Waiting Out the Storm
Ruth Logan Herne
When family tragedy strikes, Sarah Slocum steps in as guardian to her two nieces and nephew. But raising children isn't like raising sheep, and the beautiful shepherd soon finds herself in over her head.Who'd have guessed that new neighbor Craig Macklin would jump in to lend a hand? Craig's always held a grudge against SlocumsSarah included. Now the handsome local vet is helping with her livestock, giving her young nephew a job and smiling at her every chance he gets. Sarah must decide whether she can trust Craigand God's planand allow him into her family.
Ive never met anyone like you, Sarah.
Craig extended his hand. She placed hers in it. He invaded her space, inhaled and smiled. Your perfume. Meadow Romance.
You remembered.
Couldnt possibly forget.
Sarah stepped ahead of him, then turned and caught him appreciating the view. Her heart stuttered and his grin made her feel young. Pretty. She had no clue what to say or how to react.
Then she noticed the amazing smells wafting from the kitchen. Youre cooking? Really?
I said I would.
Despite her internal admonition, her heart leaped at his promise to spend time with her. She slanted him a quiet look. If you cook, Ill clean.
Promise?
Craigs expression said he was two steps ahead of her in a game shed never played. But she was beginning to like being on the board. Promise.
RUTH LOGAN HERNE
Born into poverty, Ruth puts great stock in one of her favorite Ben Franklinisms: Having been poor is no shame. Being ashamed of it is. With God-given appreciation for the amazing opportunities abounding in our land, Ruth finds simple gifts in the everyday blessings of smudge-faced small children, bright flowers, fresh baked goods, good friends, family, puppies and higher education. She believes a good woman should never fear dirt, snakes or spiders, all of which like to infest her aged farmhouse, necessitating a good pair of tongs for extracting the snakes, a flat-bottomed shoe for the spiders and the dirt.
Simply put, shes learned that some things arent worth fretting about! If you laugh in the face of dust and love to talk about God, men, romance, great shoes and wonderful food, feel free to contact Ruth through her Web site at www.ruthloganherne.com.
Waiting Out the Storm
Ruth Logan Herne
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to him, Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed, but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.
James 2:1517
To my earthly favorite fisherman, my husband, Dave, who glimpsed the woman within the girl.
And married her anyway.
And to Helen Dunn and her family, whose lives were touched by sadness at a young age. If only thered been an Aunt Sarah around back then.
God bless you and keep you, Helen.
Acknowledgments:
Huge thanks to my children, whose help knows no bounds. Special thanks to Beth and Mandy for road-tripping the North Country with me, and huge thanks to Seth and Lacey for stepping into whatever job proved necessary. Matt, Karen, Zach and Lukethanks for believing in me like you do, and special thanks to Sandra, Andrea, Tina, Audra, Glynna and Mary.
To Nancy A. Wood, of Wild Irish Rose Farms, a specialty farm producing goat milk soaps, and to Al and Rita Ostrander, proprietors of Ostranders Bed and Breakfast. Thanks also to Mary Jarvis of Groveland Farm in Superior, Wisconsin for her love of Maremmas, to Kay Mott for her counsel on Native Americans and Nancy Vandivert, who offered advice on hand spinning.
Delighted thanks to Melissa Endlich of Steeple Hill Books for extracting the romance from the original manuscript, helping bring this story to fruition.
And always to the Seekers, women banded by love of God and romance, who put up with me every single day. You ladies rock!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Letter to Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
Dr. Craig Macklin saw nothing but the massive creature before him, a huge, white and hairy Maremma guard dog beleaguered by a face full of porcupine quills. The obvious suffering in the dogs dark eyes implored Craig to help.
Craig squatted to examine the embedded bristles. The animals curiosity had pushed him beyond caution. The face full of quillsa nasty lesson learned. Porcupines were best left alone.
Murmuring to the shaggy white canine, Craig positioned the adjustable light and peered into the Maremmas face. The dogs whimper made Craigs decision easy. Ill have to put him under for a few minutes. The depth and quantity make it tough to handle without a tranquilizer. Id be causing him a lot of pain otherwise. Whats his name? Turning, Craig looked at the owner for the first time. Sarah Slocum.
Well. That explained Julies initial hesitance, the concern hed heard when his assistant summoned him. But his veterinary partner had left for the day and Craig was here. That left no choice but to treat Sarahs dog.
Her face washed pale under rich tones. Eyes as dark and deep as the dogs stayed trained on the beasts muzzle. She didnt make eye contact with Craig. Gino. From Sofias last litter. She emitted a half sigh, half shudder as the dog whined. She stepped forward, crooning, her melodic tone soothing the animal much as a mother would a small child.
Julie watched as if expecting him to dowhat? Scream? Shout? Berate the woman before him for her genealogy and refuse to treat her dog?
He wouldnt do that. But his medical duties didnt mean he had to go out of his way to be nice, either.
There was a reason he avoided Slocums. A real good one. The thought of the criminal history between their families tightened Craigs jaw. Sarahs older brother had pioneered a Ponzi scheme, bilking a fair share of locals out of their hard-earned money, including his grandparents. Grams and Gramps Macklin had invested everything in Tom Slocums guaranteed-returns package, and lost it all when Toms misappropriation was discovered. Gramps had passed on over a year ago, but Grams was living out her later years dependent on others kindness, with nothing but small Social Security checks to call her own. A tough old bird, Gramps used to call her, and he was right, but strong people have a hard time accepting handouts. Charity. Grams was no exception.
A true craven, Tom spared New York State the cost of a trial by taking his own life, leaving a wife and three young kids to sweep up the remnants of his actions.
Sarah had established a farm nearby. Goats? Sheep? Something wool-bearing, cleft-footed and ridiculously stupid. In Craigs estimation, the description applied unilaterally. Al though he treated a wide range in a country animal practice, hed developed favorites. Cattle. Horses. Dogs. Cats. Even pigs were a step up from sheep. At least pigs were intelligent. Sheep? Other end of the spectrum, entirely. No one in their right mind ate mutton, did they?
Hank Townsend, the senior veterinary partner, generally handled Sarahs veterinary needs, allowing Craig a wide berth. But he wasnt there, and Craig couldnt ignore the besieged dog. He glanced at Sarah. You squeamish? The question came out harsher than intended. A lot of people handled their own pain better than that of a loved one, including pets.
Julie stepped forward. I can stay, Craig. Ill just call Glenn. Hell understand. Julie had a date tonight. Craig knew that because shed chattered about it nonstop. Ralph, the other vet tech, had left over an hour before. And Maremmas
Craig kept his gaze on Sarah, noting her lowered eyes. The dark sweep of lashes against honey-toned cheeks. High cheeks, at that, smooth and unblemished, not a freckle or mole in sight. I know youd stay, but Maremmas are singular creatures. Theyre bred to identify with their owner. They dont shift allegiance readily.
Ill help.
Sarahs lack of inflection offered nothing. He eyed her, appraising, noting the air of capability belying her small size, then jerked his head toward the door. Head out, Julie. Well be fine.
Youre sure? At his nod, Julie moved back. Thanks, Craig. I owe you.
No problem. Craig prepared the anesthetic as he spoke, studying the animal scale. Ninety-six, he observed, glancing up.
Sarah nodded, jaw set.
Julie turned, then swung back. Bagels in the morning?
With garden vegetables cream cheese.
Can do. She shifted an uneasy glance from Craig to Sarah, then left, her footsteps soft against the tiled floor.
Turning full attention to the suffering dog, Craig bent. Sorry, fella. Ill be quick.
As Craig administered the medication, Sarah eased small, capable hands down the dogs ruff, her tawny skin a contrast to the dogs white coat. She whispered to the dog, occasionally dropping her face to the thick fur, nuzzling. She seemed oblivious to Craig, which was probably best. Small talk options were limited. Her family?
No.
His?
Ditto.
Her farm?
Not if he wanted to be anything construed as sociable. The finer points of sheep were lost on Craig, and lamb wasnt a dish his Irish mother offered except at Easter.
That left the weather. Or
Beautiful dog. Craig eyed the Maremma with a hint of envy, remembering his Labs youth. Rocket was nearing fifteen now, slow to rise, and mostly deaf. Old age didnt go easy on big dogs, and his barrel-chested chocolate Lab with a graying muzzle was no exception. Yes.
She wasnt giving him much to work with, but maybe a quiet surgical intervention was better than empty words. Head bent, Craig snipped the quill ends with surgical scissors. Seeing her look of question, he explained, Cutting the ends releases air pressure, making removal easier. Less painful.
But hes under.
Her stoic tone caricatured Native Americans, her deep voice calm and unemotional. Craig nodded. He wouldnt feel it now, but withdrawing the quills with the pressure would make the punctures more painful during recovery. The holes have to get larger to withdraw the spines if I dont cut them.
Oh.
Silence stretched again, the passing seconds marking time from the old analog wall clock. Tick. Tick. Tick. How old is Gino?
Sarahs long, dark braid fell across her cheek as she soothed the dog. Her mother had been a Native American mix, Craig remembered, though hed never met her. Shed died, when? Twelve years back, give or take. Long enough to have her self-absorbed stepsons grown and gone, while Sarah would have been a teenager.
At least Peg Slocum hadnt lived to feel the shame of Tom Jr.s crimes. Craig thinned his lips, concentrating on the sensitive mouth of the Italian guard dog. The uncomfortable recovery could enervate the young dog, but he should be fine in the long run.
Ten months. Nearly eleven.
Her answer took so long, Craig nearly forgot the question. Did you rebreed his mother?
Next time.
Must make it interesting during heat cycles. Craig eyed the dense mass of Gino and envisioned his sire. Substantial, like the son, and probably difficult to discourage when a nearby female was in heat.
Neighbors take him.
I see.
His cell phone vibrated. He glanced at the numerical page and bit back a twinge of guilt when Maggie James number flashed in the small display.
Hed dated the local nurse several times over the winter, making her what? The third nurse hed dated? Fourth, he realized. Amy, Kayla, Brianna and Maggie. Hadnt his buddy Marc joked that the hospital installed a new warning system designed to alert the female staff when he was on site? Very funny.
Hed ended the short-lived relationship after the Maple Fest. What should have been a fun late-winter day had been relegated to shopping indoor craft booths because Maggie hadnt dressed warmly enough for the outdoor festival, more concerned with her outfit than the event.
Craig liked people. He embraced country life, the rigors of treating animals in all kinds of conditions. He felt equally at home in office or barn.
But not sheep barns.
Employing gentle twists and flicks, he withdrew the last barbs from the dogs muzzle, then stepped away to gather ointment and antibiotics. After glancing at his watch, he wrote instructions on a small prescription pad.
You know how to administer pills to a dog?
Yes.
He handed Sarah the vial and the salve. Apply the salve twice a day. The pills are an antibiotic to prevent infection. Some of those quills went deep. Youve got enough for ten days. If you see signs of infection or need a follow-up, give Hank a call.
They both understood the meaning of his words. Nodding, she sank her hand into the dogs ruff. Come on, fella. Lets go.
Hell be woozy. Might want to wait a few minutes, let him shake off the effects of the anesthetic. Regardless of the human awkwardness, the dog should have a few minutes of quiet, rejoin-the-world time. Walking the thick-set dog through the door, Sarah nodded, her chin tucked.
Well wait outside so you can close up. The weight of the dog listed her step. At the second entry she turned. You stayed late, she said, her deep tone a blend of smooth gold and rough, gravel roads. A different sound, unique to her. A voice that suited her caramel skin, the long, thick braid, the high cheekbones that hinted at her Native American ancestry. She looked anywhere but at him. Thank you.
He had no pleasantries to exchange with her. Nothing that wouldnt sound trite and manufactured. He huffed a breath as he shut and locked the door.
Minutes later he cruised out of the lot. Slowing his SUV to negotiate the turn, he noted the woman and dog in the cold front yard of the veterinary clinic.
Straight and still, she perched on the verdigris-armed bench outside the main entrance. The dog, equally quiet, sat upright, his chin angled with pride, mimicking her stance.
Maremmas. Great guard dogs, good bonders when housed with a flock at an early age. Smart. Independent. Faithful, not easily cowed. Willing to go their own way, awaiting no mans guidance.
As he observed the dignified profiles of dog and woman, Craig couldnt help but see how well they suited one another.
Chapter Two
Wherefore hidest thou thy face, and forgettest our affliction and our oppression? Sarah finished the words of the forty-fourth Psalm mentally, kneading Ginos ruff as he sloughed off his grogginess.
The poignant words touched her with their talk of sheep and oppression. Enemies. The poem was an aged song of lament and pathos. It helped smooth the dent to her self-worth, gouged deeper by Craig Macklins disdain. How she wished
Nope. She wouldnt go there. Refused to go there. Craig Macklin was entitled to his opinion, no matter how unreasonable it might be. Craigs reticence toward sheep was no secret among the local herders. The vets worked things out between them, leaving Hank the man to consult for sheep and goat problems.
By default, being a shepherd and a Slocum gave the younger veterinarian a two-fold reason to avoid Sarah, a task he did well. Knowing his grandmothers circumstance, Sarah understood why, but wished she didnt bear responsibility for her half brothers actions.
But shed get nowhere feeling sorry for herself. No way, no how. She led Gino to the scarred pickup. The old Ford wasnt snazzy like Craigs polished 4X4, but it had a certain dignity in its aged finish, a little rough around the edges. Like me, she noted, shifting to allow Gino access.
The thought made her smile.
The memory of Craigs face erased it. The tall, handsome, sandy-haired vet usually steered clear of Sarah. At community functions he looked around her, avoiding eye contact. His animosity toward Slocums was unspoken but obvious.
She had never sought his help in a farm crisis. Today was an aberration.
Craig Macklin knew his stuff, though. In her years of farming, shed never heard a complaint against him, and North Country farmers were not easily appeased. His thick, sturdy hands had been firm but gentle as he treated Gino.
She stopped by the local grocery before heading to her sister-in-laws home in Potsdam. Leaving Gino sleeping in the cab, she approached the front door.
No one answered her knock. She leaned on the bell with more force than should be necessary, if it were working. Obviously not.
Unlocked, the door swung inward with ease. She stepped in, her nose telling her the whole place could use a thorough cleaning. Her eyes took time to adjust to the darkness Rita called home.
Rita? Its Sarah. Ive brought things.
No answer.
Sarah shifted the sacks and pushed through the antique swinging door between the rooms, its warm russet grain a comfort.
The kitchen was empty of people, but littered with debris.
Sarah grimaced, shifted piles of mail and old newspapers, then set the groceries on the table before she headed upstairs, calling Ritas name. A glance out the landing window showed Gino still asleep on the bench seat of the F-250. The drivers-side window was cracked open, but she didnt dare leave him long untended. A good dog, but young. He could get into mischief without direction.
Calling Ritas name once more, Sarah crossed the upstairs hall and twisted the knob on her sister-in-laws room. Reet? You sleeping?
A slight movement revealed her sister-in-laws presence on the bed. Sarah stepped in, reached for the light, then rethought her choices. I brought a few things. Where are the kids?
Movies. Liv took them.
Nice. What did they go to see?
Rita shifted, then rolled, a pillow clutched to her chest. Some animated thing.
Sarah blinked. There was no animated movie playing in town. Did Liv take the car? Drive to Canton? She was two years shy of her license but shed pulled some interesting deals recently. Sarah scanned the driveway through the nearby window. Is the car in the garage?
Ritas old-fashioned garage was behind the home, not visible from this angle.
In the drive.
Sarah bit back words of recrimination. Obviously Liv had taken off with the car and the kids, with Rita clueless as to their whereabouts. Dear Lord, she prayed, trying to ignore the dank smell of despair. The room reeked of hopelessness. Loss of faith. A keen smell, the mix of body salts, sweat and sour breath.
Come downstairs, Reet. Ill make us a quick supper. Then Ill tackle my niece, she promised silently, her anger rising. Couldnt Liv see her mothers desperation, the depression that seized her?
Of course she could. In her own adolescent way, Liv was trying to fill the shoes her parents vacated. The same thing that pushed Sarah to buy a farm on Waterman Hill instead of south of Albany like shed planned. Rita and the kids needed sensible family around, and that was a scarce commodity in the North Country.
Sarah grasped Ritas hand. Come on, Reet. Come down and talk to me; Ill straighten up the kitchen while we chat.
Go away, Sarah.
The response brought Sarahs chin higher. Wont work, not with me. Thats the one part of Slocum that bred true. Im stubborn as an ox and you need to eat. Embrace the sunshine. Its almost spring, Rita. Lets go down together. Please?
Rita clutched the pillow tighter. I cant. I need to rest.
All you do is rest, thought Sarah, impatience rising. Thats all youve done for over a year.
You can. You have to. Liv, Brett and Skeeter are counting on you.
Not anymore.
Reet
Sarah, Im tired. Ritas gaze shifted to the curtained window. She blinked as if the shade-mellowed light hurt her eyes. So tired.
The first months following Toms death had seemed almost normal. Rita had gone on, looking neither right nor left, as if everything were okay.
But then the insurance company rejected Ritas claim because of a two-year no suicide clause. It had been eighteen months since Tom changed companies.
His smaller policy was intact, but the monetary value was minimal compared to the loss of his income. He had developed a retirement portfolio of stocks and mutual funds outside of his illicit investments, but they were inaccessible to Rita because Ed Slocums name was included on the portfolio. Without Eds blessing, the funds worth remained out of reach until retirement. Twenty-plus years, give or take. And Ed had no intention of divesting the portfolio, regardless of Ritas financial situation.
Rita had crashed with that realization. Just slid right down into oblivion. Rita, who made eyes widen and mouths water with some of the most beautiful and innovative cakes and pastries the area had ever seen, now lived in a hovel, with ovens that hadnt been fired up since Well, probably since the last time Sarah cooked a meal.
Watching the prone figure, Sarah felt overwhelmed. How do I help her, God? How do I ease her out of the pain, out of the darkness?
No answers came in the fetid room. Rita lay still, eyes open but unseeing, wrestling demons Sarah could only imagine. And had no desire to.
A scramble of feet and voices headed toward the kitchen a short time later. The door burst open. Gino, comfortably ensconced on the back porch, ambled to his feet, watchful and curious.
Hey, Aunt Sarah!
Hey, yourself, Skeets. Come here. Arms wide, Sarah enfolded her youngest niece in a hug, then pressed raspberry kisses to the little girls neck. The answering squeal and giggle was justified reward. Gotcha.
That ticklth. Skeeters giggle displayed a gap in her teeth.
They both fell out, huh?
Yeth. Brett says I look like a vampire. Augmenting the words, she bared her teeth and hissed.
Oooooo Bretts right. Youre positively terrifying. How about setting the table for me?
Really? By myself? Skeets excitement quickened Sarahs heart. Such a little thing, to help a grown-up. Did Skeeter remember such things with her mother? The good times they had? Half her life had been clouded by her parents choices. Olivia burst through the door, nose twitching at the smell of food. Brett followed.
Something smells good. Hey, Gino. Approaching slowly, Brett let the dog give him a once-over, allowing space and time. Gino offered Brett a measured look, then a good sniff, ending in a typical Maremma token of acceptance. He licked Bretts face.
Yuck. Livvie frowned, disgusted.
Brett grinned, accepting the dogs ministrations easily. Youre just jealous cause he likes me best.
Yeah. Right. Hey, Aunt Sarah. Liv moved to the stove, her brows lifting in interest. Smells great.
Good. Sarah eyed her adolescent niece and stirred the extra pot of gravy. Chicken and biscuits were a favorite, but biscuit topping robbed the gravy beneath. Extra was never a bad thing. Shifting her attention, she complimented Skeeter for setting the plates, then turned back to Liv. What movie did you see?
Jinx, the Wonder Dog. Its about a dog that turns into a cartoon action hero.
Really?
Her tone put Liv on the defensive. Yeah. Why?
Was it good?
It was really good, interjected Skeets, setting forks and knives in random fashion. Sarah re-directed her, showing her where each utensil belonged.
How did you get there?
Drove. Opening the fridge, Liv pulled out a jug of juice and tipped some into one of the few clean glasses.
Sarah hiked a brow Livs way as she set out a fresh green salad. When did you get your license, Liv?
I didnt drive. Liv laughed, emphasizing the pronoun. Shannon Connors did. She got her license in February. They moved into the old Rafferty house.
She drove your mothers car?
Sure. Her parents both work and our car just sits here. Mom said it was okay, she added.
Sarah fought the sigh. No doubt Rita okayed the trip, then promptly forgot shed given permission for someone to use her car. How long would it take two normal adolescents to realize the advantage they had when their one authority figure lay motionless, hour upon hour?
Shes a careful driver?
Liv shrugged her dislike at being questioned. Were alive, arent we?
Sarah changed the subject. Supper will be ready in ten minutes. Anybody need help with homework?
I dont have any. Skeets lack of teeth swirled the words together. Sarah smiled.
Got mine done in study hall, Brett confirmed, his hand buried in the ruff of Ginos coat.
How about you, Liv? Anything I can help you with?
For starters, you could stop playing mother. Her harsh tone brought Brett and Skeeters heads up. They stared. Im tired of people showing up out of the blue, telling us what to do. We manage on our own.
Her anger reminded Sarah of herself at a similar age, her mother recently buried, her family divided. Oh, yeah, she had no trouble identifying with Olivia, but she wasnt big on placating mouthy teens. Really? Thats good to know. But it would be more convincing if the entire house didnt resemble a dump. Sarah cast a look around the kitchen. Shed made some headway. The dishwasher hummed, the counters were clear and the table set. The floor still needed scrubbing, but all in all, the room looked better.
Liv glared. Maybe we have better things to do than clean up after her.
Youre mad that your mothers sick?
Shes not sick, shes Liv hesitated, stumbling over words. Lazy, she filled in. Feeling sorry for herself. Look at this place. Liv waved her hands, half spinning, half pacing. Its gross.
Sarah opened her mouth, but Liv kept ranting.
Skeets wet the bed the other night and went to school smelling like pee. Mrs. Besset pulled me aside in the lunch-room and said the elementary school nurse wanted me to make sure Skeets takes a morning shower if she wets at night. I have to be at school at seven-fifteen, the girl expounded, staring at Sarah. How am I supposed to make sure Skeets is up and clean for an eight oclock bus when Brett and I leave an hour before?
Who puts Skeeter on the bus?
Mom. Or no one.
Groaning inwardly, Sarah figured the likelihood of no one. Skeeters rapt expression said she understood too much. Brett, can you take Skeeter into the living room while Liv and I finish up?
I want to hear the rest of the fight. He darted a look from his aunt to his sister.
Were not fighting, Sarah corrected. Your sister needs to vent. Its perfectly understandable.
Dont patronize me. Liv stalked to the door and put the flat of her hand against the warm, cherry tones. Sarah was surprised to note the contrast, how pale Livs skin had become. Youre not some social worker who thinks Ill work out my aggression by molding a lump of clay for thirty minutes a day. Youre a sheep farmer. A smelly sheep farmer who wasted a good education to clean up animal crap. She pinched her nose to make her parting shot more pointed as she pushed through the door.
Ouch. Sarah said a silent prayer for patience, then one of gratitude for lack of available weaponry. Strangling ones niece because she insulted your pungent profession wouldnt sit well.
Definitely not worth it. Besides, who would watch the sheep?
She turned back to Brett and Skeeter. Wash up, guys.
Suppers ready.
Skeeter sidled up to her. Aunt Sarah?
What, sweetcakes? Sarah bent down, cradling Skeeters cheeks in her hands.
If Mommy never gets up, can we come live with you?
Sarahs heart froze. Brett went still as well, his hands immobile beneath the water. Eyes down, he listened for her answer, just like his little sister.
Rita, get down here. See your children. Feast your eyes. Delight in the gifts of the Lord, your God.
No gentle footfall answered her prayer. No warm motherly presence brightened the dark corners of the room. Sarah pulled Skeeter in for a hug. Farms do get stinky. Sheep arent the freshest smelling animals Ive ever met. Sharing a wink with Skeeter, she rose and guided the little girl to the table. But theres always room for you guys.
Even if I wet the bed?
Sarah made a mental note to buy protective mattress covers for the twin beds in the room adjoining hers.
Everybody wets the bed when theyre little, she comforted. Turning slightly, she noted Bretts stance. Silent. Still. If your Mom needs extra help, of course you can stay with me.
But you live in a different district. Brett turned, eyes wary. The faucet gurgled behind him.
I can get you back and forth if need be, Brett. I promise.
Hopefully a promise she wouldnt need to keep. Come on, Rita. Enoughs enough. These guys need you. Theyve already lost one parent. Lets not make it two.
Fear stabbed her. The look of Rita upstairs, clutching her pillow instead of her faith, seeking total solace. What would be more complete than to end it all, like Tom did? Unsure what to do, Sarah pushed down the frustration, made heavier by the events of the day. Ginos painful confrontation with a sharp-quilled beast, Craig Macklins disdain and Ritas loss of control.
Shoving it all aside, Sarah drew a deep breath and mustered a smile. Dinners ready. Lets eat.
Chapter Three
The ginormous Welcome to Doyletown banner waved in the early spring breeze as Craig angled his SUV into a parking spot at the elementary school. Deceased for nearly a decade, Myra Doyle had created the Doyletown concept when Craig was a boy, and the Potsdam district continued the event in her honor. Children picked a pretend identity and profession, then approached a similar local professional to spend the day and talk about their work. Honored to be chosen by his nephew Kyle, Craig blinked back nostalgia as he approached the entrance.
He remembered his Doyletowns like they were yesterday, and having Kyle request his presence today? Sweet.
He walked into the huge gymnasium and paused, taking in the spectacle of cardboard and balsa wood storefronts, the smell of kid paint and craft glue tunneling him back.
He grinned, caught Kyles eye, waved and threaded his way through various exhibits. Uncle Craig!
Im here, bud. Craig noogied the boys head, laughed at the expected reaction, turned and looked straight into the chocolate-brown eyes of Sarah Slocum.
A waif of a girl clutched Sarahs fingers. The child eyed Craig, wary, and slid further into Sarahs side. Her actions went beyond normal shyness, her gaze almost furtive, as if shed rather be any other place in the world.
Ive assigned groups, the classroom teacher called out, drawing their collective attention. Our class will do morning exhibit tours first, followed by lunch in the cafeteria, then professional presentations from our invited guests, then play time.
Talking briskly, she announced each group followed by six names. Kyle Macklin was followed in quick succession by Braden Lassiter, Glynna McGinnis, Jacob Wyatt, Carly Arend and Aleta Slocum.
Kyle groaned. Not her. She smells.
Kyle, Craig scolded, embarrassed. He turned, wishing he didnt have to, knowing he had no choice. Apologize. Now.
Sarahs expression appraised him, one hand cradling the girls dank hair, cuddling her, trying to assuage the hurt. Sorry.
Craig cringed inside. The sad awareness on the little girls face broke his heart, regardless of her last name. Determined, he stepped forward and thrust out a hand, wishing he could undo the last three minutes. But if he possessed those powers hed have hit reverse a long time ago and erased the adolescently stupid financial advice hed given his grandfather a decade back. Maybe then
Craig bit back a large ball of angst. There were no do-overs, unfortunately. Not in real life. The best he could do was set a better example for his nephew. He bent to the childs level. Nice to meet you, Aleta.
She shrank back.
Determined, he stood and met Sarahs gaze. Sarah.
Dr. Macklin. Cool disdain colored her tone and Craig realized it looked like the apple didnt fall very far from the family tree, an assessment that bore some accuracy at the moment. Kyle grabbed his hand and tugged.
Its almost our turn.
Chagrined, Craig dropped his gaze. Kyle, youre being rude.
The boys face crumpled, but Craig refused to cave. No time like the present to offer a show of good manners. He turned back toward Sarah. Are you presenting today?
Yes.
About?
Farming.
Duh.
She offered no help in the conversational court, but he deserved that. And more, no doubt. Bring any sheep? He swept the room a searching glance.
A ghost of a smile softened seal-brown eyes, the irises dusk-tinged. No hints of ivory or gold softened the deep tone, but the hinted smile brightened the depths from within.
Tiny laugh lines crinkled, then smoothed as she regained control. I did.
Craig let his arched brow note their absence, then he bent low, catching Aletas eye. Do you see any sheep?
A tiny grin eased the earlier discomfort. No.
Craig slanted his gaze up to Sarah. I think Bo Peep here has got herself a little bitty problem.
Aleta giggled. The laugh offered a glimpse of the pretty little girl hidden beneath a rumpled surface.
Sarahs expression softened, noting the girls more relaxed countenance, but when she turned his way, her look flattened. Live exhibits are penned out back.
Ah.
The teachers direction interrupted them and for the better part of an hour, Craig found himself on one side of the tour group while Sarah and her niece were on the other. Intentional on her part?
Most assuredly. Somehow he knew Sarah could command a situation as needed. Like any good strategist, she flanked the outer edges, skirting the perimeter, maintaining her distance.
Until lunchtime seating put them side by side.
Resigned, she stared at the small placard as if willing it to read something besides his name.
No such luck.
Craig pulled out her chair for her.
Her immediate reaction was half dismay, half surprise with a sprinkling of pleasure.
A very small sprinkling.
But it was a step in the right direction. After all, this young woman wasnt responsible for Grams current circumstance, despite Sarahs family ties. And the fact that Toms little girl sat alongside them, her innocent face shadowed by affairs beyond her control, piqued Craigs protective instincts.
The wolf will live with the lamb, and a little child will lead them Snips of Isaiahs verse nudged Craigs conscience. No doubt hed remember them better if he got to church more regularly, but on-call weekends interfered with all kinds of things, including church attendance. Hadnt his mother tweaked him about that very thing last week?
Aleta eyed the box lunch offered as part of the days program. An instant frown morphed to a practiced pout. I dont like this, Aunt Sarah.
You dont even know what it is, Skeets, Sarah replied.
I only like peanut butter and jelly and apple pancakes, Aleta whined.
Have you looked in your box?
No.
You might be surprised, Sarah noted. Opening hers, she pulled out a chicken salad sandwich. The little girl pretended to gag.
Sarah frowned. Open your box and see what you have, please.
PBJ marked the top of Aletas box, but Craig appreciated Sarahs attempt to encourage the childs independence. Scowling, she lifted the lid and peered inside. Peanut butter and jelly!
Yes. Sarah pointed to the box top. Those initials mean peanut butter and jelly.
Why didnt you just tell me? Aleta demanded.
Zing. Craigs protective instincts rose, surprising him. Why in the name of all thats good and holy would he want to protect Sarah from a six-year-olds onslaught?
And yet he did.
Sarah maintained a patient expression and tone. You need to look beyond your feelings and see the things around you, Skeets. You make too many assumptions. Trying new things is good for you.
The kid didnt look like she bought the theory, but she stopped arguing long enough to eat, a concept Craig understood. Food ranked pretty high on his list of desirables, too.
Kyle chatted with Braden while they ate, a momentary peace established.
Craig should have known it was too good to be true.
Sarah sat alongside Skeeter on the bleachers, watching as various professionals fielded audience questions. People rambled in and out, picking which speakers intrigued them.
There was no small number of cute, female elementary school teachers in the room when Craig Macklin spoke. Surprise, surprise. They reacted like eighth-grade schoolgirlsexchanged looks, little giggles, smirks of appreciation.
Please. He was just a guy. A really cute guy, if Sarah was being completely honest with herself. With great hands, a firm jaw and a quick smile.
But that smile
Too practiced, too glib, too smooth. Oh, Sarah was privy to the chick chat regarding Craig Macklin. Not only did the doctor title enhance his standing with the feminine contingent, his good looks and quick humor sent ripples of anticipation through a three-county area. But Sarah had been around long enough to recognize Craigs preferences. Fashion-doll pretty and dressed to kill. Since Sarah was a plain-Jane-in-barn-clothes girl, it mattered little. Shed take her small level of satisfaction in his more pleasant demeanor that morning and call it enough.
As Craig finished his spiel, Sarahs sheep were brought forward by two high school helpers. Sarah passed Craig without making eye contact, focusing on the two ewes and three lambs being herded into the circles center. With the high school volunteers monitoring the sheeps antics, Sarah faced the audience.
As you probably guessed, I work on a farm.
A chorus of ohs followed that statement.
Sarah nodded Craigs way as he retook his seat next to Kyle. Because I work with animals all the time, I sometimes use veterinarians like Dr. Macklin to help me. Animals get sick, just like people and when they get sick, they need a special doctor. An animal doctor. Allowing a pause, she met Craigs eye in challenge, a silent reminder that he made himself singularly unavailable to sheep farmers in general and her in particular. He squirmed.
She smiled.
Sheep are wonderful creatures, she instructed, moving to the small flock. Theyre dependable and docile. Very easy to manage. I brought two ewes, or mama sheep, that just had babies. This sheep, she indicated the shorn ewe with a wave of her hand, has been sheared. We shave their wool in the spring and sell the fleece to be made into thread for blankets and coats.
People wear sheep? asked a little boy, perplexed.
Sarah smiled his way. Not with the animal attached, she promised. One of her teenage helpers hoisted an exhibit board while the other raised a blanket in one hand and a wool coat in the other. Sheep products go beyond meat, Sarah explained.
Youeatthem? A middle-school girls voice took a tone of pure, unmitigated disgust. You actually eat your pets?
A chorus of eeeewwwwws met her question.
The teacher reminded the group of hand-raising protocol, then shifted Sarahs way, awaiting an answer.
Sarah met the girls gaze. These sheep arent pets, she corrected. Meat comes from animals. Every time you grab a chicken nugget, youre eating a bird. Hamburgers and steaks come from cows. Spare ribs and pork chops from pigs. And since protein is an important part of a daily diet, someone has to raise the meat you buy in the grocery store. Im one of those people.
The girl looked freaked out, so Sarah switched her attention to the younger kids. Baby sheep are called lambs. Arent they cute?
Do you eat them, too?
Obviously this girl wasnt about to give it up, and Sarah had no intention of lying. Many cultures use lamb as food, yes.
The girl half stood. Youre kidding, right? You eat babies?
Could this get worse?
Oh, yes. At that moment someone bent to drink from the water fountain at the back of the gym. The full-coated ewe heard the sound of running water and charged the fountain, eluding the teenagers hold and threading her way unceremoniously through the crowd. Pushing up, the ewe balanced on strong back legs while she licked the water basin, obviously thirsty.
Cameras clicked. Kids shrieked. Some parents laughed, some groaned, while others looked dismayed at sheep tongue fouling a water basin.
Pandemonium threatened until Craig Macklin crossed the room, commandeered the thirsty sheep by her collar and led her outside.
The circus scene squelched the rest of Sarahs presentation. Her antagonistic young questioner looked smug. Sarah swallowed the temptation to wipe the self-satisfied expression from the youngsters face, and realized shed voiced what so many people felt.
As long as meat came without legs and a tail, modern society embraced the concept. Add a dose of reality? Big round eyes? Round wooly ears? Instant vegetarians.
Sarah didnt buy that mind-set, but now wasnt the time to weigh pros and cons of meat production. Embarrassed that she needed another rescue by Craig Macklin, she kissed Skeeter goodbye and herded the remaining sheep into the penned school yard, chin down, gaze straight. She didnt need to see the humor in his eyes to feed her mortification.
Ignoring everyone and everything, Sarah loaded the errant sheep into her scuffed-up animal trailer and headed home, eager for the peace and quiet of her small farm.
Chapter Four
Craig watched Sarah as she ably loaded the five sheep into the small animal trailer hitched to the back of her worn tan pickup truck, her head down, looking neither left nor right.
Her tight jaw and stiff hands were the only indicators of her inner feelings, but Craig had little difficulty reading the body language. Downright mad.
But handling it well. Weighing choices, he considered offering help.
Her capable moves proved she didnt need it.
Or he could offer commiseration that would be unwelcome and more than a little in-your-face. Hadnt he professed the lack of intelligence in sheep loud and long?
No, hed be the last person shed want help from right now, and since she was just about set, he walked back into the gymnasium to rejoin Kyle for the last minutes of the day.
But he couldnt shove aside the look of her, the dusk-toned skin, big brown eyes, dark mass of hair threading down her back, softly arched brows. She had an earthy beauty that probably rarely saw makeup and didnt need it in any case. Breathing deeply, he remembered the scent of her at lunch, the soft, sweet smell of wildflowers on a summers day, the sun shining warm on a field of heather.
But mostly he remembered her look of chagrin as the sheep charged the water fountain, a fairly smart move for a thirsty animal. He might have to rethink parts of his opinions on sheep. At least this one was smart enough to drink when thirsty. Didnt he know people who got dehydrated every summer because they werent smart enough to grab a glass of water?
Todays situation had embarrassed Sarah and he felt bad about that, but there was little he could do. Shed mistrust his sympathy and reject his help if offered. He knew that.
Still, inner guilt rose because he didnt offer.
Kyle spotted him and charged forward, redrawing Craigs attention to the days festivities. He glanced around for Aleta but didnt see her. Maybe just as well. Neither of those Slocum girls needed any more embarrassing moments.
Sarah cast a wistful glance around the warming room of her weathered bungalow and refused to sigh, despite the late hour. Most women would come home, stoke the fire, shower and go to bed. An appealing thought.
Her gaze fell on the dusty spinning wheel to the left of the wood stove, unused, untouched. She longed for peaceful evenings of spinning yarn, her fingers guiding the carded wool while her foot rocked the treadle. Someday there would be time for such pleasures again.
But first, the farm. Its success depended on her efforts. Long evenings spent crunching figures for area businesses left no time for spinning and knitting. She gave the wheel one last, long glance. Someday.
Stoic, she left the inviting flames, donned farm boots and headed to the near barn. As she trudged across the drive, Gino kept pace, head up, attentive. Maremmas were great night guardians. Perfect for her, a shepherd alone. With them on guard, Sarah could actually sleep. Mostly.
But lambing loomed. With the front barn full of soon-to-deliver ewes, a turn around the lambing quarters was essential. While shed specifically chosen a Dorsett/Finn cross breed because of their less seasonal cycles, Sarah still engineered a strong spring lambing. Her January lambies were being marketed now for the Easter trade. This new batch would be sold in Albany and New York City come late spring and early summer, where eastern European immigrants celebrated love and marriage with roasted lamb, much as their Biblical forebears.
Sarah flicked the barn light switch then paused, her eyes adjusting, her ears tuned to out-of-sync noises.
All was calm.
Walking through, she found a new set of twins. The sloe-eyed ewe must have delivered late afternoon. Both babies strong and healthy, the caring mother uttered soft bleats of comfort to her offspring. The number of animals provided plenty of heat in this foremost barn, even in the bitter cold. Regardless of the calendar date, night temps could drop on the heels of a Canadian Clipper, a steep down surge of the jet stream. Tonight promised to be one of those. The wind blew intemperate, but the barn was snug. Secure. Shed made sure of that when she first considered this parcel. A cozy barn, good pastureland, large hayfields. Essentials to a northern shepherd on an accelerated breeding program.
And a house that needed cleaning. Cleaning she didnt have time or energy for most days. Satisfied with the scene before her, she retreated, closing the door with a firm hand, ready for a cleansing shower and a warm bed.
Baaaaaah.
Sarah turned, ears perked, drawing her coat closer.
A sharp wind chilled her neck. She eyed the dark field, knowing the next group of expectant mothers huddled in the second pasture. Not due for six to eight weeks, they should drop late-spring lambs that would be market-ready mid- to late summer, in time for the ethnic festival season in New York City.
As she turned back toward the house, the bleat sounded once more, followed by a bark, sharp and commanding.
Gritting her teeth, Sarah headed to the pickup, wondering why she ever thought sheep were cute.
Hours later, she was still unsure. The tiny lambs born in the cold meadow were taking their own sweet time to warm up. Sarah was sure shed hit every rut in the farm lane as she traversed the pastures edge in the pitch-black. An early-waxing crescent moon had dipped below the horizon long ago. Starlight did little to pierce the woods-edged fields and her long-handled flashlight kept blinking out.
She loaded the new family eventually, tempting the mother up the ramp by tucking the half-frozen triplets at the end of it. Then she prodded and prayed.
Its a good thing Jesus liked you guys well enough to put you in His stories, she grumbled to the three newborns flanking the woodstove. At the moment, Sarah didnt find them all that appealing as she massaged the shoulder shed wrenched during loading. She loved Christs soft spot for shepherds, the parables and analogies. He kept it simple, and that worked for her. You couldnt get much more mundane than shepherds and fishermen.
Exhausted, she lounged her head against the worn cushion, the lambs snug in a garage sale playpen. Clutching an afghan to her chest, Sarah watched as the heat of the stove gradually chased the chill from the fragile bodies. Since the newborns needed to re-acclimate with their mother, she set the alarm for a two-hour nap, dozing with them, their quick-pace heartbeats offset by the strength and steadiness of hers.
The phone shrilled as Sarah adjusted the angle of the Pritchard teat to feed lamb number three the next morning. The others had rejoined Mama with little fuss, but the ewe butted this one away repeatedly. Frustrated and frantic, the hungry lamb needed food and reassurance. Frowning, Sarah let the machine pick up, knowing these first feedings were crucial. Hearing the message, she dropped the retrofitted soda bottle and snatched up the phone.
This is Sarah.
Sarah, its Cade Macklin.
I know. I heard your voice. I was busy with a newborn lamb. She inhaled nice and long, slowing her anxiety. Whats happened?
Theres a petition regarding Rita and the kids. Someone turned her in for neglect. They want the children removed. Livvies last prank opened a few eyes.
Liv and some friends had decorated the school superintendents office with graphic posters when news broke that the administrator was cheating on his wife with the middle-school principal. Their little gambit caricatured the administrators with complex artwork, employing a parody on the superintendents theme for the year: Ethics in Education. An eye-opener, for sure.
Oh, man. Where were these people when her sister-in-law needed help? When kids needed rides, or trips to the dentist? Nowhere to be found. But let a teenager step out of line and she was marked for life. At least if her last name was Slocum and she lived in a Podunk little
Sarah choked down a sigh. What happens now?
Social Services sent someone by Ritas, found it lacking in supervision, and will request the court place the children in foster care.
Over my dead body.
Cades voice deepened. Can you take them? Judge Hicks wont grant guardianship to your father or Ed. Ritas people are in Albany, and you know how kids are about being moved around.
Why are you doing this, Cade? She didnt mean to sound blunt. Blame it on lack of sleep. Total surprise. The Macklin family owed the Slocums nothing. Zip. Zilch.
Because Rita and those kids have suffered enough. The police chiefs voice firmed. They did nothing wrong, Sarah. Nor did you. And I cant see how sending those kids away will help a woman whos fighting depression. Maybe even suicidal.
Sarah thought quickly. What about school? Im not in their district. Sarahs farm lay mostly in the Canton school district, although a small portion of her land crossed the border into Grasse Bend. Ritas house was north, in Potsdam.
We can get that okayed by the board. Theyre good people. It might be tricky to arrange transportation for the next couple of days, but between the two districts its doable in the long run. Ill work it out. That way the kids can finish the year in Potsdam. Maybe summer will be Ritas turning point. If summer ever gets here.
Since the winter had been cold and gray with little sun, the entire region would welcome warmth. Sarah agreed. Ill do whatever it takes, Cade. This house isnt all that big, but I can stretch it.
Good. Relief thickened his voice. Ill talk to the caseworker and the child advocate. Theyll probably come see you.
Great. Sarahs living space longed for time and effort she didnt have right now, a touch shed give it if she werent constantly working on either sheep or business accounts or helping Rita. Her degree in business accounting kept her tending books at night for a growing number of local farms and small businesses, the steady funds helping her bottom line until the farm was better established. She breathed deep, contemplating. Shed started this enterprise willing to do whatever it took to make her farm successful.
Throw three disgruntled kids who disliked farms into the mix
Ugh. She swallowed hard. What should I do now?
Hold tight. Ill pass the word and have them get back to you. Theyre swamped, but a petition for removal is serious so it shouldnt be too long. Then the question is how do we help Rita?
Sarah pictured her sister-in-law. Silent. Distant. Morose. I dont know. I Shes. Her voice tapered off.
Well figure it out. Cades voice reassured. No one wants to see Rita hurt. Or those kids. Its time for everyone to move on.
Cades magnanimity seemed ironic when shed been face-to-face with his brothers animosity too many times to count. Of course, hed been nicer yesterday. Much nicer. Still Not everyone feels like you do.
They will.
His assurance heartened her. The lamb, impatient, bleated an entreaty. Cade laughed. Go feed your little friend, Sarah. Ill be in touch.
A small part of Sarahs heart loosened at this overture, the olive branch extended. Thanks, Cade.
Youre welcome.
Sarah reached for the lamb. Angling the bottle, she mulled Cades words.
Losing the children could push Rita over the edge and the fear of suicide worried Sarah. If they could get help for Rita while the kids stayed on the farm, that might help.
Liv wouldnt like this. She was a town girl. Her daddy had looked down his nose at farmers, and the girl took after him. That should be interesting.
Brett? A little uncertain, but definitely an easier-going personality. And he had an intrinsic love for nature, if not for sheep dung.
Both in the thick of puberty. Adolescence. Oh, man. An additional form of insanity right there.
And Skeeter. Skeeter needed someone to care for her, watch over her. Share in the joy of each new day when she wasnt whining or complaining about something, which was fairly often of late. Simple, by comparison.
But not one of them was accustomed to the sights, sounds and smells of a working farm.
St. Lawrence County boasted multiple classes of people. Those who farmed, including the Amish, their quaint wagons and roadside stands dotting a countryside thick with agriculture.
Then there was the upscale staff and alumni of Clarkson and St. Lawrence Universities. Throw SUNY Potsdam and Canton into the mix, and you had a diverse dynamic at odds with itself. Town kids might be raised within two miles of some of the best northern farmland in the U.S., but have little association with product or producer, fairly certain food came from the local grocer.
Sarah grimaced, remembering her familys expressions when she announced she was starting a farm.
They blamed her mothers Abenaki blood. The urge to be at peace with the land, one with the Spirit.
The aspersions to her mothers memory stung. Peg Bent Willow Slocum had been a good woman, a strong Christian who cherished her mix of heritages. Maybe if shed lived, things would have been different.
But she hadnt and Sarah could pinpoint the day and time when shed known where her own destiny lay. It was her first summer away, the end of her freshman year of college. Shed stayed in Cortland, working a sheep farm by day and waiting tables at night. Shed made enough money to guarantee her second year of studies and celebrate her freedom from the Slocum domain, the me first mind-set prevalent at old Toms table. Her father was not a nice man.
She found the faith her mother inspired at a white clapboard church and a Bible passage that brought shepherds to a newborn babe, laid in a manger.
She found home.
Practicality insisted she finish her degree. A girl had to eat and farms werent an easy venture.
Angling the bottle to keep the lamb from sucking air, a smile tugged Sarahs mouth as she regarded the tiny creature before her. Not easy, by any means. But worthwhile.
Chapter Five
Craig careened to a stop and pushed out of the car, instantly enamored of the view. This is it.
His home site. He was sure of it. His new house would sit there, right there, at the apex of the hill, its south-facing windows benefiting from the winters sun. Evergreens rose beyond the hill, close enough for privacy, far enough to let the winter sun shine unfettered. The slope angled toward the road in an easy climb, nothing too difficult for winter months. The adjoining land was farmed, but this parcel lay unplanted, ready for building. Native trees surrounded enough open land to offer fun. He pictured Rocket ambling through the woods, ears perked, hunting new sights and sounds. Maybe it would pep the old boy up, to have fresh grounds to explore.
Craig strode forward, oblivious to the weariness hed felt moments before. He grabbed his cell and dialed Laraby Realty. Steve? Craig Macklin. Listen, Im staring at a piece of property on Waterman Hill. Its perfect. It lies between two farms. Across from another. Probably seven to ten acres Im eyeing up. Yeah, thats right. The south side. Walking as he talked, Craig studied the site.
Home. He was home. He knew it the moment he rounded the bend. Now, depending on who owned the parcel
Craig turned, his signal fading. This is part of Ben Waters land? I was at his place this morning, treating a cow.
Craig paused, listening. Ill head there now. At the Realtors caution, Craig shook his head. I understand, but you know how old-timers are. If Bens interested in selling, hell be up front with me. Whos got the property on either side?
To the west stretched old cornfields, stubbled and brown. Beneath the rise to the east lay a hay lot. Alfalfa. Across the street pastureland extended right from a barn adjacent to the road. He could see the peak of another building, back and behind. Left of the barn a small, dark house nestled among trees. The scent of wood smoke tweaked his nose, increasing the ambience. Im heading to the Waterses. Ill call you after Ive seen Ben.
Excited, Craig retraced his steps. Arcing a U-turn, he headed north. An hour later he emerged from Ben Waters kitchen, stuffed with Ettas banana bread and the promise of a deal. Bens handshake was aged but solid. Have Laraby draw up the papers. Id always thought little Ben would build there, but hes gotten used to the city.
Craig choked back a laugh. Little Ben was fifty-plus, and the city Ben referred to was the edge of Canton, off Route 11. Young Ben didnt have his fathers farming instincts, but had made a good name for himself in investment circles. Hed orchestrated the retirement plans for half the county, both business and personal, doing well for his family. Things would have turned out quite different if Gramps had used Ben instead of Tom Slocum, but that was a useless complaint at this juncture.
Thank you, sir. Craig clasped the offered hand, then surprised the old man with a hug. Im grateful. I love that piece of land.
Well, now Old Ben scratched his chin, thoughtful. I might hold out for another thousand or two if youve taken that kindly toward it. Craigs chagrined expression drew the old farmers chuckle. Gotcha. Tell your Realtor to come by with papers. Ill sign em. The building approval is up to date. I jes kept renewing it, thinkin it would pay off.
Ill subcontract the work right away. That way I can finish the interior by the end of summer.
Im a good hand with plumbing, acknowledged Ben. You need a hand laying pipe, Ill step in.
Thank you, sir. Craig gazed into the worn, blue eyes of the smaller man. Ill remember that.
Congratulations, son. Jim Macklin clapped Craig on the back. Thats pretty country up there. And nice that its a quick closing, no contingencies.
Which means we can get things moving ASAP, Craig replied.
His mother seemed happy but unsurprised. I prayed youd find the right piece. She smiled as she handed him a hunk of fresh-baked bread, slathered with butter, her confidence that God had time for such little things amusing to Craig. I asked God to provide everything you needed in a home site.
Like God doesnt have better things to do than diddle with my building lot. Craig spoke around a bite of bread, then waved the chunk in appreciation. This stuffs perfect. I was starved. I didnt stop for lunch and made do with cookies in the car.
And coffee, Id wager.
He grinned. Long day. Longer yet, he noted, eyeing his watch. Im supposed to meet Marc at the park. Were running an eight-mile loop tonight.
So showering now would be useless. She wrinkled her nose in his direction.
Craig laughed and frowned. Sorry. I should have showered and gotten rid of the clothes before I came into the kitchen.
That would be a switch. She nodded to the large kettle on the stove. Can you shift half that pot into the eight-quart kettle for me, please? Dads got a fishing crew on the Deborah I and theyre due back. I want supper ready when they get here.
Will do. As he poured half the soup into the smaller kettle, he angled a brow his mothers way. So. What did you ask God for?
Her quick smile brightened gray-blue eyes. The usual. Affordability. Hills, trees, land, good neighbors and room for dogs. She didnt mention Rocket by name. They both knew the inevitability of the old boys future. Talking about it didnt make the outcome easier, although Craig hoped the Lab could make the move with him. Time would tell. And I love that section of the county, so close to the state park. Beautiful land, Craig.
It is.
And its a family home youre building.
Yup. Me and Rocket.
At his name, Rocket almost perked an ear, but it was obviously too much effort. The misnamed hound let out a whine, passed gas, then stretched, his paws kneading air in his sleep.
I was referring to the human variety, but His mother slanted a grin Rockets way. Hes a solid beginning. Kind of.
I dont think finding the right girl is as easy as you make out, Craig argued. Cant say my lucks running any too good in that direction.
Depends on where youre looking, she shot back. Probably wouldnt hurt to expand your horizons, my boy. Search outside the box.
Girls dont come boxed, Craig pointed out. That would make things way too easy.
Or Stepford, Deb replied. When God puts the right woman before you, youll know it. Therell be no doubts.
None?
Nope.
Like you and Dad?
Exactly like that, she agreed. Weve weathered some storms, but havent capsized yet.
And you knew right off the bat, Craig teased, grabbing another slice of bread, then re-thinking the decision. Eight mile runs and full stomachs werent a great mix.
I was sixteen, Deb laughed, poking his arm. But yes, Craig. I knew.
On his way upstairs to change into running shorts and shoes, Craig spotted Grams sitting on the side porch, a blanket drawn around her shoulders as the evening air cooled. He decided to drive fast and take a minute with her. Life had been crazy busy this spring and their shared moments had been few and far between. Grams?
She smiled and turned. Craig. I was just thinking what a beautiful day this was and now its even better.
He grinned and sank into the rocker alongside hers. The wraparound porch, barren now, would teem with flowers once the nights warmed. His mother didnt care that most of their reservations were hunters and fishermen. She believed people should appreciate God, flowers and good food.
Grams leaned his way. Youve been busy, I hear.
Crazy, he agreed. And you?
She laughed. Your Aunt Cindy kept me hopping these past weeks. I helped when Lisa had her baby, and oh, my, that was a walk down memory lane. She patted his knee. I remember you children being born like it was yesterday, your mom and I walking you and Cade through town in your strollers. Then on trikes. The idea that thirty-five years have passed she paused, staring outward, then gave a little jerk. Anyway, its nice to be part of this new generation. Watch you youngsters have babies of your own. Your grandpa would have loved that.
The wistful look in her eye magnified Craigs inner guilt. If Gramps hadnt died of a heart attack, he might be here to play with Lisas baby. Or her little boy, Jack.
But no. Gramps was gone and hadnt known the joy of his great-grandchildren, except Kyle.
And whose fault is that, his conscience prodded.
Craig surged from the seat and noted the time, then hurried off, unable to meet Grams look, a mix of trust and loss. Would she hate him, knowing what hed done? That hed spurred the old man on?
Did it matter? He hated himself for the brash actions of youth, the foolish yammering of a young man who thought he knew so much.
He was living proof of the old adage his grandfather liked to quote: Better to close your mouth and let people think youre stupid, than open it and prove them right.
If only hed learned the lesson sooner.
Chapter Six
The first scream brought Craigs head up. It was followed by a second and a tirade of crude words Craig hadnt heard since party nights in college.
I hate you! I really, really hate you! Ill kill you when I get my hands on you, you little worm! The threat was followed by the slamming of a door, first once, then twice. As Craig hurried down the drive, a runner hurtled toward him, full tilt, arms pumping, an expression of half fear, half triumph lighting the boys face.
Behind him pounded a girl, tall and lanky, her athletic prowess outstripping that of the huskier boy. Reaching out an arm, Craig caught the boy, noted the look of surprise and confusion, then held tight while the girl barreled toward them. Whats going on?
Let me go! The boy struggled against Craigs grasp.
Craig tightened his grip. Be quiet. Now. He directed a calm look to the agitated girl whose knowledge of words unsuited for God-fearing ears was most impressive. Keeping his eyes impassive, Craig stared her down. Swearing isnt going to help your situation. Im not turning him over to you until I know what he did to deserve the beating you cant wait to dish out.
The boy squirmed. Craig sent him a look meant to quell. It did. Keeping his body between the antagonists, he angled his head. Whatd he do?
Besides reading my journal to his stupid friends over the phone? Even the most private parts? The girls pitch heightened significantly. With good reason, it seemed.
Craig squelched the boy with a stern expression. Her journal? You would stoop that low?
Trying to wriggle away, the boy realized the futility when Craigs arm clenched tighter. Its just a stupid old diary.
Its hers. Craigs tone allowed no leeway. Private. Confidential. What were you thinking? Staring into the boys light eyes, he issued a challenge, man to man.
I just wanted to see what girls write in those things. Reading Craigs expression, the boy turned sheepish.
Youve got a lot to learn about women, kid, noted Craig. He was about to continue when a swift-moving figure emerged from the far side of the barn. Startled, he recognized the tawny skin and raised planes of the cheekbones. Huge brown eyes, deep and dark, complementing the long, thick black braid. Shed obviously been working; she bore the look and scent of barn labor.
The girl rolled her eyes as Sarah approached. Then she sniffed, unimpressed, the sound insulting. The boy stilled as if ashamed.
Whats going on? Sarahs voice held the same calm, flat intonation hed come to know. Tilting her chin, she met Craigs eye. You may let go.
Of course. Irritation at being told what to do rose within him. Now that Ive saved his life, Im expendable.
She didnt smile. Grim, she addressed the girl. Whos watching Skeeter?
The girl flinched. Shes watching cartoons.
Silent, Sarah didnt move. She used the full force of those dark, impenetrable eyes to subdue the teenager. Defeated, the girl fidgeted. Ill see to her.
The teen flounced back to the small green house set in the trees, her posture indicating displeasure at life in general.
Sarahs gaze turned to the boy while the sound of a motor bore up the rise of the hill. As a group they moved the few steps to the roads edge, allowing room for the oncoming vehicle. What have you done, Brett?
Craig started at the name. Realization set in. Brett. Brett Slocum. Tom and Ritas son. The girl must be the older daughter. Thinking back, he remembered her from her fathers funeral. Shed been in junior high then. Must be high school, now. Pretty name, too. Liddie? Tivvie? Something like that.
The approaching car drew abreast. Glancing up, Craig recognized Maggie James polished silver coupe. She smiled and waved, then tooted the horn before she pulled ahead, angling her car to the side of the road.
Bretts look turned hopeful, maybe thinking his aunt wouldnt chastise him in front of others.
No such luck.
Brett?
He scuffed a toe into the scrabbled dirt along the roads edge. I read her stupid book.
Her book? Sarahs exaggerated confusion flustered the kid. She was upset because you read a book?
A journal, Craig supplied, keeping his countenance void of emotion with no small effort. Seeing the boy writhe under Sarahs surveillance brought back plenty of memories. Her interrogation tactics were not unlike his mothers.
Sarahs mouth dropped open. She gasped in righteous indignation. Her look implored the boy to set the record straight, declare the accusation untrue. Oh, yeah. Craig remembered the routine, front to back. Guilt 101. Did they teach that to women in class or was it intrinsic, inherent to the gender?
Bretts toe scuffed harder. Head down, he refused to face the look of disappointment on his aunts face. Craig couldnt resist. Theres more.
Brett shot him an affronted look and jammed his hands into ragged pockets. Glancing from Craig to Brett, Sarah made no acknowledgement of the approaching woman, focusing on her nephew. Tell me.
I told Matt DeJoy what it said.
You didnt. Her dismay increased exponentially. You shared your sisters journal? Her private thoughts and dreams?
The boys toe dug faster as the charges compiled. His cheeks reddened. His shoulders twitched. He jerked his head. Its just a stupid diary.
There is no such thing. Sarahs tone dropped to the dangerously quiet level Craig remembered all too well. Oh, yeah. That tweaked a memory or two. Times a hundred, at least. He fought a smile as Maggie reached them.
With Maggies intrusion, Sarah raised her gaze. Again Craig was struck by the unflappable expression. The lack of affect. He used to think her unfeeling. Unreachable.
Watching her interaction with the boy, he glimpsed the inner struggle. Saw the work it took to maintain the imperturbable appearance. She grasped the boys shoulder, her grip unyielding. Get changed. You can help me in the back barn. Five minutes. She added the last with a pointed look.
He marched off, defiant, much as his sister had done.
An awkward silence ensued. Maggie looked irked at Craigs lack of greeting and Sarah seemed ill at ease. She nodded his way. Thank you.
That was it? He opened his mouth to say something trite, then paused, reading the look in her eyes. Embarrassment. Shame.
The shadow was brief, no more than a glimpse, but evident. He nodded back. Youre welcome. Feeling out of his element, he turned to make introduction. Maggie James, this is Sarah Slocum. My neighbor, it seems.
Sarahs look swept the work site cresting the hill. Something soulful flashed in her dark eyes. Pain? Her nod to the well-dressed taller woman was polite but swift. The tone of her cheeks went a deeper bronze. I should get back to work.
Craig noticed Maggies subtle appraisal of Sarahs appearance. Smells that clung. The dark flecks dotting her tall boots. A protective surge swept him again. He fought it off. Of course.
With another nod, Sarah pivoted and strode away, the set of her narrow shoulders rigid. Craig turned toward Maggie. You came to see me?
She swept his hillside setting a glance. I heard you were building a house.
You heard right. They just finished the fourteenth course of the basement. Not much to see yet, and probably not a good idea to hill-climb in those. He dropped his gaze to her spiky heels, about as different from Sarahs barn boots as you could get.
And why on earth that thought occurred to him was a wonder in itself.
Probably not, she agreed. She hesitated, shifting her purse up. You wont mind the smells out here?
Craig crinkled his forehead, then relaxed. You mean farm smells?
Yes.
He laughed. Not at all. Especially not when farm visits are all in a days work. I dont even notice it.
I would. She sounded regretful, but resigned. I just thought Id stop by and wish you well with your building. I know its something youve been looking forward to.
Forward to and then some. Hed had his house plans drawn up nearly three years back, then saved for the dream, living at home a year longer than originally planned.
Now his wish became reality, day by day, emergent from the adjacent hillside splendor.
And directly across from Sarahs sheep farm. How in the world had that happened when hed been so careful? Thinking back, he remembered querying Steve Laraby about ownership of the land to either side of him. East. West.
Not across the street. He swallowed a groan with the realization.
As he swung Maggies door wide, he mulled the situation. What were the odds that of all the acreage in the largest geographic county in New York State, Craig Macklin would end up building across from Sarah Slocums farm?
What had his mother prayed for? Hills, trees, land, good neighbors and room for dogs.
The whole good neighbor thing presented a notable challenge. Craigs collar itched as he considered the situation. Every time he pulled out of his new driveway, Sarahs presence would remind him of things hed like to forget.
Gramps angst and dismay upon discovering their money gone, rifled by a scheming, two-faced investor. Grams sadness. Their constant worry and guilt over being a burden, an elderly couple who had never burdened anyone all their lives.
That worry hadnt helped Gramps struggle with heart disease. No sir. Hed died crushed and broken under the burden of decisions he thought fiscally sound.
Craig didnt need reminders, but here he was, building his dream home directly across from a Slocum. A band of them, if appearances could be trusted.
Craig massaged the bridge of his nose. If God had a hand in this, then he obviously had a sense of humor like Craigs fathers. Dry. Subtle.
And not nearly as funny as he thought it to be.
Shes your neighbor? Deb Macklin slid a wide tray of peanut butter cookies out of her convection oven, followed by another. Replacing them with two more, she raised a brow. A sheep farm, right?
I guess.
How big?
Craig shrugged. No idea. I didnt see the animals. Well He hesitated, reaching for a hot cookie. I did meet the niece and the nephew trying to kill each other. I dont suppose that counts.
Craig. His mothers tone scolded. She took in all three kids because Ritas not doing well. I guess the money problems put her over the edge.
Her phrasing caught Craigs attention. What money problems? The papers were full of Toms private insurance and made multiple mentions of his other portfolios. He made no attempt to hide the scorn in his voice.
Deb shook her head as she set the oven timer. They were wrong. She straightened and met Craigs gaze. His major insurance policy refused the claim because of a suicide clause. His minor insurance paid, but that was a pittance compared to the cost of raising three kids. Keeping a home. She turned back to the counter and scooped rounded spoonfuls of cookie dough onto fresh baking sheets. Toms stock portfolio is tied in with his brother. Ed refuses to give Rita access to it. Rita sued for dispersal, but you know the courts. Itll be a long, drawn-out process. Eds afraid his part will suffer if Rita withdraws Toms share, and shes got no money to speak of without it. At least theyve got medical insurance still. And Social Security survivor benefits.
Thats it? After all the papers said, I assumed Rita was swimming in cash. Free and easy, while other folks suffered.
Deb gave him a quiet look, not unlike the gaze Sarah Slocum leveled her errant nephew the day before. You know what they say about assumptions, Craig.
He set his cookie down. So the kids are living on the farm?
Yes. It was either that or foster care. Cade said Sarah wouldnt hear of it, though I cant imagine how she handles running the farm, her nighttime accounting business, and three kids. God love her, shes an ambitious little thing. When we needed sheep for the living Nativity scene last year, Sarah was the first one there and stayed the whole while, making sure everything went smoothly.
Craig hadnt made it to services that December weekend. A firm thwack of guilt smacked him upside the head. Was he really all that busy? Even on call, couldnt he set his phone to vibrate for the hour-long service and show up more regularly than hed been lately?
Thinking back, Craig mentally scrutinized Sarahs face. Yeah, she looked tired. More, she looked determined. Stubborn. Intent on forging ahead. His mothers voice interrupted his reflection.
Youre not eating your cookie.
The oversized cookie sat on the counter, cool. Untouched. He shook his head, considering. Not really hungry. Ill grab some for lunch tomorrow.
Deb nodded once more, intent on her task. Whatever you say.
A slight sound stopped him as he moved to the door. He turned and frowned. His mother presented a calm, serene profile, not a smile in sight. But Craig had been her son a long time. He knew what hed heard, her distinct low chuckle that said she found the whole thing humorous.
Huh. That made one of them.
Chapter Seven
Sarah considered the previous days run-in with Craig Macklin as she aligned a fencing unit along the back hill.
Bad enough that Liv and Brett showed their worst sides, reinforcing current opinion of Slocums in general. But it had to be in front of Craig Macklin. Sheep-hating, sanctimonious
Who was about to become her new neighbor.
Wonderful. No doubt hed complain of the dogs barking at night, the smells of a working farm by day. Sure, he was a vet, but he kept his visits to sheep country few and far between by design.
Recalling her appearance the day past, she couldnt blame him. Craig didnt come off as a guy who got his hands real dirty, regardless of profession. And his current girlfriend fit the profile to the max. Leggy, lithe and lovely.
Sarah tried to thwart a rise of insecurity, but it was no use. Feelings rose within her, how she prayed as a young girl to be normal, look normal, to fit in.
With Tom and Ed ragging on her constantly, shed longed to be pretty. Attractive, like other girls.
Try as she might, though, nothing paled her deep-toned skin, softened the dense mass of hair or lightened her big, dark eyes. Owl eyes, Tom used to call them, then hed make bug-eyed faces at Ed until theyd collapse in laughter at her expense.
Sarah scowled at the memory, kicked a raised piece of sod, and shoved the last fencing pole into place with more force than needed.
Standing next to Craigs latest squeeze, she had realized she had nowhere to go but up in the looks department, at least as far as Craig Macklin was concerned. And contemplating her planned showdown with her half brother and father, she didnt have the strength to care. Picking her battles had become a strategic necessity.
Aint none of your business, little girl.
Eds words were typical Slocum. Her father used that phrase as well, a means to keep her in her place. It hadnt worked then, it wouldnt now. Sarah stood silent and patient, staring at Ed.
He twisted, uncomfortable. Dont try your mothers tricks on me, squaw-girl. This is none of your affair.
Obviously Ed thought the word squaw insulting. Maybe shed e-mail him some Abenaki history. Her squaw legacy was deep and fulfilling, a blessing for a woman of strength. Counting the longnecks on the table alongside his recliner, Sarah saw that Ed was on beer number five.
Great. Hed gotten an early start. Sarah continued to gaze at him, then angled her head. I have three children who need their mother, one of whom is your godson. It would behoove you to act in their best interests instead of your own. You have no financial problems, Ed. You dont need that money. Why tie it up for Rita? What do you hope to gain?
You think talkin like a highfalutin college girl is gonna get you anywhere? Ed blew out breath that smelled of sour mash and onions. I may be simple, but I know my rights. Tom and I created that portfolio. Until a court makes me split it, it stays put. Rita can get her sorry butt out of bed and get a job. If shed been more ambitious, Tommy wouldnt have had to take that money.
Sarahs heart hammered. Her lungs swelled. She wanted to smack him for insinuating Rita was responsible for Toms illicit actions.
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