Titus: Book Two of the Cantrell Brothers Series

Chapter One

Shoving the buckskin gloves into his ragged back pocket, Titus Cantrell stacked the remaining square hay bales on the back of the trailer, grimacing as he felt his lower back tighten once again. Muscles screaming to stop and take a break for just a few short minutes, he ignored the protests and jumped into the Circle T's only truck.

Black, rusted on the bottom, and the suspension shot to hell, the 1990 Ford F-150 had been handed down to him as a gift in the summer of '95 when he had turned sixteen. Now, at the age of thirty-two, his body was beginning to regret ever having taken on the prospect of owning the ranch. He was the fifth-generation of all the Cantrells before him who had owned the Circle T Ranch, his father and multiple grandfathers having made the one thousand acre ranch a somewhat formidable competitor when it came to beef stock sales.

It wasn't an extremely wealthy way of life, but it was enough to keep all of the necessities paid for. Usually from five to five he would work with his only ranch hand, Luther Plymoth; and while tiring, it did have its up sides. Some days were longer, and some days were shorter than others, for it all depended on the list of chores he wrote up the night before.

Today, however, was one of the longer days that hinted he would be going straight to bed after all of the labor-inducing work. Thankfully, there hadn't been too many strays as he and Luther had moved all of the beef cattle to the west pasture. The northern pasture would be disced, fertilized, and would lay fallow for the next few months or so until the cattle were moved to the southern two hundred and fifty acres.

The Australian kelpies, shepherds, and collies barked wildly in the distance, most likely still riled up from having to be caged today. It wasn't something that he liked to do; but his father had taught him from an early age that if those dogs got anywhere near the cattle after having been moved to a fresh set of land, almost half of the calves would become startled and would lose weight. Titus couldn't afford to cull anymore of his cattle in this unstable economy.

The ringing of his cell phone startled him from the nice daze, sounding foreign against the noise of cicadas buzzing, cattle baying, and gravel crunching undertire. "Yeah?" he answered, slowing down as he neared the storage barn.

"Grab about five or six decking boards. Bull almost busted through the fence again. Same one as last time. "

Placing his stetson on the dashboard, Titus ran calloused fingers through his hair and tried not to scream in frustration. "What the hell is wrong with that fuckin' animal? I think I'm gonna cull it."

"I told you already," Luther said calmly, "that one's sperm is somethin' magical. None of his offspring have ever gotten sick, and we've never needed to cull a single one."

"Guess you're right. We need wire too?"

"Yup. I'll call again once I get 'em all settled. Don't wanna bring the dogs out again. A few of the calves are just layin' on the ground again."

"I'll see ya in a few." And with that, he snapped his ancient phone shut and searched for the decking boards inside the barn.

Smelling of horse manure from the neighboring stable house, the storage barn was dilapidated and older than he would like to admit. Rusted nails, bags of fertilizer for the small garden he kept in back of the house, and broken parts from all of the tractors, balers, and other miscellaneous ranching equipment littered the hard, dirt ground.

The storage barn was probably the worst part of his entire property, but it stayed up on the stormy nights and kept all of the hay bales dry so he couldn't really complain. Boots crunching on the straw-littered ground, he finally found the knotty decking boards and the roll of wire that was used for the electric fence.