Claire looked at the bull.
“I knew he did.”
The veterinarian smiled.
“You were right to take a chance on him.”
Claire shook her head.
“No.”
“What?”
“I wasn't right.”
She looked toward the pasture.
“I just didn't want to be wrong.”
The veterinarian laughed softly.
“Sometimes that's the same thing.”
By the third week, people started visiting.
Not officially.
They simply drove slowly past the ranch.
Some stopped near the road.
Some asked Claire questions.
Others just wanted to see the birds.
One afternoon, a rancher named Tom Ellis arrived in an old pickup.
Claire knew him.
He had been one of the men laughing at the auction.
He climbed out and leaned against the truck.
“I hear your bull is looking better.”
Claire nodded.
“He is.”
Tom looked across the pasture.
“How many birds now?”
“Depends on the day.”
He squinted.
“I count seven.”
Claire smiled.
“There's usually more.”
Tom was silent.
Then he said something Claire never expected.
“I was wrong.”
Claire looked at him.
“About what?”
“About the bull.”
She didn't respond.
Tom rubbed the back of his neck.
“I thought you were throwing away a thousand dollars.”
Claire looked at Atlas.
“So did I.”
Tom frowned.
“You did?”
“Of course.”
He laughed.
“You sure didn't act like it.”
“I've been pretending I knew what I was doing.”
Tom shook his head.
“You're more like your grandfather than you realize.”
Claire smiled.
“I'll take that as a compliment.”
“It was.”
Tom stayed for twenty minutes.
Before leaving, he asked if he could bring his grandson by.
Claire agreed.
That was the beginning.
The bull's name became known throughout the county.
Atlas.
The tick-covered Beefmaster.
The thousand-dollar disaster.
The bull the birds followed.
People began using different names.
Claire didn't correct them.
Atlas didn't care.
He simply kept getting stronger.
His coat began returning to its natural reddish-brown shine.
His shoulders filled out.
His gait became steadier.
He spent less time rubbing against fence posts.
His tail still flicked occasionally.
But not constantly.
He could stand beneath the sun without looking desperate for relief.
One evening, Claire watched him walk across the pasture.
For the first time, she could see the animal she had imagined inside the sale ring.
Not a sick bull.
Not a ruined bull.
A powerful bull who had simply been forgotten.
Claire leaned against the fence.
“You were always in there,” she whispered.
Atlas stopped.
He turned his head.
Claire smiled.
“I know.”
Then came the morning that changed everything.
Claire woke before sunrise.