When he’d gotten all two hundred plus head outside, Rowan secured the gate as best she could with the broken wire, wrapping it around the post several times then declaring it good enough for now. She dumped hay bales over the side, into the pasture proper, struggling to lift each one in turn. Then she headed back to the front of the property, shut off the Toyota’s engine, and carried Willow into the house.
In one of the small guest bedrooms upstairs, she curled up beside her daughter and closed her eyes until Emma walked in the door hours later. She’d brought fast food, and they all tucked into it, seated around the kitchen table, which probably didn’t see much use these days. With Mom gone while both girls were in their teens (breast cancer), the whole family had migrated to eating in front of the television, which was far easier than sitting around all looking at each other, all trying not to look at Mom’s empty chair.
Rowan suspected that their father had continued the habit after they’d graduated.
Both sisters spoke as delicately as they could about the hospital stay and the home care Dad would need when he was discharged.
Little ears perked up anyway. “Is Pop-Pop okay?” Willow asked.
Rowan took a deep breath. “He’s sick, honey. He had a problem with his heart. He’s going to come home soon, though. And you’ll see him then.”
Willow wrinkled her nose. “Will he take me fishing?”
Rowan pressed her lips together and shook her head. “No, honey. He won’t be able to do that for a while.”
Willow’s face darkened. “Will you take me fishing?”
Rowan sighed. “I can’t, honey. Pop-Pop’s going to need me here. At least for a while.”
“How long can you stay?” asked Emma.
Rowan rubbed her temples with her fingers. “I don’t know. A week? Maybe two? Not long enough. Not nearly long enough.”
Emma shot a look at Willow and frowned. “I can’t always be here,” she told Rowan. “I’ve got my job in town. I can cut down on my hours but not by a lot. I just got hired. You’ll have to take her to the hospital with you, on days I can’t be here.”
Rowan leaned back in her chair and stared up at the ceiling.
“Rowan,” Emma pressed.
“Willow, go outside with Kinka, okay?” Rowan encouraged now that the girl was finished eating. “Leave your plate. I’ll clean up. Just go on.”
Willow scowled, clearly hating to be shuffled out of the house while adults were talking. She made it as far as the living room and flopped onto the couch.
“Outside!” Rowan ordered.
The front door banged loudly, sounding the girl’s retreat.
Rowan stood up and started clearing the table, refusing to look at her sister. They’d only had one conversation about this. One conversation in almost five years. Rowan had told the truth, told it only to her sister, and they vowed never to bring it up again.
“We’re going to have to talk about it,” Emma said quietly. “Sooner rather than later.”
Rowan sighed and leaned against the fridge, fighting the headache that was throbbing behind her eyes. “Why? What does it matter right now?”
When Emma didn’t answer her, Rowan took her hand away from her face to peer at her sister.
“Court stayed,” Emma finally said.
Those two words rang out in the tiny kitchen like gunshots.
Rowan stared at her. “What?!”
“Court stayed. After his dad’s funeral. I think maybe permanently.”
Rowan’s thoughts caught like wildfire and spread just as fast to every corner of her fevered brain. He was on the road. He was always on the road. She’d assumed he’d come back, of course, to attend the service, but how could he stay? He’d never wanted to stay in Star Valley, not while he was still young enough to compete.
She pushed off the fridge and headed outside. She dragged cold air into her lungs, gulping it down, letting it numb the shock. Out there, beyond the pasture, he was there. Court. Just a mile and a half away.
There was nothing for it. Nothing to do or say, but anger welled up inside her, and in lieu of having him to yell at, or anyone really, Rowan caught sight of Willow on top of Kinka, arms around his neck, shouting gleefully and kicking him wildly as though her rubber galoshes had spurs.
To be fair, the dog was massive, with inches upon inches of thick fur that protected him from the winter weather (and four-year-old cowgirls), and his tongue lolled out of his mouth like he loved the attention, but Rowan used the last lungful of air to yell at her anyway. “Don’t ride the dog!” she shouted.
Both the little girl and her makeshift mount paused to look at her. Reluctantly, Willow slid off Kinka and stomped her booted feet in the spring slush. “Well, can I have a pony?” she yelled back.
Rowan was flustered, caught off guard by such a crazy question. She gaped at her daughter. “No,” she finally replied.
Willow climbed the pasture gate, threw her leg over, and dropped down to the other side. She trudged through the snow, glaring at her mother. “If I had a dad, he’d get me a pony.”
Rowan fought back tears. Willow was getting too old to speak freely around her. All this talk of Dads was starting to turn the little girl against her.
Willow seemed to realize she’d pushed a little too far. Her face softened, and she looked up at Rowan. “We can put up a sign,” she offered.
“A…sign?” Rowan stammered.
“For my daddy. Like when Carlie lost her dog. She put up signs to get him back.”
Before Rowan could speak, Emma snorted beside her. “The dog part’s right.”
Willow looked back and forth between the two older women, clearly not understanding.
“Go inside and dry out,” Rowan said, waving her hand toward the front door.
“But—”
“It’s almost bedtime. How about some hot chocolate first, though?” Rowan asked, cutting her off.
Willow’s face brightened, and she hopped up the last two steps. “Okay! Then can we talk about a pony?”
Rowan held her breath for a long moment. Willow understood about money, at least that they didn’t have much and that was why she couldn’t get every single thing she wanted when they were at the store. She could sit the girl down, explain how expensive ponies were…and leave dads out of the conversation entirely.
“Come on,” said Emma. “Hot chocolate it is!” She grinned at Willow but shot Rowan a decidedly darker look before she disappeared inside.
Alone on the porch, Rowan looked out over the vast field that had belonged to her family for three generations. She couldn’t see the Barlows’ homestead from here, but it cast a hell of a long shadow anyway.
Chapter Five
‡
Seth offered to make breakfast in the morning and stoked up the fire so the potatoes would cook through. Sawyer poured himself some coffee as Court stumbled out of his tent like he was on a bender. Seth was half-tempted to look for a starry-eyed buckle bunny following behind him, missing her bra and her self-esteem.
Sawyer offered Court the metal coffee pot, and Court took it gratefully, filling a cup and topping it off with sugar from the metal canister. He took a long sip but came up sputtering, like a man drowning unexpectedly. “What the hell?!” he cried, spitting the brown liquid onto the snow.
Sawyer was too busy laughing to even try to look innocent.
Seth took the cup from his younger brother and sniffed it. It smelled fine, just like the cup Seth had poured for himself a few minutes earlier. He lifted it, took a cautious sip, then rolled his eyes.
Sawyer had replaced the sugar container with salt.
“You’re such a child!” Court snapped, even though he was the youngest.
Sawyer grinned widely. “Uh-huh.”
“You are!” Court insisted. “And you better watch out. I’ll piss in the next pot. Then we’ll see where you are.”
Sawyer snorted. “Forget it. I don’t want the Drip in my slow drip.”
Despite the early-morning cold, Court raised an ungloved middle finger.
“Let’s get to work,” Walker grunted, already packing up his tent. He’d skipped coffee, and breakfast, and anything resembling pleasantries this morning.
Seth frowned and silently wondered if he’d be packing Walker home on the back of his horse after the man passed out from exhaustion. God, Seth hoped not. He doused the fire, covered it with a mound of snow, and put away the breakfast gear.
They slung their packs back onto their horses after saddling them up. Court stepped into the trees to piss then charged at BlackJack the same way he always did, swinging up into the saddle without using stirrups—showing off for no one, not way out here.
Austin groaned because the display was getting old.
Court grabbed the saddle horn, and swung up into his seat, grinning like a kid at Christmas. “All right, all right, all right!” he cried…until he tried to put his feet in the stirrups. He frowned. “Now what in the hell…?”
They’d been drawn up, nearly under the flap. To put boots into them would make Court look like he was riding a Big Wheel. “God damn it!” he huffed.
Sawyer slapped his leg, and even Austin had to laugh at that one.
“No one likes a showoff,” Walker said in his deep-chested baritone.
Seth thought he saw a thin smile play across Walker’s lips, though. That made him feel better. When they stopped for lunch, he’d make sure Walker ate twice his share.