Ahead of them gamboled a white-faced calf maybe four or five months old. Harper drove from the left, Skylar from the right, each of them held her hat in a hand and waved it gently, keeping the calf trotting toward its mother. The cow—evident because it faced the oncoming baby from the edges of the herd—scolded in low, exasperated-mother moos, and Cole laughed. Some things were universal. Skylar let out a whoop when the bovine pair was reunited. Harper, relaxed and easy and sexy as always in the saddle, slowed her horse to a walk and fell in beside the girl. They lifted their arms and slapped a high five above their heads. Cole sat up and pressed Paco forward. “Good job,” Harper said. “You and Bungu make a great cow pair. This was a naughty little calf and you kept right up with him.” As if to agree, the cow butted her babe with a sharp flick of her head, and he scooted up to join the herd. Skylar giggled. “He was exploring. The creek bed was way more interesting than the walk home.”
