he’d half expected to find Travis here. Maybe he’d been hoping Travis was dumb enough to come, so Billy could flatten him again like he had on prom night. The thought of Billy protecting her brought a flush of warmth to her cheeks.
“They’re a good-looking bunch,” she said. “A little spooked right now, but they’ll settle down.”
“They’d settle down a whole lot faster if it was the dead of winter and they were cold and hungry.” He paused.
“You find your father?”
Shannon nodded. “He was up at the windmill. How’s the haying coming along?”
“Fields are all mowed and turned once. With any luck we’ll be done by nightfall tomorrow. They’re predicting rain tomorrow night. Heard the forecast on my way back from town this morning.”
“That’s cutting it real close.”
“If the tractor doesn’t break down again we’ll make it.”
“Maybe.” Billy was looking a mite whipped, but Shannon wasn’t about to say so. “I can help you out, but we’ll need another hand or two to get it into the barn before it rains.”
“Thought I’d head into town after supper, see if I can scare up some more eager volunteers,” Billy said.
“Good help’s usually pretty scarce when it comes to pitching hay bales.”
Billy grinned. “True enough. But once I mention they’ll be working alongside a famous country-and-western singer, the whole town of Bear Paw’ll turn out.”
“Fine by me,” Shannon said. “The more the merrier when it comes to haying. I’ll start a big batch of spaghetti sauce tonight and plan for a big feed tomorrow.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’d best get to work.” Billy started the tractor, gave her a nod and pulled away from the porch. Shannon watched him, pondering what strange twists of fate had drawn both her and Billy Mac back to Bear Paw.
“Momma, can I help tomorrow?”
“Sure, Rose. You can ride in the hay truck and count the bales as we load them on.”
“How many bales will there be?”
“Lots and lots. Enough to feed a bunch of horses all winter long, and maybe some cows, too.”
“What if I can’t count that high?” Rose asked, frowning.
“I’ll give you a piece of paper, and when you count ten bales being loaded, you make a mark on the page. Then start counting to ten again and make another mark. Each mark will count for ten bales, and that way you’ll keep track for us. Now let’s get to cleaning these saddles. It’s almost time for me to start supper.”
They settled on the porch together, side by side, feet swinging over the edge, sponges in hand, saddles sprawled beside them. Rose made lots of suds with her sponge. Tess slept and twitched her way through the active dreams of a younger dog. Shannon breathed in the good smells of saddle soap and leather, and paused from time to time to look out across the broad sweep of McTavish Valley toward Wolf Butte. For the first time in years, she felt like she was truly home.
She wondered how long the feeling would last.
* * *
BILLY WAS DOG TIRED. His leg hurt. His side hurt. His shoulder hurt. The pain was acute, and the more he tried to ignore it, the worse it got. He tried to focus on the machinery. On loading the baling twine into the baler. On the anticipation of a home-cooked supper prepared by Shannon McTavish.
He’d overdone it today, that’s all. The pain would pass, along with the scare he’d gotten, seeing that big rooster tail of dust moving toward the ranch house, toward Shannon, and thinking it was Travis Roy.
He’d seen a lot of ugliness over the years. A lot of death. He should be immune to violence by now, but he wasn’t. Just the opposite. He’d been numb for a long time, but it was as if the pain in his body had become a conduit to all the pain and suffering he’d witnessed.
Seeing Shannon’s bruised face and how she’d tried to hide the bruises with makeup twisted him up inside. She insisted Travis wouldn’t come here. He hoped she was right, because he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he ever got his hands on that bastard. Or maybe he was sure, and that’s what scared him. Shannon was out of his league and always had been, but that didn’t keep him from caring about her, and it never would.
Billy gave up on the baler. He needed to walk the pain out. He’d go up to the windmill, check on McTavish. The wind was dying and the air was sweet with the smell of fresh-mown hay. It was going to be a pretty evening. A pretty sunset.
There was no one to see him, no one watching. He could limp. He could crawl on his hands and knees and it wouldn’t matter. That was the wonderful thing about living on the edge of nowhere. A man could find himself, re-create himself or lose himself, all without anybody watching.
McTavish was crouched at the base of the windmill, tools scattered around him, covered with grease. “I think I’ve about got ’er,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag.
Billy leaned against the front of the truck. He was sweating. He took off his hat and let the wind cool him. “I finished cutting the fields and turned them all once. Figured we could bale in the morning. I’ll head into town after supper and find us some help. With a good crew we might get all the hay in by dark, if we go at it hard.”
He let himself slide down the truck’s bumper, keeping his leg out straight, until he was sitting on the ground. “Shannon’s fixing supper, and you just got a new delivery of six mustangs from the government. Good-looking horses. Wild and wooly. I would’ve had ’em all broke by now except I’m plumb wore out.”
McTavish rubbed the stubble on his chin. He shook his head, wearing the faintest of smiles. “By God, but we’re a pair.”
Billy would’ve laughed if he’d had the strength.
* * *
TEN YEARS OF having a chef had spoiled Shannon. She’d forgotten all the basic cooking skills she’d picked up from her mother, who could shoulder a full day’s work on the ranch and still manage to produce savory home-cooked meals. As Shannon rummaged through the lower cupboards for the proper cookware, she tried to recall what she’d bought for groceries. She had two hungry men and a hungry daughter to feed in short order.
What to cook? How to keep them all happy?
“Momma, I’m hungry,” Rose said, pushing through the screen door with Tess at her heels.
She’d promised the men a good feed. They’d both be hungry. She had hamburger. Lots of hamburger. She’d fix the spaghetti sauce tonight and they’d just have to eat it two nights in a row.
“Eat a piece of fruit, Rose. It’ll tide you over until supper’s ready,” Shannon said, reaching for a skillet. “I’m making spaghetti. You like spaghetti, don’t you?”
“With meatballs?”
“With meat sauce. Sorry, no time to make meatballs. We spent too long cleaning the saddles.”
