Mad Season by Nancy Means Wright

Author:Nancy Means Wright [Wright, Nancy Means]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery
Publisher: Belgrave House
Published: 1996-08-27T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

When Colm found Ruth in the heifer pen, flying at the end of a rope, he wondered if he’d stumbled into a rodeo. Seconds later she had it around the neck of one beast while two others charged about the pen.

“Go, girl,” he shouted as she slid through the mud, or worse.

“Don’t just stand there,” she yelled back, and he took a deep breath and plunged in, helped her drag the roped heifer to a corner post. When the animal was secured she took a metal ear tag out other jeans: “Now get a headlock on this girl.”

He said, “What?” and she said, “Hold her tight while I get this tag on, or it’ll rip her ear.”

“Darling,” he said, and grabbed the heifer. He hoped Ruth had good aim, he didn’t need a yellow tag in his ear.

The heifer leaped: stood on two front legs, embracing Colm; then, as the tag sprang shut, sank down on all fours, staggering Colm back against the edge of the pen.

“Is that all?” he gasped, “I came to tell you something, not—”

“One more and we’re done,” she said. “Hang on now.” She roped the neck of a large heifer with a mean-looking black patch over one eye. When Colm tried to get the beast in a headlock, she lunged at the rear of the pen. Colm lost his footing on the shit-slippery floor and skidded six feet on his knees.

The laughter behind him might have come out of a canned game show.

Tim said, “Nice choreography.” He pulled Colm upright and brushed him off. Easy as swatting a fly, he grabbed the reluctant heifer and Ruth jammed in the ear tag.

“Where were you when we needed you?” Colm said.

Tim grinned. “Fixing fence. I told you to wait for me, Ruth.”

Ruth said, “Oh, but I had Colm.”

Colm smiled feebly and stumbled out of the pen. Maybe he knew now why Pete had quit the farm.

It took a full five minutes to get back his breath, never mind his dignity. He couldn’t think why he’d come at all. He was wet and miserable, it had snowed two inches the night before—almost mid-April, jeez. One thing he did know: he had to get his boots re-soled if he was to keep on seeing Ruth; the wet manure had soaked up into his socks.

“Any news?” she said. Now she was bent over a cow, feeding it something from her hand. He had to admit, she had a fine rump— should he make comparisons?

“I was thinking how good you look. Like that.” Then kicked himself for saying it. They weren’t students anymore.

She dove back into the cow to hide the flush that was spreading over her face. “Just tell me the news. No backhanded compliments.”

There was the red car, that’s why he’d come. “The call came an hour ago. They found it in a used-car lot in Plattsburgh. Jules Smith—I doubt Smith is the real name, how obvious can you get? Traded it in for a tan Honda Civic. Generic looking car, every other car on the highway is gray or tan, a Honda.

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