“I’m going to feed her? I thought you were going to help.”
“I am helping.” He pointed to her hand. “Let’s start with getting her to suck. I’ll talk you through it. First of all, let her suck on your fingers.”
Caro wrinkled her nose. “You want me to put my fingers in her mouth?” He nodded and she bit her lip as she slid two fingers inside the calf’s mouth. “Her tongue feels like sandpaper.”
“Now squeeze a little milk out of the glove, so she’ll get a taste of it. Then slide the glove’s finger in and slowly slip your hand out.”
“She’s not sucking.”
“Lift her jaw straight up and squeeze the sides of her mouth a little.” Chisholm rubbed the calf’s side. “As soon as the milk starts to trickle in, I’m sure she’ll catch on.”
The calf’s sucking pulled on the glove, and Caro’s face lit. “She’s doing it! We did it.”
“We make a good team.”
The calf emptied the glove, and Chisholm held out the bottle of milk. “Refill?”
He poured the milk in and then stepped away from Bluebonnet, but the calf continued drinking from the glove. “We’ll have to get going pretty soon if we’re going to make it back to the Mesquite.”
“Do we have to take her back to Slade’s?”
“You know we do. Don’t worry, though. It’s in his financial interest to keep her alive. He’ll either get a cow that lost her calf to adopt Bluebonnet or she’ll be a bucket calf. Either way, she should be fine.” He filled the glove with the last drop of milk and passed it back to Caro. “You finish up here with Bluebonnet. I have one more thing I want to do before we go.”
Chisholm returned a few minutes later, and Caro held up the empty glove. “She drank every drop.” She narrowed her gaze at him. “What are you hiding behind your back?”
He withdrew the two honey-scented bouquets of bluebonnets he’d just picked. “One for you and one for your mother.”
Caro stared at the bouquets, her eyes wide. She looked at him with a strange wonderment and his insides warmed.
Then came a sobering chill. As a Ranger he’d learned to listen to his instincts and everything in him told him to run away from this beautiful lady. She might fascinate him. She might make him want to protect her. She might definitely make him want to kiss her, but if he stayed, someday he would break her heart.
She didn’t want a man of duty, and he was nothing but that. But how did he stop the pull between them and still catch the rustlers?
Caro arranged the bluebonnets from Chisholm in the basket’s milk bottle. It seemed fitting, and the flowers looked perfect on her nightstand. The ones Chisholm had picked for her mother adorned the dining room table, but she wanted her bouquet close. It was the only gift she’d ever received from a man, and she wished she could keep them forever.
But they’d be gone soon—just like Chisholm.
She tugged one of the flowers from the vase and sat down on the edge of her bed. She fingered the velvety bloom and lifted it to her nose. So fragrant. So sweet. So lovely. Exactly like the day she’d had. Saving the calf, working side by side, and learning about Chisholm’s family had all been so special. She could still picture how Chisholm had held the calf all the way back to the Mesquite. McCord’s men had taken Bluebonnet, promising they’d tend to her, before she and Chisholm departed. She and Chisholm stopped to give the horses a rest at Brady Creek, so by the time they arrived at the ranch, the Texas sky was alight with diamonds.
But he’d not kissed her good night.
It was most likely her fault. Everything had been perfect except for that one moment. If only she hadn’t brought up the subject of her father, but it had underscored an important truth. Her father and Chisholm were cut from the same cloth, both burdened by the responsibility to change the world.
She stuffed the flower she was holding back in the vase. Chisholm might have a noble cause, but no matter how charming, kind, smart, or strong he was, he would leave her. He had a duty to perform, and it would always come first. She needed to forget about picnics and posies and kisses and remember that fact. But why did it have to hurt so much?
She dropped to her knees beside her bed to pray and lowered her face into her hands. Tears soaked her palms as she asked for strength to resist her attraction to Chisholm and pleaded with God to allow Chisholm to catch the cattle rustlers so he could be on his way. The sooner he left, the better it would be for both of them.
Fitful sleep plagued her, so she rose early and had most of breakfast ready when her mamá entered the summer kitchen.
“You look tired.” Mamá set out the copper tub to wash clothes later in the day. “Did you not sleep well?”
“Not really.” Caro sat down at the worktable and took a drink of steaming hot coffee.
“The Ranger?” Her mother began to fill the tub with water. “Did he upset you?”
“No.”
“Do you love him?”