Chapter Fourteen

Mateo’s head pops up. “Is she stuck?”

“Oh gosh, oh gosh.” Scotty twists the collar of his shirt hard enough to leave a rash.

I push up inside, trying to feel if maybe a leg or something is hung up against the cow’s hip bones, but it’s all so tight I can’t hardly reach anything. Think, think! What would Dad do?

He was here with me, but he wasn’t. And now everything is too fast, too bright, too loud. It’s supposed to be my dad standing here, not someone else.

But Milkshake needs me. She pants and grunts, a soft groan of pain and fear.

“I can do this. I can do this.” But in that moment, my brain is stuck harder than the calf. I know what to do—if I could just think—but with Mateo and Mr. Rivas right there watching and Scotty twisting his hands all together, the next step teeters on the edge of my brain, and all I can think of is how much I wish Dad really was here.

My voice shakes, “Uh, we need to . . . need to . . .”

Without a word, Mr. Rivas angles the handle down to the ground and the calf shifts, sliding forward another inch. He reaches past me and cranks the lever, then drops the handle to the ground once more, and this time, the calf rotates just enough. I’ve seen Dad do it before. I could have done it. But it all happened so fast, I hadn’t had time to think, and now it’s over and done.

“That’s it.” Mateo smacks the top rail. “It’s free.”

“I know.” As the handle comes back up the second time, I crank the lever fast to take up the slack.

With one long desperate bellow, Milkshake’s front knees buckle, and the limp calf slides to the ground with a wet slurp.

A heartbeat later, I’m on my knees, and Mateo jumps in beside me to wipe the slime away from the calf’s nose and mouth, helping me rub it down with fresh straw.

Mr. Rivas pulls the quick-release knot to free Milkshake’s head, and I bite my lip. I shoulda done that as soon as she fell. I knew that too. He’s rushing me; that’s all. Nothing else is gonna slip by me. I rub the calf harder.

Finally, the calf lets out a pitiful bawl and rolls its head, its legs flailing as it struggles to right itself.

“Woo!” Scotty’s fists pump. “He’s okay!”

A knot wedges tight in my throat as relief wars with shame inside me. I’m so glad they’re both okay, but I could have done it alone—should have done it alone.

“You’ve got a little bull.” Mateo nudges my shoulder, and I nod, ’cause no words can squeak out anyway.

Patting the wobbly little guy one more time, I go to Milkshake, my hands smoothing her quivering hide. “You did good, momma. It’s a boy. You’ve got a boy.”

Sweat stains her forehead and runs down her jawline. Flecks of foam cling to her mouth, and her nostrils flare wide with every deep breath. Hot air washes over my forearms as she rests her chin on my hands. When her eyes meet mine, there’s no panic. No pain. Only trust.

She doesn’t know I almost failed her. She only knows I tried and that all is well.

When her breathing evens, we help her to her feet, and back away as she cleans her calf, her long tongue rasping over the little one till his hair sticks out in a dozen bad cowlicks going every which way.

T-Rex’s tail wags a steady beat while he leans against Scotty, watching through the rails as a tiny bawling voice is answered by Milkshake’s deep rumbling moo.

Mr. Rivas ducks between the rails and pats Mateo’s back. “She is good now, eh?”

“She sure is!” Scotty beams at him as if Mr. Rivas was the one who pulled the calf. “Thanks for coming.”

“No pasa nada.” Mr. Rivas waves off Scotty’s praise and walks to his truck.

Mateo stays beside me and tries to catch my eye. “On the way here, I saw some dogs out by the juniper grove.”

“Are you sure they weren’t Kimana’s dogs?”

“No. These were new. A pack of four or five.” His eyes go soft when he looks at my calf. “Just keep an eye out.”

“Thanks. I will.”

Beyond him, Mr. Rivas waits in the driver’s seat, one elbow out the window, the other hand resting on the wheel. He catches me looking and nods.

After a few steps, Mateo turns back to me. “Oh, and Paige?”

“Yes?”

Looking me straight in the eye, he touches his heart. “You did good. You should be proud.”

“Thanks.” I give a half-hearted wave as he leaves. I turn to watch my cows. Even though I know they’re both alright, I don’t really let myself believe it until the wobbly calf finally gets to his feet, latches on, and suckles with greedy little slurps. Only then do I slip outside to the spigot and wash my hands and arms down with well water cold enough to sting.

“I’m gonna check on Royal.” Scotty tugs my shirt, telling me to follow him, then skips on ahead.

“I’ll come later. I want to watch the calf a while.”

“Okay. It’s a good thing Mr. Rivas came, don’t you think?”

“I didn’t need his help!” I holler after him, but he’s already halfway to the chicken barn. From the doorway of Milkshake’s barn, I watch him run away, and I let the breeze play with my hair and tug at my shirt.

I kick a dirt clod across the road and watch as it soars, bounces, and breaks apart, skittering in a dozen different directions.

The whole calf-pulling spins in my head like blades on a windmill, repeating ’round and ’round. One second I was there, in the perfect moment, with Dad right by my side, and the next he was gone, and it was just me and Mr. Rivas, and I didn’t know what to do. I might have been able to help Milkshake on my own—I’ve seen it done a hundred times—but I couldn’t think, and now I don’t know for sure. I’ll never know. I only know I hesitated when it mattered most.

I close my eyes and try to focus on the facts.

Milkshake’s okay. The calf is okay. Scotty and me are both okay. Everything is fine. Dad would understand.

I repeat it in my head until I almost believe it.

An hour later, after the calf settled down for a nap, Scotty and I lie propped up on our elbows, watching Royal eat a piece of bread. His sleek blue neck shimmers each time he bobs down, pecking with his black shiny beak. So far, we’ve discovered he loves bread, berries, ants, beetles, grasshoppers, worms, flower petals, leaves, and fruit—especially melons. He eats melon rinds right down till the outer skin curls inward because every bit of the flesh has been pecked away.

“You think he’s got a family nearby?” Scotty’s freckled cheek rests against his fist and a half-chewed straw dangles from his lips.

“Maybe. He sure made a ruckus the other day.”

“They’re supposed to make noise.” He lifts a finger for each point. “They honk when danger is near, they cry for mating and other reasons, they rattle their tail feathers, they—”

“I know, but most of the time he’s so quiet. Maybe he’s just hiding, you know, so he won’t attract predators while he’s hurt.”

Royal watches us as we talk, his head cocked one way to focus his shiny black eye at me, then the other way for Scotty.

“You think he’d help run Miss Dolly off if he was better?” asks Scotty.

I raise my eyebrow. “Well, you did say peacocks kill any snakes and spiders they find in their territory . . .”

T-Rex swivels his head and wags his tail as Mom and Grandpa pull up in the truck, the bed filled with plastic totes and boxes.

“Come on.” I tug Scotty’s jeans and motion for him to follow me.

We crawl off the back of the stack and slide around the back wall by the coop. By the time Mom and Grandpa unload some totes and spot us, we’re dumping a sack of chicken scratch into the feed bins.

Scotty raises an eyebrow at me, and I nod. It should be safe to say hello from here.

“Mom! Guess what?” Scotty says, running up and taking a tote from her. “Milkshake had her calf today.”

“I heard,” Mom says.

Grandpa clears his throat. “Javier Rivas said you did a right fine job, Paige. Kept a cool head and pulled that calf right on out.”

“What I want to know is why we had to hear it from Javier.” Mom gives me the look. “Why didn’t you call us? Where’s your phone?”

I shrug. “It’s at the house, in the kitchen maybe. You guys were in town, and Mr. Rivas is right next door, so Scotty called him.”

“You could have texted.” She brushes past me.

I sigh. There’s only so many times a person can say the same thing without being heard before it becomes pointless. “I don’t text.”

“Mateo texts,” Scotty pipes up. “And Kimana texts.”

“Yay for them. Doesn’t anyone want to know about the calf?”

“A healthy young bull, I hear.” Grandpa pats me on the back.

Finally! My shoulders relax. “Wait till you see him. He’s got the cutest, curliest red coat ever, and he eats like his belly button’s rubbing a blister on his backbone. He’s great.”

“I’m glad he’s healthy, but my point is you shouldn’t have had to do it at all.” Mom sets Scotty’s tote on top of hers. “Anything could have happened—you could have been hurt.”

“It was fine, Mom. Really.” Drop it already.

“Well, at least you won’t have to worry about the cows much longer.” She sidesteps as Grandpa puts another tote next to the others.

“What does that mean?” Milkshake isn’t a worry to me. No more than T-Rex or Scotty. I raised her myself. If anything, she’s my friend.

“I asked Javier to help get the pigs to the sale. He can do it tomorrow, but then he’ll be busy for several days after that, so we’ve been talking about having a sale right here for the cattle and horses. We’ve had plenty of offers; that’s for sure.”

“You can’t let him take the pigs. They’ve got piglets. It’s not even time yet—the price won’t be good until July. That’s three months away!”

“Paige, I know.” Mom keeps talking like it’s all done already. “It has to happen, and I expect you to help.”

“But we’ll lose—”

“No buts. I know you think you know best, but you don’t. Sometimes we have to make hard decisions. I need to know I can count on you.”

I stare at her. She can’t be serious.

“Well?” Mom prods.

“I keep my promises.” But my oldest promise always comes first. Take care of the farm; take care of the family.

“Can I count on you or not?”

Woodenly, I nod. But inside, my brain is on fire. Every night she locks herself in her room and checks out like she’s a hen sitting in the dark, shut off to everything—to us—until dawn. But dawn feels so far off, I’ve almost given up waiting for it. She’s always been able to count on me. I’m the one that does chores and looks after everything when she’s here but still gone.

I’m the one. Me.

While she sews and studies and hides, I’m the reason why the animals are fed and happy, why everything is running like it should be.

I did that. Me.

It’s not anything out of the ordinary either. Farm girls do this day in, day out. Dad did this every day of his life. I did it the week of his funeral and every day since. It’s as natural as breathing. But Mom talks like it’s something to run away from, or to let go. You don’t let go of family. I promised I’d take care of them, and I am.

I try hard to let Mom’s words splash and slide off me, raindrops on glass. She’s just worried, like Scotty was. I know that.

“Do you see what I mean?” Mom murmurs to Grandpa. “We can’t do this on our own. She could have been killed. We have to sell.”

I’m her example for why we can’t farm.

Me.

It’s so unfair it makes me want to scream.