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She laughed again. “Luke, you realize we aren't really engaged, right?”

“I'm still gonna take care of you. Now, what's this about you throwing up on that mutt?”

She looked down at Peanut, who had been silently trotting beside her, and patted his head. He rolled in the dirt. “We're working on our relationship.” She laughed, and told him the story. Told him how she was afraid for no real reason, how Keith was so nice to her and it pissed her off, how she took charge and how Peanut was, at the moment, her favorite Carson.

By the time she was done, she felt better. Sure, she had alienated all of the human inhabitants of the farm, but the dog liked her. Her phone beeped in her ear. “Luke, I think my battery is dying. Stupid cheap phone.”

“Plug it in, I'll wait.”

She stopped, looked around. “Uh, I'm not at the house. I was sort of wandering.” She was standing a few yards from the cutest little house, a bungalow with big green shutters and a very inviting front porch. “I'm at a little cottage or something.”

“Baby, you really wandered. Go back to the house before it gets too dark to see. They don't have street lights, you know.”

“Ha, ha. Fine, I'm going. Hey, thanks.”

“Good night, baby.”

Mal swore she could hear that smile in his voice. She hung up and looked down at Peanut. “Are you ready to play Lassie? Which way is home, boy?”

He barked up at her, then turned quickly to the cottage, barking again.

“What is it, boy? Is there someone in the well?” That was a good one; if only the dog wasn't the only one to hear it.

There wasn't someone in the proverbial well, but there was someone in the cottage.

 

 

Keith was rooting around in the overgrown garden for the false rock that held the key before he was even fully aware that he was at the cottage. Something about that tense dinner had sent him outside after helping Libby clean up. The way Katie stared daggers at Mal, who looked like she wanted to crawl under the table with Peanut, the way no one—not Cal, not Libby, and certainly not him—came to Mal's defense. He was ashamed but also annoyed. Who leaves a gate open when there are horses that can get out?

Someone who, as Mal admitted, has never been on a farm before.

He grunted in victory as he found the key—at least something was going right for him tonight. He walked into the kitchen, which was not in as bad shape as he'd feared it would be. The fridge was empty—small favors—but the electricity was still on. He turned on the lights, seeing a thin layer of dust over the stovetop. He stopped, picturing Vanessa standing over the stove, canning peaches from the tree out back. She loved making things from scratch, called herself a domestic diva. The curtains, now faded and dirty, were the first thing she'd made when they moved in. He remembered that day so clearly—him coming in from the barn. The Smith kids had just come to pick up their ancient cat, Muffin, who was fully recovered from whatever the hell was wrong with her. He'd knocked his boots on the mat and Vanessa had scolded him to stop. Going across the kitchen anyway, standing behind her, putting his hands protectively over her stomach.

“You going to the doctor today?”

She looked up at the clock. “In about an hour. I've got time to finish this batch, make myself presentable, and then I'll head into town.”

He bent down to kiss her neck. “Is that all you've got time for?”

“Keith Carson, leave me be! I've got work to do!” She laughed and turned to kiss him, then shooed him out of the kitchen.

Was that really how it happened? His memories seemed infused with a haze of light, like they were a movie shot with one of those soft filters they used on aging divas. None of it seemed real. Did they ever fight? Vanessa was always so willing to get her hands dirty, always having dinner ready for him, doing projects around the house. He'd come home one day to find her pulling apart the guest bedroom.

“What are you doing?” he'd asked, lifting the dresser that she had caught on the rug. Her hair was pulled back in a bandana, her jeans dusty.

“Making room,” she said, out of breath. “Do you think your dad still has that rocker up in the attic?”

“What are you talking about, the rocker? Hold on, give me that,” he said, taking the mirror from her.

She finally stopped, looked up at him. “This is going to be the nursery.”

“I know, we talked about that, but I thought we decided we wouldn't worry about changing it over until—”

Keith stopped, realization dawning on him. “Do we need to build a nursery, baby?”

He vaguely recalled whooping, swinging her up in his arms, kissing her breathless.

The nursery was never finished. On the way back from her appointment, she ran into Butch Wallis. More accurately, Butch Wallis ran into her. He had had a rough day, wife was nagging him, tried to find comfort in a bottle. He was dried out now, found Jesus in prison. He wrote Keith a letter every year asking for forgiveness, and Keith threw every one of them away. Butch Wallis had lost control of his damn car, run into his wife. She died instantly, the state trooper said, which was supposed to make him feel better. She died instantly, and so did their child. He never knew if it was a boy or a girl.

The fog around him burst, the light filter he saw his memories through vanished, and he was left with the harsh glare of reality in the form of a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling of his child's half-finished nursery. The rocker sat in the corner. The rocker that his mother had rocked him on, that Vanessa was supposed to rock their baby on. He sat on the rocker, picked up a half-finished knit blanket out of a basket, buried his face in it. He rocked back and forth, clenching his eyes against tears for his lost wife, his lost child, his lost life. Weeping for the half-life he had been living for the past three years. Weeping for Peanut's lost leg, for Luke's lack of direction, for his father's poor health. Tears for being so shabby to his little brother's fiancée because he didn't know how else to act if he was going to be in the same room with her.

His head came up when he heard a soft gasp. There she was, standing in the doorway of the nursery, her blondish hair a mess, scarf wrapped tight around her neck, her hand over her mouth in surprise.

“I'm sorry! I didn't know anyone was in here. I saw the light on and I thought—”

“Get out of here,” Keith growled. He didn't want anyone in here, least of all her, this woman who made him forget his vows to his wife, this woman who was going to make those same vows to his brother.

He thought he saw her lower lip tremble. She soldiered on. “Keith, I am so sorry. About the horse, about coming here—what is this place? Like I said, I saw the light and—”

“Mal. Get out.”

She looked alarmed. Maybe he had shouted; he didn't know. He just had to get her out of this room.

“Sorry,” she whispered, then turned and left.

Keith rocked back, leaning his head on the back of the rocker, collecting himself. After a minute, he got up, folded the blanket, and turned out all the lights on his way out. He put the key back and started home. He would have to apologize to Mal when he got there. He would like to never see her again—no, he would like to never have laid eyes on her. But he could man up, especially after a long walk in the chilly fall air.

“I don't know the way back.”

He started, then his eyes adjusted and he saw Mal standing by the door in the dark.

“What?”

“I tried to do what you asked.” He had growled it, really. “I tried to go home, but I don't know the way and I can't see the house from here. It wasn't dark when I walked over.”

“Oh.”

“I'm sorry, I know you want to be alone. That's why I went walking—to be alone. Well, Peanut came with me, but he's good company. Anyway, I don't trust him to get me home.”

“Peanut knows the way,” he said, too stunned to say anything more intelligent. “So, you're not afraid of dogs?”

“I am. I'm not afraid of Peanut, though. We came to an understanding.”

Peanut nudged her leg, then ran off. Keith noticed he ran in the direction of the house. Some understanding.

“OK, let's go.” He started walking, and she fell into step beside him.

They walked in silence for a while, her head held low, his hands shoved in his pockets.

Finally she looked up at him and asked him the question he knew was coming. “What is that place?” She shivered a little.

“Are you cold?”

“I'm always cold.” She was wearing just a thin jacket, and her scarf seemed more fashion than function. The temperature had dropped since the sun had gone down; even he was a little cold in his quilted barn fleece.

But he had to stop being a jerk to her. Not just because she was going to be family, but because she hadn't done anything wrong, not really wrong, not enough to justify the way they were all freezing her out. She was a nice girl, probably, and she seemed committed to Luke. She deserved a chance.

He took off his coat, draped it over her shoulders. She protested, even as she snuggled into it, wrapping it tighter around her. He said he was fine, shoved his hands back into his pockets. They walked back to the house in silence.

The next morning, Mal walked into the stables determined to be helpful. She'd mucked yesterday; she could muck today.

Keith and Katie were already in there, and already mucking.

“Hey, that's my job!” she called.

Katie turned. “Did you close the gate?”

“No, I thought someone else—”

“Dammit, Mal!” she shouted, and dropped her pitchfork to head for the door.

“Katie!” Keith shouted after her. Then, when she turned, “She's joking.”

Mal smiled up at him.

“You are joking, right?”

“Yes, I closed the gate. I may not have common sense, but I'm a fast learner. Thanks for the vote of confidence, Katie.”

“Katie, I have to do some paperwork. Can you and Mal finish up here?”

Katie looked at her brother like he'd suggested she give up one of her kidneys. Or wear a dress and heels. Keith didn't see, or preferred not to, and he left them to the chores.

Katie sighed and looked her over. “That was kind of mean, just there.” She smiled and handed Mal the pitchfork. “Welcome to the family.”

They laughed and they mucked.

“Listen, Katie. I'm sorry about yesterday. It was stupid to leave the gate open.”

Katie wheeled a bag of feed outside, much more gracefully than Mal could have managed.

“Yeah. It was. But maybe I was a little hard on you.”

“Maybe? Libby had to reheat my dinner, you were giving me such a cold shoulder.”

“OK, I was a bitch. It's just that you're a lot to take in.”

Mal raised her eyebrow.

“Luke has never been one to commit. He even had more than one prom date. So when he showed up, engaged, that was a shock.”

“I wanted him to call ahead at least, give you some time to prepare.”

“And you're not at all like who he usually dates.”

“Who does he usually date?”

“Country girls. Stupid girls with big boobs. Blondes.”

Mal smiled. “Well, I'm glad that you don't think I'm stupid. Although I'm shocked that my dye job hasn't fooled you.”

“I don't advocate spending a lot of time on beauty care, but you really need to get that hair fixed.”

“No salons in Hollow Bend.”

“I know a guy. Jack—we went to high school together. That's his horse on the end.” She indicated a mostly white horse with brown spots—appaloosa, Mal remembered. “He'll help you.”

“Thanks. That's really nice. And thanks for letting me follow you around.”

“Well, you were right, you are a quick learner. Anyway, after lunch we want to go to the Harvest Festival. Are you coming?”

“Oh, I don't know anything about it.”

“Libby didn't tell you? Well, I'll let it be a surprise. I have to go early. Some of my kids are showing.”

What?
“What?”

“Oh, right, not a country girl. Some of the kids show pigs and sheep. I help with the horses. You didn't have 4-H in DC?”

“Not exactly.”

“I'll bet. So I'm going to go over when we're done. Keith will take you later.”

“Does Keith know about that plan?”

“Who cares? He'll do it.”

“You seem to be very sure of that.”

“If you don't make him take you, he's going to sit at that computer all day, cursing at invoices. So he's going to miss out on sunshine and fried cheesecake and then he's going to be a pain in the butt because even though he pretends he doesn't like to socialize, he does want to go to this.”

Fried cheesecake? “I just don't know if he'll want to take me. We had sort of a weirdness last night.”

“A weirdness? What kind of weirdness?”

“I went for a walk and I ran into him in this little house thing over there.” She pointed in what she thought was the general direction of the little house thing. “He was not pleased that I was there. It was very gothic.”

“You went in?”

“I heard a noise. I thought you were being burgled.”

“You thought there was a criminal in the ‘little house thing,' so you went inside.”

“Yes. Yesterday was my day of stupid decisions. I'm much better today, I promise.”

“Well, no one really goes in there but him. It's his house.”

“I thought he lived in that bunkhouse.”

“He does. He does now. He used to live in that house with his wife.”

“He's married?”

Katie shook her head. “Didn't Luke tell you any of this?”

Now Mal shook her head.

“He's a widower,” Katie said. “His wife died about three years ago. She was hit by a drunk driver.”

“Oh! That's terrible.”

“That's an understatement. We were all devastated. Vanessa, that's his wife, she was amazing. She was a real farm girl, and she was really fun. She made Keith fun. She was like a big sister to me.”

“I'm sorry.”
Vanessa fit right in
, Mal thought.

“Well, it was a long time ago.”

“Not that long ago, Katie.”

“Keith will never get over her. He was a vet, did you know that? He was working with Dr. Monroe in town, was going to take over his practice when he retired. He fixed Peanut.”

“Fixed him?”

“Yeah, Keith found Peanut in a ditch. Literally in a ditch. He had been hit by a car, and probably abused a lot more before then. Such a tiny little runt. Keith couldn't save his leg, but he saved his life.”

“No wonder Peanut is so loyal.”

“It's that or the bacon. Peanut is sort of a slut for bacon.”

Keith wandered up to the side of the barn, rubbing his eyes.

“Katie, Libby says if you want lunch before you go, it's ready.”

“OK. See you later, Mal.”

“See you.”

Mal watched Katie run off, then turned to Keith. Keith the Jerk. Keith the Vet Who Saved Helpless Animals. Keith the Widower.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing.”