Christine

Paralyzed with fear for several heartbeats, I finally unstick my feet from the ground and follow Travis. The brush was thick. It clawed at me, leaving painful lacerations along my arms and back as I struggled to get through. It grabbed my hair and wouldn’t let go. I twisted and freed myself from the painful grasp of a thorny bush. Where was he? Where was Travis? Which way had he gone?

I forced myself to stop and listen. The bellow rang out again, followed by thrashing in the undergrowth to my left. Slowing my rapid gasps for air, I calmed myself enough to see the trail of broken branches. The bushes directly in front of me parted and Travis stepped through. I sprang backward, swallowing my cry of alarm. He had a fair-sized calf cradled in his arms.

“Take her back to the clearing,” he ordered in a brusque tone as he shoved the calf at me. Without a second thought, I took the calf into my arms. He was stern, all business. Nothing at all like the mellow, sometimes playful man of earlier. The calf’s weight was much less than I expected, and I overcompensated, stumbling into a thorny shrub.

“Trav, what is it?”

He caught my arm and steadied me, then shot me a pointed look. “Just do it,” he barked. “And don’t leave the clearing. Don’t follow me under any circumstance.”

Then he was gone, swallowed again by the thick brush. His words and attitude shot terror right through me as I fought the tangled underbrush and made my way back to the clearing. The squirming calf bellowed frantically in my ear.

“Shush, baby. Shhh…” I set the calf down on the blanket where we had shared our picnic, and dropped to my knees. Rubbing between the little one’s huge brown eyes seemed to calm her, and the bawling quieted. If only I could still the trembling assaulting my own muscles. Unable to do anything else, I sat staring at the bushes, awaiting Travis’s return. The sound of a nearby rifle report tore through me, as though the bullet had physically ripped into my flesh. I was halfway across the clearing before I realized I’d jumped up. But Travis had been explicit with his instructions not to follow him for any reason. I sank to the ground again, making no effort to stem the tears cascading down my cheeks.

* * *

“How badly are you pinned?” I asked when Mick checked in. “Is there any possibility of working yourself out some?”

“Not a chance,” Mick told me easily. I could almost picture a grin. “Got a cement beam across my legs and a chunk of something across part of my chest. Pretty sure at least one of my legs is broke. Feels like a couple of ribs bought it, too. Kind of hard to catch my breath. I can hear my partner breathing but he’s not answering. Don’t know how bad off he is. It’s hard to just lie here, Angel.”

Mick’s labored gasps tore at my heart. “I know it is. I wish I could be there to help you.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re helping from where you are. Nothing you could do here.”

“I could hold your hand, at least.”

“You know, Angel, it kind of feels like you already are holding my hand. It’s real nice knowing someone’s out there who cares. I’m glad you’re on the other end of the line.”

“I’m glad, too,” I said truthfully. “I’m not letting you go, Mick.”

* * *

Travis

I surveyed the scene, struggling for objectivity. The cow was a mess. Once, her hide had been a honeyed tan, but it was now caked with layers of blood which had run freely from a wound on her flank. The trampled, blood-stained grass told the story. She hadn’t gone down easily, but finally had lost so much blood she couldn’t stay on her feet.

I looked from the flank wound up to the animal’s head, into which I’d just put a Power-Point from my Winchester. It was the only comfort I’d been able to provide. A muscle worked in my clenched jaw. I might have fired the kill shot, but I hadn’t been the one to bring about the cow’s death. It still hurt to my core.

I estimated she’d been shot within the past twenty-four hours. I supposed it was possible she’d been mistaken for an antelope or an elk, but since it wasn’t hunting season, that meant someone was possibly poaching. Based on the absence of the Hawk MC herd from prime grazing land, though, my gut told me I’d stumbled onto a very different picture.

Screw Grant for keeping critical information from me. Little brother, you owe me answers, and you will give them.

With my teeth clamped against emotional pain, I crouched next to the carcass and pulled a folding knife from my pocket. The blade was short but sharp and it was all I had, so it would have to do. Knowing of only one way to recover the slug in her flank, I began methodically slicing into the cow’s flesh.

* * *

Christine

I heard him fighting his way through the thick brush. When he emerged, he carried his shirt bunched up in one hand. His eyes met mines, and my tension drained. He was okay. His long strides carried him directly to the cold mountain creek, where he tossed his shirt onto the bank next to the fast-running water.

My eyes skimmed over him. His hands were coated with sticky-looking crimson. Streaks of red stained his abdomen, and another smear ran across one cheek.

With my heart lodged in my throat, I rushed toward him. “That’s blood! Where are you hurt?”

“I’m okay,” he assured quickly, but he held up a hand to stop my approach. “It’s cow’s blood.”

I slowed my steps but didn’t stop. “What happened?”

Travis presented a façade of calm, stooping to bathe his arms and chest in the icy water. But his hands shook when he grabbed his shirt from the bank and used it to scrub at his skin. “She was badly injured. There was nothing I could do. I had to put her down.”

Understanding dawned quickly, and I closed my eyes. “The gunshot.” He nodded.

“She’d lost too much blood. There was nothing I could do,” he repeated dully.

I laid a hand on his bare shoulder, squeezed lightly, and then crouched next to him to study his face. I dipped my hand in the creek and used my thumb to scrub away the line of blood along his cheek.

Travis closed his eyes and leaned into my touch. “Aw, Christine. It’s been so long since—” A spasm of pain contorted his features. “Thank you.”

I pushed my hand around the side of his head and grazed my thumb over his ear. “Hey,” I whispered. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He gave a start, and his eyes brightened with emotion as he pulled me up with him. His arms settled around me and he held me tightly, burying his face in my hair. His breath was warm on my neck. My arms stole around his waist and I hung on, rubbing my cheek against his chest. A long time later, his shaking slowed and he leaned back, peering down at me. I gazed back, drawing on experience to force a calm I was far from feeling.

“There’s a lot I want to say to you, Bluebell.” He shook his head. I was pretty sure I had the same things to say back. It seemed we were both going to complicate things after all. I kept my hands on him, unable to sever contact.

“I know stuff like this happens, but it’s hard to think about.” Gesturing toward the calf, I asked, “Will she be all right?”

Relief eased its way into his features, and he gave a quick nod. “Probably. She’s hungry but still strong. Grant’ll have provisions for orphans, so I’ll carry her back to the ranch.”

“What would have happened to her if we weren’t here?”

“If she was lucky, predators would have gotten her. If not, she would have starved to death.” He spoke in a matter-of-fact tone that didn’t match the tension in his body. I shuddered; neither scenario was appealing. Travis took up the shirt and made a face. Dirt and blood had ruined it.

“Grant’s gonna be pissed about this.” A piece of puzzle fell into place, bringing a grin to my mouth.

“That’s Grant’s shirt?” He angled a gaze in my direction and answered my grin.

“You were right about the color blue. It’s all I tend to buy. I figured it’d be prudent to wear a bright color out here so I raided his closet.”

I stared down at the garment and wrinkled my nose. “You’d think the red would have hidden the blood a little better.” With a sigh, Travis tossed the shirt in the creek and swished it around. Then he used it to clean the dirt and blood from the orphaned calf.

“It’s okay, little one, you’re safe now.” He ran gentle hands over the baby’s brown-and-white hide, checking for injuries. Under his soothing touch, the calf drifted to sleep.

I picked up my camera. As I watched Travis from behind the lens, I realized the calf was not merely meat on the hoof for him. He hadn’t saved the baby as part of some plan to salvage the ranch’s profit margin. She mattered to him, on an intensely personal, very human level. And killing the cow, no matter how merciful, hadn’t come easy to him.