Page 69 of The Mountain Echoes

Tag numbers, weights, health notes, due for booster shots, deworming, and hoof checks. This is our second big push—culling what’s not breeding, sorting out who’s ready for sale.

The auction’s in nine weeks. Every pound counts.

“I’ll log the meds,” I say.

Tomas looks up, sweat streaking dirt across his cheek. “Yeah?” I know he hates that shit.

“I can multitask,” I answer, flipping to the next page. “Go ahead with #492.”

We work like that for hours—tagging, vaccinating, running fly checks, and nose ring replacements.

The squeeze chute hisses and clanks. The sound is rhythmic and familiar, almost comforting.

The smell of manure, metal, and cattle clings to everything.

I’m hunched over a clipboard one second, helping Earl ear-notch the next.

“Thought you was a California girl, but you’ve done this before,” Tomas says during a lull, rubbing his shoulder.

“I was branding calves at twelve,” I tell him. “Before Celine had figured out how to sneak off in Daddy’s truck to buy lipstick.”

He laughs.

Earl doesn’t laugh, but his mustache twitches.

By noon, we’re wiped.

Tomas and I collapse into the shade of the barn’s overhang while Earl goes to fetch Vera’s lunch basketsanda smoke.

The barn dogs, Buck and June, flop beside us, panting heavily.

“I’m starving,” Tomas says, then wipes his hands on his jeans. “It’s nice to have you here. I…you’re really good at what you do.”

I glance at him. He’s young—twenty-two. Lean and sunburnt, with a mop of dark curls under his sweat-stained cap. He’s a good hand. Doesn’t balk at hard work. He might’ve slipped through the cracks if not for someone like Earl.

I know some of his story, but not all.

“How’d you end up here?” I ask.

He hesitates. “Foster homes. A couple of jobs. Got myself into trouble back in Cortez. Nothing major, just…bad crowd.”

“And Earl found you?”

“I was sleeping in the hay shed. Had no other place. It was ten below and…I thought he’d shoot me.”

I smile. “That softy?”

He chuckles and nods once. “Said if I could haul bales and keep my mouth shut, I could stay two days. Been here ever since.”

I look toward the horizon, where the ridgeline cuts the sky like a blade.

“My father did the same. Took in broken horses and broken men. If you showed up with a good back and knew when to shut the fuck up, he gave you work.”

“He didn’t talk much, but when he did, he meant it.” He looks at his hands and then at me. “I’m sorry for your loss, boss.”

“Thanks, Tomas.”

I’ve given up asking Tomas to call me Aria. He calls Earl by his name, but he calls me what he used to call Papa.