hailstones. Eve leaned forward and squinted, trying to see the highway through the slap of the wipers. Even though she’d left the office in plenty of time to get home, feed the animals and freshen up, she hadn’t counted on the jack-knifed moving van that had blocked two lanes and caused a humongous snarl. Or on the sudden deluge from the sky. Traffic inched along.
Matt Crow was due at the farm in fifteen minutes. No way would she be home by then. Her stomach knotted tighter. She gripped the steering wheel, peered at the endless strings of red lights in front of her, and worried about her animals. They were bound to be wet and hungry. Hopefully they’d taken shelter on the porch or under the barn’s shed.
She was particularly concerned about Lonesome and Sukie, the old mule and cow that had come with the place. Lonesome was half-bund and Sukie needed to be milked. They were used to going to the barn in the evening, but she’d locked Gomez inside that morning, not thinking that she would be so late getting home.
Eve turned on the radio, trying to find some music to soothe her jangled nerves.
It didn’t help.
After what seemed like hours, she finally made it to the outskirts of Dallas, past Mesquite, which abutted the city, then onto open highway. The traffic thinned, and she was able to increase her speed. Home wasn’t far now.
A few minutes later, she turned onto the rutted drive to the farm and bumped over the cattle guard. Her headlights swept over a sleek black sports car parked by the front gate.
“Oh, no,” she moaned. “He’s here.” How had Matt made it through the same traffic she’d been cursing? She didn’t have time to worry about that now, she thought as she pulled to a stop beside him.
As soon as she threw open the door, Matt was there with a golf umbrella and a large flashlight. “I figured you got stuck in traffic,” he said.
“I did, and you’ll have to excuse me. I have to see about the animals. Poor Lonesome and Sukie are locked out of the barn. And Gomez must be having a fit. Sorry, you’ll have to come back another time.”
Ignoring the downpour, she dashed through the front gate, out the back gate and toward the barn where the vapor light had come on. The dogs had begun barking like crazy and ran after her, circling and dancing around as if it were a game.
“I’ll help,” Matt yelled.
“Come back another time!” She half turned to wave him off, stumbled, and took a header into a deep puddle. The dogs splashed around her, licking and nudging, wanting to play. “Stop it, you guys. Back to the house. Now!” Thankfully, they obeyed.
Mumbling, she pushed herself to her feet and wiped the mud from her face. She was covered with guck. Irish wouldn’t have to worry about the purple jacket again. It was ruined.
She squinted toward the barn door. Things looked very blurry, even accounting for the rain and the poor lighting. Blast! Her contact lens must have popped out. Knowing that it was a lost cause, still she knelt on the ground and patted around in the mud.
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