Rough Stock(50)

“Thanks,” said Rowan, echoing his sentiments at that moment and startling him with her clarity. He looked up see she was gazing at him. “Thanks for helping.”

She said it a little grudgingly—okay, more than a little grudgingly—but it was better than nothing, he figured. He was certain they were both remembering her claim that she’d never ask him for help, under any circumstances. Technically, she hadn’t. Seth had been forced onto her, outvoted and outvoiced. He’d obviously prefer she welcome him with open arms, but he wasn’t a stupid man.

Lovesick maybe.

But not stupid.

He simply nodded to her, not wanting to push her any more today. He tipped his hat and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Rowan.”

She glared at him but didn’t argue, at least.

He thought maybe that was a good sign.





Chapter Thirty-Six




‡


Rowan watched Seth walk to his truck. She’d thanked him for his help because even though Willow wasn’t around to see it, Rowan had to set an example. Dad was right. They couldn’t keep asking for the Barlows’ help—or in this case allowing it, since Rowan definitely had not asked—while at the same time being ungrateful for the extra set of hands.

She didn’t want the man around, for a whole host of reasons. Not the least of which was that it was hard as hell to see something you’d lost every day (Seth), not to mention having someone working right next to you when you were in the midst of losing something else (the flock). Every minute of every day Rowan wanted to break down, wanted to cry, to weep for the loss of her family’s heritage.

This would be her last shearing season, her last lambing season, her last everything.

Well, that was a way to put it, she thought as she watched Seth climb into his truck.

This was her last everything.

Willow waved from the porch, blissfully unaware of the hardship around her. She had her daddy, her dog, her Pop-Pop, and a whole host of new uncles, all for her very own. The little girl was happy now, but Rowan didn’t even try to fool herself into thinking things would always be that way. Eventually Willow would ask hard questions about why she’d never met Court before, about why the people in town gave her the side eye whenever they stopped for milk or to drop off a check at the bank. She’d ask, too, how Rowan had managed to lose the family business, how she couldn’t keep it going on her own.

Rowan had answers, of course, but they all made her look bad, put her in the worst possible light.

It was entirely possible that when Willow grew up, Rowan would lose her daughter, too. Not in the way Rowan had always feared, in a courtroom, with a judge looking down on her, but in more damaging and hurtful ways.

More permanent ways.

Perhaps if Rowan hadn’t been so focused on nursing, she’d have paid more attention about how to run a successful ranching operation. Hell, perhaps if she’d kept her legs together…

But then Willow wouldn’t be here, and that was unthinkable.

Rowan pressed her lips together and headed back up to the front porch. She still needed to make dinner, probably just bologna and cheese since she was so exhausted. But it was the little girl’s favorite. It was important to Rowan to do the best she could, make the best possible home and life for her daughter until Willow, like everything else, disappeared from Rowan’s life.

Maybe Rowan wasn’t a person worth loving, she mused as she climbed the wooden steps. Certainly not a person worth sticking around for, not the first time anyway. Court had tried to come back, because he wanted a Just-Add-Water Family. And Seth had tried to come back, but he just wanted more land.

No one, it seemed, wanted Rowan for Rowan.

Inside, she made hot chocolate and set it down next to a sandwich with the crusts cut off. Then Rowan turned and started washing last night’s dishes.

“Mama?”

The way Willow had said it told Rowan it hadn’t been the first time the little girl had tried to get her attention. “Sorry, honey. What?”

“I’m done,” Willow declared, holding up her plate.

“Bring it over,” said Rowan, nodding at the sink.

Willow frowned as she slid off the chair. “Are you okay, Mama?”

Rowan looked down into her daughter’s Barlow-brown eyes and forced a smile across her lips. “Yeah,” she replied. “I’m fine. I’m just fine, baby.”

From his seat in the living room, Dad grunted and shot her a dark look.

“I’m just fine,” Rowan repeated.





Chapter Thirty-Seven




‡


Seth did see her the next day. And the day after that. Seth and Rowan worked side by side every day for two weeks shearing the flock and bagging the proceeds. On the third week, it appeared that they’d finished the job just in time, because when he arrived that morning, Rowan was already in the barn, sleeves rolled up and drying off a newly born lamb.

Willow was already up and standing off to the side next to Mac, watching rapturously as her mother eased the tiny creature into life on Earth.

Seth gave the old man a nod and the little girl a wink, took off his jacket, and rolled up his own sleeves to check on a second ewe that’d gone down a few feet away from the first. He had to admit that with the ewes sheared, it was easier to check the position of the lamb and monitor any signs of imminent distress. He was sad that the knowledge of how to run a sheep ranch would eventually fade from the Archers’ familial memory. Another way of life threatened, another legacy dwindling. It was probably Willow’s first lambing season, and definitely her last.

Lambing and calving had quite a bit of overlap, and Seth had no trouble pulling his small charge, laying it on the fresh, clean straw, and toweling him down. He sang as he worked, as he was sometimes wont to do. He hummed a bit and crooned, “Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys,” while rubbing down the lambs.

Willow squealed and laughed. “They’re not cowboys, Seth! They’re sheep.”

Seth gave her a sharp look. “Well now, how do you know they won’t grow up to be cowboys? They might.”

Willow gaped at him. “Sheep don’t ride horses!” she insisted.

“That’s not true,” he argued. “I’ve seen it happen.”

“You have not!”

“I have! At the State Fair. They have trick riders in the rodeo, and I’ve seen all kinds of things. Cats and dogs riding horses, sheep riding them, too. Have you been to the rodeo?”

Willow frowned and shook her head. “No. We don’t go.”

Seth glanced at Rowan, who studiously avoided looking at him. He didn’t think Rowan was the kind of woman who’d let her bad experience with the rodeo keep her from giving her daughter a proper Wyoming childhood. He guessed it was probably more a question of finances. He knew they didn’t have much, and it was obvious that Rowan scraped together every dime they had.

“Well, you can come with us in the summer,” Seth told Willow.

“Really?!” she gasped, clapping her tiny hands together.

Seth nodded. “We all go. As a family. Every year. Your Daddy and I will take you, along with your other uncles. Dakota will probably go, too. She usually does, to see if there are any good horses for sale.”

“You’re good with sheep,” declared the little girl.

“Well,” replied Seth, “this is one thing I know, honey, mamas and their babies.”

The tiny lamb collapsed from the exhaustion of his first day in the world, belly full. Willow moved next to him, sat down, and lifted his head into her lap, petting him gently. “I like this one,” she declared.

“Oh, yeah? He’s your favorite?”

Willow nodded. “Cloud,” she decided firmly.

“Good name.”

“Do you name your cows?”

“No. Only the bulls. Our bull is named Sampson. He’s an Angus. He weighs about two thousand pounds.”

Her eyes widened. “Whoa! Can I see him?”

Seth puffed out his cheeks as he hesitated. “Weeeeell…he’s not friendly, honey. So, you can go to the fence, but you’ll have to keep your distance.”

“Can I see a calf?”

“Sure,” he agreed, because it was safer. “In fact, I just pulled one a little while ago. She’s a bundle of energy. Loves to run all over.”

Seth saw Rowan smile, and though she might have been simply mirroring her daughter’s enthusiasm, he was glad to see it. He didn’t like to see her upset, or beaten down by physical labor and financial worries. He smiled back at her, and this time, she didn’t turn away.

“Stay for dinner,” said Mac, surprising Seth.

When Rowan didn’t object, he considered it then nodded. “Okay.”

It was interesting to see Rowan and Mac working together in the relatively small kitchen space, father and daughter doing a practiced dance of passing utensils back and forth between them, along with cutting boards and mixing bowls. When Seth was finished washing his hands and drying them, he clapped the older man lightly on the shoulder. “You can sit, Mac. I’ve got this.”

Mac gave him a curious look, but Seth nodded encouragingly.

“I know my way around a kitchen,” Seth insisted.

Mac hesitated then took a seat at the table. “Well, all right,” he concluded as he watched Seth pick up the measuring cups and flour for the biscuits. “How’d you come by that trade? Kitchen work’s a far cry from being on the range.”