His Ranch Or Hers. Roz Denny Fox

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СКАЧАТЬ running through Canada and the US. The owls are sacred to our local Native Americans, too.”

      “Okay, I get that,” Zeke said.

      “They’re gorgeous. Wait until you see them in flight, or in their nests if you ride up to the woods. Sorry, I’m getting off track. About the dollhouses... Our veterinarian was born and raised in Snowy Owl Crossing. She first noticed a decline in the owl population when she came home to open her vet practice. Right after I moved here to help Gramps, she organized a committee to look into securing a state wildlife refuge for the birds. It takes money to fight for anything like that. Asking for donations to buy expensive land went nowhere in a bad economy. So some of us decided to hold a Thanksgiving bazaar and all sell crafts. Profits above material costs go to fund our effort. We named our group the Artsy Ladies.”

      “I counted a dozen dollhouses. There’s that big a demand for them?”

      “You’d be surprised. People come from miles around to buy them and the other handmade wares.”

      Zeke looked skeptical.

      The coffeepot gurgled. “If the houses bug you, I’ll make time to haul them away. I’m sure someone can store them until the bazaar.”

      He held up a hand. “It’s okay. I didn’t understand. Why don’t I pour our coffee while you get the computer.”

      “Okay, but prepare to be bored. People born to ranching, like my dad, keep a lot of these facts and figures in their heads. As a math major, I’m different. I like spreadsheets.” She left and came back with a laptop. “Even Gramps said keeping a spreadsheet helped us not to overspend. But so you know, some years you make a profit and some you go in the hole. It’s imperative to be on good terms with your local banker, who’ll float loans to tide you over in bad years. Notes you pay back in a year when stock prices are up and you haven’t been plagued by a horrid winter or summer drought.” Myra fired up the computer just as the lights flickered.

      Zeke shot a glance at the ceiling lights.

      “Don’t worry, we have a generator if the power goes out. Lanterns and flashlights, too.”

      He pulled a chair around to her side of the table and sat.

      His body heat warmed Myra, but left her stumbling over giving him basic costs for cows, feed, bull, labor, transportation, vet and other supplies. “In a fantastic year still only eighty percent of our cows wean calves. Heifer calves weigh less than steers, which bring less money. See this column. For last year I adjusted the amount we earned in stock sales. This year I’ll do the same when we ship.” She discreetly edged her chair away from his.

      Seeming not to notice, he said, “Hmm. You broke even the prior year, but lost money last year. Is that typical?”

      She waved her hand to indicate that it varied. “It’s better than average for a small operation. A big cattle ranch like Dad’s can run four or five years in a row on borrowed money and then have a huge windfall. In an up year you buy equipment or roof the barn. And there goes the profit.”

      “At the risk of sounding obtuse, why keep on keeping on?”

      She sat back and shut down the program. “I guess it’s for love of the land. There’s not much open land left. I can’t explain it, but ranching is a job that gives you a sense of freedom. Isn’t that what you fought for? I know it’s why Eric went into the army.”

      Zeke reached up to massage his wounded shoulder. He didn’t answer her question.

      “That’s enough lessons for tonight.” Feeling too close to him for comfort, Myra abruptly got up, closed the laptop and carried her cup to the sink. “I see it’s still snowing,” she said, looking out the kitchen window. “It’s lessened some, but not totally. So it’s time to take another batch of hay to the cows.”

      “Really?” Zeke frowned.

      “Snow and cold pulls weight off an animal fast. In winter or like with this early snow, it’s day and night feeding. Cattle raising is almost always a seven-day-a-week job, Zeke. There’s also night work during calving. Grab your coat, and if you don’t own a hat with earflaps, there are extras on the rack by the front door.”

      Myra went to the front door and pulled on her boots, jacket and hat. She picked up a big flashlight and led the way to the barn.

      Zeke, who’d had to rush to keep up, didn’t say anything until after they’d loaded the trailer again and he sat shivering on the hay. “If I wasn’t here,” he called to be heard above the tractor noise, “would you be doing this alone?”

      Myra briefly glanced back. “Yes. I’ve gone solo the last two years, once Gramps’s arthritis got so bad he couldn’t take the cold.” From her companion’s pensive expression, she actually wondered if he might seriously be contemplating returning his gift. If that happened, she needed to phone her father in the morning, to be square with him. He needed to know if Zeke didn’t want the ranch that she did. She didn’t expect to be willed any part of Rolling Acres, so the Flying Owl was it for her. Eric would benefit from her parents’ holdings. Most ranches could only support one family. If one sibling had to buy out the interests of others, it put a hardship on the one left. Sometimes that person couldn’t afford to get married and raise a family.

      That made her wonder if Zeke Maxwell had a steady girlfriend or even a wife stashed away in Boston or some other port of call. If so, that person most definitely wasn’t a ranch woman, or he’d have said so—wouldn’t he?

      Because all things to do with Lieutenant Maxwell gave her heartburn, Myra stopped thinking about him. Instead, she concentrated on signs that told her she was still on the right path to reach the herd.

      It was spitting snow when the first bunch of cows came into sight. Stopping, Myra let the tractor idle and passed Zeke the cutters. “Will you toss this mob some hay, please?”

      “How much?” He rose stiffly.

      “I could say as much as they’ll eat. But until we see what all is left tomorrow, we won’t know if we gave them too much or not enough. Just free a bale and scatter hay as I drive along.”

      Zeke cut the first bale open. “Are these different cows than those we already fed? I thought we’d be tossing hay in the same places.”

      “You should try to feed in different spots so the manure doesn’t get so deep in one area. Saves you from having to spread fertilizer around when the snow melts, plus it gives cows a clean table to eat, so to speak. If we had to have an early snowfall, this is a good area for the herd. There are plenty of draws and shrubs to shelter them from the wind. And the stream’s not in danger of freezing over. Water and feed are the two essentials. After you separate the cows from the yearlings and Hank transports them, you’ll drive these cows and the bull down to the pastures nearer the barn. I’ll try to show you those pens tomorrow.”

      “When do you move them back up here?” he asked right before she revved the tractor and they headed to the next grouping of cows huddled against the biting wind.

      “After these heifers drop their calves in the spring. Usually that’s March and April. I suppose I can make a chore list,” she called back to him, trying not to sound exasperated. But the man was a total novice. What had her father been thinking? Had he been blinded by the fact Zeke had put himself in harm’s way to save Eric that he gave no thought to what might befall the Flying Owl? That СКАЧАТЬ