Read Online Sector C by Phoenix Sullivan - Free Book Online Page A

cattle and the hay fields, then he’d use a front-loader to dig up dirt to cover her over per county standards.
     
    Chad returned as Dan was walking out, and the vet tech held the cow’s head still while Donna injected the barbiturate into the jugular vein. She placed two fingertips on the cowlick in the middle of its forehead and massaged the cow gently while it died. Not that this cow would care; it was likely too far beyond feeling much of anything by that time. But it was a habit Donna had — a last act of compassion for these gentle animals whose lives were spent in the service of her kind. Then she put her stethoscope to its chest and listened to be sure heart and lungs were truly stilled.
     
    Dan arrived only a moment later, and he and Chad hitched the cow to the winch. The foreman gave Donna a stiff nod as he climbed back into his truck and started the slow drive to the makeshift burial mound.
     
    Donna looked around the empty barn. “How much more of this are we going to be doing, Chad? What the hell is it?”
     
    The young man scuffed his boot toe along the floor then kicked the cornerpost of one of the stalls. “Beats me.” Donna wasn’t sure if he was answering one or both of her rhetorical questions.
     
    “What did Mrs. Rourke want?” she asked as they walked back to her truck.
     
    “Who?”
     
    Donna looked quickly at her tech. For just a flash, Chad’s brow wrinkled in earnest confusion. He’d obviously heard her clearly enough. And he wasn’t joking with her. “Mrs. Rourke. She called just a few minutes ago.”
     
    Chad stopped mid-stride and his forehead wrinkled again as he searched for that elusive memory. He licked his lips. Then his eyes widened. “Oh yeah, Uncle Jim thinks he found the remains of the cat that’s been killing livestock up by Morris Hanes’ place. He wants you to go have a look. He needs someone to certify it was a natural death so no one gets in trouble for hunting out of season or has it counted against the state’s quota.”
     
    Donna nodded, understanding. While cougars weren’t exactly rare in North Dakota, they weren’t prolific either. One of the few states that even made cougar hunting legal, North Dakota set statewide limits during annual re-evaluations of the populations. This year, a total of eight animals statewide could be killed by hunters — and any animals that died of natural or accidental causes could not be counted against that limit. “OK, let’s go take a look. I think I need a break from dying cows and pigs anyway.”
     
    She opened the cab door and Alfie, who had stretched out along the length of the bench seat, slowly curled herself into the middle and whimpered.
     
    Donna reached out a distracted hand and patted Alfie’s head. “Yeah, well, I missed you, too, girl. Next time, get out of the truck.” She turned the ignition and headed for Jim Thompson’s farm.
     
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER 13  
     
     
     
    IN AN AREA OF LARGE, COMMERCIAL ranches, Jim’s place was an oddity. Retired from the railroad industry at 55, he and his wife, Charlene, had bought a modest 200 acres and now raised a few cattle, a handful of horses and a small herd of Nubian goats on about half that acreage. The rest — a series of hills and ravines and one stark white butte — he let be wild, an area he and Charlene could hike out to, bring their binoculars and simply nature watch. They were transplanted urbanites, knowing little about farming or animal husbandry when they’d arrived three years ago. They were learning fast, but most of their neighbors still considered them novices and dropped by often to offer them advice, wanted or not.
     
    Jim was also Chad’s uncle, younger brother to Chad’s now-deceased father, though the brothers had grown up far differently after Chad’s grandparents had divorced when Jim was eight. Chad’s father had stayed on the home ranch while Jim had followed his mother to Bismarck. It was obvious, though, once