Page 24 of Falling for the Cowgirl
The problem was, while she was out riding around, she wasn’t making a single penny, and Jericho was still at the inn’s construction site. Even if Jericho had tried to make their challenge fair, things between men and women weren’t fair, not in work, not in the cowhand competitions, not in landowning, not in wages, and not in a whole heap of other things.
She supposed in some ways Linnea’s views on women’s rights had rubbed off on her over the years. Linnea was always up on the latest in the women’s suffrage movement, since her mother and sister were involved in it. Recently, Linnea had been excited to get the news from her mother that Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton had formed the National Woman Suffrage Association the previous month. Linnea didn’t think it would be long before women gained the right to vote. Places like Wyoming Territory were already considering it.
Too bad none of those women’s rights were available to Ivy this summer. And Jericho’s interest in buying land had only made things more complicated.
“Oh, Jericho,” she muttered under her bandana. “Why’d you have to come back?”
She didn’t see hide nor hair of him during the days. But he took his meals with the family in the evenings and lingered afterward, talking with Wyatt and catching up on all the news. She’d wanted to ignore him but somehow couldn’t. With each passing day, her attraction kept burning, despite the fact she was doing her best to douse every spark that flared to life.
Even though she’d been sorely tempted to stay with Flynn so she wouldn’t have to see Jericho, she’d decided she had to follow through with helping Greta. Lending her sister-in-law a hand was the right thing to do. In fact, she should have offered earlier. With being in the family way and due real soon, Greta was always tired and ached in places Ivy hadn’t known existed.
Astrid did most of the child watching and cooking and cleaning. But Greta needed help with her jam and baking business, at least until after the baby was born. And whether Ivy wanted to or not, she’d resolved to stick it out for Greta’s sake.
As Ivy dropped the last of the salt blocks to the ground, a distressed bleating wafted her way. She hadn’t realized any cattle were out in the eastern pasture today, had seen the cowhands heading to the south at sunrise. But it was possible a few steers had wandered off, especially with how big the herd was these days.
She urged Poppy up an incline so she could get a better view of the surrounding pastureland. The swirl of dust obscured the view for a moment, but as it passed, she saw that several cattle were down a short way, close to the river. One of them appeared to be trapped in a bog.
The bogs were pesky areas that had to be checked almost daily. For this very reason.
Ivy started toward the strays. As she drew nearer, she could tell the bog was nearly dried up, but a calf had wandered in—probably to get away from biting flies, gnats, and mosquitoes. And the poor baby had gotten itself stuck almost near to its belly.
She breathed out a prayer of thankfulness that it was just a little critter instead of one of the heavy steers. Getting the big cattle out of the bogs was a difficult process with the need for chains and a team of horses. Even then, with all the pulling and hauling, the suction of the mud was so great that sometimes the cows died during the extraction.
Eyeing the situation, she grabbed her rope. She’d try digging him out on her own, but she might have to ride back to the ranch and get some help.
The calf cried out again, a pitiful sound.
“I’m a-comin’,” she called out to let the other cattle know she was there. Wouldn’t do any good to spook the rest of them into the bog. One trapped creature was enough.
She cinched the end of her rope to the pommel. Then making sure her horse was on firm footing, she hopped down and started toward the calf, loosening the rope as she went. At the edge of the bog, she paused, pulled off her boots, stockings, trousers, and split skirt, leaving herself attired in her underdrawers.
No sense in dirtying up more than she had to. She’d already made everyone mad enough the past couple of days with her bumbling efforts around the house. She didn’t need the womenfolk even madder for dragging in half the bog on her clothing.
She stepped in, and the mud oozed between her toes, warm and sticky. If the rain held off much longer, the mud would turn as hard as bricks. Even now, it stuck heavily to her skin.
As she sank in up to her ankles, she murmured words of comfort to the calf. He shifted his head toward her and bleated out his distress. The thickness of the mire had prevented the calf from wandering in too far. But still, the poor thing had no idea why he was trapped.
“I’ve got you.” She reached the calf’s back end, rapidly finding herself up to her knees. She brushed her hand across his flank, then went to work wrapping the rope around the hindquarters in a sling-like fashion, securing him as best she could.
“Let’s see if we can dig away some of this mud before we give Poppy the howdy-do to tug you out.” Using her hands as shovels, she tried to free the calf’s legs from the mud as much as possible. But the trouble was that with each scoop, more of the slimy mixture slid back into its place.
She worked faster and dug harder but made little headway. Finally, she called a command to Poppy, and the horse began hauling. Ivy worked steadily, rolling the calf back and forth, hoping to break the suction. But Poppy wasn’t strong enough.
Releasing a growl of frustration, Ivy straightened. She and Poppy wouldn’t be able to do the job on their own. She’d have to head home for help.
“Don’t worry.” She rubbed the calf. “We’ll get you out.”
Dusk was creeping out fast. She’d already taken more time than she should have—probably shoulda gone for assistance sooner. She turned to go, but her feet wouldn’t move, andshe tumbled into the mud. She sank in up to her elbows but caught herself before she flopped onto her belly.
She freed her arms and tried to move her feet again, but she was solidly stuck. Just like the calf. She spewed out a few words that would have prodded a stubborn mule into action. Not cuss words. She hadn’t gotten into the habit of cursing like some of the ranch hands. But she knew how to invent a string of words when she needed to let out her frustration.
She struggled and shoveled and tugged some more, but by the time darkness fell, she’d resigned herself to a long night in the bog. Wyatt and Greta wouldn’t worry when she didn’t return. They’d just assume she’d gone over to Flynn’s and decided to stay there. Best she could hope for was being found by the cowhands sometime tomorrow when they rode out to round up strays.
From his spot at the table, Jericho watched the door. The evening was nearly spent, and Ivy still wasn’t home. All around came the usual noises: the clank of silverware against plates, the chatter of the children, and the occasional rattle of the house frame from the wind.
No one else seemed to notice or care about her absence. If the family wasn’t concerned, then why was he?
He pushed the last of the potatoes and gravy around on his plate, took a final bite, then washed it down with a gulp of coffee.
