Free The Bones of Paradise by Jonis Agee

Not until now. Next thing he knew, that damn wife of J.B.’s would sneak back and lay claim to everything. His threats wouldn’t hold much water now with J.B. gone. A thought crossed his mind that made him so uncomfortable he shook his head and cursed. He hoped to God he didn’t have to sink so low as to kill a woman.
    â€œDamn you, son, what the hell were you thinking? How’d you go and get yourself shot anyways?” Drum put the horse into its running walk, the one that ate miles as if they were inches and stayed easy on his back.
    It dawned on him slowly, spreading a smile across his face even as the horse sidestepped to avoid a prairie dog hole. He settled his seat again and gave the animal its head. Yes, Higgs would need his help convincing the men. No reason a man shouldn’t go and help his grandsons and his son’s widow. One thing continued to bother him during the ride home, though: Why was J.B. so unforgiving about his taking Cullen to be raised? Drum had gotten over it, as he guessed his own father had. It was what they did with first sons, took them to be raised right, like the old Greeks, the Spartans, so they’d grow to be men who could last, men who’d stand in a fight. Drum remembered his own cousins, how shiftless they turned out, running off to fight for the wrong side in the war, getting themselves kilt with a bunch of border raiders in Missouri. Drum’s great-grandfather drank himself into steady decline until he swole up like a pillow, turned yellow, and died in the front porch rocker his father had made when their people first came to the Missouri Ozarks. It was Drum who pushed west to the Sand Hills of Nebraska and used his gold to buy as much land as he could before anyone else found out about the place.
    Drum stopped at the windmill that marked the end of J.B.’s land and the beginning of his, where his son had been murdered. The cattle had trampled the grass into sand, and only the water tank kept the place from blowing out. The wind was a low, steady hum in his ears, but he could still make out the bellering of a cow to her calf beyond the nearest hill. His horse pricked up its ears and snorted, shifting its weight back and forth between its front legs. Drum lifted the reins and the horse broke into a lope, heading for the noise.
    While the rest of the herd grazed their way up the next hill, a brown-and-white cow paced frantically in front of a small blowout, where her calf churned its legs in a futile attempt to stand on the dissolving surface. The calf’s sides were heaving wet and its tongue hung outside its mouth, but it wouldn’t give up. Drum hoped the cow wouldn’t charge him as a threat to her baby. He untied his rope,built a loop, and edged the horse closer. But as soon as the rope settled around the calf’s neck, the cow charged his horse, butting him with her head so hard the horse lost its balance and went down, rolling on Drum’s leg before he could free himself from the stirrups. The cow ducked away and stared at the spectacle from some distance while the calf on the end of the taut line, still fastened to the saddle, fought the rope cutting off its breath.
    Drum’s leg was numb as the horse lay on top of him, and for a moment he was content to stay there, not wanting to know what lay beneath the numbness. Then he swore and slapped the horse’s neck. “Get off me!” It rolled onto its belly, propped its front legs straight, and raised its hind end with a big lurch. When it was on its feet again, it gave a whole-body shake like a dog and looked down at its rider, who had managed to slip his boot out of the stirrup just in time.
    â€œHold on. I’m coming.” Drum sat and looked at his boot toe turned unnaturally inward. Then the pain swept up his leg and nearly flattened him.
    â€œDamn it all to hell!” He began a long string of curses at the broken ankle. The cow started bellering again, drawing