old man’s favor. “Oh, no... If you want me to give a home to this—”
“Now, Wiley, don’t you start makin’ excuses before I’ve even explained what I need.” Inside the cage was a momma hound dog and four pups that still had their eyes closed. “Some damned fool left this little lady on the clinic’s front porch, and I need someone to keep her till I can find a suitable home. Your granddad used to take in strays. I figure since you’ve got that big empty barn, well, that would make for a whole lot of space for this beauty and her family.”
“Doc, look...” Wiley shoved his hands in his pockets while searching for the right thing to say. “I would, but—”
“Nope. Stop right there. We’re a tight-knit community, and in case you forgot in the time you were gone, we all help out where we can. Now, down at the VFW, there’s been talk about your leg, but last I heard, a poor helpless animal doesn’t care how it gets fed, just that the food comes in a timely manner.”
“Randall...” Wiley had a tough enough time looking after himself. How was he supposed to care for anything else? Especially a dog and her pups?
“You’ll do it? Good man!” He slapped Wiley’s back. “I’m proud of you, son. Your granddad would be, too. Now, give me a hand hauling our momma to her new temporary home.”
Wiley’s stomach churned. “It’s just for a few days, right? You’ll put out word that she needs a permanent home?”
“Oh, sure, sure. I’ll get right on it.”
Together, they tugged the cage from the truck bed, then shuffled back to the barn where the vet led Wiley to a quiet corner in a patch of sun.
“Look, Henry! Puppies!” Macy zeroed in on the cage.
Henry stared in awe. The more the puppies wriggled and whined, the wider Henry grinned until Macy had to use her sleeve to wipe drool from his chin.
The vision of Macy and her child kneeling in dust-mote-infused sunbeams rendered Wiley incapable of focusing on anything but them—their purity and sweetness and light. His breath caught in his throat, and it took a beat to come to his senses. Macy and her boy might be a beautiful sight to behold, but they had no place in his carefully structured life of isolation. Since his accident, since witnessing death after death, he was no longer in the business of living—only forgetting.
“Doc,” he said to Randall. “It’d probably be best for this momma and her pups to move a ways farther down the hill. Little Henry’s already taken with the whole lot.”
“Oh, no.” Macy plucked up her son and backed away. “We’ll be happy to stop in for visits, but between caring for an eight-month-old, an ornery llama herd, a shameful garden and a house in constant need of work, my plate’s plenty full.”
“That settles it.” Randall patted Wiley on the back again. “Macy, I’ll be ’round tomorrow to check on Charlie.”
“Come during lunch and I’ll have something made for you.”
“Will do!” He waved on his way to his truck. After hefting a large sack of dog food from the truck bed, he left it on the dirt drive, then took off in a cloud of dust.
Cursing under his breath, Wiley hobbled to the food. He’d lost so much upper body strength, he struggled to even heft the damned bag over his shoulder, but he eventually managed, hating that the whole while he’d had an audience.
“Let me help.” Macy, with that baby of hers bouncing on her hip, charged toward him.
“Do I look like such a cripple that you think you can do better with no hands?” Another fine sheen of sweat had popped out on his forehead from the strain, but he managed. With the bag near the dogs, he used his pocketknife to open it, then found an old chicken-feed scoop and shallow metal pan to fill. Pain shot up his back and down his leg, but he’d be damned if he’d let his uninvited guest see him hurting. After Macy left, there’d be plenty of time to self-medicate with a lunch of Jim Beam followed by an afternoon nap.
The whole time he worked, she stood at the barn’s double doors, backlit by morning sun.
The weight of her stare hurt just as bad as his physical pain. Used to be, she’d looked at him out of admiration. Now, no doubt she felt nothing but a complete lack of respect and pity.
“Take a picture,” he snapped while filling a water pan from the spigot. “It’ll last longer.”
“Why are you doing this?” She sat on a hay bale, positioning the baby on her lap.
Henry only had eyes for the wriggling, whining puppies and waved in that direction.
“You should probably get your kid out of here. Too many germs.”
She sighed. “Practically all my life, Wiley James, you’ve been a horse’s behind, but lately it’s gotten out of hand. You show glimmers of the man I know you could be, but—”
“Did I ask for a therapy session?”
“Did I ask to get my head bit off? Don’t forget, the only reason I’m even here is because you’ve got a dangerous junk heap in your yard.”
“Oh—that’s rich. Point of fact—if you’d learn to keep your goddamned llama on your own—”
Henry’s little mouth puckered and he whimpered a few times before launching into full-blown tears.
She turned him around, cradling him to her chest. “Now, look what you did. He’s not accustomed to raised voices.”
“Great! Then, might I suggest taking your kid and prancing your sweet ass off my land!”
“You’re horrible!”
“Yes, I am. The sooner that fact sinks in, the better off you’ll be.”
Only after she’d climbed into her truck and peeled out on a dust plume did Wiley grab a rusty hoe from the barn wall. He used it as a crutch while ensuring the dogs and Charlie had plenty of food and water. Finished, he closed the barn door to keep them all safe, then hobbled back to the cabin.
Once inside, the pain was so great the whole room felt as if it was spinning.
Still using the hoe as a cane, he made it to the kitchen, grabbed the nearest whiskey bottle, downed a good half of it, then collapsed onto the bed.
* * *
MACY WAS TOO UPSET to go home, where she’d have nothing to do but think about Wiley’s poor behavior, so she turned toward her parents’. But that was no good, either, because she wasn’t feeling up to answering her mom’s inevitable questions regarding her neighbor. Heck, at the moment, she wasn’t his biggest fan, but it didn’t take a fancy psychiatry degree to see that when he’d lifted that heavy feed sack, he’d hurt himself, only was too proud—or, more likely, stupid—to ask for help, either with the feed or finding the pain meds his VA hospital doctor had no doubt sent him home with.
Where her dirt road met the two-lane highway leading to Eagle Ridge, Macy took a left toward downtown. It had been a while since she’d seen her friend Wendy—at least six months, which was way too long. Macy scolded herself for accusing Wiley of being
