The Bride Wore Spurs. Janet Dean
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days socializing and didn’t appear to have an independent thought from Uncle Clyde. That existence would be even more unbearable.
In comparison with the alternatives, marriage to Matt looked tolerable.
They rode out toward the north range, the view from horseback exhilarating. But then the realities of life invaded her mind, dashing her pleasure like a deluge doused in hot coals.
“How does Papa seem to you?” Hannah asked.
“Having you home has lifted his spirits.”
If Matt agreed, Hannah knew their marriage would give Papa peace. And her the certainty of staying on the land she loved. He hadn’t broached the topic, probably still praying about his answer. She wouldn’t press for his decision, for fear that pushing him would raise his ire and he’d give a hasty no.
Instead she’d focus the conversation on the ranch and look for ways to resolve the problems. “Did we lose many cattle last winter?”
“Nope. Mild winter. Another year or two like that and the herd will come close to its size before the winter of ’86–’87.”
That was a terrible winter and spring. Cattle that survived the blizzard were swept away in floods. They’d lost half the herd, more fortunate than some, but still they’d taken a serious punch in the pocketbook.
Ahead of her, the cattle dotted the fenced pasture, their large frames of every imaginable color. Their horned white faces bent toward the grass. “Crossbreeding longhorns with Herefords makes an interesting herd.”
“Yep, the offspring are the best of both breeds, even-tempered, early maturing and mighty fine eating. They fatten up fast and handle drought. The cows make excellent mothers.”
At the entrance to the north pasture, Matt guided Thunder alongside the fence, opening the gate from horseback, letting her ride through before closing it behind them.
Up ahead two calves bunted each other, then stopped to stare as they rode slowly through the herd, counting calves. A few of the babies were overcome with fear and rushed to their mamas to nurse and be comforted.
Hannah grinned at Matt. “Aren’t they cute?”
“Yep, better yet, they’re profit on legs. I—”
He rose in the saddle, then with a nudge of his knees, urged his horse forward. Hannah followed. Up ahead, away from the herd, a cow lay on the ground. At their approach, she staggered to her feet, took a few steps then lay down again.
Matt frowned. “She’s calving and in distress.”
When they were a few yards from the animal, the cow rose, scrambling away from them, revealing the emerging calf’s snout.
The first time Hannah witnessed the birth of a calf she’d been a tyke riding in front of her father. She knew the front legs should appear before the head. Head first meant trouble.
Matt grabbed the lasso draped on his saddle horn, twirled it overhead, then released the line. The loop settled around the cow’s neck. He tightened the hoop, then hauled the cow toward a fence post. She trotted a few steps, then lurched to the side, attempting to get away, but rider and horse cut off her escape.
At the post, Matt dismounted, heaved the lariat around the wood and, using the leverage, pulled the animal closer, then knotted it, holding her in place.
Breath coming fast and shallow, the cow bellowed as a contraction slithered through her. Matt strode to her hindquarters. “Front legs are folded back.”
Hannah tethered the horses, then moved to Matt’s side. “Poor thing.”
“I’ve got to fish for the front legs.” He didn’t look up, merely unbuttoned his cuff, then jerked his head toward the horses. “Stand by Star. Turn your back. Can’t have you fainting on me.”
“I’ve seen calves born countless times.” She jerked up her chin. “Besides, I’m not the fainting type.”
One arched brow said he doubted her claim. “Suit yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Hannah may have seen calves born, but had no idea what to do in this situation. She bit her lip, grateful Matt didn’t hold back, and took fast action. He tried to slide his hand past the calf’s head. Once. Twice. A third time. “My hand’s too big.”
“I’ll try. What should I do?”
Matt’s eyes lit with something akin to admiration. “See if you can find a small flat surface right below the jaw. That’s the calf’s knee.”
Lord, help me. She slipped her hand in. “Found it.”
“Follow it back till you find the hoof. Bring it forward.”
“Oh, no, the calf pulled his leg away.” Perspiration beaded her brow. “Wait, the legs are straight now. Got ’em. Slippery.”
The sweet scent of amniotic fluid filling her nostrils, she hung on, guiding first one leg, then the other, producing the calf’s fully extended front legs and head. With the next contraction the body followed in a whoosh of fluid and slid out onto the grass, a slick dark speckled lump.
A motionless lump.
Holding her breath, Hannah slid away the sack, waiting for the calf’s chest to rise, fall. Nothing. She ran to Star, jerked her bedroll from behind her saddle and wrapped the blanket around the glistening calf, rubbing the fibers over its hide.
“Come on, baby. Breathe,” she said, warming the calf.
The calf jerked and sucked in air. Its eyes opened and stared up at her. Hannah peered into those dark eyes. “Well, hello there, little guy.”
The cow lunged against the rope, determined to reach her calf. Matt grabbed Hannah’s hand, pulled her out of harm’s way, then untied the rope and removed the lariat. The cow paid them no mind, merely circled to the now bawling calf and proceeded to lick every inch of him. Within minutes the calf staggered to his feet, swaying against the pressure of his mother’s tongue, keeping his balance, barely. A quick maneuver by the mother and he found nourishment.
His grin as wide as the outdoors, Matt met her gaze. “Looks like they’ll both make it, thanks to you.”
“And you. You told me what to do. If you hadn’t decided to ride out here and check on the cows dropping calves...”
“Most likely they’d have both died. We’ll head to the south range.” He winked. “Maybe next time, you’ll help birth twins.”
“I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
With a chuckle, he swept a hand toward her. “No debutante would be caught looking like that.”
Hannah glanced at the damp smears streaking her shirt and denims. “I’m no debutante, remember?”
“I’m starting to believe it. You and I make a good team.” The mischief left his gaze. A gaze that suddenly turned tender. “You love this land, the ranch, the cattle. Everything.”
“I do.”
“I do, too.” He touched her hand. “Reckon with all those I dos, we’d better get hitched and keep you here.”
Her gaze locked with his. She lost herself in his eyes, dark, mysterious, full of life and offering marriage.
“See something you like?” he said, dimple twinkling.
Heat surged to her cheeks. Nothing about the man met her disapproval. “No, nothing much.”
When had she uttered a bigger lie?
Matt’s self-assured, relaxed posture said he was sure of himself—and of her, most likely. Why wouldn’t he be? She’d done the proposing. First.
“With the six-year difference in our ages and your year away, we don’t know each other all that well. But, we’re