Rough Stock (5 page)

In one hundred years, the Barlows had never lost sight of their past. Even their late father, Rafe, was named after their fiery grandmother, Rafaela.

Watching Court leave Snake River to join the rodeo circuit had been difficult for all of them. To see him return with a synthetic rope, like some kind of…
Texas cowboy
…and no more mature now at twenty-six than he’d been when he’d left at twenty, well…

“If he could see you now,” Walker said in a near-whisper.

Seth watched Court’s eyes widen. “Okay!” Sawyer said, cutting through the tension. He grabbed Court’s arm and pulled him toward his tent. “It’s late. We’re all tired. Hit the sack.”

Court flung Seth’s arm off, looking like he was going to spit nails or take a run at Walker.

Seth shoved him, hard, in the direction of the tent. “Not tonight,” he growled in his younger brother’s ear. “
Not tonight.
”

Court’s nostrils flared, but finally he turned and ducked into his tent.

Seth didn’t relax until he saw Walker crawl into his own. Austin picked up a battery-powered lantern and was already heading toward his tent. He was right to get as much sleep as he could before his turn at the watch.

In the dark, a howl erupted, but even Seth, who was not half the mountain man his older brother was, knew it was a mile away, possibly more.

Austin paused and grunted. “We’ll likely lose a head or two tonight in the dark if we can’t scare them away,” he muttered. “Damn wolves.”

There was nothing for it, though. It was too dangerous to split up this early in the season, and shooting anything in the dark was likely to hit one of the cows rather than any faster-moving predator. Now that they’d located their cattle, tomorrow they’d round them up and drive them west toward grazing lands. There was no grass yet on this snow-covered ground, but it would be easier to drag in hay. It’d be safer there, too, closer to the homestead, farther away from the wilds.

To maintain the uneasy truce, Seth kept the watch all night, with the others trading off in the wee hours. Despite the near-constant howling, Seth wasn’t worried as much about bears or wolves as he was his own family tearing into each other. Most of the herd had made it through the winter. The Barlows, it seemed, were still left in the cold.

‡

R
owan was grateful
that the drive to the Archer farm was quick, at least compared to the trek across the entire bottom of the state of Wyoming she’d made the night before. Within twenty minutes of leaving the city limits, Rowan was winding her way up the long driveway toward home. The two-story house could use a new paint job. Its white boards were cracked and peeling in some places, but it was still the most comforting sight in the world to Rowan.

She pulled up in front of the house, driving past the low-slung barn where the sheep were housed during the worst months of the year. As she got out of the car, she could already hear the dogs in their chain-link run, clamoring for her attention.

Willow had fallen asleep in the car, so Rowan left her in the heated interior while she let the dogs out. Kinka, Jory, and Kono were barking furiously at her as she approached them. They were large, all three of them Great Pyrenees, with long white hair rivaling the sheep they looked after. The breed made excellent livestock guards, protecting the flock from wolves, coyotes, and any other predators that came down from the mountains looking for a quick meal. They were friendly, though, toward humans, at least, and Rowan always smiled when she saw them. Kinka was the pack leader, the oldest and the largest. He jumped up to greet her, paws on her shoulders.

Rowan grabbed frantically for the chain-link gate, grasping at it with her gloved fingers to hold herself up under the large male’s immense weight. He licked her face enthusiastically, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Nothing to do but grin and bear it. After a few seconds, she finally pushed him down. “Okay,” she told him. “That’s enough. Go on. Go do your job. Guard.”

Kinka recognized the gesture and the command immediately. He gave Rowan an affirmative bark then yipped at the others to get them to fall in line. Jory and Kono stopped dancing at Rowan’s feet and fled after their leader, announcing their presence to the sheep still housed in the barn and other wildlife beyond the tree line as they headed off to patrol the pasture’s perimeter.

Rowan threw open the large barn door and saw the flock huddled together in groups, standing in front of the large ceramic heaters Dad had purchased last winter after they’d lost one third of their head to below-freezing temperatures. She flipped the switch on the electrical box to shut them down. As the roar of the fans diminished, the protests of the sheep could be heard. The sun was out, though, and the day was heating up, so they’d be fine outside for the afternoon.

She slid open the side door that led to the pasture but struggled with the secondary fence. The top wire had collapsed, and she had to peel the gloves off her hands so she could untangle Dad’s makeshift attempt at fence repair. When she finally detached the barbed wire from the heavy steel gate, she heaved it open all the way to allow the flock to get through. She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted “Kinka!”

The dog left the other two to finish the patrol and bounded back toward the barn at full speed, large webbed paws never slipping in the slush and snow that covered the ground. He charged through the gate, passing up Rowan, intent now on the day’s work of herding and guarding. He snapped at the ewes, circling around them, pushing them away from their beloved heaters and out into the world, where he, Jory, and Kono would keep them safe while they grazed.

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.

‡