14 - J. T. Ellison [130]
“I don’t care what kind of mood you’re in. You have to talk about what happened. We have to talk about all of this. It will fester if you don’t. You have to tell me what’s happening in your head so I can be sure I’m not putting you in a situation—”
“What? What the hell are you talking about? You putting me in a situation?” Taylor jumped off the counter, threw the empty bag in the trash. “I can handle myself just fine, Agent Baldwin. Don’t forget it.”
She stomped out of the kitchen through the mudroom and into the garage. How dare he? She was fuming. She knew she was overreacting, but couldn’t help herself. She slapped the button and the garage door started its lumbering journey up. She went down the steps and yanked open the door to her 4Runner. Baldwin came to the door of the garage, looking at her with an incredibly hurt, inquisitive look on his face. She ignored him, got in the truck and backed out into the driveway. Damn him!
And God damn Win Jackson. This was all his fault. How he had the conscience to put her in this position, to make her choose between the right thing to do and his life. Well, fuck them. Fuck them all.
She drove, not thinking about where she was going. There were fields to her right, a fence and a tree on a hill. One Tree Hill Farm, she knew. Brilliantly original name.
As a rule the bucolic setting calmed her spirit, made her happy. They raised cattle, and normally had two sets of calves a year, one in the spring and again in the fall. She loved to drive by and see the babies trotting after their mothers, lowing for milk. It was one of the reasons they’d bought off of this road, because for a brief moment, Taylor felt like she was in the country driving to and from work.
There were three vultures sitting on the fence posts, leering at a grouping of cattle. Taylor slowed, watching them, so out of place in her mind and her pastoral getaway. Vultures meant death. She glanced at the bulk of black and realized that it was a grouping of cows, each facing outward, protecting something at the center of their circle. She looked closer, trying to figure out what was happening. Her mind filled in the details.
A calf had been born, hopelessly out of season. It was struggling for life. The vultures were there, smelling death, knowing that they would have full bellies this evening. And the cows were protecting the calf from the harpies who would celebrate the end of its life with a feast.
She realized she’d stopped the car only after she was out the door, screaming in fury at the vultures. They hopped away for a moment, glaring at her with all-knowing eyes. Short of hopping the fence and taking the calf in her arms and spiriting it away, there was nothing she could do to stop this.
The anger welled in her, bright and furious. She blamed the farmer for allowing one of his cows to mate out of season, for not watching closer to make sure she gave birth in the barn instead of on a snow-drenched hilltop. She blamed the vultures for being such disgusting beasts. To sit and watch your dinner die in front of your eyes…she imagined the conversation between them. “Oooh, fresh meat, fresh meat.” The thought infuriated her even more, and she was punching the fence, kicking at the posts with her boots, tears tearing down her face.
One of the cows caught her gaze. It stood, implacable, watching her tantrum. It met her eyes and lowed, a bovine acknowledgment of her pain. She was feeling helpless, as well, knowing the life of the calf was ebbing behind her. The sound stopped Taylor’s fury and she dropped to the ground, all the pain releasing in frustrated tears. The vultures took their place on the fence post again, patiently awaiting their turn.
Taylor had no idea how long she’d sat on the ground, crying over the doomed life of a sickly calf. She got up and returned to her truck. She’d left the door open when she got out. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw the cordon of predators shifting slightly. It was time for them to strike, she could sense it. She looked around and found a large