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On the afternoon before Thanksgiving, Sadie came screaming over the family radio that Dad had been gored by a breeding bull and thrown against the fence. “Mara, the ambulance is on its way to the county hospital! Mom says he might have internal bleeding!” I left the genetic stock export agreement I was about to sign on the conference table and tore out of Bozeman. The German buyer’s assistant chased me all the way to the parking lot, but I didn’t even have time to roll down the window. Forty-two minutes later, there was no ambulance at the ER entrance. I found my father in the calving shed at Red Canyon Co-op, sitting on a hay bale and eating a bacon burger. My mother, Sadie, and my fiancé, Cole, were gathered around a livestream monitor. In the center of the screen hung a red digital timer. 42:11. Sadie doubled over, laughing against the rail. “I won! I said the second she heard ‘internal bleeding,’ she’d make it in under forty-five.” My mother handed me a cup of apple soda as if nothing had happened. “Don’t stand in the draft. Your burger’s still warm.” My father thumped his chest. “He didn’t even brush me. See? I’m fine.” I looked at Cole. He was wearing a clean buckskin jacket, shutting off the replay for Sadie. He avoided my eyes, then gave a short, unapologetic laugh. “I was the one who told her to mention Atlas. That bull’s got a nasty enough reputation to sound real.” Two years ago, they’d lied that Dad had been kicked by a horse to make me quit the national embryo tech competition. Last year, they claimed Grandma had fallen in the snow so I would miss my review for the breeding-model director position. They’d turned every one of my frantic return times into an “arrival board” for their livestream viewers to bet on. So that was how it worked in this family: the more afraid I was of losing someone, the more they could take from me. I lowered my head and opened the transfer email I hadn’t answered for the past two weeks. High Plains Breeding Research Station, Amarillo, Texas. Three-year term. This time, I hit Accept. ... My phone started vibrating immediately. My boss Naomi’s voice was as cold as the wind outside the shed. “Mara, Mr. Vogel waited for twenty-six minutes. He’s already left for the airport.” I looked at the half-eaten burger in my father’s hand. “There was an emergency at home.” “How is he?” Laughter erupted in the calving shed again. Sadie was replaying the look on my face the moment I’d shoved open the door. “He’s not hurt.” There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. “You’ve been working on that contract for five months. He flies back to Frankfurt tomorrow morning, and we’ll most likely lose the frozen embryo order. Come in on Monday, and we’ll discuss the consequences.” The second I hung up, Sadie bounced over. “Did your client really leave? If I’d known, I would’ve set the timer for fifty minutes. The whole stream could’ve heard you getting chewed out, too.” My mother patted her shoulder, not to stop her, but in approval. “It’s a holiday. Don’t keep talking about work. Clients can always come back next year. You’ve only got one father.” My father nodded in agreement. “And if Atlas really had gored me, you couldn’t exactly sign the contract first, could you?” They all laughed again. Under the monitor, I saw a whiteboard. Beside three lines of bright red numbers were little, hand-drawn bull horns: Horse kick, 28 minutes. Fall in the snow, 35 minutes. Breeding bull attack, 42 minutes. At the bottom, in Sadie’s handwriting: *Mara’s getting slower.* “You kept it?” Sadie hugged the board to her chest and shot Cole a smug wink. “Of course. It’s the arrival board. Cole said the county hospital was the farthest from your office, so today’s time was especially fair.” Cole tapped the brim of her cowboy hat. “Don’t play this rough next time.” “There’ll be a next time?” I asked. He pushed a plate of roasted corn toward me and lowered his voice. “I......

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