Page 17 of Roots of Redemption (Hicks Creek #4)

Chapter Thirteen

Sutton

T he moment Caleb jumps into the truck, he’s talking. I’ve barely had time to buckle my seatbelt before he launches into what feels like a rehearsed monologue, his voice buzzing with energy.

“Okay, so here’s what I was thinking,” he says, twisting sideways in the passenger seat so he can face me.

“I’ve been looking up cattle health issues online—like, a lot—and there are a ton of things that can cause nasal discharge.

Some of them are viral, but there are also bacterial infections, and sometimes it’s just environmental, like dust or mold.

But fever? That’s the kicker. Fever usually means infection, right?

And the lethargy could be tied to that. I mean, if you’re sick, you don’t wanna do much, right? Same for cows.”

I glance at him out of the corner of my eye as I steer the truck down the long dirt road toward the Nance Ranch, smiling to myself.

“You’ve been doing your homework.”

“Yeah, well…” Je shrugs, though his grin says he’s proud of himself. “I like knowing stuff. Plus, I figure if I’m gonna help Dad out, I need to know what I’m talking about.”

“That’s true. Your dad is lucky to have you. I hope he knows that.”

“He does. I’m lucky to have him, too.”

“He seems like a good dad.”

“He is. I don’t think he really knew what he was doing in the beginning, but he’s recovered well,” he jokes.

I laugh. Caleb mentions Wade like his dad walks on water. It would be sweet if I didn’t want to ring his father’s neck.

Caleb keeps going, his words tumbling over each other.

“You know, Dad’s been dealing with stuff like this forever.

He doesn’t say it, but he’s really good at what he does.

I mean, ranching’s not easy, right? There’s so much to keep track of—fences, feed, water, herd health.

And he does all of it. I don’t know how he doesn’t just collapse at the end of the day. ”

“Your dad does work hard,” I agree.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning back in his seat.

“And, you know, he went to school and learned more about animal science, business, and whatever else he could learn so that he could help the ranch be better. He self-taught a lot of it, too. He doesn’t have a degree or anything, but he’s super smart.

He does everything alone, though, and that makes me sad.

He doesn’t really date or anything. Which is weird, right?

I mean, he’s single, and he’s—well, he’s Dad.

All the women in town practically break their necks to get him to notice them.

He could totally find someone if he wanted to. ”

I clear my throat and keep my eyes on the road.

“I’m sure he’s got a lot on his plate.”

“Yeah, probably,” he says, unbothered. “But still. You’d think someone would’ve snatched him up by now.”

Don’t touch that one. Let’s change the subject to something safer.

“You said you’ve been looking into cattle health issues. Any guesses about what we’re walking into today?”

“Oh, totally.” He grins. “I mean, it could be bovine respiratory disease. That’s pretty common.

But if it’s spreading between the cows, maybe it’s something more contagious.

You know, like Ibr—infectious bovine rhinotracheitis.

It’s a mouthful, but it’s super common in herds that aren’t vaccinated.

Or it could be something else entirely, like pneumonia. ”

This kid has done better research than most college-aged kids. This is impressive.

“You’ve really done your research,” I say. “But research is only good if you can learn to ask questions and think outside of the box, too. Why do you think Ibr is possible? All the herds should be vaccinated. A good rancher wouldn’t risk losing so much money by cutting a cost there.”

“You might assume that, but there are some newer, less experienced ranchers in town. They might not realize what a big deal it is until they suffer a loss.”

I grin proudly back at him. If there’s one thing I learned early on in life, it’s to never assume that everyone does things the same way or by the book.

The kid’s smart—there’s no denying that.

He’s got Wade’s work ethic and, apparently, his curiosity.

He’s going to be a big help. I like someone who doesn’t write things off automatically.

“Excellent assessment; you’re going to go far.

I think the biggest thing to keep in mind, especially in this case, is that you have to look outside of the norm.

If it was a typical outbreak, I wouldn’t have been called in.

Doc Lucy has done a lot of the legwork for me, but she’s only one person.

One would assume that because they’re a seemingly successful rancher, they know all the protocols for handling an outbreak, but I’ve learned that’s not always the case.

The first time I got called into fieldwork, the regular vet swore up and down that the ranch owner wasn’t contaminating the samples and had been sanitizing everything, but they hadn’t been doing it properly, which caused it to spread wildly through the herd.

Sometimes, taking a little extra time to ask questions and to observe the practices goes a long way. ”

“Yeah, Grandpa does things one way, but it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s the right way. I learned that when Dad was taking all these classes.”

“These old timers have been doing things the same way for as long as they can remember, and a lot of them haven’t changed with the times. Fifty years ago, a good scrubbing with Dawn dish soap might’ve been enough to clean a trough—not necessarily the case now.”

By the time we pull up to the Nance Ranch, Caleb’s still talking, rattling off facts about cattle illnesses, symptoms, and possible treatments.

I’m half-listening, half-focused on the scene ahead of us.

The ranch sprawls out in front of us, acres of rolling pasture bordered by sturdy fencing.

The main barn looks weathered but well-kept, and beyond it, I can see a small herd of cattle grazing in the distance.

Bob Nance is waiting for us near the barn, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable. He’s a big man, broad-shouldered and gruff looking, with a face that’s seen its fair share of hard days. He doesn’t smile as I park the truck and step out.

“Hi, Mr. Nance. You may remember me, Doctor Sutton Bishop. This is my assistant Caleb Callahan. He’s helping me out today.”

Bob’s gaze flicks to Caleb, clearly unimpressed. “Helping, huh?”

“Yeah,” Caleb says, unfazed by Bob’s tone. “I’ve been learning a lot about cattle health lately. I might not look like much, but I know my stuff.”

Bob grunts. “We’ll see about that.”

I step in before Bob can dismiss him outright. “You mentioned some cattle with symptoms—nasal discharge, fever, lethargy?”

“Yeah,” Bob says, turning toward the pasture. “Started with one cow a couple days ago. Now there’s three of ’em. I’ve got them corralled off, but I can show you.”

“Let’s take a look,” I say, grabbing my gear from the back of the truck.

Caleb trails behind me, still talking, though now he’s directing his comments at Bob. “You know, isolating the sick cows as soon as you notice symptoms is really smart. When did you first corral them?”

Bob gives him a sideways glance, his expression somewhere between irritation and amusement. “The first time I saw the symptoms. I probably wouldn’t have taken it as seriously if I didn’t hear about the other ranches having issues. Something like a runny nose isn’t always a problem.”

“Yeah,” Caleb says earnestly. “It’s good you acted fast, probably saved your herd.”

Bob snorts, but there’s the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You trying to be a vet or somethin’?”

“Nope,” Caleb replies cheerfully. “Just curious. Plus, I help my dad with our cattle, so I’ve seen a lot.”

Bob grumbles something under his breath but doesn’t argue. I catch his eye and give him a small smile. “He’s sharp. You’ll see.”

We make our way out to the pasture, where the cattle are fenced off into a small space. It doesn’t take long to spot the sick ones. They’re easy to pick out—heads drooping, movements sluggish, and a telltale discharge crusted around their noses.

“There,” Bob says, pointing. “Those three.”

I nod, already making mental notes. “You did well to corral them, but I think we should take them somewhere away from the rest of the herd. It’s more work to keep them so close, just because you have to work ten times harder to ensure nothing they touch is going near the healthy cattle.

For instance, if you’re cleaning out their trough near the healthy ones, the splash could go into the soil and spread more bacteria. ”

Bob sighs. “That’s gonna be a pain, but it’ll be more of a pain to have the issues you’re suggesting.”

I fully believe that we’re dealing with bovine respiratory disease, but not all the symptoms are black and white. Until we get confirmation from the samples, I’m not ruling anything out.

“It’s necessary,” I say firmly. “If this spreads, you could lose a lot more than three cows.”

Caleb chimes in, his voice confident. “We can help you set it up. I think it would be smart to keep this spot roped off still, though.”

“Very good, Caleb. I was just about to say that. I don’t think this is being transferred through the soil, but it’s a risk we can’t take.”

We spend the next hour working together to set up a quarantine area near the barn.

Caleb dives right in, helping me haul panels and set up water troughs.

He talks the whole time, filling the silence with facts, observations, and the occasional joke.

At first, Bob seems annoyed, but as the minutes tick by, I can see him warming up to the kid.

Caleb helps me get the affected cattle in the squeeze chute so that we can take blood, fecal, and urine samples.

He and Bob sanitize it, and then I test a few of the healthy cattle, too.

I want to see if the seemingly healthy cattle are showing the illness before the physical symptoms become present.

I tag the healthy cattle that I’ve tested, and Bob will check them to see if symptoms start.

If the lab tests show me that they have markers, then we’ll have to treat the entire herd, rather than just the ones showing symptoms. Not every ranch will be able to afford to do so.

By the time we’re packing up to leave, Bob is asking me questions about treatments, symptoms, and what to watch for. “If I think of anything else, I’ll give you a call,” he says.

“Sounds good,” I reply, shaking his hand. “Keep an eye on the rest of the herd and let me know if anything changes.”

As Caleb and I climb back into the truck, he’s still talking, his voice bright with excitement. “That went pretty well, huh? I think he liked me.”

I smile, starting the engine. “I think you won him over.”

He grins, leaning back in his seat. “Told you I know my stuff.”

“You sure do,” I say, glancing at him. “Your dad would be proud.”

His smile softens, and he’s quiet. “Yeah,” he says finally. “I think so, too.”

As I drive away from the Nance Ranch, I stare out across the horizon, the smoke from the fires ranchers are making to burn their dead cattle hanging heavy in the air.

The fields stretch on, dotted with cattle grazing in scattered clusters, their dark shapes like ghosts in the distance.

It should feel peaceful, but it doesn’t. Not anymore.

My hands tighten on the wheel as I look at the smoke rising in thick plumes. I can almost taste it—burnt flesh, the acrid sting of something being consumed by flames.

I’m frustrated. There’s nothing new, no fresh leads, just this suffocating quiet that hangs over everything. This town, these people—they’re running out of time, and I’m running out of answers.

How long can this place survive like this? If it gets any worse… I don’t know how much longer anyone can keep pretending everything’s fine. It’s all on my shoulders to save my hometown, but what if I can’t?

The smoke swirls in the distance, the land feeling emptier with each passing minute. I feel it, deep in my bones—the weight of what’s coming. How much longer before there’s nothing left to burn?