Free Till the Cows Come Home by Judy Clemens

looking we may as well let the cows out on it. Zach was going to do it, but.…”
    “Poor little Zach. Any word from Jethro yet?”
    I shook my head, trying to ignore the fear creeping back up my throat. “God, he looked awful, Howie. I’ve never felt anyone so hot before. And he practically puked his guts out.”
    “I know, Princess. But he’s in good hands. His doc’ll take care of him.”
    “Yeah, sure.” I kicked Queenie’s wadded-up paper and she scuttled after it. “I hope we don’t get sick, too. What would we do?”
    “You won’t,” Howie said. “Your immune system is made up of warrior blood cells.”
    “Regular Klingons. Okay, I get your point. Why worry? See ya later.”
    Howie headed out to the barnyard, Queenie trotting after him, and I finished up the stalls in a few minutes. I grabbed a bucket, dumped in some of the milk from the mama cows, and mixed two bottles of formula for the little heifers. I was just getting ready to go when Carla walked into the barn.
    I had to laugh. She was wearing an outfit that was surprisingly similar to Nick’s—coveralls, a large rubber apron, and goggles perched on the top of her head. I knew those huge gloves would go on, too, effectively hiding the last bit of her I could see.
    “Sorry I couldn’t come out last night,” she said. “I was out of town for a seminar. A special program on mad cow disease. Kind of fitting with what’s going on around here, unknown virus and all.”
    I set my bucket on the ground. “You hear about Zach?”
    Her eyes widened. “What?”
    “Got sick just this morning.” I explained how I’d come to find him. “So I’m waiting for a phone call.”
    “Oh, Stella.”
    I bent over to pick up the bucket.
    “Anyway,” Carla said, “I’m sorry I wasn’t around to help with your cow yesterday.”
    “No problem. I figured Cleo wasn’t going anywhere, so I didn’t want to bring your on-call guy from wherever.”
    “He couldn’t’ve come anyway. He had a horse who’d sliced himself up real good on a fence. Not pretty. So where is she?”
    “Basement. In the empty stall.”
    She sneezed, then coughed.
    “What’s up with you?” I asked.
    “Just a cold. Too many late nights and early mornings pandering to my elite dairy clientele.”
    “You sure it’s not that flu?” I stepped closer to look in her eyes, and she batted me away.
    “Of course it’s not. Only kids are getting that.”
    “Maybe you should see your doctor just to—”
    “Look, I came here to cut up a cow, not find a mother.”
    “Sorry. You know your way downstairs.”
    She went back out to her truck, grabbed a huge toolbox which I knew would contain an axe and a large knife, and lugged it out of sight. I went back to work.
    Gus and the other two calves were waiting for me, pushing their soft, whiskery noses against the metal grating on the front of their hutches. We only had the three right then, including Zach’s new fella. We keep calves in the hutches for six weeks or so, feeding them colostrum the first few days, then formula after that, then sell bull calves to my neighbor and send female calves to the yearling paddock. The two females were waiting to be moved the next day. Gus would go to his own private stall soon after that.
    Gus stood on legs that were surprisingly strong and slurped up the milk I poured into his bottle. He looked like he’d be a good bull for Zach. I reached my hand through the wires on the door and scratched his ears. He gazed at me with his liquid eyes and I could swear he smiled. After a final pat I decided it was time to face my overgrown yard.
    First, I went into my office to make sure there weren’t any messages from Jethro or Belle. No flashing light. I considered calling them, but forced myself to leave the phone on its cradle. They’d call when they could.
    The lawnmower was housed in the garage, and I tried to keep a straight face as I passed Nick. He probably didn’t notice me, anyway, with all his