“We all have traits that seem weird to people. Have you seen Linc folded into a pretzel humming ohm while he huffs druid incense or whatever the shit it is he burns that stinks up the house like someone put a dead skunk in the broiler?”
That made me chuckle. “I think it’s called Neg Champa.”
“Huh. Guess they had to call it something other than roasted skunk.” He gave me a wry smile then blew out a breath. “I realize I might not have handled my concerns properly. Dodge says I tend to run at things like a bull seeing a red cape, which is justified. Guess I get overprotective of those who I call family. Still, don’t give him all of you, okay? I know you and Bella left some dark shit behind in New York City. I would hate for you toget hurt here in Bastian Grange as well, since you’re both fitting in so good.”
I looked from him to the valley below where the Double H cabin sat in the morning sun, pretty as a picture, as Granny would say.
“It’s nice to hear you don’t resent us anymore,” I said as the sun peeked at us over the horizon, its rays warming the frost on the tall grasses.
“Well, only when you’re hogging the toilet, or when Linc is burning skunk grass, or Bella uses my razor on her legs.”
“I need more fiber, Granny tells me,” I confessed and got a snort out of him.
“Probably. Anyway, just tread carefully. I’ll keep my nose out of it best I can now you’ve been warned a few dozen times.”
“Thanks.”
And that was the end of it, I hoped, which made me feel far less growly. We rode down to the cabin, Lady in the lead, and dismounted in front of the cabin I’d helped renovate. Not to brag, but I did do a fine job. Paul had taught me well. The door opened quickly. Four women in matching pajamas stepped out into the chilly morning air.
One, a tall Black woman, stepped out of the foursome and introduced herself as Jackie. She then told us about what they had heard. Loud, womanly cries that set them on edge. I stood back as Baker explained it was probably just a bobcat or coyote, but we’d look around the cabin for them. They thanked us and returned to their breakfast, locking the cabin door after they re-entered.
“Okay, let’s make a mile or two perimeter sweep. Look for any signs of something that might have passed through,” Baker said, and I nodded. Lady trotted along in front of us, nose to the ground, tail up, as we plodded along. We found no signs of anything, but Lady hit something that brought up the hair onher back. “Steady,” I called out when she looked ready to bolt. She slowed. Her hackles raised, and she led us to a gnarled old cottonwood. She circled the tree. I glanced up into the boughs and saw something dangling from a large, thick branch. “Come back,” I told the dog, who returned to me, but it was slow as molasses. “You seeing that?”
“Yep,” Baker said, tipping his hat back. “Looks like a whitetail.” That was my guess. Bloody and torn up, but a deer, yes. A buck, a small one, with spike antlers. “Not much will haul a kill up a tree ’round here other than a mountain lion.”
“Shit.” This was a little too close for comfort. “I didn’t know they did that.”
“Sometimes. Usually younger cats when there are wolves in the area. Could be it ran into a pack of coyotes and used the tree to get it above canine level. Rare to be sure. They don’t usually do this, not like leopards, since we got so many bears around. Climbing up there would be easy for a bear, so the kill is far from safe.”
“What do we do?” I leaned forward some to give my nervous horse a pat. Seemed Persimmon didn’t like the smell of puma any more than Lady had.
“Leave it. We’ll stop back to tell the gals in the Double H not to roam around alone. Might be I can call Penton Grace over at the Department of Wildlife Conservation to give him a heads-up that we got a roaming cat in the area. Other than that, unless it becomes a problem, we just live and let live.”
That seemed fair. We gave the deer one last look before turning our horses for home. Oatmeal and chores awaited. I also wanted to thank Granny for her advice. Seemed a morning ride on the back of a horse did help men ease their troubles.
12
Chapter Twelve
The week after Halloween was a great one.
I spent four nights out of seven with Aiden. No one said dick about it when I stumbled in the following mornings, groggy but smiling. The only one who commented was Bella, but it was soft little teases like a sister would poke fun at a brother. Those I didn’t mind, even if they did make me stammer. My brothers just gave me dorky looks or a poke in a hickey if they could see them. Aiden loved to suck. I loved to be sucked. Didn’t matter where on my body. If his mouth was on that patch of flesh, I was loving it.
The second best thing about the first week of November was watching Lady be freed from her stitches. No stitches meant no more cone. I’d taken it upon myself to spend a few hours every day—when I wasn’t at Aiden’s sorting veterinary notes or having my brain sucked out via my dick—introducing Lady to the goats. They weren’t too keen on having a dog in their pen. Lady was very keen to try to push them all into one corner, her bellydragging on the ground, as I held the end of the check cord. After relaying her natural drive to herd to Aiden, he set up the meeting that was taking place this morning. Bill Long, a breeder of cattle dogs who lived nearby, was coming out with Aiden to watch Lady. Not that training a cattle dog was anything like training a sheepdog. They both worked their herds differently, according to my internet research. Cattle dogs drive cows aggressively, barking and nipping heels to get the cattle to move, and work far away from their owners. Sheepdogs tend to gather their charges, are silent, and work closely with their handlers.
So his knowledge of a sheep-herding dog was limited, but Aiden felt it might be good to have him see Lady and give us his thoughts. Plus, Bill was a nice guy, according to Aiden, and someone I should know. When I saw their trucks rolling up early Sunday morning, my heart thudded nervously. Lady was chilling outside the goat pen. She jumped to her feet, filled with her usual energy, and darted off to cautiously greet the strangers.
“Morning,” Aiden called as I exited the barn. I whistled sharply. Lady jogged over to me, happy as a lark, and sat beside me after I gave her a soft command. Bill and Aiden walked over to us. Aiden gave me a kiss before introducing me to the tall, burly man in a worn denim jacket and jeans at his side. “Ford, this is Bill Long, one of the finest breeders of Red Merles in the state. Bill, this is my good friend, Ford Bastian.”
“Nice to meet you, Ford. I know your brother Baker well,” Bill said, his voice deep as a canyon. “Had the pleasure of waking up one morning to find him sleeping one off on my front porch wearing pumps and a sash reading Miss Bastian Grange.”
“Lies, all lies,” Baker called as he came up behind our guests with Granny on his arm. Bella and Linc were with them. Hanley had left to take pictures of black bears in Canada and would be gone until the night before Thanksgiving. Bill shook everyone’s hands and then turned to me.
“So, I hear this dog of yours has some herding drive. Care to show me what she can do?” Bill said after about ten minutes of light chitchat. “Keep in mind, I know cattle dogs and not sheepdogs, but I can aid you in basic training.”
“That’ll be a great help,” I said, hooking Lady to her lead, and walked her into the goat pen. Willy was instantly on guard. He was the only one in the herd who liked to stand up to the dog for as long as his bravado would last. Basic survival instincts always kicked in after a perfunctory head lowering and solo charge at the predator. No matter how brave Willy wanted the does to think he was, his need to live was stronger than his need to show off. The moment Lady entered the pen, she switched into a different mindset. She hunkered down low, her sight locked on the goats milling about at the far end of the large pen. Her muscles twitched. “Steady,” I said as I let out a few feet of leash. My family stood at the fence, watching intently, Bella wearing one of Linc’s massive coats, which was cute as hell and told me a lot about where her head was. Same place as mine when I thought of Aiden. Even knowing we shouldn’t be drawn to these men, there we were, wearing their coats, or in my case, their love marks. I turned to look at Bill watching Lady closely. “I only know a few commands from watching a Scottish sheep farmer on YouTube, but she’s so smart. She picks them up fast, and some, I think, she may have known?”
“Could be she’s just instinctively driven to herd but needed a firm partner to guide her. You’ll want to watch any nipping she may try, as that’s not behavior for a sheep or goat herding dog to engage in, and redirect her to acceptable ways of gathering the flock.”