The Cowboy's Twins. Tara Taylor Quinn

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      “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.

CHAPTER TWO

      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 a nose, based on when Bryant had told him Ellie had started to give birth.

      She didn’t need them there. It wasn’t like he or his men could sit and watch over the hundreds of cows he’d have birthing every year once his operation was in full swing, but Ellie was special. She’d been his first Wagyu purchase. He’d laid down a mint for her. Massaged her himself, as the first Wagyu breeders had done so long ago. Technically the practice was no longer necessary, but he was doing absolutely everything he could to make this venture work. Overkill or not.

      In a herd of hundreds, a few births would go wrong. He could lose a few calves. Maybe a mother.

      He couldn’t afford to lose Ellie.

      Rubbing the side of her face, her neck, he said, “That’s it, girl. You’re doing good.”

      The words didn’t matter. His tone of voice did.

      Her nostrils flared, and she raised her head. Looked straight at him.

      And that was when he knew that something was really wrong.

      * * *

      NATASHA DIDN’T NEED to understand anything about birthing to know that they had an emergency on their hands. Spencer had told her in the afternoon that his cows birthed their babies without assistance. That the process was natural and took about thirty minutes, and that the mama cow would immediately stand over her calf, clean him herself and get him to stand.

      If all went well.

      The pinched look on Spencer’s face when he stood from his position beside the cow’s head and moved lower told her that he was worried.

      The flurry of activity and harsh, staccato conversation between him and Bryant that followed filled in the blanks.

      The calf was not coming out hooves first. It was going to have to be turned.

      Spencer was in charge. He obviously knew what he was doing. Ellie continued to heave. To make un-moo-like noises.

      Natasha couldn’t see much. Was watching out of mostly squinted eyes. The clear concern on Bryant’s face told her that at least one of the bovine lives was in danger. Maybe both.

      She had to restrain herself to keep from speaking. Asking. Looking for answers. A way to help.

      Her way was not to sit back and watch.

      “I turn him and he moves immediately back to position,” Spencer hissed. She could see beads of sweat forming on his temples. The sides of his neck.

      With energy pulsing through her, until she could almost feel its pressure against her skin, she itched to approach the cow’s head, as Spencer had done. To rub gently. To comfort the beast.

      He’d told her to stay put in the corner.

      Would he need hot water? She thought about the buckets she’d seen on her way to the stall. About the big utility sinks along one wall of the barn.

      Spencer barked orders as he worked inside the cow. Bryant complied, working the cow’s bulging stomach.

      She stood. Had to do something to help. To fix the problem. It was what she did. What she was good at. Taking charge. Helping. Fixing.

      “Grab some gloves.” Spencer’s command was directed over his shoulder. She was the only person behind him. Seeing the crate of gloves along the wall, she grabbed a pair. Pulled them on.

      They were far too big. There was no time to go shopping for smaller ones.

      “While Bryant continues his pressure on the outside, I’m going to guide inside,” Spencer told her. “I need you to grab the hooves as soon as they appear and pull with all your might.”

      She was strong. But that strong?

      “If you can’t budge the calf, don’t worry. Just hold on until I can get there to pull him out.”

      Nodding, Natasha jumped into the fray. She grabbed when she was told to grab. Pulled. The calf didn’t budge. Her arms ached. Using her entire body weight, she leaned back. And managed to keep the hooves outside the cow’s body.

      Everything happened in seconds after that. One minute Ellie was in obvious stress with Spencer on the ground by the struggling cow’s tail. The next, Spencer was pushing Natasha aside, grabbing hooves, and had pulled a calf out into the world.

      Her new red boots were going in the trash.

      * * *

      “I GET TO name her.”

      “Nuh-uh, I do.”

      Listening just outside the bathroom door while his kids stood on identical stools at double sinks, supposedly brushing their teeth, Spencer smiled. Starting the day with only two hours of sleep would catch up with him.

      Later.

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