One Night Rodeo (Blacktop Cowboys 4)

“I don’t think that,” she said softly. “You don’t have to do it all yourself. We’re a team.”

“I want to do it all myself. It’s your chance to get some rest. Take it. ’Cause I guarantee I’ll be dog-tired and worthless for most of tomorrow. But like that’s different from any other day around here.”

Celia didn’t say a word as he dressed in his outerwear.

Just as Kyle opened the door, Celia said, “Wait.”

He paused.

“I don’t know what Josh, or my brothers, or anyone else has said to you to make you feel this way. I’ve been as supportive as I know how to be. And I’ve never tried to make you feel inadequate, because I know exactly how it feels when it’s been done to me. It’s not my fault you don’t have experience with this, Kyle.”

When Kyle turned around to apologize for being a dick, she’d already walked away.

His first five births went like clockwork. Easy delivery. Mama cleaned the calf immediately. The baby wobbled upright and began to suck. So he’d gotten a little cocky. He could do this. He’d even dozed off for half an hour.

Invigorated by his nap, he slipped into the cold, moonless night. The near stillness of the air at night was a welcome change from the harsh winter winds slapping him in the face earlier in the day. He ducked into the heifer pen and saw one cow off in the corner away from the feed. As he got closer he noticed one side of her belly stuck out farther than the other. He snagged one of the ropes draped over the fence posts, fashioned a loop, and dropped it over her neck, all the while patting her and speaking to her in the soothing, encouraging tone he’d learned from Celia.

She lumbered along without protest. Didn’t kick up a fuss when he locked her down in the birthing equipment. She was straining to expel the calf, and if her lethargy was an indication, she’d probably been at it for a while.

Why hadn’t you noticed it?

Ignoring the gnawing feeling of guilt, he hobbled her back legs. Pinned her tail out of the way. He’d slipped on a glove and checked the position of the calf. It appeared to be right side up.

So he’d gone to the next step, trying to deliver the calf. He’d attached the chains below the calf’s dewclaws and had pulled the front legs free far enough out of the birth canal to see the head. Twice he’d gotten close; twice the calf had slid back inside.

Kyle’s body was bathed in sweat. He was out of breath. One person pulling a calf was a helluva lot of work. But every time he stopped to rest, he lost ground. So he didn’t stop.

His pride had kept him from running up to the house to wake Celia for help. He justified his decision by telling himself he needed to know how to handle this stuff on his own. And the only way to do that was by immersing himself in it.

And talk about immersed. This was one messy birth.

Three hours passed without any progress. He was exhausted. His muscles ached. And because he was tired and suffering from muscle and eyestrain, he didn’t notice that the chains had caused damage to the heifer’s birth canal until blood began pouring out of her back end. Kyle was forced to admit this type of birth was out of his level of experience. His hands were so slimy with fluid, blood, and shit that his cell phone slipped out of his hand three times before he got a decent enough grasp to call Fletch.

Luckily Fletch was close by. He didn’t offer advice besides to hang tight. He also didn’t ask if Celia was around helping. He probably assumed she’d be by Kyle’s side, being as she was the one with experience, not him.

That was when Kyle understood the gravity of his mistake.

Half an hour later the barn door slammed open and Kyle glanced over to see Fletch stomping his feet. He carried a medical bag, official in his role as August Fletcher, DVM. But Kyle’s anxiety was high, knowing his friend would see firsthand how he’d f**ked up.

Kyle noticed the dark crescents beneath Fletch’s eyes and saw that several days’ growth of whiskers dotted his windburned face.

Fletch pulled off the wool hat and shoved it in his pocket, shaking loose his long hair. “Show me whatcha got.”

“Back here.”

He stopped at the back end of the cow and used a penlight flashlight. Then he pulled on a rubber glove and inserted his arm; his harsh breathing echoed as he maneuvered his arm around inside the too-still heifer. After ditching the bloody glove, he stepped around to peer at the cow’s face. “Son of a bitch.”

“What?”

“There’s no saving her. She’ll be dead within the hour.”

“What about the calf?”

“It’s been dead a while. Give me the rundown on what happened.”

Kyle talked quickly, but tried to relay every minute detail until Fletch held up his hand.

He glanced around the barn. “Where’s Celia?”

“Sleeping. She’s had a long day so I’ve been dealing with the night issues.”

“So she didn’t assist with this at all?”

Kyle’s cheeks burned with shame and he shook his head.

Fletch swore. His dark hair fell across his face as he aimed his focus on the floor. He clenched his fists at his sides as if fighting for control.

In that moment, Kyle realized just how big Fletch was. At six foot five in his work boots, with enormous shoulders and chest, the man was a monster. A monster Kyle had always considered a gentle giant unless he was crushing opponents on the football field.

When Fletch finally looked up, his brown eyes were black and hard as stones. “We’ve been friends a long time, Gilchrist, so I ain’t gonna sugarcoat this.”