Rough Stock (17 page)

He gave her a sympathetic look. “They’ll start him on antibiotics and fluids right away.”

She nodded gravely. More drugs, more fluids, more days in the hospital…more money.

With Dad settled back into his room, she was reluctant to leave, but it was getting close to lunch and Willow had to be hungry.

“Go, go,” Dad ordered with as big a smile as he could probably muster. “I’ll be fine.”

Rowan sighed inwardly. The trademark Archer
fine
. She nodded, tucked him in, and made sure the water and the coughing pillow were well within reach. “Drink as much as you can,” she told him and led Willow out the door. “We’ll be back later.”

At the house, Willow devoured a pack of snack crackers while Rowan sat at her father’s ancient desk, sorting through the stack of bills teetering precariously on it. If he was going to be away longer, some of these needed to be paid. She rifled through the overstuffed drawers until she found the power of attorney papers they’d all—Rowan, Dad, and Emma—had had drawn up a few years ago. There was a coffee cup stain on one of them, but she didn’t suppose it would do much harm. She slipped them into her purse and bundled Willow up again.

“We’re just heading to the bank,” she told the little girl. And they headed back to Star Valley, the trek seeming longer each time.

First Wyoming Federal was a squat, unwelcoming building constructed sometime in the late seventies and all but forgotten about after that. Inside, of the three tellers behind the counter, Rowan gravitated to Honor Jones. They’d been in the same graduating class in high school. Mrs. Winslow, next to Honor, was already giving Rowan the stink eye while counting out bills for Mr. Hemmings. Her dour expression perfectly matched the equally dour decor. Festive shamrocks adorned the counters, though. It seemed like the employees were doing the best with what they had.

Seeing Mrs. Winslow’s glare, Rowan shuffled away, not in the mood for outright hostility these days. She might snap and beat the woman with the plastic shamrock taped to the counter’s edge, which would be lucky for no one.

She waited patiently, instead, in Honor’s line. When the young woman finally noticed them, Rowan instinctively reached for Willow, wanting to protect her even though the girl couldn’t possibly understand people’s reaction to her. But Honor smiled, warm and genuine, and plucked a lollipop from the container on the counter. She started to reach over the counter but stopped.

“Oh! We’re supposed to ask!” she said, giving Rowan a sheepish look.

Rowan nodded. “It’s okay.”

Willow took the treat and returned the grin.

It seemed to be contagious, because Rowan couldn’t stop smiling, either. So few people in Star Valley had been welcoming, and it was such a relief. She laid the withdrawal slip on the counter and pulled out the Power of Attorney papers. “My name’s on the business account,” she told Honor. “Emma’s, too. But not on his personal accounts. I have the paperwork, though. We filled it out a few years ago, just in case.”

Even with Mom’s illness and subsequent death, Rowan had always held out hope that
just in case
would never come with Dad. Hadn’t they been through enough?

Apparently not.

Honor took the documents and started to reach for the withdrawal slip but stopped. The warm, friendly grin of seconds ago vanished.

Rowan stifled a groan. She really did not need any more complications in her life. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, the social security numbers don’t match.”

Rowan took back the papers and scrutinized them. This time she
did
groan. Underneath her father’s name was indeed the wrong social. “That’s mom’s,” she told Honor. “He has them both memorized, all of ours really. He probably just forgot whose was whose. I didn’t check it over.”

“Um…” said Honor, frown deepening.

Crying in the lobby of First Wyoming Federal was not an option, Rowan told herself. Willow was happy with her stuffed lamb and her lollipop, and she did not need to see that her mother was hanging on by a thread at this point.

Honor, though, saw it, apparently. She snatched the papers back quickly and set them face down on the counter, all while maintaining that comforting smile. “No one really looks at these,” she said quietly. “They just go in a filing cabinet. No one will know.” She took the slip off the counter, opened the cash drawer, and counted out the withdrawal. She stuffed the bills into a self-sealing envelope and handed it to Rowan. “I really hope your dad gets better soon. He’s so nice, every time he comes in. We all really like him.”

Rowan took the offered envelope and nearly cried, this time from sheer gratitude. “Honor, thank you. Thank you so much!” She herded Willow outside and back into the car. It was amazing how one small act of kindness had pulled Rowan back from the brink of total despair. Dad wasn’t out of the woods yet, and there was still Court to deal with, though. Just thinking about it all made her tired.

When they got to the farm, she got out of the driver’s seat to open the gate but it lurched in her hands, the lower half tumbling into the mud. “Oh, God damn it!” she hissed but not loudly enough for Willow to hear from the backseat.

She wrestled with the thing, which appeared to have a broken hinge. She tried pushing the now-headless bolt back into place, just enough to at least get the damn thing open, hopefully, but the rusted bolt snapped cleanly in half instead.

Rowan stifled a frustrated scream and instead pounded at it with quiet fury. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “Work, God damn you!” she whispered. “Just work!” It didn’t, and she beat at it with her fists again until she was panting and sweating, despite the chill in the air.

“Mama?”

Rowan turned to see Willow standing in the driveway, clutching Wooliam tightly. Forcing a smile seemed to be the only thing to do. “I just…this gate,” she said, keeping her voice light. “It’s crooked. Why don’t you go on up to the house? Let the dogs out for me, okay?”

Willow brightened at the mention of her best friends. “Okay!” She sprinted off in the direction of the house, her little rubber boots scraping the crushed gravel.

Once the girl was out of earshot, Rowan turned and kicked the gate as hard as she could. It rattled uselessly, still catching in the mud. She kicked out again, over and over, furiously. Logically, she knew if she just lifted it up she could walk it to the side and clear the driveway, but it should work, damn it! It should work! Everything should work! Gates and hearts and lungs and families, they should all
just
fucking work
, she told herself…or maybe God.

God didn’t agree, though. At least not about gates, because the Archers’ gate still clung to the mud. And Rowan finally cried, intense and wracking sobs, because maybe God didn’t agree about hearts or lungs or families, either.

‡

S
eth wasn’t certain
why he’d taken the long way around to get back to Snake River from town…or at least he didn’t want to admit it to himself. But as he crested a hill and saw the Archer place on the right, he knew that whatever had driven him to make the choice, it was the right one.

Rowan was in the driveway, just off the road, out of her car, and apparently locked in an epic battle with the swinging gate that secured the property. At his approach, she turned suddenly, eyes wide, mid-kick, and looked away, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. Seth took an extra few seconds to pull his Ford to a stop and lever open the driver’s-side door, giving her time to pull herself together.

When he got out, he smiled at her, feigning ignorance. “Are you putting up a barricade?” he asked as he walked toward her. “We’re not
that
bad, are we? And Court promised not to borrow any more horses and bring them around for the kid.”

“Court
is
a kid,” she sighed then looked up at him. “I’m sorry. He’s still your brother. I shouldn’t—”

“No harm in telling it like it is. But we can’t expect him to jump right into being a father, with both feet, and be any good at it.”

Rowan shook her head. “I don’t. As long as he can pull himself together. We’ll be—”

“Fine.”

Her deep brown eyes looked so sad,
so tired
. “I’m not fine, Seth,” she whispered. “Dad has to stay in the hospital longer. He has pneumonia.”

Seth frowned. “Is it serious?”

“No, I think we caught it early. But it’ll take weeks, maybe months for him to fully recover. And I don’t think he was all that functional
before
the heart attack.” She set her hand down on the gate and tried to move it. “Look at all the things he couldn’t fix. How’s he going to do it now? How am
I
? I want Willow to know this place, for this to be her home. But it’s falling down around our ears.”

Seth put his hands on her shoulders. “I understand. When you love something as much as you love this place, you want to hold on to it tight with both hands.” He ignored the fact that his hands were—at this moment—touching the very thing he apparently wanted most. He shouldn’t have done it, but he couldn’t take them back now.

Rowan Archer looked for all the world like Seth Barlow was the only thing keeping her on her feet. As he gazed at her, she looked down at her slashed palm. “I don’t know if I can,” she whispered.

“I’ve got two good hands, Rowan. I’ll hold on for you.”

Because he wanted to keep his hands on
her
, he took them away. He took hold of the lopsided gate instead and lifted it to discover the problem. The upper hinge at the post had broken, and so he pulled out what was left of the loose bolt with his fingers. He held it out to her, running his thumb along the top where the head had been sheared off. “Don’t suppose you have another one of these lying around?”

She frowned. “I wouldn’t even know where to start to look.”

“We have plenty,” he told her, pocketing the offending piece of metal. “I’ll get one and take care of this. It’s a quick fix.”

Rowan looked doubtful. “Quick fix? I don’t know if I believe in any such thing, Seth Barlow.”

“Mama! I’m hungry!”

Both Seth and Rowan turned to see Willow galloping toward them, large, dirty dog barking at her heels. The girl stopped short, though, when she caught sight of Seth.

“Hi,” he said. “Remember me? I’m your Uncle Seth.”

Willow glanced at Rowan, who nodded encouragingly. The dog seemed to take the cue quicker than the girl and wagged his tail at Seth, who patted him on the head. Best to be on the right side of that beast, Seth was certain.

“And you’re my niece,” he told her. “But who’s this?” He bent to one knee and tugged lightly at the stuffed animal in her arm.

“Wooliam.” Willow wrinkled her nose. “He needs to be washed again.”

“Well, that’s a good name. And, yeah, he looks a little worse for wear.” Seth fingered the torn ear and the mismatched button eyes. The toy was as gray as the formerly white dog that had followed her down the driveway. “How long have you had him?”

“Since I was a baby. His birthday’s the same as mine. How old are
you
?” she asked, peering up at him from underneath long black eyelashes.

“Older than your daddy.”

“Not that old,” Rowan told Willow quickly.

Seth supposed being five years older than Court (and Rowan) wasn’t really all that much, but some days it sure felt like it.

“I’d like a brother,” Willow declared.

Rowan gasped. “Willow!”

Seth laughed, though. “Don’t let Wooliam hear you say that.”

The little girl frowned. “Why not?”

“Well, he might get jealous.”

Willow paused to consider this. “Are
you
jealous of
your
brother?”

“In some ways,” Seth replied before he could stop himself.

“How?”

Rowan stepped forward and put a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Willow, it’s too many questions.”

“He runs faster than I do,” Seth replied with a grin.

The girl nodded, as though that made perfect sense. “Mama, I’m hungry,” she repeated.

“Okay,” Rowan replied. “We’ll get some lunch.”

“Will
you
stay for lunch?” Willow asked Seth.

Seth pursed his lips and stood up. “Well, now,” he drawled. “I’m not sure if—”

“There’s enough,” Rowan said, surprising him.

He’d been prepared to beg off, to make things easier for her.

“I mean,” she added, “if you’re going to fix the gate…I could do it myself, but…” She sighed heavily.

Seth took in her slumped shoulders, the dark circles under her eyes. “But you’ve got a ranch to run and your Dad in the hospital and a little girl to care for.”

“And Wooliam needs a bath,” Willow chimed in.

“And Wooliam needs a bath,” Seth repeated. “We can’t neglect Wooliam. How about I make lunch while Mommy washes Wooliam and takes a nap?”

“I can make lunch,” Rowan argued. “And I’m fine. I don’t need a nap.”

Seth glanced at Willow, who was skipping happily up the drive. The private confession Rowan had made earlier was all but forgotten now, hidden away like a dirty secret. He realized that Rowan would never admit to being overwhelmed in front of the girl. It would be like giving up, or letting it all fall apart. And Rowan didn’t seem like the type to do either.