Empath's Ranch

By Janice Seagraves

Finding love is hard when your family has psychic gifts you have to hide. Just ask Max and Gwen Dréville. Max talks to animals. Falling for the local dairy farmer's daughter was probably not his best plan.
Then there's Gwen. Will she let handsome playboy Arthur Castiel seduce her, or will she turn her gift on him, tossing him into a nightmare of his worst fears?
Three related short stories of the Drévilles.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Janice Seagraves
• Release date: May 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005703592

Janice Seagraves

Janice Seagraves grew up with a deep love of science fiction and adventure stories. Always the consummate artist, she traded in her paint brush for a laptop to write breathless life-affirming novels that celebrate enduring love.

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Empath’s Ranch

Empath’s

Ranch

Janice Seagraves

Cover art © 2020 Winterheart Design, winterheart.com, model photo from IMagesMale.com

Copyright © 2016 for Follow your Cowboy Heart

Copyright © 2017 for Cowgirl Up

Copyright © 2019 for Cowgirls Don’t Cry

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means in whole or in part, without express written permission.

Please Note: This is a collection of adult fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

EMPATH’S RANCH

This book contains three short stories about a brother and sister from a psychically gifted family and their love interests. Maxwell is empathic toward animals, and his sister Gwen is empathic to people.

FOLLOW YOUR COWBOY HEART

Max Dréville struggles daily to hide his psychic gift with animals. Being a hired hand at a local dairy probably wasn't his best idea, but his mom needs the money he brings in. And there's the dairy owner's sexy daughter he can’t stop thinking about. Will he ever have anything other than himself to offer her?

CHAPTER ONE

Maxwell Dréville put the old beat-up truck into park and exited the cab. A wave of distress undid his mental blocks and awakened his animal empathic abilities. He staggered back.

Not now.

Taking a deep breath, he straightened his short-sleeved western shirt and tucked it into his jeans—the nicest clothes he owned. He smoothed his hair, tightened his ponytail, then grabbed his Stetson from the seat. He shined his boots on his pant legs. Looking around the huge dairy farm owned by Bob Dillard, he soon spotted his high school crush.

Linda.

Bob Dillard’s twenty-year-old daughter looked lovely as she sat cross-legged on the front porch of the bungalow-style house, playing with a pup. There was something decidedly beautiful and wholesome about a young woman playing with a puppy. He could watch her all day.

The black and white mother dog jumped off the steps and reared up on Max, placing her paws on his shirt. She licked his chin.

He scratched the animal’s ears. Nice dog. What’s her name?

That’s Kissi. Linda looked up. Light bounced over her curly, pale blonde hair. Smiling, she stood and tugged down the legs of her cut-off jeans and straightened the lacy pink shirt tied at the waist, which emphasized her breasts. She isn’t normally so friendly with visitors.

Kissi knows a friend when she sees one. He eased the dog down and gave her a final pat. Is your dad around?

Dad’s in the barn with a heifer that’s calving. Poor thing is having a hard time.

I noticed. He rubbed his forehead. The rise and fall of the cow’s labor pains were giving him an excruciating headache.

Excuse me? Noticed what?

I heard the cow bawling when I got out of my truck. They only make that noise when they’re in pain.

She nodded.

Can you show me which barn? He could have found the barn by following the throb in his head, but that would have given him away. After a lifetime of hiding his abilities, the lies came easily.

Sure. She padded off the porch barefooted and down a well-beaten path toward the second of the three huge well-maintained red barns. Once she opened the door, it was all Max could do to keep from charging in ahead of her to find the poor animal and help her.

The odor of cow and manure thickened the air. He followed Linda around a huge fan that had been placed in the middle of the cement floor. Turned up on full, it did little to keep the stifling heat at bay or drown out the lazy drone of pesky horse flies.

Peering into the third stall, she waved Max over. Dad, Max Dréville is here. He wants to ask you something.

Her father looked up from where he had his hand inside the south end of the heifer. Your mom runs Dréville farm, right?

Yeah, that’s us. Max stared into the frightened eyes of the heifer and right away knew she had been bred too young. The suffering beat at him, making his temples pulse harder. I came to ask about a job, sir.

No college?

My grades weren’t good enough for a Pell grant, which is the only thing I qualify for.

He nodded. Your mom’s not making it?

Things have been tight ever since Dad passed away. I’ve worked part-time jobs so I can manage my chores at home. Now that my sisters are old enough, I’m ready for full-time work to help my family. Max opened the gate on the birthing stall and stepped inside.

I’ve had to move this heifer in here. There’s a pack of dogs being a nuisance. Killed a newborn calf last week. Bob grunted and withdrew his hand. My arm’s too big. See what you can do."

Handing Linda his hat, Max knelt in the clean straw by the cow’s backside. As another labor pain hit, he rubbed the heifer’s rump. Being this close caused Max to feel the labor pain as if it were his own—constricting his guts.

Easy there, girl.

In the lull following the end of the contraction, he fitted his hand inside the bovine. He reached in and felt the calf’s rear end. It’s breached, sir.

Bob moved a little closer to him. So what do you do with a breach?

You turn it or call the vet.

Dr. Cooper is late as usual. Think you can turn it?

I’ll do what I can, sir. Max reached farther inside and located the head and then the front hooves of the calf. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on sending calming thoughts to the suffering cow and started to tug.

He waited for another contraction to pass, which squeezed his arm painfully tight, and pulled again. When he got the baby turned, he withdrew. The mother got her front legs under her and lunged onto her feet. She strained, and the baby’s head and front legs appeared.

Oh, he did it, Linda exclaimed.

The baby fell into the straw, and the afterbirth followed. Mom turned and started licking her calf.

Bob checked the baby and shook his head. He brought out a cap full of iodine to anoint the umbilical cord. A steer. I don’t need a stinking bull calf. I need another milk cow.

Max stood on shaky legs. Whatever Bob decided about the calf was none of his business. He clung to the stall’s side and waited for his headache to fade.

Good job. Bob pounded his shoulder. Come tomorrow at six, and I’ll put you to work. Since you live so close, you can sleep at home instead of the bunkhouse.

Thank you, sir. He shook his hand. I’ll work hard for you.

Oh, you will. He turned to his daughter. Linda, take Max over where he can get cleaned up. I don’t want him going home to his ma looking like what the cat dragged in and the dog wouldn’t have.

Okay, Dad. Placing Max’s hat on her head, she tugged on Max’s clean arm. This way.

Max stumbled after her, and she brought him to an outside faucet with a garden hose attached. He turned it on and rinsed off.

Linda smiled, her blue eyes sparkling. Guess I’ll be seeing you around.

Yup. Looks that way. He shared a grin with her. Scrubbing his arm without soap, he stared down at his clothes. They’d have to be washed.

She clasped her fingers behind her and took a deep breath. Her breasts rose, straining the buttons on her blouse. There’s a party this Saturday at the Galloways.

I know. He stood, shaking off the water. It’s their annual barbeque.

She looked so pretty. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her out.

Bob Dillard walked behind them carrying the calf, its belly round and full of its mother’s milk. No fraternizing with the help, Linda. And give the man back his hat.

She flinched, eyelids tight. Sending Max an exasperated expression, she then spun around. But, Dad, I’m on summer vacation. Where am I going to meet people?

Back at college. Go fetch a fifty-pound bag of calf formula. There’s a girl.

Oh, all right. She set Max’s hat on his head and stomped off to one of the long barns.

Max followed Bob past the buildings and toward the front of the house. He’s not heading toward my truck, is he? Sir?

Bob placed the calf in the back of Max’s truck. He leaned on the tailgate. Your sisters aren’t going to summer school this year, right?

No, sir. They’re staying home to help with the farm.

Bob patted the calf. It might be a nice project for your sisters to raise this baby. Then they can sell it or have it butchered for meat.

Max’s heart leaped at the prospect of taking the calf home, but he didn’t like the idea of butchering it. Thank you, sir. I’m sure my sisters would love to.

Linda shuffled toward them clutching the fifty-pound bag of formula, huffing as she went. Max trotted over and took it from her.

She glanced at the truck. Dad’s giving you the calf?

He’s giving the baby to my sisters.

I’ll get you a bottle, too. When you run short on formula, let me know, and I’ll get you another bag, Linda said in a low voice.

Thanks, Max whispered.

CHAPTER TWO

Max drove carefully home. The baby stumbled in the back of the truck and bawled for its mother. Max turned into his family farm’s hard-packed dirt driveway. His fourteen-year-old sister, Winnie, rode his old Razor scooter in a circle right in front of the unpainted barn. He eyed a couple of boards where the nails had worked loose and decided to use screws the next time he repaired them.

He parked and climbed out. Where’s Mom?

In the office, crying over the bills, Winnie answered, staring at the baby. Is that a calf?

A gift from Old Man Dillard. So you and Gwen will have something to do this summer.

For meeeee? Willie squealed and dropped the scooter.

Laughing, he released the tailgate and scooped out the baby. He slowly knelt. "He’s for both of you. So don’t hog the calf all to yourself."

Have I ever done that? She got down on her knees and petted the calf.

Of course you have. He snorted. Where’s Gwen?

Off somewhere riding Smokey Joe. Mom said she might have to sell him if she can’t figure something out.

Max stood and let loose his abilities. Smokey Joe, his sister riding serenely in the saddle, plodded toward the barn. The old pony hadn’t been ridden this hard and fast in quite a while. He wanted the security of his stall and a billet of hay. His sister must have been upset to ride her old pony that hard.

Max announced, They’re heading home.

Oh, good, Winnie said, rubbing the calf’s forehead. Then she can help me get the baby’s stall ready.

I’m going to go talk to Mom. If Mom was willing to sell Gwen’s pony, then their finances were in worse shape than he’d thought.

He strode into the whitewashed brick home. The evaporator cooler blew lukewarm air around, making the family home only marginally cooler than the outside temperature.

When he tugged open the office door, Mom jerked her head up and snatched some tissues to blot her eyes.

He marched around her secondhand desk and gave her a hug. Don’t sell Gwen’s pony, Mom. I got a job.

You did? Hope filled her gaze.

Yes. He straightened. Old Man Dillard hired me. It’s full time. I go in first thing in the morning.

That’s wonderful, son. Even so, I’m afraid your job won’t be enough. We owe too much. She gestured toward several bills marked ‘past due’ in bright red letters.

What are you going to do? You can’t sell Gwen’s pony.

Mom slammed a hand on the desk. I’ll do what I must, Max. I have to keep this farm running somehow. Then she deflated. The pony’s old and won’t bring in enough. I’ll have to sell off a few acres of land.

Max didn’t want his mom to sell the ranch piecemeal. It would mean that in the end, there wouldn’t be enough left to farm. Old Man Dillard gave me a calf, so Gwen and Winnie can raise it to sell before school starts up again.

That’s good of Bob. She blew her nose. He is a wonderful man. Just don’t mess with his daughter.

Why? He propped a hip on his mom’s old desk, and it squeaked under his weight.

She’s his only child and heir. He and his wife wanted lots of children, but only managed one baby girl before she passed away.

What killed her?

Eclampsia. In Betty’s case, after giving birth to Linda, she went into a coma and died a week later.

That’s awful. So Linda never knew her mom?

No. And her dad is awfully protective of her. She’s all he has.

Linda mentioned the barbeque this weekend, but when Old Man Dillard walked by, he put an end to the discussion.

I’m not surprised. Mom narrowed her eyes. Now don’t be sneaking around with the girl at that barbeque. She held up a colorful invitation.

He plucked the card from her and opened it.

Date: Fourth of July.

Time: all day.

With the words scrawled underneath—Food and drinks provided. Come as you are.

I’m only going to meet our new neighbor. Don Galloway said he invited him and he’d be there. I sense he might be interested in buying a few acres next to his farm.

Max raised his head. Dad’s avocado orchard?

It never did well.

He closed the invitation and ran his fingertips along the seam of the fold. Did you ever regret that we inherited the family’s psychic abilities?

Max wasn’t only animal empathic but had the abilities to charm beasts. Winnie could predict the future but it was still developing and possessed a slight mind-reader talent. But Gwen was so much more.

Mom looked up at him with tired eyes. I knew my babies would inherit the gift. You and your sisters are precious and each with a unique talent. I had to lock away most of Gwen’s abilities until she’s mature enough to handle them, but when she’s angry or upset, she can break through my blocks. At the barbeque, I’ll need you to keep an eye on her.

I will. His stomach flipped. He’d get to see Linda away from the farm.

*****

Max arrived at the Dillard Dairy in time for milking. He didn’t see Bob, but he had to be somewhere behind the scenes directing the morning’s activity. The farm’s foreman, Javier, gave him a set of rubber boots and gloves. He stationed Max in one of the milk salons, showing him how to clean the cow’s nipples then attached the milk claws.

After you’re done, each cow needs her teats dipped in this. The foreman showed him a cap’s top end filled with iodine and a conditioner. Got it?

Yes, sir.

"Okay, let’s see if you