Within My Heart Page 9

  Rachel reached up to find her forehead damp, despite the morning’s chill.

  “. . . I’m guessing you’re in quite a bit of pain right now and in no condition to assist with anything.” He retrieved a coiled rope from a peg and fashioned a makeshift harness—in half the time it would have taken her, and with superior results. “So . . . I’ll see to your heifer and her calf first, as you’ve requested me to do. Then I’ll be obliged to tend your injury.”

  Hearing the implied bargain, and none too eager to have Rand Brookston viewing her thigh, Rachel purposefully held back an agreeing nod. She had another idea. “Will Mr. Daggett be joining us soon?”

  Rand’s tired smile was briefly lived. “That’s doubtful.” He looped the harness over Lady’s head. “The boardwalk in front of the Mullinses’ store is piled high with snow. He’s helping Lyda dig out so she can open up. Folks are needing supplies.”

  At the mention of Lyda opening the store, Rachel realized she hadn’t yet inquired after Ben.

  “I give you my word, Mrs. Boyd.” Rand’s voice mirrored the confidence in his eyes. “I’ll be careful.”

  Instinctively, she knew he was referring to Mitch and something inside her softened toward him at his reassurance. Knowing she had no alternative, she nodded a hesitant approval and Mitch hurried to take his place beside him.

  “I won’t get hurt, Mama. I promise.”

  Rachel couldn’t find her voice, so simply nodded again.

  “I need you to grip the rope tight, Mitchell. Right here. Hold it firm and steady. I’ll tell you when to pull. And stay on your haunches, like this”—Rand demonstrated, sitting in a squatted position—“so you can move quickly when you need to. Not if you need to, but when. She’s going to kick. They always do. So you have to be ready.”

  Mitch nodded, stealing a glance in Rachel’s direction. Rachel’s face went warm.

  “Now”—Rand smoothed a hand over Lady’s muzzle—“normally after a heifer’s been in labor this long, the calf is ready to be born and the mama’s lying down. But sometimes, when the calf is large, it’ll take more time. I think that’s part of Lady’s problem. So in situations like this, we need the heifer to stand and move around. Most times they’ll try to stand themselves, but if not—”

  Rachel cringed, realizing she’d made the wrong decision. Again. To Mitchell’s credit, he didn’t give her away.

  “—then we need to help her. As I said, Lady’s calf is posterior-facing, which means—”

  “It means it’s coming out backwards.” Mitch stroked Lady’s neck. “I read about it in Mama’s book.” He indicated the book that lay half buried in the straw.

  Her embarrassment now utterly complete, Rachel threw the traitorous Handy-Book of Husbandry a glare.

  Positioning Mitch at Lady’s head, Rand moved to the opposite end. “You and I are going to try and help Lady to turn the calf herself, Mitchell. Most times, the heifer’s body will do the work if given the chance. Sometimes it won’t. But you don’t ever want to force a calf in this position to turn.”

  “It could hurt it?” Mitch asked, holding on to the rope like a lifeline.

  Rand’s expression went solemn. “It could hurt them both.”

  Rand wished he’d followed his instincts and ridden out to the Boyd ranch during the night. He would’ve seen what was happening early on and could have given the calf more time to rotate before entering the birth canal. As it was, the heifer’s birth was progressing rapidly. They still had time. Though not much. “When I count to three, Mitchell, I want you to pull hard on the rope. I’m going to push from this end. You ready?”

  Tongue doubled between his front teeth, Mitch nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “One . . . two . . . three!” Rand pushed, watchful of Lady’s hooves but even more so of Mitchell’s footing, and of Rachel standing close beside him.

  The heifer didn’t budge. She did kick again, however, and Rand narrowly missed a hoof.

  “Okay,” he panted, pausing to catch a breath. “Let’s try again.”

  They did, and on the fourth try Lady bolted upright—straight toward Mitchell. The boy managed a deft side step to safety and after the initial shock wore off, he began grinning from ear to ear. “We did it, Dr. Brookston! We got her up!”

  Rand laughed. “That we did!” The joy in the boy’s expression did Rand’s heart good. “You’ve got good reflexes, Mitchell. You’re fast too. Remind me never to challenge you to a race.”

  Mitchell beamed, but it was the smile the boy reserved for his mother that touched Rand most.

  “I told you I wouldn’t get hurt, Mama. I kept my promise.”

  Rand heard a soft hiccup beside him and turned to see tears in Rachel’s eyes, her gaze centered on her son. He sensed something pass between the two of them and felt a mite intrusive on the moment, yet he wouldn’t have chosen to be anywhere else.

  Having arrived at Timber Ridge after Thomas Boyd’s death, he’d never known Rachel’s husband. But he’d heard enough about the man to know he would have been honored to count him as a friend. The handful of times Ben and Lyda Mullins had spoken of Thomas—always in a hushed whisper and with the deepest respect— Rand had sensed their love for him. For this entire family.

  Which made him dread, even more, when Rachel learned the truth about Ben’s condition, and about how little time he had left. Less than Rachel suspected. Like Lyda, she’d already lost so much.

  Rachel touched Mitch’s cheek. “I . . .” She took a quick breath, her lips trembling. “I’m s-so . . . very proud of you,” she whispered, a tear sliding down her cheek. She looked back at him, and if Rand wasn’t mistaken, he read gratitude in her eyes.

  Movement from the side drew his attention, and Rand turned to see Kurt standing outside the stall door. For a fraction of a second, the boy’s gaze was only for his mother, and his expression registered undeniable hurt. Then Kurt’s gaze connected with Rand’s and cool defiance rose.

  “You found Lady?” Kurt asked, his attention back on his mother, his hair and clothes rumpled, his coat unbuttoned, hands shoved deep into his pockets.

  Rand heard more accusation in the boy’s tone than question. He hadn’t been around Kurt much, or Mitch, for that matter, but one thing was certain—for one so young, Kurt had an edge to him.

  Rachel wiped her cheeks and made her way to her younger son, limping and holding on to the wall as she went. Rand indicated for Mitch to follow so they could give Lady run of the stall.

  “Yes, honey”—Rachel sniffed—“Mr. Daggett and I found Lady up near the waterfall. She was stuck in the snow.” She glanced behind her. “Now she’s about to have her calf.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me up? You promised you’d wake me up!”

  Surprised at the boy’s tone, Rand fought the impulse to look at Rachel. He could feel her tense beside him.

  “I did awaken you, Kurt.” Rachel’s tone was a blend of rebuke and embarrassment. She brushed a tuft of hair back from Kurt’s forehead—or tried. The boy pulled away, and Rachel slowly withdrew her hand. “You must’ve fallen back to sleep.”

  Kurt’s scowl clearly said he didn’t believe her. “Why is he here?”

  Rand’s brows shot up, realizing Kurt was referring to him.

  “Kurtis Ian Boyd!” Rachel said in a harsh whisper. “You will not speak to me in that fashion. Do you understand? And you will apologize to Dr. Brookston this instant.”

  Kurt seemed to weigh his mother’s command. “I’m sorry,” he finally muttered.

  Rachel’s attention fluttered to Rand but never settled. Then she briefly bowed her head and massaged her temple. When she looked up again, her carefully arranged smile was back in place, her brow empty of frustration. But Rand found the façade more revealing than convincing.

  She exhaled and turned back to Kurt. “I sent for Dr. Brookston because Lady’s having difficulty with her labor.”

  Mitchell stepped forward. “Her calf was going to come out backward, so I got to help D
r. Brookston get Lady to stand up. Now the calf is going to turn itself around. But you don’t ever want to force a calf in this position to turn.”

  Rand had to smile at the authority in Mitch’s voice, impressed the boy was quoting him verbatim. “We hope the calf is going to turn,” Rand said, giving Kurt a smile. “I could use another assistant, Kurt . . . if you’re interested.” He gave Rachel a discreet look to let her know he’d assign Kurt a “safe” job.

  But Kurt’s lack of enthusiasm at the offer spoke volumes.

  Rand turned back to the stall to keep an eye on the heifer’s progress. He had no idea what he’d done to get on the boy’s bad side. He’d noticed Kurt’s standoffishness last evening, the way he’d watched from the doorway.

  Lady let out a low bellow and staggered to one side. Her distended belly seemed to grow even more so, and the faint outline of the life within her could be seen shifting and moving as the calf pressed its way into position. Somehow the young mother maintained her footing. But the telling ripple through her abdominal muscles indicated that would soon change.

  Rand removed the makeshift harness from Lady’s head, untied the rope, and tied a slipknot.

  “Should we make her lie down now?” Mitch asked, removing his coat and rolling up his sleeves the way Rand had done.

  “No. She’ll lie down on her own when she’s ready.” Rand raised a hand. “And it’s best if you all stay out of the way. Let’s give her some room.”

  Aware of his audience waiting at the door of the stall, Rand examined the heifer again to ascertain the calf ’s position—and his optimism waned.

  “What’s wrong?” Rachel asked behind him.

  He sighed, wondering which bad news to deliver first, and already knowing Rachel well enough to know she’d blame herself.

  “The calf didn’t turn . . . did it?” she asked.

  “No, but that’s no fault of yours. Sometimes this just happens. No matter how much time the heifer has.”

  Lady’s hind legs gave way, and her bulk sank into the straw. She rolled onto her side. The calf was beginning to crown—only it wasn’t the calf ’s nose and front hooves that were presenting.

  “Mitch, hand me that rope. Kurt, get me the rag on the peg there.”

  In a blink, Mitch was beside him with the rope. A second later, the rag appeared at his shoulder. Kurt hovered close, eyes wide and watching, apparently having discarded a measure of defiance.

  Rand wiped his hands and slipped the looped rope over his wrists.

  Mitch leaned closer. “What are you going to do?”

  Rand grabbed hold of the calf ’s hooves, looped the rope over and pulled the slipknot tight. He didn’t know why Rachel and her boys had such an affinity for this heifer, but he wished they didn’t. “Do you see how Lady’s belly is rippling? How the muscles are tightening up?”

  The boys nodded.

  Too late, he wondered if Rachel minded his teaching the boys about the birthing process. But seeing as their father had been a rancher and their mother was allowing them to witness this in the first place . . . “That’s called a contraction. That’s how a heifer’s body pushes out the calf. But since—”

  The calf ’s legs were slippery from birth fluid, and the rope lost hold. Hurrying, Rand looped the rope around the hooves again and pulled taut, but the contraction had passed.

  “If her body’s doin’ the pushing, why are you havin’ to pull?”

  “Good question, Kurt. Two reasons . . . First, it’s taking a long time for Lady to have this calf and she’s getting tired. Second”—now for the other bad news—“the calf is larger than I’d first thought.”

  The next contraction began.

  Body braced, Rand pulled, aware of Rachel coming up beside them, holding on to the wall, watching.

  The contraction didn’t last long. Lady shuddered and moaned, and the calf made little progress. Rand wiped his hands on the rag, eyeing Lady’s belly. When the next contraction started, he put his full weight into it and pulled, and felt Mitch and Kurt behind him, tugging for all they were worth.

  The calf ’s hind legs slid free, followed by its rump.

  “Look, Dr. Brookston!” Mitch yelled, his voice high-pitched. “It’s coming!”

  Rand smiled, but only for a second. “Here comes another contraction, boys. Get ready!”

  Following the contraction, a groan issued from the heifer that made Rand hurt for her, and for Rachel and the boys as they watched. “Come on, girl,” he whispered, allowing no slack in the rope. His neck and shoulder muscles corded tight. “Just one more good one.”

  “Come on, Lady,” he heard Mitch say behind him.

  “Just one more good one,” Kurt whispered.

  With strength Rand didn’t know he had left in him, he pulled, inspired by the tugs on the rope behind him—and the calf ’s body slid free. He staggered back a step as the boys let out whoops and hollers, seemingly unconcerned by the wash of afterbirth that followed the calf ’s arrival. He sat back in the straw, watching in wonder at the newness of life as the boys flanked him on either side.

  He sneaked a peek at Rachel and found her smiling too, her face radiant.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, and gave a soft laugh, then looked back at her sons.

  Rand stared, knowing he shouldn’t allow his thoughts to go where they were going. Not that they were inappropriate, they just weren’t wise. But, oh . . . she was one beautiful woman. She had a softness about her now, an openness—as though she’d let down some invisible wall—and he indulged the idea of what it would be like to love this woman, and to be loved by her.

  A tug on his shirtsleeve broke the reverie.

  Excitement lit Mitchell’s face. “I wish we could do that again! That was fun!”

  “I helped too.” Kurt sat forward and shot a look at his older brother. “I pulled as hard as you did. Even harder!”

  Mitch rose up on his knees. “Maybe I could help you again, Dr. Brookston. The next time you deliver a calf.”

  “I can help too!” Competition thickened Kurt’s voice.

  Rand nodded, having no desire to encourage the rivalry between the brothers. “You both did well, boys. And I’m impressed with how hard you worked.” He rubbed his hands on a fresh patch of straw, noticing Mitch do the same. “I couldn’t have done it without you both.”

  Lady gained her footing and turned to nudge her baby. The calf shook its head, its still-wet ears slapping back and forth as Lady began to lick. Rand untethered the rope from the newborn bull’s legs and the bull kicked in response, nearly connecting with his forearm.

  Rand laughed. “You’re welcome, little one.” He never tired of this part of practicing medicine—be it delivering babies or livestock. Watching life come into the world was a gift, one he was grateful to have witnessed many times. “You’ve got yourself a fine young bull here, Mrs. Boyd. Strong and healthy. He’ll serve your ranch well in coming years.”

  “I hope so,” she said softly, and something in her voice brought him around. “I appreciate you coming when I finally sent for you.” Her half smile held a trace of chagrin. “And for your offer to come last night.”

  Rand held her gaze, hearing the subtle apology and savoring this moment of truce between them. He only hoped it would last.

  Later in the day, as the boys did their evening chores, Rachel loaded supplies into the wagon and set out the short distance to mend a portion of fencing. The freshly fallen snow and steady ache in her leg made the customary chore more burdensome. Before he’d left, Rand had all but demanded—with the kindest and best of intentions, she knew—to examine her injury. But she’d refused. It was only a bruise. She’d rested awhile, as he’d prescribed, though not for as long as he’d suggested. Life on a ranch wouldn’t wait, and neither would mending this fence.

  Dressed warmly enough in Thomas’s coat and wearing his dungarees beneath her skirt, she managed to get the fallen post uprighted, though lifting the heavy pine crossbeam proved an impossible
feat without the full strength in both of her legs.

  “That’s what you pay me to do, Miss Rachel.”

  She turned, surprised to see Charlie Daggett coming up behind her. But no wonder she hadn’t heard him, not with how hard she was breathing. Overtired and out of breath, she wiped her brow with the back of her gloved hand, careful to keep weight off her injured leg. “I wasn’t certain you would be able to return today.”

  “I’m sorry. The work in town took longer than I thought.” Charlie hefted the beam one-handed, nodded to her for the mallet and nails, and pounded the lodgepole pine back into place.

  Not for the first time, Rachel admired the man’s intuitive gentleness and physical strength, while also noticing the bourbon on his breath. Much stronger than it had been that morning. She worked alongside him, amazed at his steadiness of hand while sensing a quiet, and not unfamiliar, unrest beneath his calm exterior. She wasn’t certain, but it seemed that Charlie Daggett was a man who thought none too highly of himself. And she wished there were a way he could see himself through her eyes, as well as the eyes of others in town who knew him well, those who took the time to look beneath the surface.

  She waited until they were walking back to the wagon before broaching the subject. “Is everything all right, Mr. Daggett?”

  “Everything’s fine, ma’am.” He glanced down at her. “You’re limpin’, ma’am. You get yourself hurt today?”

  She huffed softly, still frustrated with herself at having let the incident happen in the first place. “I wasn’t fast enough around Lady’s hooves during the birth. The delivery went well . . . overall,” she added, seeing question slip into Charlie’s eyes. “She had a bull. Healthy and strong, thanks to Dr. Brookston. And to you, for your help.”

  “I was glad to do it, ma’am.” He assisted her into the wagon and shook his head when she made room for him on the bench seat. “I’ll check the herd and the other heifers due to drop, then get the animals fed and tote fresh water from the stream up to the barn. Anything else you need doin’?”