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, and she 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.