by Sherri Sand
Braden’s head went down, and Ross caught the flash of anger in his eyes. Lord, I don’t have time to do this. He sighed, knowing full well that he needed to help this family. But God wasn’t working on his timetable. But with the way the woman had destroyed his hydrangea the other day, there was no telling what his barn would look like if he left. He put a hand on Braden’s shoulder. “I’ll show you where the pitchforks are.”
Sierra watched them walk off, Ross’s hand still on Braden’s shoulder. Her son’s face was clear and animated as he chatted with the man. Emory and Trevor scampered over to a stack of hay bales to play king of the mountain.
Ross and Braden reappeared a few minutes later with two pitchforks and a wheelbarrow. Man-sized gloves swam on Braden’s hands.
Ross’s stance seemed stiff, and he definitely wasn’t smiling. He led Chance into an empty stall and bolted the door shut.
Sierra walked over to the dirty stall. “You don’t have to do this, Ross.”
His smile was brief. “It’s not a problem.”
She chewed her bottom lip. “About your mom’s plant, I can’t apologize enough for what happened.”
Hands at his hips, Ross swung to look at Chance, who circled his new surroundings. “I can’t say I would have cried if it had poisoned him.”
She couldn’t tell if he was joking. There was no hint of a smile anywhere on his face, just hard planes as he stared at Chance. She waved a hand toward the wheelbarrow. “Really, we can take care of cleaning the stall.”
He tilted his head and watched her a moment. Then a slight smile crossed his face and his tone seemed deliberately upbeat. “You would, huh?” He grabbed the pitchfork and entered the stall. “This from the woman who parted my hydrangea bush like the Red Sea?”
She felt heat like two branding irons in her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I just—” He stabbed a heaping load of dirty straw and carried it to the wheelbarrow and dumped it in, Braden right behind him with a smaller forkful. “I didn’t know I’d mangled the bush so badly until you pulled me out of it.”
Ross looked at her and grinned. “Don’t worry about it. It was due for a good trimming anyway.” He went back in for another scoop, then stopped, resting the pitchfork tines on the ground, and laid an arm across Braden’s shoulders. He pointed to where Braden was working. “Let’s leave the clean straw and just get the stuff that looks dirty.”
Braden nodded. “Okay.”
Ross gave his shoulder a squeeze, then moved to separate some of the straw with the tines. He glanced at Sierra, a warm glint in his eye. “You’ve got a hard worker here.”
Braden grinned at him, a glow on his face that gave Sierra pause. How sad that her son was so hungry for a man’s attention that he’d look for it in someone other than his father. Yet Michael had all but disappeared from his life in the past several months.
Sierra gave her son a teasing look. “Yes, he is. Though I’d say he’d rather scoop up horse poop than unload the dishwasher.”
“This is real work, isn’t it, Braden? Builds muscles on a man.”
Almost of their own accord, Sierra’s eyes moved to Ross’s well-developed shoulders and arms to verify that it was indeed so. She made herself look away.
Braden strained to lift the huge pile of straw he’d scooped. “Yep!”
Sierra cleared her throat. “My mom said you did all the landscaping here yourself.”
“That I did.”
“I don’t think I’ve seen another place quite like it.”
“Thanks.” A boyish grin flashed before he turned away to dump another load. “I bought this place from my folks six months ago.” He shrugged. “It’s been a lot of work, but I enjoy it. It’s also great advertisement for my business.” A slight shadow crossed his face. “My neighbor, Alex Cranwell, hired me to do his landscaping after he bought the place across the road.”
Braden lifted the handles of the wheelbarrow. “You want me to dump it now?”
Ross stood his pitchfork on end. “Yeah, on that pile outside that I showed you. Thanks, Braden.”
Her son disappeared through the barn door.
“You know there’s a lot of value in saying a person’s name,” Sierra said.
He looked at her with interest. “That so?”
She felt heat rise in her face again. While they worked she’d watched Braden, watched how he relaxed around Ross. She lifted her eyes back to his. “It acknowledges a person’s identity, tells him that he’s noticed.”
“And people want to be noticed, don’t they?”
“In the worst way.” She stared in the far end of the barn where Emory and Trevor were playing hide-and-seek around the small fort they’d built out of a pile of bales. Have I ever truly felt noticed?
“It must be tough raising kids by yourself.”
She gave him a half smile. “It has its moments.”
Weary after the two hours of haggling over the waterfall redesign with the Cranwells, Ross climbed Sid’s sagging front steps and rapped on the door twice. Something he did so often, it was a wonder there was any paint left on that spot.
“Door’s open.”
Ross let himself in and flopped down into the blue recliner across from his nearest neighbor and best friend.
“What’s got your pants all in a dander?”
Ross slid his gaze to Sid. “I have a boarder.”
The grizzled old man muted the television and rolled the piece of fescue to the other side of his mouth in a familiar dance between lip and grass. “Oh, you do? Now that sure does surprise me.”
“Yeah, well it wasn’t my idea.” Ross knew he wasn’t in the best mood. When he couldn’t stand his own company any longer, he’d head for Sid’s.
Sid nodded, blue eyes still sharp and clear. “Kyle.” It wasn’t a question and Ross didn’t need to answer. Sid’s chuckle made him feel that here at least, all was understood. “Another one from church?”
“I think that’s what he said.” The last wayfarer Kyle had collected had said he was a chef. Kyle persuaded Sid that he needed a cook “just until the unfortunate fellow gets his feet under him.” Three nights later a fire truck stood in Sid’s front yard and five hundred gallons of water soaked the kitchen.
“How long’s Kyle got him livin’ with you?”
“Sierra?”
Sid’s forehead bunched, which had the effect of gathering his white eyebrows into bushes over his eyes. “He’s headed for the Sierra Mountains?”
“What? No, Sierra is a woman—”
“What in tarnation? Kyle set you up with a woman?” Sid’s eyes were set to ignite.
Ross exhaled. “A horse. I’m boarding a horse for a woman named Sierra.”
After Sid settled back down to roost in his chair again, Ross explained. “And she’s terrified of horses. The woman tried to cut a path through my hydrangea to get away from the thing.”
Sid looked alarmed. “The horse was chasin’ her?”
Ross chuckled at the picture. “No.” He looked away. “Chance had just finished off Mom’s honeysuckle.”
A shine came over Sid’s face when Ross mentioned the honeysuckle. “Now I know your ma is going to hit the high notes when you tell her, but you got to admit that horse has re-finement.” Sid had a way of drawing the vowels out of sophisticated words. He’d find them in the daily crossword and then look for an opportunity to saddle one onto a conversation. It didn’t help that Sid tended to prefer horses over people, and when one exhibited good taste it tickled him to no end. “Not just any critter’d pick honeysuckle. Not when you got that fancy stuff crawling up that cedar lattice.”
“Yeah, well I don’t think Mom is going be as excited as you are.”
“Women and their flowers.” Only it came out “wimmen and their flawrs.” Sid might be one of the wealthiest polo trainers in the country, but he sure wouldn’t win a grammar contest.
Ross gave him a look. “You know how much that plant meant to mom.”
Sid waved a han
d as if he were swatting a fly. “I know, I know. Remember, I dug the hole when your daddy was away at some lawyers’ conference.” Sid never said “loi-yers”; instead it came out the way it was spelled. “Woman couldn’t stop talking about how her great-grandmother brought a plant over from Holland. She went on and on how each generation snipped a starter off the old homestead bush.”
Ross felt a smile grow inside where Sid couldn’t see it. The older man might growl and complain, but he was as softhearted as they came. When Ross’s dad had been away building up his corporate practice, Sid had looked after them. Primed the pump when the electricity went out. Repaired the fence when the steer escaped the barbed-wire enclosure.
And helped raise a boy who couldn’t seem to find his way in a world that routinely spit out kids who couldn’t read.
“So you need to replace your mom’s plant. But that wasn’t what had smoke rolling out your ears when you walked in.”
Ross felt the tension of the last two months climb back onto his frame.
“It’s that landscaping job across the road, isn’t it?” Sid pulled a pocketknife and a small piece of wood from his pocket. It was his “I’ve got all the time in the world to listen” invitation. And skill didn’t enter into it. He couldn’t whittle animals or any other kind of still life, but he could create a pile of shavings like nobody’s business.
“What I’d really like to do is plant poison oak and a little hemlock in Cranwell’s backyard.”
Sid shook his head from side to side. “I told you from the start that Alex Cranwell would be a headache. I could tell the way he climbed out of his pickup his ego was bigger ’n he was.”
“And I should have listened.”
“If he hadn’t filled yer head with that nonsense about breaking you into commercial landscaping, maybe ya would’ve. And been better off for it.”
Ross gave him a tired smile. “It’ll happen. Alex will keep his word. He just doesn’t know when to back off and let me do my job.”
“How much longer do you have at his place?”
Ross tilted his head as he considered. “If he doesn’t change the plans, and it’s a sure bet he will, we should have the majority of the landscaping done by February.” He sighed. “It’ll be worth it when it’s all done. Alex has some big contracts coming up.”
“I don’t know why you want to start something new when what you’re doin’ is workin’.”
Ross stared at the shavings that curled from Sid’s knife. “Alex Cranwell is the best shot I have to break into commercial landscaping. It’s not an easy business, Sid. If I prove myself to him, he could save me years of work getting established in the industry.”
The knife stilled a moment. “Are you sure you’re trying to prove yourself to him and not somebody else?”
Ross ignored the way Sid’s words rubbed at old wounds. “Residential landscaping more than pays the bills. I just want to do something different. Take on a new challenge.”
Sid gave him a shrewd look. “Has yer dad been out to see what you’ve done to the place yet?”
Ross studied the carpet that was new thirty years ago. A person wouldn’t know the kind of money Sid made until he walked into his state-of-the-art barn. Ross shrugged. “Mom says he’s been expanding, took on a new partner. I’m sure he’ll make it out soon.”
“You’ve been done, what? Two, three months?”
“About that. Maybe it’s hard for him to see the place so different.”
Sid leaned forward. “It’s yer mom that put her heart and soul into that farm, and she loves what you’ve done.”
Ross shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’m too busy with Alex’s place to give a tour anyway.”
Sid rolled the strand of fescue around, then finally spoke. “How sure are you, son, that Alex’ll send some of those jobs yer way?”
Ross tried to be optimistic, but he felt his dinner grow heavy in his stomach. “From what I hear, his word is gold.” But late at night, he worried about the same thing.
Sid’s eyes held a knowing twinkle that signaled a subject change. “Now, tell me more about this Sierra woman.”
Ross shifted in his seat. “Single mom. Three kids. Deadbeat dad. Had to move in with her mom.” He shrugged. “Not much to tell.”
“Hard on the eyes, is she?” The twinkle was still there.
Ross chuckled. “Far from it, but I think she’s a little young for you.”
“So what’s worryin’ you, son?”
Ross rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s the distraction of having that horse around. He keeps getting out, and Sierra’s scared to death of him. I want to help her, but I have the biggest job of my life in front of me, and I don’t have time to babysit all of them.”
“Doesn’t sound like the horse is the only distraction.”
Ross ignored the comment and focused on the shavings that curled from Sid’s knife. “I came home tonight for a quick dinner before heading back to Alex’s but ended up mucking their horse’s stall.”
Sid shifted his brow a fraction but kept stroking his knife against the wood.
“I’m on a limited time frame,” Ross went on, feeling as if he were defending himself. “I need to get this done before we get a hard freeze.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Somehow Ross didn’t feel as if Sid was siding with him. “Where’s her husband?”
Ross’s eyes shifted to the floor. “Her mom said she’s divorced.”
“The apostle Paul says to take care of widows and orphans.”
“She’s not a widow and they’re not orphans. They have a dad.”
Sid’s eyes rose with a penetrating look. “I don’t think the Good Lord’d agree with you, Ross.”
Ross propped his forearms on his knees. “They are not a part of my life. They use a corner of my barn and keep the weeds down in the pasture. I don’t have the time to take care of their horse.”
“Did the Lord tell you to take this Alex Cranwell job?”
He couldn’t meet Sid’s gaze. “God dropped it right in my lap.” Yet Ross hadn’t prayed about the decision.
Sid stopped whittling. He leaned in, his breath stirring the fine shavings on the dinner tray. “Looks like He dropped a needy family in your lap too. Better ask Him what He wants you to do afore He drops a three-legged donkey on your front porch.” He tilted back in his chair. “Now that would cause you some problems.”
Chapter 11
Braden looked over. “Mom, are you going to feed Chance while we’re at Dad’s this weekend?”
The butter knife stilled in the apricot jam. Feed Chance. By herself? She carefully spread the jam over the peanut butter. “Mmmhmm.” Maybe Elise could help her. Though picturing Elise in her designer clothes cutting open a hay bale just didn’t fit.
The table was silent, and she glanced over. Braden had guilt all over his face.
She looked at Emory, who shrugged. Sierra cut the sandwiches in half. “Why?”
He gave her a sheepish grin. “I think I left the pitchfork leaning in the corner of his stall.”
She dropped the butter knife. “Tell me you didn’t.”
He nodded his head with a wince. “I’m afraid Ross won’t see it. Sorry.”
She attempted a funny grin. “Not as sorry as you’re going to be, mister!”
Chance, nose-down in the feed trough, munched the container of grain Sierra dumped in to distract him. She perched on a hay bale and stared down at the pitchfork lying tines up in the middle of the stall floor. Nope. Ross hadn’t seen it. She stepped off the bale and clutched the grain bucket and metal spoon from the tack room. It was the only protection she could find.
The sound of the horse’s crunching slowed the closer she got to the stall door.
Silence.
Then the sound of thick lips chasing stray granules around the stainless steel basin. Finally, heavy breathing and soft snorts as Chance made sure the container was thoroughly empty.
And still Sierra stood in front of the wide wooden doo
r with its small barred window and black steel latch. I cannot do this. I cannot go in there with that … massive animal. Cold sweat dampened her forehead and prickled under her arms. But is it fair to endanger Chance? The pitchfork could cripple him if he stepped on it and freaked out. Then they’d have to put him to sleep, and it’d be her fault. The kids would hate her. Come on, Sierra. Buck up!
Sierra lifted the latch. Chance swung his head around, ears forward. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Flattened ears signaled danger, didn’t they?
Sierra took a step forward, then stopped motionless. Uh-oh, one ear forward, one back. Okay, two forward. One more step, then another halt. It felt like a sick game of Simon Says. An eternity later she reached the grain bin. Chance’s head was lowered somewhat, the perfect height to grip the halter and move his hind end away from the pitchfork. Sierra reached for the black halter. Up went the head. She dropped her arm slightly. Chance faced the wall, one baleful eye staring at her, left ear flat.
How do I get out of here?
Sierra started to back out, but Chance matched her turn, angling his rump toward her. Paralyzed, she glanced about the stall, looking for some kind of help. Her gaze slid over the powerful hooves mere feet from her body. A picture of Molly flashed into her mind, lying in the hospital bed, deathly still, monitors beeping as her life drained slowly away. Sierra’s breath came in short gasps. Sweat welled up through her pores and flashes of heat zipped through her body. Sierra inched toward the rear of the stall. The stall door was closer, but she’d have to move farther in line with the deadly hammers attached to the ends of Chance’s hind legs.
Chance tossed his head, and Sierra screamed and sank into soiled straw, covering her head with her arms, waiting for the thrashing of hooves. But all she heard was a swish of hay. Her nerves sensed a void left by the retreat of the large warm horse body. She inched her arms down and sneaked a look over the top of them. Chance was gone.
The only sound was the ring of hooves on concrete as he trotted toward the end of the barn and out toward the corral. That and the throat clearing that came from just outside the stall. “You all right, miss?”
