He offered grace, then snagged an empanada. Maybe it was the view or maybe it was the way Chisholm prayed, but Caro felt as if God were sitting on the blanket with them.
Chisholm topped his meat pocket with salsa. Her mother had packed the hottest kind Caro made, but he didn’t bat an eye at the heat. Apparently, he truly did like things spicy. If only she had sun-ripened tomatoes to make fresh salsa, it would be so much better. She set the bottle of milk aside that her mother had packed since Chisholm seemed accustomed to using his canteen.
Throughout the picnic supper, they chatted about Chisholm’s family ranch back home and about her years growing up in Mexico.
To her delight, the tense moment they’d shared evaporated and conversation now came easily. When they finished eating, he packed the basket and carried it to Bullet while Caro folded the blanket.
She looked down into the valley at the bawling calf and squinted. There was something in the bluebonnets she’d not seen earlier. “Chisholm, look at that calf from this angle. What’s behind those rocks?”
He shielded his eyes with his hand. “I think we may have a problem.” He grabbed his rifle and a rope and started down the hill. After he’d walked a couple of yards, he turned to her. “You coming?”
“But you always say—”
“So you’re going to start listening to me now?” He laughed and held out his hand.
Don’t take his hand. Don’t take his hand. With each step closer to him, she repeated the words, but her body didn’t listen. His hand felt so strong wrapped around her own. They strode through the bluebonnets toward the calf. The poor thing had bawled so much she was hoarse.
As they neared, the speckled red-and-white calf skittered to the side, revealing the mother longhorn, lying in the bluebonnets behind a rocky outcropping. The calf looked at Caro with round, pitiful eyes.
“Is the mama—?” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Yes, I sure think so, but let me go check. If she isn’t, be ready to run.” He winked at her.
“Now you’re teasing me.” She rolled her eyes. “And I do know that since I live on a ranch, but even I can tell that cow doesn’t look up to much of a chase.”
“True.” He took a step forward and the cow made no movements. He poked her with the barrel of his gun, then laid his hand on her side. “She’s gone. She looks young. Maybe a heifer.”
Caro joined him and spotted the mountain-shaped M branded on the cow’s hip. “She’s one of Se?or McCord’s. What are we going to do with the calf?”
“She’s only about a day old. Since she’s up and about, I’m guessing she got about a day’s worth of feeding before the heifer died.” In two long strides, Chisholm was beside the calf. He scooped the forlorn creature into his arms. “I’ll carry her up to the horses.”
They began the climb, but even under the load of the calf, Chisholm didn’t seem winded. All along the way, he kept saying soothing things to the sweet little orphaned calf that made Caro’s heart swell. Between the song of the birds and the carpet of bluebonnets underfoot, this had the makings of a perfect moment—if the poor calf hadn’t just lost her mama.
“How much does Bluebonnet weigh?”
“Bluebonnet? I guess that name fits, but it hardly sounds like something Slade McCord would name her.” He adjusted his grip. “And I’d say she only weighs about sixty pounds.”
“I told you the calf was a she.”
He chuckled as they reached the crest of the hill and set Bluebonnet down.
“She’s probably hungry. I wish we could do something for her.” Caro scratched Bluebonnet between the ears. “Wait. We have milk. Mamá packed it in the basket.”
She started to move, but he placed a hand on her arm. “Stay there. I’ll get it.”
He returned a few seconds later. “Now we just have to get it in her.”
“I’ve got an idea.” Caro pulled one of her gloves from her waistband. “Can I borrow your knife?”
Chisholm handed it to her and she cut a small x in the tip of the index finger. She held the glove open and directed Chisholm to fill it with milk. “Now what do I do?”
“Get her to drink it.”
His dimples deepened but he didn’t laugh.
“You don’t want to do it?”
He laced his fingers and cracked his knuckles. “Like you always say, you don’t need my help.”
“I don’t think this falls in that category.”
“Then say, ‘I need your help.’ ”
“Chisholm, truly?”
He hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “You aren’t going to let this starving little heifer suffer because you’re stubborn, are you, Caro Cardova Valenzuela?”
Chapter Eight
Well?” Chisholm glanced from the calf to Caro. He shouldn’t tease Caro about asking for help, but he couldn’t resist the opportunity. Exasperation looked absolutely beautiful on her.
Caro huffed. “This is ridiculous.”
“Then just say it.”
“If I must.” She rolled her eyes. “Chisholm Hart, will you help me?”
“Of course.” He straddled the calf to hold it steady. “Ready?”