woman on the job would cause bad luck, something she’d heard more than once since her return to the Flint Hills.
“Herding a bull ain’t no place for a lady. You could git into a world of hurt. Tulip ain’t been ridden much, and with this cool weather, she’ll likely be sassy.” Jake shook his head, but Mattie caught a hint of indecision.
“I’ll keep my distance.” Her gaze shifted from one man to the other. “I watched my father pen bulls lots of times. And I promise, I’ll only help if you need me.”
Jake scratched his chin and looked at Gil. “Have any objections?”
Gil raised his hands in the air. “I learned the hard way not to mess with the doc.” He grinned, and sheer pleasure trickled down Mattie’s backbone.
At Gil’s response, Jake retrieved the saddle he’d set down. “Best get going, then. We’ve got our work cut out for us.”
SITTING ASTRIDE ONE OF HIS FATHER’S DEPENDABLE HORSES, GIL twisted in the saddle, the oiled leather foreign beneath his seat and legs. How long had it been since he’d roped a steer? A quick tally revealed it’d been at least four years, since he’d attended charity event in California. And now he was going to help catch a bull?
I must be crazy.
He pushed his old straw cowboy hat further down on his head, surprised he’d found it in his room and that it still fit. It couldn’t be harder than riding a bicycle. Trouble was — his childhood wheels always had four legs and a tail, and the speeds he’d known had been walk, trot, gallop, and run — fast and faster. He twirled the lariat above his head several times, then released the fifty-foot coil onto the ground in an effort to get a feel for the rope.
It reminded him of being stowed up with a knee injury for two weeks, then suddenly turned out to walk without a crutch. He gathered the cord and tried again, this time aiming for something solid.
“How’s it going?” Mattie came up beside him on Tulip, all smiles on that pretty face of hers. He threw his loop at a wooden post and missed.
“I do believe I’ve lost my groove.” Gil yanked the lariat across the ground and wound it up to try once more. He hated to admit that his time as a cowboy might have come and gone.
“You’ll get the hang of it after a few more tosses. After all, you’re a professional passer. Throwing a rope ought to be a piece of cake for you.” Mattie trotted toward the barn, and Tulip swished her tail at him, as sassy as her rider.
“Why don’t you see if Jake’s ready to head out,” he called to her backside, wishing a hundred times he hadn’t agreed to let her tag along. Having her there would only mean trouble, and he didn’t need that kind of pressure. She waved her hand in the air, and Gil swore laughter floated back to him. If he had a football, he’d launch it at her and knock the woman off her high horse. He’d show her exactly what a professional passer could do.
Wanting time on the horses, he and Mattie headed through the east pasture, while Jake followed in the livestock trailer. The gray metal frame jostled with every bump of the tires over rocks and ruts. In a couple months, it would be time to burn the prairie grass, something Gil always enjoyed. He once held in awe the monstrous flames that sometimes reached twice as high as his mount, the intense heat and danger of being caught in the backfires.
His mama used to scold that he ought to do like the rest of the ranchers and light the fire by four-wheeler or truck, but that wouldn’t have been nearly as fun. His lips curved into a devilish grin as he checked the height of the dead bluestem, which in places reached to his stirrup. He guessed this year would be no different. Ought to burn like hell itself.
“Which pasture is he in?” Gil asked as Jake passed by in the truck moments later.
“We’ve got the heifers in the lower Knoll pasture.”
Two sections away. Gil took the initiative and brought his mount into a gallop, taking the lead. No sense gallivanting when there was work to do. Shortly thereafter, he came to a bumpy halt at the first cattle guard and opened the gate beside it without dismounting from his saddle.