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“We must have a new baby calf. I heard the mother celebrate its arrival around 2 o’clock this morning.” Maggie Lynn Rivers’ footsteps quickened toward the calving pens, eager to witness yet another of God’s gifts. Her inherited ranch sprawled across three-thousand acres in Utica, Texas.
Spring yearned to be let loose, but winter refused to abandon its hold. Slowly the sun inched upward as orange beams shot in all directions and onto the icy puddles across the barnyard. Frost-covered leaves on a small Hosta patch were ready to bloom in the barn’s shade.
Her boots sunk deeper in the mud with each step toward the corrals. Last night’s rain was heavier than usual for this time of spring. Oh man, I forgot my muck boots. She heaved a heavy sigh, refusing to let anything deter her mission, regardless of the terrain’s sloppiness.
Wide-eyed, Maggie halted dead in her tracks. A sharp pain ripped through her gut as her gaze fell to the base of the old timber barn. A figure of a large dog lay mangled. Blood matted and stained the once soft tri-color Australian Shepard coat—her dad’s beloved dog, Blue...dead. She rushed toward him, stopped at his side, and dropped to her knees.
Maggie had stroked his shiny fur the prior evening. Now the luster was gone. Tears streamed off her chill-bitten rosy cheeks. Flesh torn from his throat showed the final blow. She reached out to scratch behind his ear, then paused. The thought of touching Blue with gloves appeared somehow disrespectful. Peeling off her work gloves, she stroked the companion’s ear as always. Numb, she shrugged off her blue-jean work jacket and blanketed his body. Sobs clogged her throat. “I, I’m sorry, Blue.”
A movement on the low hill horizon caught Maggie’s attention, and she shielded the sting of the rising sun. The faint image became more prominent through her fingers. Standing against the orange, and red sky, a lone white wolf, held his ground.
The cold dawn met with his billowing breath as it swirled from his nostrils. Intention to dominate and wreak fear aired when his muzzle lifted and released a low, throaty, blood-curdling howl. The stark shriek would’ve sent a lesser woman cowering, but not Maggie. He killed her friend. With a clenched fist, she stood to face the beast.
Red-devilish eyes pierced her soul. Again, the creature emitted an unconstrained low growl. A set of bloodstained canines showed his victory. She glanced at Blue and then back at the animal. He vanished.
A frigid wind swept from the family cemetery, cutting Maggie to the bone. The sweet fragrances of two blossoming wisteria bushes reminded her of a long-awaited promise she must keep. The mounting emotions took all of her courage on each step toward the toolshed.
Searching for the proper implements, Maggie bumped against the adjacent barn wall, startling the next-door occupants. Four whinnies and a few snorts sounded their displeasure.
An empty wooden box sat on a high shelf, higher than her five-foot-two stature. She jumped. Her fingertips caught the box’s edge, and it landed at her feet. Then a dusty cloud rained over her cowgirl straw hat. “This should be the right size.”
She pulled a rawhide strap off a rusty nail, tied back her long strands, plucked a shovel off the rack, and grabbed the box.
Spears shot through her heart when she stopped at the base of the sparse gravel path. Courage, Maggie Lynn.
Lifting her shoulders, she took one step and then another, pulling the heavy spade behind. The clanks resounding on the rocky path didn’t help.
When I was sick from the accident with Anna, you never left my side, dear Blue. Cal tried to feed you, but you didn’t eat until I did. You were the only friend I could count on when Mom died. Those blue eyes sparkled every time your head rested in my lap. I’ll miss you, old pal.
The family cemetery was as old as the ranch itself, almost. William and Katie McNeil built the Aurora in 1825 and passed along the property, always to a son, until Maggie’s birth. Her father insisted everyone call her ‘Miss Maggie.’
Her muddy boot kicked open the wrought-iron gate. A squeak shrilled, then the metal clattered against the fence, sending chills along Maggie’s spine. Locating the promised plot, she drove the spade into the ground. The earth didn’t give way, and for a good reason—it was half-frozen and a bit rocky. Persistence took over her grief, and an hour later, the final shovel of soil was heaped on top of the rest. She swept away tears with her sleeve. Her gaze lifted to the cloudless sapphire sky and swallowed to halt further flows.
On her trek back to Blue’s body, four dark silhouettes overhead circled the barn. “No, no, no!” She screamed. To protect her friend, she took off in a run, shooing away the predators, and then a jolt of air escaped when she landed at his side. She peeled back the jacket and was relieved to see his body still intact. She gently stroked behind his ear, the warmth he once possessed gone. Now he was cold and stiff.
Maggie gathered Blue in her arms. Shaky legs rose, and halfway up, she dropped onto the ground. Sucking in a breath and collecting what little strength was left, Maggie tried again. But she crashed on top of Blue. “I won’t and can’t be defeated. Dad, I promised you, and I’ll keep it. Lord, help me.” Sliding the jacket off Blue, she gripped a front and a back leg and tugged. He didn’t budge, so she lifted her gaze to heaven.
She drew a gaunt breath and tugged until his body slid onto the jacket. “Thank you, Lord.” With another firm grip on the sleeves, she dragged Blue’s body up the hill.
Winded when she reached the top, she doubled over. Sweat dripped from her forehead and onto the empty box. She straightened and stared at her dad’s headstone. His deep voice chimed in. Promise me. You’ll bury Blue beside me when the time comes.
“I love you, Dad.”
Maggie continued with the unplanned burial. Turning the container on its side, she rolled Blue in. Cloaking his body with the muddy, bloodstained jacket, Maggie stared into his gentle face. With one final stroke behind his ear, she closed the lid and inched the box into the hole. A tear splattered on each shovel of soil heaved on top. Finished, she tamped the mound one final time.
Two wisteria bushes twined behind her parent’s headstones, full of lavender buds, many ready to burst open any day. This lovely display is forever etched in her memory. “Dad, you planted the first bush behind Mom’s gravestone eight years ago. You spent hours talking to Mom and even insisted she appeared to you in a fog. I planted the second bush when you left for your final home five years ago. Each spring, the shrubs grow fuller and more beautiful together, like your love for one another. I’m sorry that I didn’t take better care of Blue.”
Branches rattled overhead. A cold chill rushed through Maggie. She withdrew the rawhide strap from her hair and gathered two fallen limbs to fashion a makeshift cross. With the back of the shovel, she whacked the top of the vertical branch into the ground until it was seated. “There. That’ll have to do until I get you a proper headstone.”
Pulling off her straw hat, her soiled and bloodstained hands clasped the crown and held it against her chest. “Dad, Blue is with you and Mom. Blue, you’ll have a wonderful time chasing all the balls Dad tosses. I know you’ll fish and hunt like always. Take care of each other. I love you all very much.”
Maggie stepped to little Anna’s grave and drew a breath. “I wished you could’ve known Blue. He saved me that day, but I couldn’t save you, baby girl. If only— Rusty had bolted, my boot tangled in the stirrup, and I was dragged. God led Blue to find Sam. Anna, I was devastated, and now I can’t have another baby. I ought not to have been on that horse. I’m sorry, baby.”
For twenty-two years, Maggie never imagined leaving the ranch despite any challenges. From the plateau, her gaze washed over the land. It always awed her with the breathtaking view of the valley, meadows, and woods that confined the ranch’s acreage. Above, songbirds sang sweet melodies, and just below, brooks meandered through lush pastures where wildlife watered.
Maggie’s back stiffened at the sound of a shotgun chambering a shell. She turned just when Cal, her husband of four years, was taking a bead on a clump of bushes just beyond the cemetery’s wrought-iron fence.
Cal’s life on the rodeo circuit ended the same year they married. His tall physique, jet-black hair, and brown eyes captured her heart when Matt Daniels, a neighbor and a friend, introduced them.
He lowered the weapon and nodded at the freshly turned earth. “Is that Blue you buried?”
“It is.” She whispered.
“Was it the wolf?”
Sobs clogged her throat. “Yes.”
Anger flashed in Cal’s eyes. “This has to stop here and now. I’ve had enough of that wolf hunting our stock. The creature only kills for pleasure. Sam saddled two horses for us to corral the yearlings and vaccinate, but we’ll hunt down that demon instead.”
Sam Miles had been Aurora’s foreman for nine years. His handsome features fit his rugged six-foot-tall, with sandy hair and brown eyes. Alcoholism nearly destroyed his career, and for a good reason—an accident—he was heartbroken over his wife and child’s death.
Maggie closed the space between them. Anger shrouded his face. She had never before seen this expression on her husband. He didn’t let rage overtake his gentle persona. “We can’t afford to lose any more of the herd. I was on my way to the calving pen when I found Blue. I’ll check the pens before riding out to mend the fences.”
Cal pulled her tight under his muscular arm. “I’m sorry about Blue. I would’ve buried him if you asked.” His finger twined and smoothed an unruly tress that had fallen across her forehead. “You have a right to cry, but I prefer to see those lovely green eyes, not bloodshot. Dry those tears. I can’t stand to see you in so much pain.”
Maggie swallowed back the sobs and nodded. “I’ll try. I had to bury him myself, I promised Dad. Do me at least one favor and get that killer.”
“I will.” His lips brushed against her forehead and lingered for a kiss.
She leaned into his body. “This time, that wolf didn’t kill some calf or a chicken—it was a friend.”
“Joe and Bob drove to the west pasture to feed the herd. Sam and I will do a quick sweep of the ranch and be back by dinnertime. When you’re alone, carry a rifle more now than ever since he’s killed this close to the house. It won’t be forever just until we catch this beast.”
The Snyder brothers from Oklahoma started at the ranch two years earlier after their mother passed away from cancer. The men’s loyalty surpasses their goofiness as they stumble over each other. Once, they shared a picture of their mother with Maggie. Both took after her features and stature, five feet six, and the young men often showed how big their hearts are with those they care about.
“Cal, we’ve talked this over before, and you know how I feel about guns.”
“I don’t want you caught off guard if this beast shows up while you’re alone or unprotected. You know how easy Rusty spooks.”
Maggie eased out of his arms. “Don’t go there about, Rusty. I’ll think about the gun. Anything else happening around the ranch?”
“Nothing much to mention. I left you three carrots on your grandpa’s bench. See you later, sweetheart.” He turned, swung the gun’s muzzle around, rested the stock on his shoulder, and headed down the hill.
Nothing to mention—what do you mean? You take on stuff you shouldn’t and treat me like this isn’t my ranch.
Maggie jerked a red bandanna from her snug back pocket and wiped her face and bloodstained hands. She headed toward the pens hoping it would lift her spirits with the sight of the mother and new baby.
Spring brought with it peak calving season, giving the cattle ranch a good start, such as the Aurora, and this year was no exception. Maggie never imagined her ranch to run cattle, but it did. When her father passed, so did his wealthy knowledge of horse breeding. Strained finances didn’t let her continue the tradition at the time. Her dream would have to wait.
Over forty calves were born since the beginning of the year. Cal herded the heifers into the pens two weeks before their babies were due to drop.
Halfway down the hill, Maggie heard a bawling heifer. She rushed to the corral and skidded to a stop on the slick mud. A distraught mother stood over her newborn calf. Blood pooled around the mangled, lifeless, black Angus baby. Caught on the railing was a tuft of white fur. She dislodged the pelt and slid the remnant into her pocket. This scrap gave her proof of what killed the baby. The white wolf.
She hoisted herself on the second rail to survey the corral for other ill-fated deaths—relieved to find none. One leg swung over the top, then she landed on the other side flat-footed in a sloppy puddle.
After a lifetime of working on a ranch, Maggie knew the mother would protect her young and could charge at any moment, even if the baby was dead. She tromped through the muck to open the adjacent pen gate. She waved her arms, trying to separate the two, but the mother didn’t budge. I need a prod to get you moving. Where did I leave that noisy thing yesterday? She disliked using harsh devices, but it was the only way.
Maggie spotted the contraption hanging on the outer barn wall. She climbed over the pipe fence, retrieved the device, and rushed back. The mere sound prompted the mother to step away reluctantly, but she continued voicing her displeasure at leaving her baby.
With the mother secured in the enclosure, she hurried to get the tractor. Again, she hoisted herself over the fence. Her muddy boot slipped and caught between the rails. Suddenly, she landed in a precarious position, upside down, with the ends of her hair dangling in a puddle.
The awkward predicament allowed a chuckle to escape past her pent-up heartache. She twisted her foot, freeing her boot. Upright, the wet ends of her hair slapped against her face, and a speck landed in one eye. Blindly, her hand searched for her bandanna and wiped the debris out. I’m glad it wasn’t blood. She removed the slop from her hair and continued to the tractor.
A turn of the key and the engine gave a flat grinding sound. Maggie sighed and gave a swift kick to the side of the compartment, leaving her boot print. Again, she turned the ignition. This time, it roared. She shifted the gear into drive and took off with the tires, spinning a mud trail.
Soft slush made steering tricky. The tractor slid to one side. Maggie turned the wheel, accelerated the gas, and maneuvered back into a straight line. She skidded to a stop at the corral, set the brake, and then jumped into another puddle. Let this serve as my lesson, don’t forget my muck boots.
Maggie slapped her gloves together to knock off the embedded sludge and slipped them on. She gripped the calf’s foot and dragged her underneath the bottom railing. With one final push, the body slid into the bucket and laid the bloody gloves beside the calf. To relieve the mother, she took the baby out of sight to the backside of the barn and switched off the tractor’s engine.
Maggie rounded the barn corner as Joe pulled in and parked the ranch truck. “Morning, Miss Maggie. What’s up?” His short stature exited the vehicle, then he ran a hand through his sandy hair and planted a dirty ball cap on top.
“We had a newborn calf down in the pen. The poor thing is in the tractor bucket behind the barn. We need to bury her.”
“I’ll do it, Miss Maggie. Don’t you worry yourself. Was it that wolf again?”
“Yes.” She swallowed. Her reply drove a spike into her heart.
Joe scanned the area. “Where’s Blue? I haven’t seen him. He usually rides with me to feed the herd.”
She bit back tears, and then her voice hardened. “That wolf killed him last night. I buried him beside my dad.”
“I’m sorry—”
A howl echoed from the hill just beyond the graveyard. They froze and looked toward the knoll.
“Joe, do you have your gun?”
His gaze shot toward the truck. “No, ma’am, I don’t.”
Maggie pulled out the hidden tuft of white fur and raised it for comparison. Another blood-curdling howl filled the air. After a final lunge, the wolf ran into the woods.