The Bride Wore Spurs

She felt out of control, swept along like the cattle she’d often witnessed in Fort Worth, driven through narrow chutes and onto waiting railroad boxcars that would deliver them to their final destination.

Annihilation.

She shivered. Surely marriage wouldn’t be that bad. She knew little about wedded life, had no more than an outsider’s view. Would a husband want to herd her into the narrow shoot of his will and destroy the freedom she held dear, freedom to work, freedom to run the ranch? To have purpose and meaning, be part of something bigger than her?

Across the way, Matt emerged from the back door, no doubt finished helping Papa shave and dress, the actions of a thoughtful, caring man. Why had she thought he had ulterior motives for his kindness?

With a strong, hardworking, no-nonsense air about him, Matt’s long legs gobbled up the distance as he strode to his horse. Where was he headed?

She caught up with him just as he took Thunder’s reins. “Heading back to the Circle W?” she said, trying to sound casual, when every muscle tensed with wondering if he’d come to a decision about marrying her.

He turned to her, a smile on his lips. The sight of that dimple winking at her and his dark eyes, soft, kind, whooshed the breath out of her lungs. Why couldn’t she stop reacting to the man? He saw her as a gangly kid to be teased, barely tolerated.

“Several of your cows will be dropping calves. Thought I’d ride out to check on them.”

Here was an opportunity to take back the reins of her life. “If you can wait while I change out of this dress and saddle Star, I’ll ride along. See for myself how the herd looks.”

And along the way ask a few questions about the ranch. Make sure he saw her as being in charge. Prove she wasn’t the debutante he believed her to be.

“I’ll saddle Star for you,” he said, then disappeared into the stable.

Within minutes, she’d told Papa her whereabouts, changed into denims and returned just as Matt emerged leading Star.

“That was quick,” he said, his gaze sliding over her.

“Papa’s determined to see me in a dress. I’ll change back before he sees me.”

With an impish grin on his face, Matt gave her a hand up. “I don’t understand Martin’s position. You look mighty good in pants.”

Her cheeks heated and the smile wobbled on her lips. At least Matt wouldn’t insist on her wearing dresses if they married, but would she lose the freedom she cherished?

Lose her identity like Belle, her married friend? Once she and Belle had shared the thrill of riding, of lassoing calves, of shooting tin cans off fence posts. Now Belle had turned into a lady, answering to her full name Marybelle, spending her days cooking and cleaning, washing and ironing, mending and gardening. Not that Hannah shunned hard work, but she’d find such confinement suffocating.

With maids and a cook to do the work, Aunt Mary Esther spent her days socializing and didn’t appear to have an independent thought from Uncle Clyde. That existence would be even more unbearable.

In comparison with the alternatives, marriage to Matt looked tolerable.

They rode out toward the north range, the view from horseback exhilarating. But then the realities of life invaded her mind, dashing her pleasure like a deluge doused in hot coals.

“How does Papa seem to you?” Hannah asked.

“Having you home has lifted his spirits.”

If Matt agreed, Hannah knew their marriage would give Papa peace. And her the certainty of staying on the land she loved. He hadn’t broached the topic, probably still praying about his answer. She wouldn’t press for his decision, for fear that pushing him would raise his ire and he’d give a hasty no.

Instead she’d focus the conversation on the ranch and look for ways to resolve the problems. “Did we lose many cattle last winter?”

“Nope. Mild winter. Another year or two like that and the herd will come close to its size before the winter of ’86–’87.”

That was a terrible winter and spring. Cattle that survived the blizzard were swept away in floods. They’d lost half the herd, more fortunate than some, but still they’d taken a serious punch in the pocketbook.

Ahead of her, the cattle dotted the fenced pasture, their large frames of every imaginable color. Their horned white faces bent toward the grass. “Crossbreeding longhorns with Herefords makes an interesting herd.”

“Yep, the offspring are the best of both breeds, even-tempered, early maturing and mighty fine eating. They fatten up fast and handle drought. The cows make excellent mothers.”

At the entrance to the north pasture, Matt guided Thunder alongside the fence, opening the gate from horseback, letting her ride through before closing it behind them.

Up ahead two calves bunted each other, then stopped to stare as they rode slowly through the herd, counting calves. A few of the babies were overcome with fear and rushed to their mamas to nurse and be comforted.

Hannah grinned at Matt. “Aren’t they cute?”

“Yep, better yet, they’re profit on legs. I—”

He rose in the saddle, then with a nudge of his knees, urged his horse forward. Hannah followed. Up ahead, away from the herd, a cow lay on the ground. At their approach, she staggered to her feet, took a few steps then lay down again.

Matt frowned. “She’s calving and in distress.”

When they were a few yards from the animal, the cow rose, scrambling away from them, revealing the emerging calf’s snout.

The first time Hannah witnessed the birth of a calf she’d been a tyke riding in front of her father. She knew the front legs should appear before the head. Head first meant trouble.

Matt grabbed the lasso draped on his saddle horn, twirled it overhead, then released the line. The loop settled around the cow’s neck. He tightened the hoop, then hauled the cow toward a fence post. She trotted a few steps, then lurched to the side, attempting to get away, but rider and horse cut off her escape.

At the post, Matt dismounted, heaved the lariat around the wood and, using the leverage, pulled the animal closer, then knotted it, holding her in place.

Breath coming fast and shallow, the cow bellowed as a contraction slithered through her. Matt strode to her hindquarters. “Front legs are folded back.”

Hannah tethered the horses, then moved to Matt’s side. “Poor thing.”

“I’ve got to fish for the front legs.” He didn’t look up, merely unbuttoned his cuff, then jerked his head toward the horses. “Stand by Star. Turn your back. Can’t have you fainting on me.”

“I’ve seen calves born countless times.” She jerked up her chin. “Besides, I’m not the fainting type.”

One arched brow said he doubted her claim. “Suit yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Hannah may have seen calves born, but had no idea what to do in this situation. She bit her lip, grateful Matt didn’t hold back, and took fast action. He tried to slide his hand past the calf’s head. Once. Twice. A third time. “My hand’s too big.”

“I’ll try. What should I do?”

Matt’s eyes lit with something akin to admiration. “See if you can find a small flat surface right below the jaw. That’s the calf’s knee.”

Lord, help me. She slipped her hand in. “Found it.”

“Follow it back till you find the hoof. Bring it forward.”

“Oh, no, the calf pulled his leg away.” Perspiration beaded her brow. “Wait, the legs are straight now. Got ’em. Slippery.”

The sweet scent of amniotic fluid filling her nostrils, she hung on, guiding first one leg, then the other, producing the calf’s fully extended front legs and head. With the next contraction the body followed in a whoosh of fluid and slid out onto the grass, a slick dark speckled lump.