictured how his day might go, he’d imagined Kelly at his side. They’d talk while they flushed cattle from their hiding spots in the bushes. With the cow dogs’ help, they’d herd the stragglers toward the southern-most pasture on the Bar X in preparation for a weekend cattle drive. If he was lucky, he’d steal a kiss or two from Kelly along the way.

But not a single light had glowed from the windows of the Bar X when he and his crew had ridden through that morning. More disappointed than he had any right to be, he’d barked orders at the ranch hands like an old cow dog. The first chance they’d gotten, the boys had put as much distance between him and them as possible. They’d headed in different directions, each intent on scouring every copse for silver-sided cows. Which had left him alone to deal with a calf that had gotten itself into a jam.

Slowly, Hank backed Star another step. The rope grew taut. The horse’s bridle jangled. The noose around the calf’s neck tightened a skosh but, legs splayed, the young one stood his ground in the murky water.

“Damn.” There was nothing else to do but go in after the weaner. For a half second, Hank considered moving on without her, but he couldn’t leave her where she was. Sooner or later, the calf would tire and drown. That was, if the gators didn’t finish her off first.

He studied the clumps of algae without spotting a single pair of eyes staring back at him from the surface. Which didn’t mean sloshing into the pond was a good idea. Gators held their breath for hours when they wanted to. A big one could be lying on the bottom, still as a log, waiting for the right moment to strike. Hank scoured the muddy slope down to the water. The tension in his shoulders eased a bit when all he saw were the tracks of small animals. Grumbling about the general stupidity of calves, he dismounted.

He let loose a few choice words as he waded well past the point where silty water rushed over the tops of his boots.

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