Betsy frowned and yelled at Tyrell. “Someone got it wrong. This isn’t our Blonde d’Aquitaine herd. This is just our regular Angus stock.”
“What are you doing with that breed?” Sawyer asked.
“It’s something Granny wanted to try. But these are our regular Angus cows. Not even a bull amongst them. It won’t take long to get them sorted out, and then we’ll take all three of you over to Wild Horse for dinner,” Betsy said.
Gladys checked the barbed wire. Yes, sir, it had been cut smooth right in the middle between the two metal fence posts. The Brennans had had her sympathies more than the Gallaghers down through the years, but now they’d lost every bit of it.
It took a lot longer than they thought it would. When the job was done and the fence fixed, it was well past two o’clock. Gladys refused to go to Wild Horse but did offer to take Jill and Sawyer down to Gainesville to a little café that made the best chicken-fried steak in North Texas.
“What about Polly?” Jill asked.
“She and Verdie decided to watch movies all afternoon. She’ll be fine,” Gladys said.
Chapter 21
While the Gallaghers were busy herding cattle and fixing fence on the south side of Wild Horse, four Brennan men simply opened the gate on Wild Horse Ranch, down next to the Red River and herded the light-colored, floppy-eared bull and his harem across the shallow stream and up over the bank on the Oklahoma side, where two cattle trucks waited.
The last cantankerous old heifer refused to get into the truck like her cohorts, so they shooed her back across the river and into the pasture before they shut the gate. Careful not to touch anything without gloves, they damn sure hoped the weatherman and the sky weren’t lying to them. They needed the driving, hard rain to wash away the hoofprints leading over into Oklahoma.
“Ready?” Russell Brennan asked when his nephew, Quaid, climbed up into the cab.
“Across to the bridge crossing back into Texas, through Gainesville, and to our destination. We should be there in an hour,” he answered.
“Maybe they’ll think twice before they steal any more of Mama’s hogs. The new stock are arriving this week. She’s buying Herefords this time.” Russell fired up the engine and drove toward the dirt road leading to Highway 32, which would take him to Marietta where he’d catch I-35 south into the outskirts of Gainesville.
“Herefords?”
“Looks just like a Hereford cow. White face, white feet, red body. They’re supposed to grow off quick and produce quality meat. But the important thing is no one within a hundred miles of Burnt Boot has them. No one would dare steal them,” Russell explained.
They listened to the country music countdown. Russell kept time with his thumb on the steering wheel. It was about time they did some serious damage to the Brennans after the hog-stealing business. He’d told his mother then that they should strike back and strike hard, but she wanted to wait a spell until a time came when they’d least expect it. He had to give it to the old girl, she flat-out knew her way around a feud. When it was his time to rule the family, though, he intended to do things different. He would retaliate immediately, and the Gallaghers would soon learn not to mess with him.
“What would you do, Uncle Russell, say if Leah got it in her head she wanted to get hitched to a Gallagher?” Quaid asked.
“There’d be one dead Gallagher. Do you know something I don’t?” Russell’s thumbs went still.
“No, sir. It’s just that it’s been all these years, and it’s going to happen someday.”
“Not on my watch, it’s not. And it damn sure won’t be my daughter,” Russell said.
An hour later he backed the first of two trucks up to the Salt Holler bridge. Wallace opened the gates, and cattle meandered out at a slow speed, wary of the old wooden bridge under their feet, eyes rolling at the deep ditch beneath them.
Wallace removed his hat and slapped a cow on the flank. She took off, and the rest followed her lead, bawling the whole way to the other side, where they split seven ways to Sunday. Some going to the left, some to the right, some in a hurry, some slowing down to taste what little grass they could find.
When they were all across, Russell pulled his truck forward so the second one could park and do the same thing. Within half an hour, both trucks were on their way to Bonham, Texas, to pick up twenty new brood sows and one boar for River Bend ranch, and the fancy Blonde d’Aquitaine cattle were roaming all over Wallace Redding’s property in Salt Holler.
“You know we could have done this with them in church,” Quaid said to his driver.
“Yes, but the ones who were not in church were standing guard. When the church goin’ ones got the message about the fences, they put out calls for the guards to come help them herd the cattle. Granny had it all figured out, and it worked like a charm. Wonder if they’ve got the fence fixed and the cattle rounded up yet?”
Quaid chuckled. “I hope that Wallace Redding has a butcherin’ day down there in the holler.”
* * *
Lightning zigzagged through the sky, and thunder rolled so close to the top of Sawyer’s truck that Jill covered her eyes at one point. Dark clouds boiled up from the southwest, covering the blue sky like black smoke from a wildfire.
The rain hit with gale-force winds after Jill, Sawyer, and Gladys were seated in the small café on the outskirts of Gainesville, going toward Bonham. It completely obliterated any of the traffic on Highway 82 going east or west, but they weren’t interested in trucks and cars. They were too hungry to care who was going where that Sunday afternoon.
Gladys picked up the menu the waitress put before her. “We barely dodged gettin’ soaked to the skin before we got those cows all sorted out, didn’t we?”
“Looks like a toad strangler to me. I’ll have sweet tea,” Sawyer told the middle-aged waitress.
She looked at Jill, who nodded. “Me too.”
“Coffee. Hot and black,” Gladys said. “We all agreed on chicken-fried steaks?”
“Comes with mashed potatoes and sawmill gravy, two biscuits, and a side salad, and your choice of okra, black-eyed peas, or corn on the cob,” she said.
“Okra,” Sawyer said.
“Same,” Jill said.
“Peas,” Gladys said. “Y’all might want to change your minds. Their peas are like Granny used to make, with plenty of bacon.”
“Then bring us an extra side of peas, and we’ll share it,” Sawyer said.
“Just to get something straight here before we finish and she brings the ticket, this dinner is on me. Y’all are supposed to have Sunday off,” Gladys said.
“Make a deal with you.” Sawyer grinned. “I’ll help take care of feeding this evening if you’ll throw dessert in too. I saw pecan pie on the menu.”
“Ahh, man!” Jill groaned.
“You don’t have to help.” Sawyer touched her knee under the table.
She covered his hand with her own and squeezed. Her hand was cold, even through the denim of his jeans. Was she telling him that she wanted to help so that they’d have time to engage in wild, passionate sex? He smiled at that thought and mentally went about undressing her right there in the restaurant.
“Yes, I do have to help,” Jill said. “Pecan pie is my favorite dessert ever, and I’ll help with chores for a slice of it. It’s raining so hard, we won’t even be able to see where we are driving when we start home. I hope it’s slacked off before it’s feeding time.”
Another squeeze. Which kind of driving was she talking about? He’d be willing to crawl into the backseat of his truck in the pouring rain and drive in a whole different way than making a truck go forward or backward.
“You’ll be able to see just fine in about thirty minutes. Those clouds are on the move. They aren’t settling down to stay. They’re passing through,” Sawyer said. “I should tell you that Finn called before we left and offered to come help if we needed it. He’d heard that the rain was headed our way and didn’t want us to get all the cattle sorted out in vain because we couldn’t see to fix the fence in the downpour. I told him we’d take a rain check on dinner at Salt Draw.”