Rough Stock(24)

Even with Mom’s illness and subsequent death, Rowan had always held out hope that just in case would never come with Dad. Hadn’t they been through enough?

Apparently not.

Honor took the documents and started to reach for the withdrawal slip but stopped. The warm, friendly grin of seconds ago vanished.

Rowan stifled a groan. She really did not need any more complications in her life. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, the social security numbers don’t match.”

Rowan took back the papers and scrutinized them. This time she did groan. Underneath her father’s name was indeed the wrong social. “That’s mom’s,” she told Honor. “He has them both memorized, all of ours really. He probably just forgot whose was whose. I didn’t check it over.”

“Um…” said Honor, frown deepening.

Crying in the lobby of First Wyoming Federal was not an option, Rowan told herself. Willow was happy with her stuffed lamb and her lollipop, and she did not need to see that her mother was hanging on by a thread at this point.

Honor, though, saw it, apparently. She snatched the papers back quickly and set them face down on the counter, all while maintaining that comforting smile. “No one really looks at these,” she said quietly. “They just go in a filing cabinet. No one will know.” She took the slip off the counter, opened the cash drawer, and counted out the withdrawal. She stuffed the bills into a self-sealing envelope and handed it to Rowan. “I really hope your dad gets better soon. He’s so nice, every time he comes in. We all really like him.”

Rowan took the offered envelope and nearly cried, this time from sheer gratitude. “Honor, thank you. Thank you so much!” She herded Willow outside and back into the car. It was amazing how one small act of kindness had pulled Rowan back from the brink of total despair. Dad wasn’t out of the woods yet, and there was still Court to deal with, though. Just thinking about it all made her tired.

When they got to the farm, she got out of the driver’s seat to open the gate but it lurched in her hands, the lower half tumbling into the mud. “Oh, God damn it!” she hissed but not loudly enough for Willow to hear from the backseat.

She wrestled with the thing, which appeared to have a broken hinge. She tried pushing the now-headless bolt back into place, just enough to at least get the damn thing open, hopefully, but the rusted bolt snapped cleanly in half instead.

Rowan stifled a frustrated scream and instead pounded at it with quiet fury. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “Work, God damn you!” she whispered. “Just work!” It didn’t, and she beat at it with her fists again until she was panting and sweating, despite the chill in the air.

“Mama?”

Rowan turned to see Willow standing in the driveway, clutching Wooliam tightly. Forcing a smile seemed to be the only thing to do. “I just…this gate,” she said, keeping her voice light. “It’s crooked. Why don’t you go on up to the house? Let the dogs out for me, okay?”

Willow brightened at the mention of her best friends. “Okay!” She sprinted off in the direction of the house, her little rubber boots scraping the crushed gravel.

Once the girl was out of earshot, Rowan turned and kicked the gate as hard as she could. It rattled uselessly, still catching in the mud. She kicked out again, over and over, furiously. Logically, she knew if she just lifted it up she could walk it to the side and clear the driveway, but it should work, damn it! It should work! Everything should work! Gates and hearts and lungs and families, they should all just fucking work, she told herself…or maybe God.

God didn’t agree, though. At least not about gates, because the Archers’ gate still clung to the mud. And Rowan finally cried, intense and wracking sobs, because maybe God didn’t agree about hearts or lungs or families, either.





Chapter Fifteen




‡


Seth wasn’t certain why he’d taken the long way around to get back to Snake River from town…or at least he didn’t want to admit it to himself. But as he crested a hill and saw the Archer place on the right, he knew that whatever had driven him to make the choice, it was the right one.

Rowan was in the driveway, just off the road, out of her car, and apparently locked in an epic battle with the swinging gate that secured the property. At his approach, she turned suddenly, eyes wide, mid-kick, and looked away, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. Seth took an extra few seconds to pull his Ford to a stop and lever open the driver’s-side door, giving her time to pull herself together.

When he got out, he smiled at her, feigning ignorance. “Are you putting up a barricade?” he asked as he walked toward her. “We’re not that bad, are we? And Court promised not to borrow any more horses and bring them around for the kid.”

“Court is a kid,” she sighed then looked up at him. “I’m sorry. He’s still your brother. I shouldn’t—”

“No harm in telling it like it is. But we can’t expect him to jump right into being a father, with both feet, and be any good at it.”

Rowan shook her head. “I don’t. As long as he can pull himself together. We’ll be—”

“Fine.”

Her deep brown eyes looked so sad, so tired. “I’m not fine, Seth,” she whispered. “Dad has to stay in the hospital longer. He has pneumonia.”

Seth frowned. “Is it serious?”

“No, I think we caught it early. But it’ll take weeks, maybe months for him to fully recover. And I don’t think he was all that functional before the heart attack.” She set her hand down on the gate and tried to move it. “Look at all the things he couldn’t fix. How’s he going to do it now? How am I? I want Willow to know this place, for this to be her home. But it’s falling down around our ears.”

Seth put his hands on her shoulders. “I understand. When you love something as much as you love this place, you want to hold on to it tight with both hands.” He ignored the fact that his hands were—at this moment—touching the very thing he apparently wanted most. He shouldn’t have done it, but he couldn’t take them back now.

Rowan Archer looked for all the world like Seth Barlow was the only thing keeping her on her feet. As he gazed at her, she looked down at her slashed palm. “I don’t know if I can,” she whispered.

“I’ve got two good hands, Rowan. I’ll hold on for you.”

Because he wanted to keep his hands on her, he took them away. He took hold of the lopsided gate instead and lifted it to discover the problem. The upper hinge at the post had broken, and so he pulled out what was left of the loose bolt with his fingers. He held it out to her, running his thumb along the top where the head had been sheared off. “Don’t suppose you have another one of these lying around?”

She frowned. “I wouldn’t even know where to start to look.”

“We have plenty,” he told her, pocketing the offending piece of metal. “I’ll get one and take care of this. It’s a quick fix.”

Rowan looked doubtful. “Quick fix? I don’t know if I believe in any such thing, Seth Barlow.”

“Mama! I’m hungry!”

Both Seth and Rowan turned to see Willow galloping toward them, large, dirty dog barking at her heels. The girl stopped short, though, when she caught sight of Seth.

“Hi,” he said. “Remember me? I’m your Uncle Seth.”

Willow glanced at Rowan, who nodded encouragingly. The dog seemed to take the cue quicker than the girl and wagged his tail at Seth, who patted him on the head. Best to be on the right side of that beast, Seth was certain.

“And you’re my niece,” he told her. “But who’s this?” He bent to one knee and tugged lightly at the stuffed animal in her arm.

“Wooliam.” Willow wrinkled her nose. “He needs to be washed again.”

“Well, that’s a good name. And, yeah, he looks a little worse for wear.” Seth fingered the torn ear and the mismatched button eyes. The toy was as gray as the formerly white dog that had followed her down the driveway. “How long have you had him?”

“Since I was a baby. His birthday’s the same as mine. How old are you?” she asked, peering up at him from underneath long black eyelashes.

“Older than your daddy.”

“Not that old,” Rowan told Willow quickly.

Seth supposed being five years older than Court (and Rowan) wasn’t really all that much, but some days it sure felt like it.

“I’d like a brother,” Willow declared.

Rowan gasped. “Willow!”

Seth laughed, though. “Don’t let Wooliam hear you say that.”

The little girl frowned. “Why not?”

“Well, he might get jealous.”

Willow paused to consider this. “Are you jealous of your brother?”

“In some ways,” Seth replied before he could stop himself.

“How?”

Rowan stepped forward and put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Willow, it’s too many questions.”

“He runs faster than I do,” Seth replied with a grin.

The girl nodded, as though that made perfect sense. “Mama, I’m hungry,” she repeated.