Perfect Touch by Elizabeth Lowell Page B

Mooch is strong and willing, but his trot is worthy of a cement mixer,” she said. “Jezebel is quick and easy to ride.”
    â€œFor you, maybe. She doesn’t much like men. But she’s a good cowhorse. She knows which critter is going to be trouble before the cow knows it. Trust her judgment over your own. And hang on. She’s real sudden when she’s going after a contrary calf.”
    Sara looked at the rifle stock gleaming in the shadowed dawn. “Is that normal trail gear in Wyoming?”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThe rifle.”
    â€œFor me it is.” He didn’t mention the Glock in one of the saddlebags or all the ammo.
    So I’m paranoid after Afghanistan. Sue me.
    He gathered Amble’s reins and stepped into the stirrup even as he swung into the saddle. A short whistle brought the dogs up on their feet, quivering with eagerness. Skunk and Lightfoot went to the left of Amble. Jezebel fell in on the right as they walked quickly up a dirt road toward the north pasture.
    â€œThe cattle we’re moving are for breeding, not eating,” Jay said as the sunlight slowly strengthened. “Vermilion Ranch’s bloodlines need upgrading. I started with ten head of expensive breeding cows. Sperm wasn’t cheap, either. Now I have fifty cows and fifty calves. All pure-blooded Angus. We got lucky on sex this year. Only twelve males. We haven’t cut three of them, the best little bulls I’ve seen. Their bloodlines are going to work for me. They’re worth more as range bulls than as beef.”
    â€œIs King Kobe one of the uncut?” Sara asked, remembering past phone calls.
    â€œSure is.” Jay shook his head. “If he lives up to his pedigree, he’ll be worth all the trouble he causes.”
    â€œIf he doesn’t?”
    â€œI’ll sell him or turn him into burgers.”
    â€œSounds like my childhood,” she said. “Raise the boys for veal and the girls for milk, and pray that the stock stays healthy long enough to earn enough money to feed the family.”
    He glanced over and saw that her full mouth had thinned. Jagged memories, he thought. Soldiers aren’t the only ones who have them.
    â€œHow many head of cattle are we moving?” Sara asked.
    â€œOnly thirty-five, and one of them is Queenie. She’s an old Hereford and a born leader. Once the Angus cows settle, they’ll follow her through hell. The calves—well, they’ll learn.”
    â€œIf they’re as stubborn as dairy cattle, we’ll have a lively hour or two ahead.”
    â€œThat we will.”
    The quick flash of his grin said he was looking forward to it.
    By the time the sun was up enough that Sara had unbuttoned her jacket to cool off, she knew exactly what Jay had meant about Jezebel being a good cow horse. Sudden, too.
    She hadn’t fallen the first time the horse had pivoted sharply on its heels to block King Kobe, but it had been close. But Jezebel wasn’t trying to dump her rider. The animal was just doing what it did best—keeping cattle in line.
    At first the trail they followed had been clearly defined. As the hours wore on, Queenie seemed to be the only cow that could find the way through the grass and scrub and encroaching trees. The old cow finally led the cattle into a natural meadow that was higher and rougher than the pasture at home. A burly stream appeared, rumbling to itself as it ran between banks of willow and rocks. The water was high and cloudy with runoff from the slowly thawing Tetons.
    Jay reined his horse over to Sara.
    â€œThat’s the Crowfoot,” he said. “By the end of summer it will be about a third that size and clear as air. Right now it’s busy deepening its bed as it runs down to the valley.”
    â€œIs it safe to drink?”
    â€œProbably, but I have purifier tablets. You never know what has happened upstream.”
    â€œWhat about—”
    A quick,