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It was one of those West Virginia days in late April that turn hot and sticky without warning. What should have been a cool spring morning had become a mid-July scorcher. Sweat poured off Buddy Beckett and mingled with dirt, while he wrestled with a Longhorn calf. He ate dust when the miserable creature rolled him to the ground. Hoots and catcalls rang through the air. The men atop the fence alternately encouraged him and laughed at him, as the determined calf repeatedly made a fool of him.

"What's the matter, boss? That little dawgie gonna kick your ass."

A round of laughter went up, then a shout. The calf kicked loose. Buddy chased it, tackled it and brought it to the ground again.

"Damn, you little bastard." He wrenched the calf's neck around and finally got the best of it. He lay on the ground with the animal, his lungs burning as he sucked in hot, dirty air. He didn't dare wipe the sweat from his eyes. He'd tried that once already and the calf had kicked him a good one in the shin.

Opening one eye, Buddy saw more than dirt and fence rails. In front of him was a pair of girly shoes complete with ten red-nailed toes peaking out the front. Bare, tanned ankles caught his attention. Just then the calf got a second wind, whipped its head around and sent him rolling. The commentary from the guys on the fence rail had nothing to do with the calf, and everything to do with the owner of those remarkable toes.

Buddy muttered a curse under his breath. Why did women show up when he looked and smelled like shit?