Chapter Eleven
Curtis Porter was too old to be a bull rider, and right about now, he felt like a failure at ranching, too. When he’d moved away from Hope, Montana, for good, he’d left behind a soon-to-be ex-wife and a whole heap of memories. He figured if he ever came back, he’d show her just what she missed out on. He didn’t count on coming back washed up.
Curtis hunkered down next to the calf in the barn stall. The calf was having difficulty breathing and looked thin. It obviously hadn’t been eating properly. Curtis had been back on the ranch only since Friday, so he couldn’t blame himself for not noticing sooner. Bovine illness could be hard to spot at first glance, but the later stages were obvious. He still wished he hadn’t missed this one—he hated the unnecessary suffering.
December was a tough month—the days being snipped shorter and shorter, and darkness stretching out well into his work hours. He did chores in the morning and evening with a flashlight while winter wind buffeted him from all directions. It wasn’t an excuse to have missed a sick calf, but it factored in.
Curtis rose to his feet and let himself out of the stall. He’d just have to wait for the vet. He was officially out of his depth. Curtis was a recently retired bull rider, and when the aunt who’d taken him in as a teen asked him to come back to help run the ranch while she recovered from a broken ankle, he’d agreed, but it wasn’t only because of his soft spot for Aunt Betty. He had other business to attend to in the tiny town of Hope—the sale of a commercial property—and he’d been putting that off for longer than his finances would comfortably allow. He no longer had the choice—he needed the money now.
Curtis’s cell phone blipped, and he looked down at an incoming text from Aunt Betty.
The vet passed the house a couple of minutes ago. Should be there any second.
There was a pause, and then another text came through.
Tried to get Palmer, but he’s out at an emergency for the night. Had to call Barrie. Sorry, kiddo.
His heart sped up, and Curtis dropped the phone back into his front pocket. Of course. There were only two vets in Hope, and his ex-wife, Barrie Jones, was one of them. At least Aunt Betty had tried for the less awkward option.
The barn door creaked open, and Curtis looked up to see Barrie framed in the doorway. From this vantage point, he could see her only from her shoulders up—chestnut-brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, no makeup and clear blue eyes—and his heart clenched in his chest. Her gaze swept across the barn, then landed on him, pinning him to the spot. Fifteen years, and she could still do that to him.
“Betty said I’d find you out here,” Barrie said, pulling the door shut behind her. The sound of her stomping the snow off her boots on concrete echoed through the barn. Then she headed past some stalls toward him. “Long time no see, Curtis.”
Apparently Aunt Betty had given Barrie time to compose herself, too. He swallowed hard and was about to reply when she came around to the aisle and the words evaporated on his tongue.
Barrie’s tan canvas winter coat was open in the front, and her belly swelled under a loose cream-colored sweater. Her walk was different—more cautious, maybe—but other than the belly, she was still the long-legged beauty she’d always been. Barrie sauntered down the aisle toward him, her vet bag slung over one shoulder. She stopped at the stall.
“You’re—” He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to point out the obvious, but he’d never been a terribly diplomatic guy. “You’re pregnant.”
“I am.” She met his gaze evenly.
“Congratulations.” He wasn’t sure what else to say. Somehow, in all of his considerations surrounding seeing Barrie again, he hadn’t considered this one.
“Thank you.” For the first time, her confidence seemed to falter, and color rose in her cheeks. “You look good, Curtis.”
His jeans were mud smeared and he hadn’t shaved in several days, but he’d take the compliment. He allowed himself one more glance down her figure before he locked his gaze firmly on her face and kept it there. Her body—and her baby—weren’t his business.
“You look good, too,” he said. “You’re doing really well, then. Your veterinary practice, a baby on the way... So, who’s the lucky SOB? Anyone I know?”
It was annoying to admit it, but that was his biggest question right now—who’d managed to make her happy? He couldn’t say that he wouldn’t be a tiny bit jealous. A man didn’t marry a girl, vow to love her until death parted them and then watch her move on with some other guy without at least a twinge of regret.
“I doubt it.” Her smile slipped, and she turned toward the stall. “Is this the calf?”
So she wasn’t going to tell him? How bad could it be? This only made him all the more curious. He unhinged the latch and opened the gate.
“Seriously?” he asked. “All I have to do is ask Betty who you’re with—”
“I’m single.” She shot him a sharp look, then went into the stall and crouched down next to the calf. “I’ll take a look.”
Single? So, some idiot had knocked her up and walked out on her? That sparked some anger deep inside him. He’d walked out, but only after she’d shown him the door, and she most definitely wasn’t pregnant when he’d left. So he might be an SOB, too, but whoever had left her alone with this baby was higher on that list.
Barrie put on some rubber gloves, pulled a flashlight out of her bag and checked the calf’s eyes. Then she pulled out a thermometer and murmured reassuringly to the calf as she worked.
“So who’s the father?” Curtis pressed.
Barrie glanced up again, then sighed. “Curtis, I’m here to do a job. Would you like to know what’s wrong with this calf or not?”
“Fine.” He leaned against the rail and watched her check the calf’s temperature.
She looked at the readout on the digital recorder. “A cow’s body temperature rises continuously during the day, so it’s hard to get a really accurate idea of how much fever a calf is running...”
Barrie
