Texas-Sized Secrets. Elle James
The foreman either was in a big hurry or he wasn’t sharing what kind of trouble. The older man nudged his horse faster, racing across the low range grasses of the Texas panhandle.
Knowing he wasn’t getting any more information out of the man, Reed dropped back, content to follow. His questions would be answered soon enough by the ranch owner himself.
Fernando topped a rise and dropped down behind it.
When Reed reached the top of the slope, his heart leaped into his throat at the steep drop on the other side.
As if anxious to catch the other horse, Diablo danced to the side, straining against the reins.
“Okay, go for it.” Reed gave the horse his head and held on while the animal plunged downward into a small canyon tangled with a maze of ravines and fallen rocks.
He thought he heard someone’s shouts echoing off the canyon walls, but the sound of the horse’s hooves slipping and sliding down the rocky path could have been playing tricks on his hearing.
Fernando had eased his horse into a walk, picking his way through the rocks and bramble that spooked his mount. With the skill of one born to ride, the man held his seat and urged his mount to continue down the hill to the bottom of the canyon.
A riderless horse passed Reed and leaped over the top of the hill behind him. He assumed it was the boss’s horse and spurred his own forward at a lethal pace for the downhill slide.
When Reed reached the canyon floor, he just caught a glimpse of Fernando’s horse rounding the corner of a sheer bluff wall.
Without hesitation, Reed dug his heels into the horse’s flanks and raced after him, wondering, not for the first time, if this was some kind of test or trap. He reached beneath his denim jacket and flicked the safety strap off his Glock. Whether he was being led into an ambush or the boss of the Rancho Linda was really in trouble, he’d be ready.
When he rounded yet another corner of rocky wall, he pulled up sharply, narrowly avoiding a collision with Fernando and his mount.
Diablo reared and screamed.
Fernando’s bay mare danced to the side but refused to go forward.
Ahead a hundred yards was a cow, lying on her side, clearly in the midst of a birthing gone bad. In front of her was a herd of wild hogs. Between the downed cow and the canyon wall stood a small woman with flowing black hair and brown-black eyes. She waved her straw cowboy hat at the angry animals and yelled. As small as she was, she wasn’t making much of an impression on the three-hundred-pound swine circling her and the distressed cow.
Fernando pulled his rifle from the scabbard on the front of his saddle and aimed it in the air. A round exploded, the sound echoing off the canyon walls.
While most of the hogs jumped and scattered, a few of the larger, more aggressive males turned their attention from the girl to Fernando. Fearless, or too mad to care, two of the beasts charged.
The older man’s horse reared and spun. In order to stay in the saddle, Fernando had to drop the rifle and hold on. His horse lit out with several of the hogs in pursuit.
Reed’s horse danced to the side behind a stand of rocks. A scream ripped across the canyon walls, chilling his blood.
The largest of the boars rammed into the cow’s swollen belly. The cow bellowed and tried to roll to her feet. With a calf lodged in the birthing canal, she wasn’t going anywhere.
The woman behind the cow shouted and waved her hat. “Get the hell away from her. Get!”
What did she hope to accomplish? Her little bit of flapping served as a red cape waved in front of a bull. The boar lowered his tusks and rammed the cow again.
The woman leaned across the cow’s belly and beat at the boar’s snout.
“Move back!” Reed shouted. “Move back!” He leaped to the ground, yanking his pistol from the holster beneath his arm.
“No! Don’t hurt the cow!”
The boar rammed the cow again.
Since the woman still leaned over the downed bovine, the force of the boar’s impact catapulted her backward. She hit the rock wall behind her, sliding down to land hard on her butt.
When the boar backed away, preparing for another charge, Reed aimed at the hog’s head and fired.
The hog dropped where it stood.
Reed raced to where the woman sat, rubbing the back of her head, her eyes glazed.
“You all right?” He held out a hand.
She ignored him and scrambled to her feet. “Move!” Shoving him to the side, she ran a few steps along the base of the bluff before doubling over and throwing up in the dirt.
Reed hurried over to her and held her hair out of her face until she was done, hesitantly patting her back. He wasn’t sure what to do. Something inside him made him want to comfort this woman who’d gone through a particularly scary event.
When she straightened, her face was pale, but her lips were firm. She looked like a woman with a tentative grasp on her control and the determination to maintain it. “Can you give me a hand with the calf? It’s stillborn and stuck.”
Reed stared into her eyes until he was sure she was going to remain on her feet, then he turned to the laboring cow.
He’d seen this happen before when a cow tried to give birth to a calf too big for the birth canal. Half the time, they lost cow and calf. With the calf already dead, the best they could hope for was to save the cow.
He sat in the dirt behind the cow, braced his feet against the animal’s backside and grabbed hold of the dead calf’s legs.
Too tired and battered to help, the cow lay on her side, breathing hard. When the next contraction hit, she bellowed, and tried to push with what little strength she had left.
Reed pulled with all his might. The calf slid out a little farther.
“You’re doing good.” The woman squatted beside the cow and smoothed a hand over her head. “Hang in there.”
Another contraction rolled over the cow’s belly and her legs stretched straight out, her stomach muscles convulsing.
Reaching down to the calf’s shoulders, Reed tugged as hard as he could and the calf slid out the rest of the way.
For several long moments, the cow and Reed gathered their strength. Then the cow rolled to a sitting position and nudged the dead calf.
“Sorry, girl, this baby didn’t make it.” The woman patted the cow’s neck.
While the cow licked at the calf’s face, Reed stood and wiped his hands on his jeans.
The woman straightened, the top of her head only coming up to Reed’s shoulders. “You here about the job?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She walked around the cow to stand beside the dead boar. “Was I mistaken or did you drop that boar with one shot?”
“You were not mistaken, ma’am.”
She dusted her hands on her jeans and reached out. “I’m Mona Grainger. You’re hired.”
Chapter Two
The man with the sandy-blond hair, moss-green eyes and a square jawline stood with his cowboy hat in hand, staring at her. “You’re M. Grainger? The owner of the Rancho Linda?”
She had to give this guy a little credit. He asked without the usual shocked look. “That would be me.” She’d gotten the shocked response from all the applicants thus far. They expected a wiry, grizzled hulk of a man like her father. Not a petite young woman who barely topped five feet three inches.
Her father had died less than a year ago in