“Erin and I worked our asses off out there in mud up to our knees,” he added. “When you throw hay, watch for leaks. It’s a very simple thing, and it’s part of your job.”

Tex said, “Number one-sixty-four is cakin’ up. I dosed her with antibiotics and put balm on her udder, but it’s not lookin’ good.”

“Do I need to call the vet?” Wyatt asked.

“Not till mornin’, when I take another look. Might be the medicine will lessen the swellin’, I’ll let you know, cuz we sure as hell don’t want her udder to rupture.”

Wyatt nodded. Erin felt mildly nauseated.

Kennedy opened one of his college textbooks at the table. Only glancing at his food, he shoveled it into his mouth as he read. The other men didn’t seem to mind, and Tex gave his blessing by saying to Erin, “Kennedy’s gonna get himself a dee-gree. Not a man amongst us that’s got one. We’re right proud of him for workin’ so hard to get smart.”

When the meal was finished, the men carried their plates to the sink and then raided the cupboards for what Tex called “dee-zert.” A general complaint arose about Wyatt’s failure to go shopping to keep the snack shelf full, but they settled for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, most of them making two. After they consumed their after-meal sweets, Tex got up to start doing dishes. Erin went over to help. Kennedy resumed reading his book at the table and texting someone on his phone. Wade and Richard sprawled on a well-used leather sofa to watch television with the volume up so loud that it hurt her ears. Wyatt left the bunkhouse, and Erin couldn’t quite blame him. The place was worse than a frat house.

Erin soon elbowed Tex away from the sink and let him load the dishes into the machine. Kennedy was right. The old man didn’t scrub anything, and she didn’t want to eat food cooked in dirty pans or served on crusty plates.

By the time she left the bunkhouse, she was exhausted in a way she hadn’t been in years. Preparing for the Ironman had been brutal, so she reasoned that if she had grown accustomed to those workouts, she would certainly grow inured to the demands of ranch work.

Twilight had descended when Erin struck off for the main house. As she walked, mentally bellyaching about how sore she was, she glimpsed movement off to her right and saw Wyatt standing at one of the corral fences. She detoured toward him, appreciating how good he looked in a relaxed pose, his arms resting on the top rail and one hip jutting forward, his opposite leg extended slightly behind him. He was every inch a cowboy, and after working with him that afternoon, she knew he wasn’t a pretender who strutted around dressed for the part. He’d earned every one of those steely muscles that bulged beneath his shirt.

When she stepped up beside him, he jerked. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”