Calder Born, Calder Bred (Calder Saga 4)

Straw bales were lined against a wall. Ty slumped onto one of them and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and spreading his knees to let the coffee mug dangle between them, both hands wrapped around it. There was a tightness in his throat, a threat of tears stinging his eyes. His teeth were bared with the effort of holding back all the anguish he was feeling.

Nothing had turned out the way he thought it would when he ran away from his California home almost a year ago and hitchhiked across half the country to find the man whose name was listed in the family Bible as his father. At first, everything had seemed so perfect. His parents had even gone back together again, marrying and making the three of them a whole family. He idolized his father and wanted to b

e just like him, but he couldn’t seem to fit in. Living on a ranch the size of the Triple C, the son of the owner, how could he have wished for more than that? But he didn’t belong. Nobody cared about the ribbons he’d won at horse shows in California; nothing he’d accomplished meant anything here. More than anything else, he wanted to be accepted.

Yet it didn’t seem to matter what he did or how hard he tried, it always turned out wrong. He’d botched the calving and calf had died. On top of that, he’d alienated Ramsey. It all seemed so hopeless to him.

He heard footsteps coming his way and stole a look from under his hat brim. It was Stumpy. Ty tipped his head down again and braced himself for the quiet condemnation, the tactic used by the ranch veterans which was more devastating than being shouted at and berated for being a fool.

“There’s nothing like a hot cup of coffee on a cold night like this,” Stumpy declared above the sound of liquid being poured into a container.

After looking at his own cup, Ty straightened and took a sip of the strong brew. Its bitterness made him shudder.

“The taste grows on ya.” There was a smile in Stumpy’s voice.

“The calf’s dead,” Ty announced flatly .

“It happens. You always want all of them to live, but you always lose a couple.” Stumpy continued to stand by the thermos.

“It came head first, and I didn’t know what to do,” Ty admitted and continued to stare at the coffee in his cup. “If it hadn’t been for your daughter—Hell, a ten-year-old knows more than I do.”

“She’s been around it a lot longer than you have,” Stumpy reminded him.

“It’s no use.” His shoulders slouched with defeat as he finally lifted his gaze to his new mentor. There was a brightness in his eyes that were so darkly brown. “I might as well give up. I’m never going to be able to cut it.”

The gentle understanding went out of Stumpy’s expression as it became hard and angry. “Don’t ever say that!” he snapped in a low voice. “It’s been rough on you. But if you quit now, you’ll always be sorry. You’ve got to stick it out if it kills you.”

“Why?” Ty demanded to know. “I’ll never be the man my father is.”

“You damn well won’t,” Stumpy agreed coldly. “And if that’s what you’re trying to do, that’s your first mistake. You are Ty Calder and no one else.”

“Being Ty Calder isn’t a whole lot to brag about,” he muttered. It had been foolish to think Stumpy would understand.

“You are a Calder, ain’t ya?” he challenged. “I think that would be a whole helluva lot to brag about. What are you going to do? Sit there and feel sorry for yourself? Or get up off your butt and get back on the job?”

With his challenge finished, Stumpy downed the hot coffee in the asbestos-mouthed tradition of a veteran cowboy and set the empty cup by the thermos. He didn’t so much as glance in Ty’s direction as he walked away with quick, short strides. He’d said his piece. Now the decision was up to Ty.

For a lonely minute longer, he sat on the bale with his head bowed. All that stuff was easy for Stumpy to say. He wasn’t going through it. Ty wavered indecisively, searching for some other alternative.

“Hell,” he muttered and tipped back his head to throw the coffee down his throat. It had cooled considerably, but that didn’t make it any more palatable.

Rising to his feet, he left his cup by Stumpy’s and headed down the calving shed in a scuffling walk. His attitude hadn’t changed. He still felt rotten and miserable. If there was any conscious decision, it was simply to get it over with, but Ty wasn’t entirely sure what “it” was.

“Hey, kid!” somebody called to him before he was halfway back to where he’d left Jessy. “Give me a hand.”

Tiny Yates, one of the married cowboys, had his arms around a wobbly newborn calf. Its mother was eyeing the man and the calf with wary alarm, anxious and uneasy. Ty hesitated, wondering what the prank was this time, then altered his course to join them.

“The damned calf doesn’t know what the tits are for and keeps buttin’ her bag,” the cowboy muttered with disgust. “And she’s got so much milk in there she’s in agony. I’ll get the calf over there and you reach under there and squeeze some milk out of a tit. That oughta give him the idea.”

The plan didn’t appeal to any of the four participants, but after much cursing, calf bleating and cow lowing, and maneuvering in the straw, the desired result was achieved. Ty rubbed his leg where the cow had kicked it and watched the bull calf nurse aggressively while the cow washed its brick-red coat with her tongue.

“Helluva sight, isn’t it?” Tiny declared, then slapped Ty on the back and moved away.

There was no “Thanks for the help.” That wasn’t the custom. A man did the job that was expected of him, because it was what he should do. There wasn’t any reason to thank someone for doing his job. A long sigh spilled from Ty as he turned away and started down the line again.

II

It’s not that I’m wanting to hurt you,