by Dahlia West
Seth held her around the neck and the hocks, gently, as promised, while Rowan sheared off the wool that had been the source of the Archer family income for the last one hundred years.
“Should you do this before lambing?” he asked.
Rowan smirked at him with her hands on her hips. “Yes,” she insisted. “We already have the heaters. And the lambs will be better off. It’ll be cleaner in here.” She said it while looking at Seth as though he were something she’d discovered on the bottom of her boot.
“Sorry,” he replied. “I guess I don’t know much about sheep operations.”
Rowan’s lips pressed together as she looked over her herd. “And I guess I don’t need to know. Not anymore.”
She said it with a wisp of sadness in her voice. Seth understood it and didn’t blame her. The deal was a good one, and everyone would benefit, but he didn’t like change, either. He wanted Snake River to go on forever, unchanged since the time of his ancestors. Certainly Rowan had every right to want that for her own family’s spread. Under the circumstances, she seemed to be accepting the shift better than he might have, if their roles had been reversed.
“Your dad looks good,” Seth told her. “Do you think he’ll be okay, though? With less work?”
Rowan sighed and looked up at the house, shielding her eyes with her hand. “It’ll be a tough adjustment. He’s worked a full day every day since he was a little boy. There’ll still be plenty for him to do, I suppose. Fences that need walking, painting the house. And we still have the chickens.” She gave him a tiny smile, and Seth’s heart warmed to see it. “Expect him to worry your cattle, though. Checking on them, sending the dogs out with them.”
Seth nodded. “Well, our cattle don’t see dogs much, but I suspect they’ll all learn to live together,” he mused. “The dogs need someone to look after, and the cows need someone to protect them. They need each other.”
Rowan looked away, and he thought maybe he’d pushed too hard on that one, but he wasn’t sure he cared. He wasn’t going to hide his feelings. He wanted her. She knew it. And he could wait as long as it took for her to realize that he wasn’t going anywhere this time. The sun was setting, though, and it was time to head home for the day. They’d finished before Emma had even gotten off work at her job in town. Seth was a hard worker, even if he didn’t know anything about sheep.
Rowan locked up the flock in the barn and ushered the dogs into their run. Seth stood by, watching her feed them, noting how happy and exuberant they were. He’d be forever grateful to Kinka, who’d saved Rowan all those nights ago.
“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.”
“Oh,” Seth called from over his shoulder. “Not too far off from campsite cooking.”
Mac snorted. “Anytime I was out and about, we had beans and taters and not much else.”
Seth grinned at him. “I can do better than that.” As he plopped the dough down onto the freshly floured counter and began to knead it, he said, “After our mother died, I sort of started hovering around Sofia Vasquez in the kitchen. She and my mom had fed us our whole lives, plus the ranch hands. It felt like she was still there, in that room, by the stove.” He turned to give Mac a sympathetic look only to be met with the same. “Guess you came about your skills in the same way,” Seth said quietly.
Mac nodded and rubbed his chest absentmindedly. “I did. My wife passed before she had a chance to teach Emma and Rowan any more than a few basic recipes. We all pitched in, cracked opened Beverly’s Saint Joseph’s cookbooks and worked it out until the meals were edible.”
Seth chuckled. “My mom had all the same ones. Going back thirty years. We still have them.”
Mac nodded, and Seth got the impression that here was a man who understood, understood that the presence of a person was just as important as the memory of them.
Biscuits, fresh from the oven, were set on the table thirty minutes later, and Seth sat down between Rowan and Willow to eat. During dinner, he took a page from Sawyer’s book—not armpit farts certainly, but biscuits became eyeballs and ears, then mouths that had a lot to say about “Spongeboob,”—all to Willow’s squealing delight. Rowan tried to maintain a fierce, disapproving look but fell into laughter beside her daughter. Mac chuckled, too, but winced and rubbed his chest.
“Sorry,” Seth told him.
The old man waved him away with a wrinkled hand. “Don’t apologize,” he replied. “Been a long time since I’ve had a laugh. About anything.”
Seth cleared his plate and grabbed a towel, drying silently while standing next to Rowan. He had a lot to say to her, but they weren’t alone, and maybe it wasn’t the right time yet, plus between them they’d pulled seven lambs today. If she was anywhere near as tired as he was, she was practically dead on her feet.
He kind of enjoyed the way they quietly worked together in the kitchen, just the same way they did in the barn. Being around Rowan, in any capacity, was a comfort. He was sorry to see them finish the chore so soon, and as he laid out the damp towel on the counter to dry, he turned and kissed her quickly, on the top of the head, while she was still standing close, then walked away before she could protest.
“Good night!” Willow cried as she slammed into his legs, pink nightgown swirling across the wooden floor.
He bent, picked her up, and hugged her tightly. “Good night, princess.” Het set her back down and gave Mac a wave as the old man was seated on the couch. He didn’t look back to see if Rowan was irritated or sad to see him go. He knew which one he preferred.
*
April was now in full swing when Seth was headed to the Archer place again, but this time he wasn’t driving his Ford. He and his brothers were driving the herd instead. Choctaw pranced out front as they moved a portion of the cattle to the Archer grazing lands. Up ahead, Sawyer and Austin had dismounted to cut the wire fencing and allow the cattle in.
Once they were all secure, Seth unhooked his new reata from his saddle horn and roped the cow who’d dropped the first calf of the season. Mother in tow, the calf followed naturally, and he led them farther east, toward the Archer farm proper. At the swinging gate, Seth hopped down from the saddle and led the cow to the smaller paddock.
Willow caught sight of him from the interior of the barn, where she was playing with Cloud. She shouted and waved then hurried toward him. Behind her, Kinka followed, tongue lolling, eyes on the livestock. Seth guessed the canine was bored and looking for work since the sheep were tucked safely in the barn.
“The calf!” Willow exclaimed happily.
Seth grinned at her. “Told y
ou I’d let you see her. Back up now, sweetie,” he said as he grasped the chain on the gate.
Willow dutifully moved away, and Seth swung open the entrance just wide enough to lead the cow into the paddock. Her calf followed immediately, and he closed and locked them in. The mama wasn’t too interested in the girl or the lamb, but she kept one eye on the large dog as she stayed near the fence, closest to the protection of her separated herd.
The calf didn’t seem to know what to look at first. She was fascinated by the dog, and the girl bounding around happily. Seth headed to the barn gate, leaned over the fence, and lifted Cloud over and set the lamb on his lanky legs. The calf jogged over, curious yet cautious. Willow managed to touch her shoulder, distracted as the calf was by the other animals and unfamiliar scene.
“She’s soft!”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And brown.”
Seth shrugged. “Chocolate milk.”
Willow narrowed her eyes at him, apparently unsure if she could believe this new information.
Seth gave the game away when he couldn’t hold back a laugh.
“Stormy,” Willow declared, patting the calf. “Stormy. And Cloud.”
Seth smiled, pleased she was happy.
The calf lunged and pulled back, lunged and pulled back, until the lamb finally gave chase. The two youngsters sped around the enclosure as Willow shrieked and squealed.
From behind them, Rowan came tearing ass around the side of the barn. “Willow!” she shouted as she flung herself blindly over the gate without even stopping to look. As she charged into the enclosure, Seth grabbed her around the waist. “Whoa!” he cried and pulled her tightly to him. “It’s all right! Everything’s fine! I put the lamb and the calf together. See? Look. They’re playing.”
Willow squealed again and sloshed around in her rubber boots, trying to catch the two newborns as they chased each other around the small enclosed pasture.
