Page 91 of The Mountain Echoes

Wes maneuvers his ATV.

Maverick and I guide the last stragglers back in—a red calf limping slightly, two yearlings confused and cranky.

I slide from Scout’s back, every muscle aching, boots caked in mud, hands raw from pulling wire.

When the final cow crosses the threshold and the gate slams shut behind her, a cheer goes up.

I lean against the nearest post, catching my breath. Maverick walks up beside me, jaw set, shirt plastered to him with sweat.

“I can’t thank you enough,” I tell him.

He smiles. “No thanks needed. This is what we do around here, darlin’.”

I purse my lips, nod. I know that neighbors help neighbors in ranch country; I just didn’t think anyone would be there for me.

He gently touches my shoulder. “You’ll get it under control,” he assures me, like he knows what’s making me anxious and downright stressed.

“What if I can’t?” I whisper all my doubts and insecurities out in the open.

“I’ll help you,” he promises.

God help me, but it feels good to have someone who wants to give me a hand and not push me into the dirt.

Once the cattle are secured, we head back toward the house, the adrenaline leaving a slow, nauseating ache in my bones.

“I’m so sorry, Maverick. I was supposed to feed you breakfast,” I apologize as we climb the back porch steps.

"Now you get to feed all of us,” he says cheerfully.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” I feel shy.

He strokes my cheek with a gloved hand. “I know.”

We head to the kitchen, where we’re hit by the scent of bacon, biscuits, and coffee so strong it might walk itself over to you.

The crew files in behind me, boots clomping and spurs jingling, all of us coated in dust, mud, and sweat.

Nadine’s salt and pepper braid is tucked tight.

“You got them all back in?” she asks.

I don’t know how she does it, but Nadine always knows what’s going on.

“You didn’t have to cook,” I tell her.

“I didn’t,” she mutters and glares at me when I raise my eyebrows. “Vera did before she went back to Benji.”

“Thank God,” Mav murmurs. Nadine’s lack of cooking skills is legendary.

She growls when Mav’s crew and ours stomp across the clean kitchen floors. “Wash your hands outside in the sink and not in the kitchen.” She waves a hand and adds, “Vera is going to be right done annoyed when she sees the floors she cleaned last night before she left.”

The cowboys do as they’re told. They understand who has the power in this kitchen. They probably have a Nadine type at Kincaid Farms who keeps them in line.

“Thanks, ma’am, for feedin’ us,” Zane says politely.

“Wait until you eat her food before you thank her,” Earl deadpans as he drops his hat on the hook. “She can’t cook.”

“Oh, don’t listen to him. He’s just an ornery old man.” Nadine arches an eyebrow, cocks a hip, and plants a hand on her waist. “And Earl, I would feed the devil himself if he helped patch a fence at five a.m.”