gingerly picked up the round little pig and was surprised when the animal snuggled under his unshaven jaw. Zeke hadn’t expected a pig to act like a puppy or for those ears to be so soft. Feeling a bit awkward, Zeke scooped up the ball, too, and did as Myra asked, carrying pig and ball to the kitchen pen, where he deposited them.
“Thanks. I’ll fill you a plate and you can wash up. I’m happy to report yesterday’s storm has passed. Can you hear the snow melting off the eaves? A weak sun is rising. Unfortunately it’ll make everything slushy and slick.”
“What’s on our agenda for today? If the snow is melting, does that mean we don’t have to haul hay out to the cows?”
“That depends on how strong the sunlight gets. There’s still grass in the hills. There’s also more shade, and the cattle may stay in the shelter of coulee brush. I’ll check to see if better weather is predicted. If so, we can take out a few cakes of protein supplement to tide them over until the grass is visible again.”
Zeke dried his hands on the kitchen towel she handed him. “Okay,” he said agreeably, taking the warm plate of food from her.
“I’ll bring the coffee carafe to the table so we don’t have to hop up and down.”
Zeke watched her dump a teacup full of lettuce, carrot and an apple slice into the pig’s heavy metal bowl before she brought her plate and the coffeepot to the table.
“Is that all you feed...what did you call him?”
“Orion. And yes,” she said, settling down after pouring them both coffee. “He’s a miniature. I’m not fattening him up for market. A pig will eat all day if you let them. Jewell said it’s no different for ones bred as house pets. He eats scraps in small portions. I have to keep his water bowl full always. And so you know, while we’re here, never give him salty treats, avocado or chocolate. That’s why I have child locks on the bottom kitchen cabinets. If he’s loose he opens cupboards.”
“I wondered about that yesterday.” Zeke looked up from his plate. “Does he sleep in the pen at night?”
“I have a dog crate in my bedroom with his night blanket.”
Zeke shook his head and tucked into his food.
“If you get a dog before I leave here, you’ll have to feed him in the barn. Orion would gorge himself on dog food, which is way too rich for a mini pig.”
Swallowing the last bit of sausage, Zeke picked up his coffee. “I’m still not clear on what all you say is on today’s agenda. I recall you told your neighbor we’d get stock ready for him to take to market. Do all ranchers work together?”
“I’ll start with basics about our community. The reservation borders town on the east. Sioux, mostly. It’s a community in itself, similar to Snowy Owl Crossing. They farm, ranch and guide hunters and fishermen. Like local ranches, the Flying Owl is a cow-calf operation. We get calves in the spring and sell them in the fall.” She paused until she saw Zeke nod as if he followed her explanation.
“Calves are ear-tagged at birth to make sure they don’t get separated from mothers. Pairs are sorted and calves branded before we move the herd to summer range. I’ve found it’s easier to keep heifers with calves to eventually be sold in an area with access to a bull so they’ll produce again. Those that didn’t calve this year spend time with a rented bull in summer. Hopefully to produce calves. That’s what’ll happen to some of the ones we fed yesterday. Have I stopped making sense? You look mystified.”
He placed his knife and fork across his empty plate. “It’s a lot to take in. Are there books that teach cattle ranching?”
“Books?”
Zeke gestured with his cup. “Yes, in boot camp we were issued technical manuals explaining much of what a new recruit needed to know.”
“I suppose there are books. Aren’t there books written on practically everything?”
“Yes, but if you didn’t learn all the stuff you spout off the top of your head from a book,” he said, frustrated, “how is it you know so much?”
“I was born on a ranch,” she pointed out, standing to collect both of their plates. “Summers from my earliest memory I spent right here tagging after Gramps. Oh, sure, Gram taught me canning, jam making and cooking. But I learned all I’ve ever needed to know about running a ranch from helping Gramps and Dad do the work.”
“Okay, so listen. I’m having some thoughts here. Yesterday you said it’s too late for you to get a teaching job this fall. What would you charge to stay here and work for me until a math job comes your way? I can follow you around and learn what I need to know to keep this ranch running like it does now.”
The dishes clattered in the sink where Myra dropped them. She spun toward him, her mouth agape. “Wor...work...for you?”
Zeke sucked his bottom lip between his teeth then released it. “Didn’t mean to take you by surprise. I do own this ranch now,” he said gently. “If it’s a title you want, how about we call you the ranch manager until I get up to speed?”
Myra’s cell rang, and she snatched it off the counter. “It’s, uh, my dad. I’m sure he’s calling to see if I’m headed to Rolling Acres. I only spoke to Eric last night. I’ll be right back.”
Zeke heard her say hello as she walked down the hall. Then her bedroom door slammed and he was left in a kitchen devoid of noise except for Orion rooting for food in his almost empty dish. Bending, Zeke rubbed the pig’s large pink ears. “Shocked her I did, Piggy Pal. It sounded like a good idea to me.” He finished his coffee, replaced the pot on the burner and put the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher. Myra still hadn’t returned, so he went to shave. Although, if it was as cold out today as yesterday, maybe he should grow a beard. But he didn’t like them because he’d been required to have one for so long. He’d needed one in Afghanistan to blend in with locals. Not blending in could have gotten him killed. Once he separated from the military, he’d stayed clean shaven, and considered it a luxury. Passing a hand over his prickly cheeks, he detoured back to his room.
Myra said hello, but didn’t acknowledge that she knew it was her father calling. She was still majorly upset with him. It felt right to give her bedroom door a hard push.
“Myra, it’s Dad. Your mother asked me to call to see if you’d be home for lunch. We thought you’d be under way already.”
Pacing around the bedroom that had been hers off and on for many years, Myra weighed her answer. “Actually, I won’t be home for lunch or anytime soon.”
“Why? Eric said you had more snow than we did, but I saw on the morning news that the highway is clear. You shouldn’t have trouble driving.”
“The weather has improved. But, Dad, you turned the Flying Owl over to a total novice. I can’t walk away and let the ranch fall into ruin.”
“What do you mean? It’s not a working ranch anymore. Your grandfather told me he was trapped under a mountain of medical bills after Gram died. That’s why he sold what was left of his herd and offered a chunk of pasture to a neighbor.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I told him to sell the whole shebang and come live with us, but he refused. When you went to help out, I didn’t press further. So up to now I’ve ignored your mom’s unhappiness over the way you put your career on a back burner. Frankly, with Eric in a war zone and making sure Rolling Acres stayed in the black, not needing to worry about my dad’s health and well-being took a load off me. But, honey, you can stop feeling responsible for the Flying Owl. I paid the estate tax and the last payment on Dad’s banknote. Giving the property to Lieutenant Maxwell frees us all up.”
“You paid Gramps’s banknote? Why? I’m about to ship last year’s calves. That revenue