Winds of Wyoming (A Kate Neilson Novel) by Rebecca Carey Lyles

tall. Those guys weigh twice as much as cows, up to twenty-two-hundred pounds.”
    He pointed toward a big brown lump on the ground ahead of them. “There she is—with the calf standing beside her.”
    The forlorn calf, its dark nose in the air, bellowed the loss of its mother, halting its cry of abandonment only long enough to nuzzle her cold bag and lifeless teats.
    “Poor baby.” Kate rested her elbows on the dashboard and stared at the calf. Her heart hurt for the little creature. It was all alone. She knew how that felt.
    “Pardon?”
    “I feel sorry for the calf. Some reprehensible person destroyed everything good about its young life—its only source of food and nurturing.”
    “Yeah. I don’t understand how anyone could be so cruel—if the cow was really shot, that is.” He turned off the engine and sat quietly, just looking at her.
    She squirmed. “Did you want to say something?”
    His serious expression dissolved into a grin. “Just that I can’t get out until you get out.”
    “Oh.” She snickered. “Sorry.”
    Still laughing, they joined Clint at the fence, standing on each side of him. Clint elbowed Kate. “You must be a magician.” His voice was barely a murmur. “He’s actually smiling.”
    She grinned. After the rough ride up the hill, every bruise and scrape throbbed, but Clint’s friendly camaraderie made her feel accepted and appreciated, like one of the crew.
    He motioned toward the cow. “Want to drive in to take a look at her, Mike?”
    Mike studied the pasture, his gaze shifting back and forth. “The rest of the herd is a ways off, which is a good thing. But it won’t be long before they come over to check us out—or to protect that calf. Our first priority is to get it out of there and put some food in its stomach. We lost the last calf we tried to bottle feed, the one that got separated from its mother when we moved the herd last spring. This one’s only a couple weeks old, so maybe it’ll be okay.”
    He looked around Clint to Kate. “After we load the calf into the truck, would you mind driving it to the barn? I’ll radio Mom, so she can warm some milk.”
    “I’d be glad to.” Kate was happy she could do something to help the pitiful, hungry beast. “But I’ve never driven a truck before.”
    “You know how to shift gears?”
    “My Honda has a manual shift.”
    “Good. You know how to use a clutch. It’ll just take a couple minutes for you to get a feel for Old Blue’s gears.” He clasped Clint’s shoulder. “Have your rope with you, bud?”
    “You bet.”
    “This is a perfect opportunity to show off your calf-roping skills.”
    Clint laughed. “Not much of a challenge. The critter just stands there wailing its head off. What’s your plan?”
    “I can’t believe I’m dumb enough to use a truck again. But unless you have a better idea, let’s drive our pickups in front of the cow and form a V aimed at the herd to block their view while you rope the calf’s legs. If we’re lucky, it won’t run too far from the cow, and you can get a good shot at it. Kate can man the gate.”
    Kate stuck her hands in her back pockets. “This is probably a dumb question, but why are you roping its legs instead of its head?”
    Mike smiled. “That’s a good question, not a dumb one. You wouldn’t think it to look at them, but a bison’s esophagus is twice the size of a beef animal and closer to the surface, so roping around the neck is dangerous. Plus, buffalo tend to run up the rope, toward the roper, instead of away, like a cow would.”
    He adjusted his hat and looked at Clint. “I’ll help you tie the legs and toss it in the truck. Kate can haul it to the ranch, while we deal with the sheriff or the vet—maybe both. We’ll decide who to call after we check out the cow.”
    “It’s a plan, Stan. Good thing we put in a gate at the corner.”
    Mike nodded. “How about you drive Kate to the gate and show her how to operate it while I unload the stuff in