The Cowboy's Twins Read online

  “Spence was barely out of diapers the first time he was present for calving,” Bryant said. “Ain’t that right, bro?”

  “Yep.”

  Natasha wanted more. A lot more. Because her viewers would want more.

  Down on his haunches, he seemed to be studying the cow’s hindquarters. She heaved. Natasha saw a speck of black behind her tail. And then it was gone.

  “What...” She broke off. Both men were staring at the cow. Bryant, next to Spencer now, rubbed her belly.

  Bryant glanced back at Natasha. “That was a hoof,” he said. “You’ll see the front hooves first. Then the nose and head will appear. She works the hardest to get the front quarter birthed. Then, if all goes well, a lot of the rest will slide out.”

  “All is going to go just fine,” Spencer said, standing. He moved to the cow’s head. Petted her. “Good girl, Ellie. You’re doing great.” The tenderness in his voice struck her with an impact she didn’t fully understand. “You’re a good mama,” he told her, continuing to stroke the upper flank of the cow.

  Almost as though she understood, Ellie collapsed to the ground, lying on her side, as she heaved again.

  CHAPTER TWO

  HE DIDN’T WANT the woman there. Spencer took a deep breath. And didn’t like what he smelled. A sixth sense told him something wasn’t right.

  And he knew what that something was. The city woman sitting in the corner, staring, while Ellie labored.

  When she’d asked if she could watch, and record, the live birth, he’d agreed because there’d been no reason not to. Cows weren’t like people. They dropped their young right out in the open and went on about their business.

  One of her camera people had been by Ellie’s stall earlier. She’d taken some footage of Ellie and Bryant. She’d be back to get some film of Ellie’s calf when the work was done.

  They’d air the cute stuff.

  On her side now, Ellie heaved. The little black-tipped hooves appeared again. And disappeared again. He should be seeing them clearly out by now, full hooves, with a nose between them. Should be seeing more than a nose, based on when Bryant had told him Ellie had started to give birth.

  She didn’t need them there. It wasn’t like he or his men could sit and watch over the hundreds of cows he’d have birthing every year once his operation was in full swing, but Ellie was special. She’d been his first Wagyu purchase. He’d laid down a mint for her. Massaged her himself, as the first Wagyu breeders had done so long ago. Technically the practice was no longer necessary, but he was doing absolutely everything he could to make this venture work. Overkill or not.

  In a herd of hundreds, a few births would go wrong. He could lose a few calves. Maybe a mother.

  He couldn’t afford to lose Ellie.

  Rubbing the side of her face, her neck, he said, “That’s it, girl. You’re doing good.”

  The words didn’t matter. His tone of voice did.

  Her nostrils flared, and she raised her head. Looked straight at him.

  And that was when he knew that something was really wrong.

  * * *

  NATASHA DIDN’T NEED to understand anything about birthing to know that they had an emergency on their hands. Spencer had told her in the afternoon that his cows birthed their babies without assistance. That the process was natural and took about thirty minutes, and that the mama cow would immediately stand over her calf, clean him herself and get him to stand.

  If all went well.

  The pinched look on Spencer’s face when he stood from his position beside the cow’s head and moved lower told her that he was worried.

  The flurry of activity and harsh, staccato conversation between him and Bryant that followed filled in the blanks.

  The calf was not coming out hooves first. It was going to have to be turned.

  Spencer was in charge. He obviously knew what he was doing. Ellie continued to heave. To make un-moo-like noises.

  Natasha couldn’t see much. Was watching out of mostly squinted eyes. The clear concern on Bryant’s face told her that at least one of the bovine lives was in danger. Maybe both.

  She had to restrain herself to keep from speaking. Asking. Looking for answers. A way to help.

  Her way was not to sit back and watch.

  “I turn him and he moves immediately back to position,” Spencer hissed. She could see beads of sweat forming on his temples. The sides of his neck.

  With energy pulsing through her, until she could almost feel its pressure against her skin, she itched to approach the cow’s head, as Spencer had done. To rub gently. To comfort the beast.

  He’d told her to stay put in the corner.

  Would he need hot water? She thought about the buckets she’d seen on her way to the stall. About the big utility sinks along one wall of the barn.

  Spencer barked orders as he worked inside the cow. Bryant complied, working the cow’s bulging stomach.

  She stood. Had to do something to help. To fix the problem. It was what she did. What she was good at. Taking charge. Helping. Fixing.

  “Grab some gloves.” Spencer’s command was directed over his shoulder. She was the only person behind him. Seeing the crate of gloves along the wall, she grabbed a pair. Pulled them on.

  They were far too big. There was no time to go shopping for smaller ones.

  “While Bryant continues his pressure on the outside, I’m going to guide inside,” Spencer told her. “I need you to grab the hooves as soon as they appear and pull with all your might.”

  She was strong. But that strong?

  “If you can’t budge the calf, don’t worry. Just hold on until I can get there to pull him out.”

  Nodding, Natasha jumped into the fray. She grabbed when she was told to grab. Pulled. The calf didn’t budge. Her arms ached. Using her entire body weight, she leaned back. And managed to keep the hooves outside the cow’s body.

  Everything happened in seconds after that. One minute Ellie was in obvious stress with Spencer on the ground by the struggling cow’s tail. The next, Spencer was pushing Natasha aside, grabbing hooves, and had pulled a calf out into the world.

  Her new red boots were going in the trash.

  * * *

  “I GET TO name her.”

  “Nuh-uh, I do.”

  Listening just outside the bathroom door while his kids stood on identical stools at double sinks, supposedly brushing their teeth, Spencer smiled. Starting the day with only two hours of sleep would catch up with him.

  Later.

  For now, he had duties to tend to.

  “No, Justin, that is not true. Daddy said that if she’s a girl, I get to name her. And she’s a girl.”

  Spencer couldn’t help the smile growing wider on his face as he listened to the most articulate seven-year-old he’d ever known. Justin was a handful but didn’t faze him a bit. Tabitha was going to be the death of him.

  “Well, I get to pet her first...”

  When he heard the intensity rising in his son’s voice, Spencer entered the room to see two dark-haired little kids standing on stools, their brown gazes at war in the mirror. Neither of them had anything resembling toothbrushes in sight.

  “You’re supposed to be brushing your teeth.”

  “We did.” Justin’s immediate response was followed by a drop in his gaze. And then his chin met his chest. “No, we didn’t,” he corrected himself before Spencer could take the breath necessary to challenge the boy. “But...do we gotta?” Justin’s eyes widened as he gave Spencer an imploring look. “They’ll just get dirty again, and I’ll brush it all away tonight.”

  Spencer pressed his lips together, hoping he looked stern.

  The hardest part about being a single parent was having no one with whom to share the laughter.


  “I want to see Bella before we have to catch the bus, and...”

  “Who’s Bella?” He allowed himself to be distracted. Just until he could demand brushing with the firmness it deserved.

  “Ellie’s baby. Justin thinks he’s naming her,” Tabitha said, opening the cabinet where their teeth-brushing paraphernalia was stored. She handed her brother his brush and then took her own. “But he’s not, is he, Daddy? You said if she’s a girl, I can name her.”

  He had said that. He couldn’t remember when. Or why. But he vaguely remembered making the promise.

  “Yes, I did. If she’d had a boy then Justin would name her.”

  Satisfied, Tabitha wet her brush and stuck it in her mouth.

  “Toothpaste?” Spencer gave her the look. The one with eyebrows raised, warning that a child wasn’t going to get away with something.

  “I’ve got toothpaste, see?” Justin held out his brush, turning lips smeared with goo up at Spencer. And dripping a blob of blue on the linoleum floor while he was at it. Which was why Spencer had installed the linoleum over the old wood floors when he’d remodeled the bath for the twins to share. He didn’t want to have to worry about spills and other little things.

  Making a mental note to wipe up the blob later, Spencer nodded. He didn’t care about drops on the floor. What he cared about was that the twins loved the ranch, their home, as much as he did.

  That they felt the same sense of excitement—of security—that he’d always felt there.

  “I’ll tell you what,” he said, doing a quick mental rearrangement of his morning. “You two finish brushing and grab your backpacks.” He picked up Tabitha’s hairbrush and started in on the morning ritual of getting the tangles out of her long, dark hair, remembering to be gentle on the ones that invariably rested at the base of his little girl’s neck. She winced.

  He winced, too. Waiting for the morning when he could get through this part without hurting her.

  “Lunches are made,” he continued. “So if everyone is on his best behavior—” said for Justin’s benefit “—we’ll take a walk over to say good morning to Ellie.”

  “We’ll miss our bus.” Tabitha spoke with her brush in her mouth, leaving spots of toothpaste on the mirror as she met his gaze in the glass.

  “I’ll drive you to school this morning.” He had no need for a trip to town but welcomed the idea of being away from the ranch for a couple of hours.

  And he made no pretense to himself about the reason for that.

  He wanted to spend as little time as possible with the city girl who’d invaded his space.

  In more ways than one.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE PEAL OF her old-fashioned ringtone woke Natasha from a sound sleep. Not sure where she was at first, Natasha reached an arm toward the side table, pulling herself to a sitting position.

  Her mother called only when she had something important to say. And the ringtone was reserved exclusively for the woman who’d birthed her thirty-one years before.

  Birthed. She knew, firsthand, what that meant.

  By the time her eyes were fully open and focused on the paneled walls of the cabin’s master bedroom, Natasha had regained full faculties. And memories of helping to bring a calf into the world came flooding back.

  “Hi, Mom. What’s up?” She forced cheer and wakefulness into her tone. Susan Stevens wouldn’t approve of sleeping past six—no matter that she’d not made it back to bed until sometime after four that morning.

  The red digital numbers glaring at her from the nightstand let her know that she was over two hours late getting up.

  By her mother’s standards. Which had been firmly indoctrinated as her own...

  “How are you, dear?” Polite conversation meant that her mother was displeased. Or worse, disappointed. Now she felt like a real slough off.

  Searching her brain for what she could possibly have done to earn this, she came back to the time. Had her mother already called once? Had she slept through the ring?

  “I’m fine, Mom,” she said, standing beside the bed to ensure that her blood was flowing and she sounded busy.

  It was half past eleven in New York City. Her mother would have already handled a full calendar that morning and would be off the bench for the next hour and a half before her afternoon calendar began.

  Susan wouldn’t think ill of her for not taking her call. It was understood that they were both busy women. Missing a call was to be expected...

  Which meant her own sleeping habits had nothing to do with her mother’s displeasure.

  Maybe a case had gone bad. As a superior court judge on the criminal bench in a city like New York, Susan led a less-than-peaceful life.

  She lived in a less-than-peaceful city.

  So had Natasha...until...

  “The new season of the show starts in a couple of days,” Susan stated, as though Natasha didn’t know her own schedule. Because she wanted Natasha to know that she knew. That she kept track.

  Her way of saying that she cared.

  “I’m already at the ranch,” Natasha said, collapsing to the side of the bed. She told her mother about Ellie. About birthing the cow. And when Susan asked how she was going to integrate the experience into her show, a fifteen-minute conversation followed. A good, meaty, mind-melding conversation.

  Between mother and daughter. Two high-powered women whose minds were simpatico.

  “So...how’s Stan?” Natasha asked, after their brainstorming morphed into a series of ideas, a plan, that pleased them both.

  When she was up and ready, Bryant’s wife was going to be doing a walk-through with her of the staging and kitchens that had been built in a tractor barn on the property. The pantry and green room. Now that she was awake, she was eager to get to it.

  “That’s what I called about...”

  Back straightening, Natasha slowed her thinking. Had something happened to her mother’s long-term companion? While not technically her father, Stan had been in their lives for over a decade, and...

  “What’s wrong? Is he ill?”

  The appeals court judge had been in perfect health when she’d visited her mother over Christmas. But that had been...nine months ago.

  “No...to the contrary, he’s more physically fit than he’s been in years,” Susan said. A note in her mother’s voice gave her concern. Or rather, a lack of any particular one did.

  “He’s taking an early retirement,” Susan continued, her words even. Emotionless.

  “But...he’s only, what, fifty-one?” Her mother had thrown a high-powered fiftieth birthday bash for him. The guest list had included most anyone who was anyone in power in the city. Natasha had flown home to New York to oversee the caterer her mother had hired for the occasion.

  “Fifty-two. And he’s decided that he wants to sail around the world,” she continued. Natasha sat frozen on the bed. She couldn’t tell if her mother was being literal. Normally she’d have been able to tell.

  “Wow.” Not her best articulation, but she was shocked. To the bone. “I thought he’d die at ninety-five, still on the bench,” she half murmured.

  “I know. Me, too.”

  Just as her mother planned to do...

  Unless... With a surge of...she didn’t know what exactly—an emotion that felt a lot better than the disbelief and uncertainty weighing her down—she entertained the thought that had struck.

  Could her mother be calling to tell Natasha that she was retiring, too? That she’d finally reached a point where she felt she’d done her duty to the world that had given her life—to the purpose for which she’d been born—and could just relax?

  Where that thought came from, Natasha didn’t know. She was certain it was unbidden. And unwelcome, too.

  Her mother and she were not wom
en who wanted to just relax. They weren’t made for sitting around.

  And yet...to think that Susan and Stan were moving on to the next stage of their lives together was...reassuring. In an odd, offhand sense...

  “So, I just thought I should let you know...”

  Wait. What? Wasn’t there more? “Are you having a retirement party for him? Do you need me to cater?” Sense was coming back into focus.

  “No. I won’t be doing that.” Susan sounded distracted now. Which made no sense again.

  “My gosh, Mom, he’s been employed by New York’s legal system for thirty years. Has had an illustrious career. I can’t imagine him not wanting a party to celebrate that. If nothing else, I’m sure there are a lot of people who’d be offended not to be a part of such a celebration.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, Natasha. Which is why I’m certain he’ll have a party such as you describe. I just won’t be having it for him.”

  Oh. No. With a sudden thud, realization dawned. “Why not?” she asked, dreading the answer.

  Her entire life, anytime anyone had tried to get too close to her and her mother, Susan had ended the relationship. Because invariably, the man had wanted her to become less of who she was and more like he’d needed her to be. Less powerful. More nurturing.

  But Stan...

  “We are no longer...friends.”

  They’d broken up, Natasha translated.

  “Because he wanted to retire?”

  That didn’t sound like Susan. Even if she didn’t want to join him in early relaxation, Susan wasn’t one to ask anyone to be anything they were not. Because she couldn’t be who she was not. Her mother was nothing if not fair...

  “Because he wanted me to marry him. He wants to get married again. He said if I won’t marry him, we’re through.”

  Mouth open, Natasha just sat there. What was probably one of the most critical moments of her life, and she had nothing to offer in response.

  Except a couple of inexplicable, seldom-present tears that slid slowly down her cheeks.

  It was happening again.

  Just as it always would.