didn’t sound childish. She tried to remember why her dad hated forest rangers so much, but he’d never really told her his reasons. Just that they forced him to graze his sheep where he didn’t want to graze them. Anne had hated it when Dad drank from his bottle because he got even angrier at the ranger. One time she had even climbed up the cupboard and hidden Dad’s bottle so he wouldn’t drink anymore. When he found it missing, he’d blamed Mom and slapped her across the face. Mom must have known it had been Anne who had taken the bottle, but she never said a word. Mom’s face and lips had been swollen for a week, making Anne feel guilty. Even now, she missed Daddy more than she could say. If he’d just come back home, she’d promise never to hide his bottle again.
When she realized that Shelley was still waiting for an answer, Anne shoved away the painful memories and faced her nemesis. “Your dad bosses my mom around.”
“You’re a liar. My dad’s nice. He helps ranchers.”
Anne pursed her lips when she saw the ugly glare on the other girl’s face. She didn’t want to fight with this stranger. Mom would find out and then she’d be in big trouble. “We’ll see.”
Shelley shrugged, then bent over to pet the fluffy wool of a two-month-old lamb. The little animal hurried by to get at the stalls where Anne was setting up the feeder. Eight pens divided the shed. Anne set out bottles with rubber nipples on a feeding rack, then opened the gate and brought in seven little lambs one at a time. The babies nuzzled up to suckle. One zipped past Shelley, its tail wagging like a whirling dervish as it latched on to a bottle with ferocity. Shelley gave a startled yelp.
“You don’t need to be afraid of them. They’re just hungry,” Anne said. “Haven’t you ever petted a lamb before?”
“No. They’re so soft.” Shelley’s eyes gleamed with happiness as she rubbed a lamb’s velvety ears.
“What are you, a city kid or something?”
Shelley shrugged, looking out of place in her girly skirt. Anne couldn’t help envying the other girl’s creamy complexion and blond hair. She figured Craig Eardley would pay more attention to her if she had Shelley’s blue eyes. Instead, Anne had bright red hair she kept pulled back in a ponytail, green eyes and freckles all over her face, even on her forehead. She could kick the ball off the blacktop at school and run fast, but the boys never chased her during kissing tag. She figured they’d chase after Shelley, though.
“What are their names?” Shelley asked.
“You can’t name them,” Anne scolded. “Why not?”
“Because we sell and eat them. Sheep are a cash crop. Don’t you know anything?”
Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. Mom told Anne not to name the lambs so she wouldn’t be sad if one of them died or if they sold them, but Anne did it anyway. Just a few of her favorite lambs.
“You eat them?” Shelley’s blue eyes widened with horror.
Anne laughed. “Nah, not really. Mom says we don’t eat our sheep. We just raise them for wool.”
“Oh, okay.” Shelley smiled with relief, bending over to snuggle one sweet, fuzzy lamb.
Anne didn’t want to like this girl, but she couldn’t help it. Shelley didn’t know much, but she seemed to love the lambs as much as Anne did. Obviously, Shelley needed someone to teach her what to do on a sheep ranch.
“Where’re their mothers?” Shelley asked.
“They don’t have moms. These are dogie lambs. They’re orphans.”
“Doggie lambs?”
“No, you’re saying it wrong. They’re not doggie lambs, like Bob is a dog. You say it like dough. Dough-gie lambs.”
Shelley repeated the word perfectly.
“Yeah, that’s what orphans are called.”
“Oh, that’s so sad.” Shelley hugged the lamb again as it tugged on the bottle.
Anne waved a hand in the air. “They’re okay. We take good care of them. They’re already nibbling hay and alfalfa pellets. Soon, we’ll be taking them out to graze in the paddock.”
The hungry lamb jerked, knocking Shelley back into the straw. The girl laughed. “What happened to their moms?”
“Some died, but sometimes the ewe has twins or triplets and she can only take care of one or two of her babies when she goes up to the summer pasture to graze. So we bring the smaller baby here to tend.”
“Then not all the moms died?”
“Of course not, silly.” Anne snickered. “You really don’t know much.”
“Then I guess I’m a dogie lamb, too.”
Anne raised her brow. “What do you mean?”
“My mom isn’t dead, but she doesn’t want me. My dad doesn’t think I know, but I do.”
Shelley sounded like she was about to cry. Anne felt like crying, too, but refused to let it show. Even when Dad had been alive, she’d had an empty feeling inside all the time. Like he didn’t really love or want her. Like he preferred his bottle to her and Mom. But she’d always had Mom to love her. How horrible not to be wanted by your own mother. “What mom doesn’t want her kid?”
Shelley scuffed a sandaled foot against the rough lumber of the feeding stall. “Mine doesn’t. She got married to Malcolm Henley the third, and he doesn’t like kids, so I have to live with Dad. I heard them arguing about it late one night when I was supposed to be asleep.” A glimmer of a smile touched her lips. “Dad can’t cook much, but at least he wants me. He got this new transfer to Snyderville and I had to leave all my old friends behind.”
Anne thought this over for a moment, biting her lower lip. Shelley didn’t have any friends, just like her. During recess, the kids at school called her the town drunk’s daughter and she’d learned to play by herself. “Then that makes you half a dogie because you still have your dad. I guess I’m a half dogie, too. My daddy died, but I still have Mom and she loves me lots.”
Tears glistened in Shelley’s eyes. “My dad loves me, too. I’m sorry we’re both half dogies.”
“Me, too.”
And right then, Anne knew it wasn’t Shelley’s fault that her father was the forest ranger. They had a lot in common. It got so lonely here at the ranch with no one but Mom and an occasional work hand to talk to. The herders were always nice to her, but Mom never left her alone with them and they really didn’t have anything in common with her. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to be a little bit nice to Shelley Ennison.
“Come on. I’ll show you how to feed the lambs. But next time you visit, you should wear blue jeans and boots.”
“I don’t have any boots.”
Anne shrugged. “Then just wear tennis shoes.”
She led Shelley into the next pen. Shelley held the bucket of milk while Anne used a funnel to fill seven bottles. Shelley seemed eager to help and Anne appreciated the company and the help with her chores. But she sure wished Shelley’s dad was a rancher instead of a ranger.
Chapter Four
“What happened?” Melanie ran across the gravel driveway toward the barn.
Anne and Shelley hobbled toward her. Shelley howled in pain, her bare legs streaming blood.
“Shelley! Are you okay?” Scott raced ahead, his face creased with concern.
“Shelley tripped and fell on a bale of barbed wire. It cut her legs up real bad.” Anne had one of Shelley’s arms draped across her shoulders as she helped the other girl limp to the house.
Without a word, Scott scooped Shelley into his strong arms, murmuring soothing words of comfort.