After rolling out the spool and pulling the wire, she was fighting with the ratchet when her hand slipped. Almost instantly, the metal barbs pierced her worn leather glove and penetrated into her thumb. She dropped both the tool and the strand of wire with a curse. The wound stung like a bitch, and blood had begun saturating the leather. Ripping off the torn glove, she examined the wound and then rifled through her utility cart for the first aid kit she always carried on the ATV.
Damn it all! She knew it was her own fault. It would have made perfect sense to ask Zac to help her with the fence, but stubborn pride hadn’t allowed it. Now that same pride would require her to make a trip to the Frederick Urgent Care Center for a tetanus shot as soon as she finished.
Two of her young bulls, Romeo and Caesar, approached, watching intently as she bandaged her thumb. Figuring they were just curious, she paid little attention, until Romeo turned broadside and lowered his head with a snort. Young bulls often challenged one another, but they were too close to her and to the roll of barbed wire. She recognized the danger of the situation when Caesar replied in kind.
Leaping over the ATV, Delaney watched from the relative safety of the other side. Although she’d bottle-fed them both as babies, these weren’t babies anymore. They were easily eight hundred pounds, and with only a few yards separating them, any further move on her part could easily divert their aggression to herself.
Her heart raced in panic when Romeo dropped his head and hooked the loose wire with his horns. He charged Caesar, popping several yards of wire from the staples that had anchored it to the posts. Torn loose, the new section of wire snapped back into a tight coil, catching the bull around the legs. Icy-cold fear clogged her throat.
Shit! Shit! Shit! This was far beyond anything she could handle alone. If there’s anything you can’t or don’t want to handle, Delaney, I want you to call me. Zac. She needed Zac.
Sliding her phone out of her pocket, she hit her call history and dialed.
Zac had just pulled out of his drive headed for Delaney’s place when his phone rang. Although she’d refused his help, there was no way his conscience would allow him to go all the way to Laredo without checking on her first. He plucked the phone from his pocket and stared at the number. It was Delaney. Was something wrong? They’d spoken less than an hour ago.
“Zac here,” he answered tersely.
“Zac? Thank God I got you!”
The urgency in her voice hit him straight in the gut.
“What’s happened? Are you okay?”
“I’ve got a bad situation,” she said. “One of my bulls is tangled up in barbed wire. I need some help. Are you still around or can you send somebody?”
“I’m here. I was just headed to your place. You got tools to cut it?”
“Yes,” she replied, “But I can’t get close enough to do anything.”
“The best way to do this is to tranq him, but I don’t have any drugs. Do you?”
“No. I don’t. I called Kevin, but he’s on another emergency call on the other side of Duncan. Even if he left now, he’s still over an hour away.”
“Kevin?” Zac repeated with a frown. “Who’s Kevin?”
“Kevin Clarkson,” she replied. “He’s my vet.”
“That bull’s not gonna stand there and wait on him.”
“I know that.” She gnawed her lip. “What can we do?”
“Hang on until I get there, okay? We’ll figure it out. Just promise me you won’t go near him, Delaney. I know you’ve been handling them for a few years, but bad shit happens even to the most experienced ranch hands when it comes to bulls. Promise me you won’t put yourself in danger.”
“I promise, Zac,” she sighed. “I know when I’m in over my head.”
“I’m coming now. Just tell me where you are,” he said, whipping the truck around. The only safe way out of this predicament was with the help of another cowboy and a coupla solid roping horses. Seconds after getting her location, Zac was pounding on the bunkhouse door.
“C’mon, ol’ timer,” he called out to Bart. “Get your gear. We got us a bull to rope. And bring a shotgun . . . just in case.” He hoped they wouldn’t need it, but with an injured bull, they had to be prepared for anything. Bulls were unpredictable under even the best of circumstances. Injury made them even more dangerous.
Zac then headed straight to the corral. It wasn’t hard to pick his horse from the bunch. The star-shaped scar on the bay’s ass told him the old gelding had experience with bulls. He’d know better than any of the other horses not to turn his backside to one. Zac was already tightening the saddle girth by the time Bart appeared with saddle slung over his shoulder and rifle in his hand.
“Where’s the fire?” the old man mumbled as Zac grabbed the shotgun.