My Sassy Settler (Willamette Wives Book 2) (21 page)

"I can forgive you for not staying in bed like I told you," Wyatt said as he took his rifle down. "However, if you don't keep this door latched, I won't be anywhere near as forgiving, understand?"

"What if you're gone all day?" she asked. "The stock and the chickens still need to eat. I need to milk Daisy."

"Fine, but don't you step a foot outside without your gun. Do not go anywhere other than the barn. Be alert. It probably isn't a cat, but I want you to pretend that there is, understand?"

"Yes, sir," Agatha said, not the least bit concerned that Matthew was able to hear every word. "You both be careful, promise?"

Her husband bent to kiss her, his own lack of concern about the other man's presence matching hers as his lips claimed her mouth. When he broke away, it was to reach back and pop her behind. "Just a reminder to obey me."

She rubbed her backside. "I will. I want you to promise you'll find them. We can't lose the first of our little ones."

"We promise to do our best," Wyatt said.

The two left, and though she would have liked to stand on the porch until they disappeared, the wind was gusting and blowing snow into the house. Closing it, she lowered the latch into place and then ran back to jump into the bed. Pulling the quilt up, she paused, thinking that this was the first time in weeks that she'd been grateful for the clothing. She'd had no need of her gown for warmth, for she had a husband who never let her out of his arms as they slept. Smiling, she turned onto her side, her palm on his pillow, and prayed that they'd find the cow safe and her calf alive.

Time seemed to crawl by as she kept herself busy after awakening again. She had bread dough rising in a bowl and a plate piled high with oatmeal cookies. There was a pot of beans simmering over the fire, the aroma of the ham hock she'd added filling the cabin. She'd milked the cow and fed the chickens. After filling the feed trough of the horse that Wyatt assured her she'd become very well acquainted with as she learned to be comfortable in the saddle, her outside chores were done. Picking up the milk pail, she was surprised to see a thin film of ice coating the top. All thoughts of running to the privy were instantly forgotten. If it was that cold, it was definitely too cold to lower her wonderfully warm bloomers.

After punching down the bread dough, she used half of it to form a loaf and then sprinkled sugar and cinnamon on the remaining half, pushing raisins she'd rehydrated into the dough. Covering them with a towel to allow them to rise for the last time, she was washing her hands when a knock again sounded on the door.

She wasn't really surprised. She'd been expecting Anna, Charity or even both to visit. Well, she knew they'd really be checking up on her, but figured they wouldn't admit to that. Wiping her hands dry, she rushed to the door and lifted the latch.

"I've been expecting—" Her words froze in her throat.

* * * * *

"God, it's colder than a witch's tit out here," Matthew said.

"Yeah, and bound to get colder," Wyatt said, his eyes scanning the ground. They'd started at the fence where Roger was working and had considered themselves lucky. Drops of blood dotted the snow often enough to keep them moving ever higher up the mountain. The horses were straining to breathe, their nostrils beginning to crust with ice crystals. The men had wrapped scarves around their faces and pulled their collars up to cover their necks. Where he hadn't truly felt the cold during the snowball fight the day before, Wyatt was feeling every bit of it now.

"See anything?" Matthew asked, twisting around in his saddle and looking back.

"No, but let's keep going. I'll take the lead." They'd been switching around every half hour, as even the smallest shelter from wind given when riding behind the leader offered relief.

"Okay, but maybe she veered off," Matthew said, moving his horse out of the way so that Wyatt could move forward.

"Maybe, but I'm thinking it only makes sense for her to continue in this direction. Besides, if she has, Richard and James will find her. Until we hear the signal, we'll keep going." Even though they'd been anxious to start, Wyatt had known that it was only right for them to ride to the other cabins and inform the men. It hadn't taken long for the others to dress and they'd discussed their plan of action. When the cow was found, three shots would be fired to signal the others.

A half hour later when they were about to switch places again, Wyatt raised his hand, signaling for Matthew to stop. "Do you hear that?"

The wind was whistling through the trees but when the sound was repeated, Matthew nodded. "That sounds like her."

"This way," Wyatt said, turning to his right and moving deeper into the brush. Branches attempted to sweep him from his saddle but he tenaciously continued. He just couldn't bear the thought of having to return home to inform Aggy that they'd failed. The lowing grew louder and sounded more desperate.

"Shit," Wyatt said, stopping again and jumping from the horse. "She's in here." Before moving further, he fired three shots into the air to signal they'd found her.

Matthew dismounted and the men pushed through thick brush until they reached the animal. Her eyes were bulging, her cries showing her distress.

"She's in trouble," Wyatt said, "watch her feet."

Despite her pain and fatigue, the cow still tried to shy away. "Shh, girl, it's okay," Wyatt said softly, his hand reaching out, the halter they'd brought ready to be slipped over her head. "We aren't going to hurt you."

Matthew moved to the other side to block her exit and was reaching out his hand when the cow bellowed in pain and went down to her knees. They could both see her body rippling as contractions gripped her in an attempt to rid herself of the calf.

"Damn it, it must be breech," Wyatt said, tossing the halter to Matthew as he walked to the cow's rear. He ripped off his gloves and his coat, flinging them aside, knowing the work could get very bloody. He lifted the cow's tail, hoping he was wrong.

"I've got her," Matthew said, fisting the rope of the halter in one hand, using the other to stroke along her side.

"Try to keep her steady. I'm gonna have to reach inside." Wyatt waited until the ripples of her muscles stopped and then began to work his hand into the birth canal. "Whoa, steady girl, steady." He found what he was expecting. "Damn, the calf's turned the wrong way."

"Can you turn it?

"No, I don't think so," Wyatt said. "The best I can do is try to keep the legs straight and help pull him out."

"Christ," Matthew said. "Just do what you can before we lose them both."

The men forgot the cold as they worked to save the calf and its mother. Wyatt was kicked many times as he worked, both arms buried to the elbows up inside her. He gritted his teeth against the quickening contractions, bearing them without complaint, only cursing when they became weaker. He was losing the fight. Blood spilled with every contraction and the snow melting with their struggles made the ground slippery. Still, he refused to give up. Grabbing a hoof in each hand, he uncrossed the calf's legs.

"Okay, this is it. Come on girl, big push. You can do it," Wyatt said, and when the next weak contraction came, it was enough for tiny hooves to push free. Wyatt pulled, leaning back with the effort.

"Hurry, she's not looking good," Matthew said, his hold no longer needed as the cow was weakening.

"Almost," Wyatt said, planting his feet again. "One more time. Come on girl, don't you make me tell Aggy you gave up. Push!"

With another heave, he pulled with everything he had, and the baby slipped from his mother in a huge gush of blood and birth fluids. Wyatt didn't care as he knelt in the muck, swiping the mucus out of the calf's nostrils. "Come on, come on. You're the first. You'll be the envy of every other calf. Breathe, damn it!"

Holding his own breath, he finally took another as the calf took its first. The sound of its cry was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard an animal give. The miracle of birth and the bonds of a mother and her child were proven as the mother struggled to her feet and turned to swipe her rough tongue against her baby. Exhausted, Wyatt sat on the ground, his legs spread, his arms trembling with spasms from being cramped so long, and a huge smile on his face.

"You did it," Matthew said, coming around to slap his hand against Wyatt's back.

"We did it," Wyatt corrected and then looked at the cow. "She did it."

Even though they were concerned that the afterbirth would draw the attention of other animals, they allowed the cow an hour of rest before preparing to return to the ranch.

"I'll take him," Wyatt said, taking his seat and reaching down for the newborn. The calf's bawling at the indignity of being draped across a horse was enough to get his mother to move. Wyatt led, the new mother followed, and Matthew brought up the rear, his eyes never stopping as they scanned for any signs of danger.

A half-hour away from the ranch, they were joined by Richard and James. Matthew told how they'd found her and described the birth.

"Thank God you found her in time," Richard said.

"Thank God you knew what to do," James added. "Shit, breech…"

"Yeah, I know," Wyatt said, knowing the man was thinking of another breech birth. "We've been blessed again. Mama and baby are fine."

After reaching the ranch, they moved the mother into the shed they'd constructed just for the purpose of housing mamas and their new babies until they were strong enough to rejoin the herd. Richard took the calf from Wyatt and placed him on his feet. The five men stood, smiles on their faces as they watched the unsteady steps he took to reach his mother's teat. When the cow turned and licked her baby again, her tail switched as if to let them know she had forgotten any pain.

"Go home and clean up," Richard said, slapping Wyatt on the back. "Then come over to the cabin. We've got to celebrate."

Wyatt agreed and climbed into his saddle again. "Don't laugh but I'm gonna let Aggy name the little fellow."

"Sounds good to me," Matthew said, "just make sure she understands it's a boy!"

"Yeah," Roger said, "seeing the set of balls this little guy has, tell her the first bull of the Double R is not to be named for any flower. One rose on his ass will be enough."

Wyatt knew he meant the rose brand above the two R's that each of their herd wore. "I'll tell her, but no promises."

Though he was bone tired, he was anxious to get home. Dusk was falling and he'd been away from his wife for far too long. He forced himself to consider his mount. It hadn't been that long ago that the horse had injured his leg. Reaching down, he patted the animal's neck. "I know you worked awful hard today and that you're tired, but do us both a favor. Keep an eye out for gopher holes but just know there's a warm stall and fresh hay waiting." He didn't need anyone to tell him that horses didn't understand English. Just as Aggy's rooster understood her, Chester snorted and, without being urged, picked up his pace.

Wyatt didn't dismount, he just ducked his head as the horse entered the barn. Once inside, he slid from the saddle and then removed it, placing it over the railing. As much as he'd like to just slap the horse's rump to move him into his stall, he couldn't. He removed the saddle blanket and then gave Chester a quick brush to remove any ice particles from his coat. It was inviting illness to allow a horse that had spent all day in the cold to go without warming. Only when the horse was dry did he lead Chester into his stall. He smiled, seeing that Agatha had already filled his water bucket and had both oats and fresh hay ready for the animal's dinner.

Closing the stall door, he pulled his rifle from the scabbard on his saddle and headed for the house. She might be glad to see him but he'd bet she wouldn't be too happy at the condition of his clothing. He could easily imagine the beautiful petite woman standing before him, her finger wagging as she scolded him. His smile at imagining her look as he began to strip off while walking towards her slipped from his face the moment he saw his wife, tears sliding down her cheeks. She didn't see him as her view of him was blocked by the man standing with his back to Wyatt. The long black coat he wore hung still, as the wind had stopped. It was the scene out of his worst nightmare.

Stepping forward, he lifted his rifle. "Drop it. Get your hands up or I swear to God, I'll drop you where you stand." The sound of him cocking the hammer back was clear in the air. The man slowly lowered himself in order to place the object on the porch and then straightened, lifting his arm in the air.

"Both hands," Wyatt barked. "Get your fucking hand off my wife and step away. One false move and I'll send you straight to the hell you love, Wallace."

"Wyatt, no!"

The rifle never wavering, Wyatt shifted his glance to see another woman stepping onto the porch. What the hell?

"Catherine?"

"Yes, please, Wyatt, please don't shoot him."

"If he doesn't get his hand off Agatha, he's a dead man."

"Wyatt, no," Agatha's voice finally reached him. "It's not Wallace. God, please, it's not him!"

Not Wallace? He heard her but didn't believe her until she slid around the man who remained still, offering no resistance.

"Wyatt, he can't raise his other arm, it's broken. It's in a sling. I swear to you, he doesn't mean any harm. Put the gun down. Please, put the gun down," Aggy said again.

He allowed the rifle's muzzle to drop towards the ground and released the hammer. Though lowered as his wife was running towards him, he'd have the rifle cocked, aimed, and fired in a heartbeat if the man made a single move. Agatha reached him, flinging herself forward and wrapping her arms around him.

"Are you sure?" he asked, wanting nothing more than to believe her, and yet his gut was telling him not to fail in protecting her again.

"Yes, I'm sure," Agatha said. "He brought Ma to me. Come and meet him."

Wyatt stepped forward, Agatha held against his side. Once they reached the first step, the man spoke for the first time. "Can I pick that up?" he asked, his head barely tilting to indicate the object he'd dropped. Wyatt's eyes lowered to discover what, in his fear he'd thought was a gun, was in reality a leather-bound bible.