on his front lawn. After Bill had taken in his few belongings, he’d joined them. He had to be close to August’s age, or perhaps nearer to forty, and he hadn’t said a whole lot. He possessed wisdom in his dark green eyes, and he kept his medium brown hair shaved close to the scalp. No itching under his hat.
“There will be times when I need you all,” Preacher said. “I can’t predict when the cows will go into labor, and sometimes we need more hands than we have.”
August nodded, because he’d lived through plenty of birthing seasons. On the ranch in Dripping Springs, they only had about five hundred cattle, which was a drop in the bucket compared to Shiloh Ridge, but he’d been out at two a.m. helping a calf come into the world, and he’d been in birthing sheds trying to save a calf who’d endured a difficult breech birth.
“Phones have to stay on all the time, unfortunately,” Preacher said, and August sure did like him. He was serious, but he didn’t take himself seriously. This morning, he leaned on a crutch and not the cane he’d seen him use on his walk with Etta over the weekend.
“Even mine is on all the time.” He gave them a rueful smile. “When the boss calls, I answer.”
August smiled back at him, hoping Preacher remembered that he’d asked for mornings off so he could get Hailey to school. In truth, anything would be better than the situation at the apartment where they’d been living.
“So.” Preacher lifted up his phone and adjusted where he held it so he could see it. “I’ve got Bill taking the early morning shift. He said he likes getting up while it’s still dark, and that suits me great.” He smiled at the man, who returned it easily. “So he’ll go out first thing in the morning and check the herd. We’ve got four ATVs down here to do that.”
He cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable about something, though August didn’t know what. “He’ll go out at five. My goal is to have him break for breakfast and our morning meeting, about this time each day, then he’ll be done by two in the afternoon.” Preacher switched his gaze to Walter.
“Walt is going to be our afternoon and evening man. So he’ll go on when Bill goes off. I want the two of you to check-in every day at the switch, so Walt knows how the morning went and he can take us into the evening. He’ll work until eleven. At that time, if there’s obviously going to be a birth between eleven at night and five in the morning, he’ll let us all know, and we’ll take turns going out. I don’t want anyone out in the middle of the night alone. So that’ll happen in pairs.”
August nodded, because things could happen quickly in an emergency situation. He knew more than most, and his throat suddenly felt stuffed full of cotton. He tried to swallow it all away, but memories didn’t go as easily as he’d like.
“That leaves August and Jess for our day shifts. August has a daughter who might be coming to our morning meetings, and then he’ll be gone for about an hour right after this to get her to school.” Preacher glanced at August, who nodded though no one else seemed to care about his personal life.
He knew who did, however, and he had a suspicion that Etta wouldn’t let too much more time go by without asking some questions August didn’t want to answer. He straightened and told himself that he did want to answer them. Maybe everything would be easier if he could just get his secret things out in the open. Then he didn’t have to censor what he said—like the slip about his wife’s favorite meal last night. Then he didn’t have to wonder when she’d find out, what her family would think, and why explaining things to Hailey would be difficult for him.
“When he gets back, he’ll work with Bill and Jess until about six. Jess, I want you to start around noon and go through nine.”
“Sounds good, boss,” Jess said.
“My family is loud and crazy,” Preacher said next, and August hadn’t expected that. He looked up, surprise lifting his eyebrows, especially when Preacher ducked his head and shook it. “Sometimes my wife will make a meal—breakfast, lunch, or dinner—right here at the farmhouse. But usually, we’re gettin’ fed out of the homestead at the top