“I have to leave for Texas in five days. I’ve known for a while, but I guess I was hoping that something would happen and I wouldn’t have to leave them.” She sobbed into the phone. “Clint, they’re my babies.”
“I know, Jen. And you know I’ll take care of them.”
“If something happens…”
“We’re not going to discuss that. But you know I love them and I’m going to take care of them until you get home.”
She was crying, hundreds of miles away at a base in Missouri. She was crying, and he couldn’t make it better. Sleeping under this roof, in this room, he remembered the other nights she had cried, when they had been kids, and he’d sneaked in to comfort her, to promise he’d make it better.
He had prayed, and she had doubted God even existed.
“I can’t make this better, Jen.”
“You do make it better.” She sniffled, her tears obviously over. “Clint, the Army has been good for me, you know that. And I’m ready to go. I know that I have to go.”
“But it won’t be easy.”
“It’s easier knowing that you’ll have Timmy and David.”
“Do you want to bring them here, or should I come to you?”
A long pause, and he heard the sob she tried to swallow. “I want to see Dad before I go.”
He looked out the dirt-covered window at the tree branch scraping against the glass, forced into movement by the wind. “Yes, you should see him. And it would probably be better for them if you got them settled here.”
“I’ll be down in two days,” she whispered, and he knew she was crying. And he felt a lot like he might cry, too.
How was he going to let his little sister go to war, and how was he going to take care of two four-year-old boys? And then there was Willow, added by Janie to the list of people who needed his help.
Covered with dust and bits of hay, Willow walked to the door of the barn to see what the dog, Bell, was barking at. Of course it was Clint Cameron walking down the drive, a tall figure in faded jeans and a blue-gray T-shirt. A baseball cap shaded his face and his arm was still in a sling. She shook her head. Cowboys.
She brushed her hands through her hair and shook the hem of her shirt to rid herself of the hay that had dropped down her neck. Clint didn’t spot her. As he walked up the steps to the house, Willow turned back into the barn.
She tossed a few more bales of hay into the back of her truck and cut the wires that held them together. A quick glance at the sky confirmed her suspicions that a spring storm was heading their way. The temperature had dropped ten degrees, dark clouds loomed on the horizon and the leaves of the trees had turned, exposing the underside. A sure sign of rain.
Before the rain hit, she needed to feed her animals. Cattle and horses were waiting and the bulls were bellowing from their pens because they knew it was breakfast time. She opened the feed-room door and stepped inside. The tabby cat that lived in the barn scooted inside and sniffed around in the corners of the room, looking for mice.
Willow grabbed a fifty-pound bag of grain off the pile and carried it out of the room. As she lifted, preparing to drop it into the back of the truck, Clint stepped through the open double doors of the barn and walked toward her.
She dropped the bag of grain into the back and returned to the feed room. When she stepped out with another bag, he was leaning against the side of her truck.
“Need some help?”
Willow tossed the second bag of grain. “I’ve got it. And I think it’s probably better if you give your shoulder a couple of weeks to heal.”
“Yeah, probably.” He moved away from her truck. “Willow, I’m not trying to take over or anything. Janie told me you might need some help around here, and I’m a pretty good hand. If you don’t need help…”
He tilted his head to one side, a soft look in eyes that were more the color of the ocean—gray with a hint of green—rather than just a shade of gray.
She shrugged. “A kid from down the road helps out sometimes. There are times when I can use more help.”
“Hey, that’s cool. I need to get work done on my own place, so I don’t want full-time work right now.” He moved away from her truck. “I wanted to see if you had some tools I could borrow.”
“Tools.”
He nodded. “To borrow.”
“Yes, I know, I heard.” She sighed, pushing down the insecurity his presence brought out in her. “Tell me what you need and I’ll find them for you.”
“It looks like rain, so I thought I’d pull a tarp over a section of the roof of my place. There are a couple of spots that look like they might leak.”
“How are you going to climb a ladder?”
“I can handle it.”
“I can give you a ride to your place.” Willow pointed to a toolbox in the corner of the feed room. “See if I have what you need.”
As he dug through the tools, she finished loading the grain. He stepped back out of the feed room and set the metal box in the back of her truck with a brown-paper bag of nails left over from one of her own repair jobs.
“You’ve done a lot with this place. When did you build this barn?” He leaned against the side of her truck, his baseball cap pushed back, giving her full view of his eyes. Eyes that flashed with a smile that for a moment put her at ease.
“I had the barn built two years ago. The fences—” white vinyl that always looked clean “—we put up last year.”
“It looks good.” He was smiling, and then he laughed a little. “Just seems like an odd choice.”
“White vinyl fences?” She smiled, because she knew what he meant. Some men had a problem, a hang-up, with a woman raising bucking bulls.
“No, you, here, raising bulls. I seem to remember that you grew up in Europe.”
That was part of the story. She didn’t feel the need to tell him everything. She closed the door to the feed room and turned to face him.
“I did, other than a few summer visits to see Janie, but I love living in the country. And I love raising these bulls.”
“I can help you feed before you run me over to my place.”
“If you want, you can help.” She walked to the driver’s side of the truck. When she got in, he was opening the door on the passenger’s side. “Did one of those guys drive your truck home this morning?”
“My neighbor, Jason Bradshaw’s sister, drove it home.”
She
