mother raised her head. “I have something else for Paxton this morning, but he’ll join you later.”
“Sure.” Elias slapped Paxton on the shoulder.
Grandpa got to his feet. “I’ll help you boys. I can still ride a horse.”
“We’re feeding cows, Grandpa,” Elias said.
“You don’t think I’ve ever fed cows?”
They were arguing as they went out the door. Falcon followed and that left him and his mother. He knew what was coming. Something in the house needed fixing. He was good at plumbing, wiring, all kinds of contracting work. And he hated it. But sometimes he did what he had to.
He leaned forward in his chair, his hands clasped between his legs. “So what do you need?”
His mother waved a hand. “Oh, no, it’s nothing like that. You know Miss Bertie Snipes?”
“Everybody knows Miss Bertie and steers clear of her. She’s loony as a bat.”
“Now, son, I raised you not to be judgmental or critical. Her son was killed in the marines, her only son, and it changed her. Yes, she’s a little different, and she needs our help.”
That rolled around in his head for a minute, and if it sounded like he thought it did, he was ready to run. “What are you talking about?”
“Quincy usually helps her with her cows since Edgar died, but he’s busy this morning and I thought you would be nice enough to haul her calves to the auction barn in Cameron. If you take the shortcut, it shouldn’t take you long.”
Paxton jumped to his feet. “Oh, no, no!”
His mother took off her glasses and laid them on the desk alongside a picture of his dad and her when they’d first gotten married. His eyes rested on the photo and he couldn’t seem to look away from all the love and the pain that was echoed there and in his heart.
“I don’t want to force you to do anything. So if that’s the way you feel, I’ll haul the calves.”
His mother was a master at playing the guilt card and it was working, like always, making him feel guilty, selfish and self-centered. A bell, like a church bell, sounded in his head. He wanted to change his life and this was where he started. By helping others. But why did it have to be a crazy old lady?
* * *
THIRTY MINUTES LATER he crossed the main highway from Rebel Road to County Road 461. Miss Bertie lived in a small white frame house with black shutters and a chain-link fence. The property was neat and clean and shaded with big oak trees. An Australian blue healer raced around the chain-link fence at the rattle of the cow trailer.
Paxton drove to the back and saw the corral was to the left. A 1990 Chevy truck was parked near the barn and a small SUV was in front of the house. He knew the SUV wasn’t Miss Bertie’s so she must have company. That was good. He could get this over with quickly.
Calves milled around in the corral. That was another good thing. Loading would be easy. He backed up to the wood chute and got out. Miss Bertie hurried from the house with the dog at her heels. A floppy straw hat crowned her head, and she wore a big flannel shirt and baggy jeans stuffed into work boots. In her hand was a shotgun—an old double-barrel. That gave him pause.
“Who are you coming onto my property?” She fired the words at him like bullets.
Guess his mother didn’t call her.
He tipped his hat, refusing to be intimidated by the fire in her eyes. And the shotgun. “I’m Paxton Rebel. My mother sent me over to haul your calves to the auction.”
“My, my.” She placed the butt of the gun on the ground and leaned on the barrel, peering at him a little closer through thick glasses. “You’re one of the younger ones, the bull rider who spends most of his life on the road.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Now aren’t you a handsome devil?”
“I’ve never thought about it.”
“Sure.” She slapped a hand on her jean-clad thigh. “It’s kind of hard to think with girls trailing behind you.” She glanced toward the corral and her demeanor changed instantly. “We don’t have time for small talk. Time to get these calves loaded.” She inspected the trailer backed up to the loading chute. “You did that perfectly. Can tell you’re a cowboy.”
Paxton noticed the platform from the corral to the trailer was missing and there was no way for the calves to get into the trailer, except if they knew how to fly. “Ma’am, the ramp is missing from the corral.”
She grunted. “It fell apart years ago. There’s always a way. Haven’t you learned that by now?” She opened the gate and walked into the pen, hollering and shouting until the calves scurried into the chute. They stopped at the trailer.
The dog barked.
“Shut up, Memphis,” she scolded.
Memphis.
Paxton jumped over the fence. It was wobbly. The whole corral looked as if it was going to fall down at any minute. “This is what I was telling you. If—”
She raised the shotgun and fired into the air. Stunned for a second, he was speechless, and then he grabbed it from her hand before she could fire it again.
Yanking the gun from his hand, she said, “Don’t ever take my gun.”
He swallowed hard at the rough words, but he didn’t falter.
“See.” She pointed to the calves that were jumping into the trailer, scared for their lives. “That’s how you get ’em inside. Pull your truck up and I’ll close the gate.”
“Crazy old woman,” Paxton muttered to himself as he jumped over the fence and then pulled his truck forward. Before he could reach the back of the trailer, Miss Bertie had it already closed. But he double-checked it.
“I’ll be on my way,” he said more to himself than to her.
“Now wait just a minute.” She pulled a piece of paper out of her shirt pocket. “There’s four black with white faces, five red with white faces and two scrubby-looking things. That’s eleven.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Did she think he would try to cheat her?
“Gotta watch those people at the auction barn. They’ll cheat you if they can. Keep your eyes open.”
Holy crap. “Yes, ma’am.”
She pulled some money out of her pocket and handed it to him. It was a five-dollar bill. “Take this for gas.”
Was she freaking kidding? Five dollars for a diesel truck wouldn’t get them out of the driveway. But he knew better than not to take it.
“I’ll be on my way.”
She glanced toward the house and then back at him. “Just
