Rough Stock

by Dahlia West

  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.

  “Okay,” Rowan replied. “We’ll get some lunch.”

  “Will you stay for lunch?” Willow asked Seth.

  Seth pursed his lips and stood up. “Well, now,” he drawled. “I’m not sure if—”

  “There’s enough,” Rowan said, surprising him.

  He’d been prepared to beg off, to make things easier for her.

  “I mean,” she added, “if you’re going to fix the gate…I could do it myself, but…” She sighed heavily.

  Seth took in her slumped shoulders, the dark circles under her eyes. “But you’ve got a ranch to run and your Dad in the hospital and a little girl to care for.”

  “And Wooliam needs a bath,” Willow chimed in.

  “And Wooliam needs a bath,” Seth repeated. “We can’t neglect Wooliam. How about I make lunch while Mommy washes Wooliam and takes a nap?”

  “I can make lunch,” Rowan argued. “And I’m fine. I don’t need a nap.”

  Seth glanced at Willow, who was skipping happily up the drive. The private confession Rowan had made earlier was al
l but forgotten now, hidden away like a dirty secret. He realized that Rowan would never admit to being overwhelmed in front of the girl. It would be like giving up, or letting it all fall apart. And Rowan didn’t seem like the type to do either.

  “Well, at the risk of ending up like the gate, I’m going to have to argue with you,” he told her.

  Rowan blushed.

  “Sit down, anyway,” he said as they reached the house. “Get off your feet for a little bit.”

  Before she could argue, he had already settled himself into the kitchen, washing his hands at the sink.

  She hovered a bit, but he ignored her entirely, figuring the best way to win an argument with the woman was to just not have one. He found potato salad in the fridge and bread in the pantry and finally, after several minutes, he heard her sigh.

  “Just for a minute,” she finally said before she headed out the front door.

  Through the window, he saw her lower herself into one of the rockers.

  Willow seemed agreeable to almost everything he put in front of her, except mustard. She liked her roast beef plain and her milk dosed with chocolate syrup. Seth fixed a plate for Rowan but doubted she would actually eat it. He covered it and put it in the fridge, instead starting a pot of fresh coffee.

  When he stepped out onto the front porch, he found her awake in the chair, but her eyelids were drooping. “You really do need to get some rest,” he told her, passing her the cup. He wished it was decaf.

  “I’m all right. I do work the night shift every week. I’ll survive.”

  Seth slid down into the chair next to hers. “What’s Cheyenne like? Living there, I mean. I’ve only spent a few nights there.”

  “Loud,” she said, lifting her mug to her lips. She took a long sip and closed her eyes. “Oh God. Thank you so much.”

  He nodded. “Loud, huh? I believe that.”

  Rowan leaned back into the rocker. “I miss the quiet in the morning. Just the wind and the birds.”

  “I like to take a minute before the day starts, too. Watch the sunrise.”

  She smiled. “I’m glad to be back, in spite of everything. I never wanted to leave.”

  He sighed. “I understand why you had to.”

  She looked at him, eyes wide. “You don’t hate me?”

  “Hate you? Rowan, you were a kid. And, like you said, Court still is a kid. I am angry. I’ll admit that. I’m angry that he hurt you. I’m angry that I had a niece I didn’t know about for all this time. And I’m angry at the way Court’s handling it now. But none of that anger is directed at you, Rowan. I promise you. Not a bit of it. I don’t hate you. Or Court, though he deserves the bulk of the blame here.”

  “And…” She cleared her throat nervously. “The others?”

  “My brothers? They feel the same. Family’s important to us all, Rowan. And to have a little girl and not know her, that doesn’t sit well with us, but we can only move forward, fix what’s broken. We’ll give you anything you need.”

  She nodded and took another sip of her coffee. “I hate to be anyone’s obligation, though.”

  Seth set down his mug and turned to her. “You are not an obligation, Rowan. Let’s get that straight. I’m here because I want to be. And the others will help you in any way they can, too. You’re not an obligation, Rowan. You’re family.”

  He helped her get the feed laid out for the flock and patted his front shirt pocket one final time. “I’ll take care of this tomorrow,” he vowed before he headed to his truck.

  When he finally pulled into his own driveway, Walker was standing on the porch giving him some serious hairy eyeball. “How long does it actually take to pick up tractor parts these days?”

  Seth shrugged and opened the gate on the truck’s bed. “Stopped to fix a fence line,” he replied, which was technically true. It seemed less complicated than telling the whole truth.

  Walker sighed. “Okay. Well, we’ve got to have that spreader working by tomorrow morning. Anyway, Sofia’s got your lunch.”

  “I’ll skip it,” said Seth, feeling guilty. “I’ll get the tractor up and running.”

  Walker didn’t question him, because no one ever questioned him. He was Saint Seth, after all.

  He didn’t want to stir up trouble by telling the truth about where he’d been, so he focused intently on getting the tractor’s motor in working order instead. But he should’ve been done after lunch, not just starting, and the long shadows faded into full-on night before Seth could finally replace the alternator and all the belts. His stomach told him he’d missed dinner, but the rest of him made it clear that sleep was more important. He dragged himself up to the shower and fell into bed, trying not to think about a woman with tortured brown eyes just a mile down the road.

  *

  He’d set his alarm this time, to beat the sunrise by more than just his usual few minutes. He dressed in the dark, found new bolts in the storage room of the utility shed, and headed off down that one mile back to the Archer place. He didn’t get farther than the gate, not wanting to wake Rowan or Willow. He parked and set the toolbox down in the headlights of the Ford so he could see.

  Just as the sun rose behind him, he finished replacing the last bolt, threw the rusty ones into the toolbox, and closed the lid. He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Rowan coming toward him with a thermos in her hand. “If that’s coffee you’re offering, I’ll take it. ’Course, if it’s poison, I’ll probably still take it,” he told her with a grin.

  “Seth, I didn’t expect you to come out here at the crack of dawn just to fix my gate.”

  He shrugged, ignoring the ache in his shoulders. The hot coffee went down easily and warmed him all over. He swallowed it gratefully. “Just thought I’d get a jump start on the day.”

  “Have you eaten?”

  “I don’t usually do breakfast. But I wouldn’t turn down another one of these,” he said, holding up the already nearly empty thermos.

  Up at the house, they sat on the porch, him with a proper coffee mug this time and Rowan with one of her own. They watched the sun’s rays fall across the valley and illuminate the snow-capped mountains in the distance. The birds sang happily, heralding the crisp, spring morning.

  “How’s your dad?”

  “The fluids seem to be working,” she told him. “It’s slow going, especially since he’s trying to heal from the surgery on top of the pneumonia, but no fever, at least.”

  “Good. That’s good. And the flock?”

  “It’s doable,” she said quickly.

  Which meant it probably wasn’t.

  If their calving season was about to start, then the Archers’ lambing season was just around the corner as well, and there was no way Rowan could handle it alone. But damn, he admired her determination to try anyway. This was a woman who wouldn’t give up without a fight, just like himself.

  “I’ll stay,” he offered. “Help you get the morning feed down.”

  “Oh, Seth. No. You don’t have to. I can—”

  “No one’s saying you can’t, Rowan. But I’m here now anyway. Might as well make myself useful. And pay you back for the coffee.”

  “The coffee’s for the gate.”

  “No. No. I said yesterday I’d fix the gate. Coffee wasn’t part of the deal.”

  “But—”

  “Why are you arguing what’s been decided, Rowan? It’ll take less time to lay down the feed than we’re spending going back and forth on it.”

  He finished his morning brew, because it was good, and because she’d thought to make it for him, before he set down his empty mug and stood up.

  They worked side by side in the barn, laying out grain from the bags he’d delivered earlier, Rowan keeping up with him every second. Seth was as impressed as he was irritated. He’d rather she be back up on the porch, resting as much as she could, but he knew she’d never go for it.

  By the time they finished, it was full light outside. Despite the chill, Rowan reached for the jacket she w
as wearing—his jacket—and started to slide it off. “I should give this back to—”

  He reached out and pressed a hand to her shoulder. “Don’t,” he ordered. “It’s too cold out. And I don’t—”

  He was interrupted by the sound of tires on the gravel. He turned to see a car coming to a stop in front of the house. Seconds later, a scowling Emma Archer stomped toward them, after slamming her car door shut so hard it rattled on its frame. Before she crossed the driveway, the front door opened, and Willow came out with a coat thrown over her pink pajamas, Wooliam in tow. “Hi, Aunt Emma! Hi, Uncle Seth!” she called, waving.

  Emma’s angry stride broke as she glanced at the girl.

  “Morning sweetheart. Wooliam,” Seth replied with a wave of his own. He caught Emma’s widened eyes and her mouthing Uncle Seth? to Rowan, who shrugged.

  “Emma,” he said with a friendly smile.

  The woman didn’t return the greeting or the sentiment.

  “He fixed the gate,” Rowan told her, pointing toward the driveway.

  Emma’s gaze followed the gesture. “Okay,” she said slowly.

  “Well,” Seth declared, defusing the tension, “I better get back. Thanks for the coffee, Rowan.”

  He nodded again to Emma, not harboring any actual ill will toward the woman, but all the same wishing she wasn’t here. He much preferred his quiet moments alone with Rowan. They were much better, it seemed, than his quiet moments alone with himself. Though he wouldn’t let himself look too closely at why that was.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‡

  Rowan rose early the next morning, ready to get a head start on the day. She dressed Willow in her warmest clothes and bundled her into her coat. “Don’t get too far ahead,” Rowan told her as she buttoned her up. “You stay with the dogs. And—”

  “I know, Mama.”

  They’d already been through it all during breakfast, but Rowan was still nervous. It was the first time Willow would be so far from the house. A lot of things could go wrong.