The Cowboy's Twins. Tara Quinn Taylor
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of himself. Mostly he was raising Angus. Which were also premium steak producers.
“You’re asking for my secrets,” he told the show’s host, producer and founder. “Did you know that one of the reasons Wagyu are historically so tender is that they were massaged as they grew?”
“Now you’re messing with me.”
“Nope,” he told her. She didn’t know him well yet. She’d figure out soon enough that when it came to his cattle, he never messed around.
Not ever.
* * *
“WAGYU’S MARBLING IS UNIQUE, not only because it adds juiciness and flavor to the beef, but also because the fat contains an acid that is friendly to heart health...”
Natasha’s long legs made it easy for her to keep up with the handsome cowboy’s strides. She just wasn’t used to tromping across dusty ground in new cowboy boots in the middle of the night.
Though she’d lived on the West Coast for most of her adult life, she’d never succumbed to that particular footwear—having just purchased her new shiny red boots for the show. She’d figured boots were boots. Not so.
She clearly should have practiced walking in them before trotting across uneven ground in the dark. That she didn’t think to do so earlier was definitely unlike her.
Truth be known, everything about this endeavor was unlike her. Taking her proven, successful show on the road? To a ranch?
What had she been thinking?
Their Palm Desert studio had been working wonderfully well for years.
Just because Angela had thought it would be a good idea hadn’t been reason actually to do it. While she highly respected and relied on her stage manager, she disagreed with her often.
“...the marbling is also of particular note because it has the highest USDA rating, meaning it’s veined throughout the meat. I’ve got pictures of the various grades. Remind me to get them to you.”
“I’d like that, thank you.” That’s right, focus. At least Angela had found her a top-rate rancher in Spencer Longfellow.
Though she suspected her stage manager/jack-of-all-trades assistant had chosen the dark-haired, dark-eyed rancher as much for his good looks—and his female audience draw—as anything else, Natasha respected his focus.
His drive.
His warm, virile energy was just something she’d work around. As soon as she got her footing.
His cattle quality lecture stopped as they reached the barn. Her first step from cool darkness to brightly lit warm barn was a shock. And probably why the cowboy at her side, dressed in jeans and a dark plaid button-up, taller than her five-feet-six by several inches, suddenly seemed so...desirable...to her.
In so many ways.
Giving herself a mental shake, she followed him across a hard dirt floor, past wooden doors and gated stalls housing other dry cows, she’d been told during her tour of the ranch earlier that day.
She didn’t need a man. Or his strength. Didn’t even want one. Her strength of character—okay, her innate need to run her own show, whether it be on television or in her home—was like a coffin in waiting for any relationship.
“Through here,” Spencer said. Opened wide a double size wooden door and moved so she could see inside.
Bryant, in jeans and a sweatshirt, sat in a corner of the stall, by the door. He nodded at her, sipping from a cup of coffee.
Ellie stood a few feet away, swinging her tail.
“Nothing yet?” Spencer asked, focused on his prize cow.
Pursing his lips, Bryant shook his head. She knew he was Spencer’s age since they’d told her earlier in the day that they’d gone to high school together.
Having never seen a live birth before, of any kind, Natasha had only her imagination to feed expectation. A cow standing, seemingly calm, in a bed of hay wasn’t anything close to what she’d come up with.
She wanted to ask if they were sure this was it...the moment of birth...but was able to clamp her lips together, holding her tongue hostage. They knew their business.
And if someone had made a wrong call on this one, they’d all know it soon enough.
“Come in.” Spencer held the door open wider and motioned to her. “Over here.” He pointed to the corner opposite of Bryant. “Stand, or sit in the hay,” he said. “You should be fine, but with animals, one never knows. Stay alert. And be prepared to get out of the way.”
She nodded, not sure if he was irritated by her presence or merely concerned with the birthing process.
Ellie’s tail swished. Lifted. Natasha stared, wondering if she was about to see a calf appear, but saw only a slight oozing.
She glanced away.
“If you need to leave, do so.” Spencer’s words were harsh. But his gaze, when she caught him catching her slight discomfort, was warm. His grin even more so. “It’s all part of nature,” he said. “But it could take some getting used to.”
She supposed, since he was doing so, they were allowed to talk.
“Did you have to get used to it?” she asked. For the show. Get to know the rancher. Not just the ranch. Humanize it. She knew what her audience would respond to.
“Not so much.” He shrugged, glancing back at Ellie.
“Spence was barely out of diapers the first time he was present for calving,” Bryant said. “Ain’t that right, bro?”
“Yep.”
Natasha wanted more. A lot more. Because her viewers would want more.
Down on his haunches, he seemed to be studying the cow’s hindquarters. She heaved. Natasha saw a speck of black behind her tail. And then it was gone.
“What...” She broke off. Both men were staring at the cow. Bryant, next to Spencer now, rubbed her belly.
Bryant glanced back at Natasha. “That was a hoof,” he said. “You’ll see the front hooves first. Then the nose and head will appear. She works the hardest to get the front quarter birthed. Then, if all goes well, a lot of the rest will slide out.”
“All is going to go just fine,” Spencer said, standing. He moved to the cow’s head. Petted her. “Good girl, Ellie. You’re doing great.” The tenderness in his voice struck her with an impact she didn’t fully understand. “You’re a good mama,” he told her, continuing to stroke the upper flank of the cow.
Almost as though she understood, Ellie collapsed to the ground, lying on her side, as she heaved again.
HE DIDN’T WANT the woman there. Spencer took a deep breath. And didn’t like what he smelled. A sixth sense told him something wasn’t right.
And he knew what that something was. The city woman sitting in the corner, staring, while Ellie labored.
When she’d asked if she could watch, and record, the live birth, he’d agreed because there’d been no reason not to. Cows weren’t like people. They dropped their young right out in the open and went on about their business.
One of her camera people had been by Ellie’s stall earlier. She’d taken some footage of Ellie and Bryant. She’d be back to get some film of Ellie’s calf when the work was done.
They’d air the cute stuff.
On her side now, Ellie heaved. The little black-tipped hooves appeared again. And disappeared again. He should be seeing them clearly out by now, full hooves, with a nose between them. Should be seeing more than