Diane R. Jewkes by The Heart You Own

stock horse, waded into the group. A loop of his rope dangled motionless from his hands. Spotting the calf he wanted, the rope came over his head, he gave it two or three quick twists of his wrist, and then with a flick it snaked out over the calf’s head, dropping around his neck. He pulled the calf, bucking and fighting, from the bunch. As they neared the branding fire, two more men approached the calf on foot, flipped the animal on its side and proceeded to work. The right ear was marked with the Ladder J single slant cut. One of the men quickly castrated the calf with a sharp knife, tossing the testicles into the fire where they sizzled and popped in the orange coals. Still holding the calf down another man pulled the glowing iron from the fire and put the Ladder J cattle brand on the animals’ side. The calf was released. Standing on shaky legs the calf trotted off shaking its head, bawling, looking for its mother. Hawke watched as Joe marked the information about the calf and its mother in a ledger.
    He was fascinated with the seamless rhythm and flow of the work. There was no excess motion and though done quickly, the calves were not treated with undue roughness.
    Absorbed in the scene before him, he almost missed Kara riding into the pen. She was guiding her horse with her knees, as she tugged on her leather work gloves, the reins wrapped around the saddle horn. Once her gloves were on, she tugged loose the rope tied to her saddle and began shaking out the loop. Hawke watched the fluid grace of her body as she stood in the stirrups and took a few practice twirls with the rope. Settling down in the saddle, she approached the calves, looking to pick one out of the group.
    Her movements reminded him of a cat stalking sinuously amongst a flock of birds looking for prey.
    “You watch her, Pryce, she can teach you a thing or two about working cattle,” Joe said, coming up beside him. He nodded but didn’t turn from watching the woman and the horse.
    Kara raised her arm over her head, twirling the rope slowly at first, then picking up speed as she picked out a calf. Standing slightly in the saddle she let the loop fly, snagging one. Turning her horse around, the rope came taut across her thigh as her horse moved steadily forward, the reluctant calf bounced and bucked behind her.
    “Case and I taught her to ride, but it was Secondino and the charros taught her how to rope. No one handles a rope better than those Mexican cowboys. Hell, there’s things that little gal can do with a rope that would amaze you.”
    Hawke looked at the foreman, an eyebrow quirked up in question. Joe cleared his throat, and looked down at his tally sheet.
    Looking back toward the pen, he smiled at the thought of her and her rope and a large comfortable bed, and the tricks he could teach her.
    Kara’s rope had been released from the calf and she headed back towards the remaining animals to bring out another calf. One, bolder than the rest, tried to bolt; she lowered her reins to the horse’s neck, and leaned back in the saddle, gripping the horn with her other hand in a silent signal. Dropping his head, the gelding went to work moving quickly back and forth, keeping the calf where he wanted him.
    Recognition struck Hawke like a thunderbolt as he watched the strange dance before him.
    “She was the one we saw the day we rode in,” he stammered, shooting Joe an accusing look. “Why didn’t you mention then the rider was the owner’s daughter?”
    “Would you have believed me?” The question came quietly, bringing him up short.
    “I’m not sure.” Another memory stirred. “Didn’t you also say she trained the horse herself?” At Joe’s nod, he turned back, amazed.
    “Okay, Kara,” Joe shouted. “Quit showing off. Hawke is suitably impressed. Get back to work.”
    The stiffening of her spine told Hawke the remark did not sit well.
    • • •
    Kara shortened the reins, pulling the gelding up as she loosened her rope and went