if you want to carry a couple of my young bulls home with you.”
Cort grinned, too. “I think I might manage that. Although we’re in the same situation you are. Even my sister’s husband, who runs purebred cattle in Wyoming, is having it rough. This drought is out of anybody’s experience. People are likening it to the famous Dust Bowl of the thirties.”
“There was another bad drought in the fifties,” Parks added. “When we live on the land, we always have issues with weather, even in good years. This one has been a disaster, though. It will put a lot of the family farms and ranches out of business.” He made a face. “They’ll be bought up by those damned great combines, corporate ranching, I call it. Animals pumped up with drugs, genetically altered—damned shame. Pardon the language,” he added, smiling apologetically at Maddie.
“She’s lived around cattlemen all her life,” Cort said affectionately, smiling over the back of the seat at her.
“Yes, I have.” Maddie laughed. She looked into Cort’s dark eyes and blushed. He grinned.
They stopped at the big barn on the way back and Cy led them through it to a stall in the rear. It connected to a huge paddock with plenty of feed and fresh water.
“Now this is my pride and joy,” he said, indicating a sleek, exquisite young Santa Gertrudis bull.
“That is some conformation,” Cort said, whistling. “He’s out of Red Irony, isn’t he?” he added.
Cy chuckled. “So you read the cattle journals, do you?”
“All of them. Your ranch has some of the best breeding stock in Texas. In the country, in fact.”
“So does Skylance,” Parks replied. “I’ve bought your own bulls over the years. And your father’s,” he added to Maddie. “Good stock.”
“Thanks,” she said.
“Same here,” Cort replied. He drew in a breath. “Well, if this little fellow’s up for bids, I’ll put ours in.”
“No bids. He’s yours if you want him.” He named a price that made Maddie feel faint, but Cort just smiled.
“Done,” he said, and they shook hands.
On the way back home, Maddie was still astonished at the price. “That’s a fortune,” she exclaimed.
“Worth every penny, though,” Cort assured her. “Healthy genetics make healthy progeny. We have to put new bulls on our cows every couple of years to avoid any defects. Too much inbreeding can be dangerous to the cattle and disastrous for us.”
“I guess so. Mr. Parks seems like a very nice man,” she mused.
He chuckled. “You don’t know his history, do you? He led one of the most respected groups of mercenaries in the world into small wars overseas. His friend Eb Scott still runs a world-class counterterrorism school on his ranch. He was part of the merc group, along with a couple of other citizens of Jacobsville.”
“I didn’t know!”
“He’s a good guy. Dad’s known him for years.”
“What a dangerous way to make a living, though.”
“No more dangerous than dealing with livestock,” Cort returned.
That was true. There were many pitfalls of working with cattle, the least of which was broken bones. Concussions could be, and sometimes were, fatal. You could drown in a river or be trampled...the list went on and on.
“You’re very thoughtful,” Cort remarked.
She smiled. “I was just thinking.”
“Me, too.” He turned off onto a side road that led to a park. “I want to stretch my legs for a bit. You game?”
“Of course.”
He pulled into the car park and led the way down a small bank to the nearby river. The water level was down, but flowing beautifully over mossy rocks, with mesquite trees drooping a little in the heat, but still pretty enough to catch the eye.
“It’s lovely here.”
“Yes.” He turned and pulled her into his arms, looking down into her wide eyes. “It’s very lovely here.” He bent his head and kissed her.
CHAPTER SIX
M ADDIE ’ S HEAD WAS swimming. She felt the blood rush to her heart as Cort riveted her to
Cort grinned, too. “I think I might manage that. Although we’re in the same situation you are. Even my sister’s husband, who runs purebred cattle in Wyoming, is having it rough. This drought is out of anybody’s experience. People are likening it to the famous Dust Bowl of the thirties.”
“There was another bad drought in the fifties,” Parks added. “When we live on the land, we always have issues with weather, even in good years. This one has been a disaster, though. It will put a lot of the family farms and ranches out of business.” He made a face. “They’ll be bought up by those damned great combines, corporate ranching, I call it. Animals pumped up with drugs, genetically altered—damned shame. Pardon the language,” he added, smiling apologetically at Maddie.
“She’s lived around cattlemen all her life,” Cort said affectionately, smiling over the back of the seat at her.
“Yes, I have.” Maddie laughed. She looked into Cort’s dark eyes and blushed. He grinned.
They stopped at the big barn on the way back and Cy led them through it to a stall in the rear. It connected to a huge paddock with plenty of feed and fresh water.
“Now this is my pride and joy,” he said, indicating a sleek, exquisite young Santa Gertrudis bull.
“That is some conformation,” Cort said, whistling. “He’s out of Red Irony, isn’t he?” he added.
Cy chuckled. “So you read the cattle journals, do you?”
“All of them. Your ranch has some of the best breeding stock in Texas. In the country, in fact.”
“So does Skylance,” Parks replied. “I’ve bought your own bulls over the years. And your father’s,” he added to Maddie. “Good stock.”
“Thanks,” she said.
“Same here,” Cort replied. He drew in a breath. “Well, if this little fellow’s up for bids, I’ll put ours in.”
“No bids. He’s yours if you want him.” He named a price that made Maddie feel faint, but Cort just smiled.
“Done,” he said, and they shook hands.
On the way back home, Maddie was still astonished at the price. “That’s a fortune,” she exclaimed.
“Worth every penny, though,” Cort assured her. “Healthy genetics make healthy progeny. We have to put new bulls on our cows every couple of years to avoid any defects. Too much inbreeding can be dangerous to the cattle and disastrous for us.”
“I guess so. Mr. Parks seems like a very nice man,” she mused.
He chuckled. “You don’t know his history, do you? He led one of the most respected groups of mercenaries in the world into small wars overseas. His friend Eb Scott still runs a world-class counterterrorism school on his ranch. He was part of the merc group, along with a couple of other citizens of Jacobsville.”
“I didn’t know!”
“He’s a good guy. Dad’s known him for years.”
“What a dangerous way to make a living, though.”
“No more dangerous than dealing with livestock,” Cort returned.
That was true. There were many pitfalls of working with cattle, the least of which was broken bones. Concussions could be, and sometimes were, fatal. You could drown in a river or be trampled...the list went on and on.
“You’re very thoughtful,” Cort remarked.
She smiled. “I was just thinking.”
“Me, too.” He turned off onto a side road that led to a park. “I want to stretch my legs for a bit. You game?”
“Of course.”
He pulled into the car park and led the way down a small bank to the nearby river. The water level was down, but flowing beautifully over mossy rocks, with mesquite trees drooping a little in the heat, but still pretty enough to catch the eye.
“It’s lovely here.”
“Yes.” He turned and pulled her into his arms, looking down into her wide eyes. “It’s very lovely here.” He bent his head and kissed her.
CHAPTER SIX
M ADDIE ’ S HEAD WAS swimming. She felt the blood rush to her heart as Cort riveted her to
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