Waiting Out the Storm

by Ruth Logan Herne

  As a shepherd, Sarah must be used to these wake-up calls. No doubt she’d handle it. Turning a deaf ear to the deep-toned chorus, he laid back down, attempting to sleep.

  By one-ten he realized the error in his assumption. The first Maremma’s warning had been joined by another’s. Great. Harmony.

  Shrugging into warm clothes, Craig laced his boots with tired hands. Being dragged out of bed wasn’t unusual for a country vet. Resenting it like crazy on his first weekend off in three weeks seemed understandable. Resigned, he pushed open the door of the camper and trotted down the drive.

  Minutes later he zeroed in on the problem.

  Sheep wandered, unfenced. Picking his way along the front edge of the field, he blessed the nearly full moon, but wished for more warmth. Glad he’d grabbed his work gloves, he shoved his hands into them, glaring at the steam his breath produced in the chill, north air.

  A deep-throated growl sounded nearby.

  Craig hesitated.

  A broad, white, teeth-baring dog, hackles raised, planted himself in front of the tired vet.

  Hesitation became a dead stop.

  Picking out the pale canine among the white sheep was a trick in broad daylight. A good guard dog maintained a low profile, blending with its charges until needed.

  Obviously the dog felt needed now. Another low growl convinced Craig to stay still, acclimate the dogs to his presence.

  Or run as fast as he could.

  He tossed that idea and perched on the nearest stump. The sheep wandered at will. He had no clue where they belonged, or how to get them back there, but he couldn’t walk away and leave them untended. Even stupid creatures like sheep deserved a chance in the dead of night.

  He turned and surveyed Sarah’s yard. Mercury vapor lights brightened the barnyard, but no additional lights glimmered from the house. Working his jaw, he decided to wait. Whatever had pushed the flock through the tensile fencing could be lingering on the perimeter.

  That idea had him finding a more comfortable position. He wished he’d grabbed a zip-top bag of his mother’s venison jerky. His father always said the woman was part squaw when it came to preparing game meat.

  The thought put him in mind of the sleeping shepherdess.

  Squaw.

  What kind of term was that considered now? Factual? Derogatory? He’d Google it, check the origin. It wouldn’t do to insult a young woman who was obviously a lot better at ignoring late-night canine danger calls than her neighbor seemed to be.

  Sarah tumbled into bed, dead on her feet. The new round of lambs was dropping with few casualties, but the influx of homework, exam preparation and nighttime accounting made for short sleep. Real short.

  Her head ached and her brain disengaged at will. Crawling into bed at midnight, she was awakened sometime later by the deep baying of a Maremma. Then another.

  Trouble. She peered at the clock, blinked, rubbed her eyes and peered again. Two-fourteen.

  She fought an emotional overload brought on by stress and lack of sleep. Tugging on layers to ward off the spring chill, she stuffed gloves into her pocket and grabbed her shotgun, just in case.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Please don’t shoot me.”

  Sarah froze, fingers tight against the smooth stock.

  “It’s Craig, Sarah. Put down the gun.” The calm in his voice sounded forced.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Smooth, Sarah. What do you think the guy’s doing here with a chorus of barking dogs in the middle of the night?

  Considering her recent schedule, she decided to cut herself some slack.

  “One of us can’t sleep through the incessant barking of big white guard dogs,” Craig explained.

  Sarah drew a breath of consternation, then slipped the shotgun behind the seat. “They woke you?”

  Wasn’t this exactly what she feared? That the dogs or sheep would bother him? Annoy him?

  In turn, he would annoy her. Wonderful.

  Craig pretended a glance at a nonexistent watch. “About two hours ago.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Frowning, she narrowed her eyes in frustration. “I didn’t hear them.”

  Craig’s look swept from the field to the house and back, clearly indicating the abbreviated distance. “Can I borrow a set of those earplugs?”

  Sarah dropped her gaze. “I always hear them,” she muttered, thinking out loud. “How could I…?”

  “Tired?”

  His gentle note of concern sent a flutter within. Fierce, she shut it down. “That’s no excuse.”

  He changed the subject. “I wasn’t sure how to re-pen them and I didn’t want to make the situation worse, so I just sat here. That calmed the Maremmas for a while, until someone’s Lab mix rooted around the outside of the upper pen. They started up again as if they expected me to do something.”

  “A Lab?” Sarah drew her brows together. “Black?”

  “Black and tan.” Craig straightened. “It was pretty dark.”

  “I don’t know of any dogs like that in the area,” Sarah mused. She gave a sharp whistle that brought a Border collie running. “You’re solo, Max. Away.” Nodding, she motioned right and gave a short, low whistle. The dog raced off, rounding sheep in counterclockwise fashion. Sarah moved ahead, skirting the grassy edge, angling toward the lower left corner of the upper pasture. She gave another whistle, higher this time. “Come bye, Max.”

  Pivoting, the dog herded the western edge, working the group in quick, steady fashion. She saw Craig study the dog’s self-corrective techniques and angled her head toward the obedient flock. “He’s made for this. An instinctive herder. I hardly had to train him.”

  “The best trainers think the dog trains himself.”

  Sarah flushed at the compliment. Grateful for the diminished moonlight, she fought the flurry of feelings his words brought.

  He was being nice again, completely out of character.

  And disconcerting.

  And incredibly pleasant.

  Most likely because of their new proximity. He was about to be her closest neighbor. Obviously he thought sharing a peace pipe a better way to start that relationship than hauling the sheriff out of his office in the middle of the night to complain about her noisy dogs. Speaking of which…

  “This happens sometimes,” she explained. “The Maremmas take their guarding tasks seriously.” She let her eyes glance into his. He nodded.

  “Figured that part out when they bared their teeth at me.”

  Again his voice was nonchalant. Steady and even. Sarah gulped. “Did they really?”

  Craig shrugged, his attention tuned to the maneuvers of the black and white spitfire channeling sheep through the fence gap. Moving left, Sarah maneuvered post and wire into a quick semblance of order.

  “Isn’t that hot?” Craig moved up behind her, his voice concerned, eyeing the electric fence.

  “I unplugged it before I got in the pickup. Just in case it was tangled.”

  Silence ensued while she reconfigured the wire and post to her satisfaction. Craig broke the quiet by noting, “They’re in.”

  “Max.” The single word brought the small collie to her side, and then he trotted toward the barn, head high.

  “Nice.” Appreciation marked Craig’s voice.

  Fighting a smile, Sarah slipped the next post into alignment, then untwisted the wires with a flip of her wrists. “A good dog.”

  Again the silence stretched. Craig studied her movements. Once done, she stepped back and blew on her chilled fingers. “It’s June. The thermometer could start to climb anytime now.”

  “We say that every June,” Craig agreed, falling into step as she walked the south end. All appeared well, the wire tense and unyielding. He nodded to the disappearing collie. “Rocket used to run like that.”

  She glanced up, puzzled.

  “My dog.”

  “Oh.”

  “A chocolate Lab,” he continued, his voice warm. “The kind of dog a kid could
grow up with.” He pushed his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt. “He’s old now. I’ve had him since high school.”

  “’Tis pity not to have a dog, whatever be his breed,” Sarah quoted Edgar Guest. “For dogs possess a faithfulness, which humans sadly need.”

  “Exactly,” Craig agreed. “Rocket’s pretty accepting.”

  “How old is he?” Scanning the fence one last time, Sarah turned toward the work-worn pickup. “Nearly fifteen.”

  Sarah knew what that meant. She paused her step. “I’m sorry.”

  Craig jerked a shoulder. “What happens, happens.”

  His tone belied the words. Sarah almost winced. “Of course.” Nodding to the truck, she waved a hand to the passenger side. “I’ll drive you home.”

  “No need.” Craig paused, watching her. She almost flinched under his scrutiny. His next words tightened her jaw. “Get some sleep, Sarah. You look like you could use it.”

  He may have meant it kindly, but she heard chastisement. He thought she looked tired. Haggard. Her mind leapt to the negatives her half brothers heaped on her over the years. The reproaches and jeers. Snide remarks that made a young girl question her worth and her beauty.

  She fought a retort, struggling to separate the present from the past. When she was tired, it was hard to do. Nodding, she climbed into the truck, cranked it around and was back in bed before Craig Macklin’s feet started the ascent of his driveway.

  Served him right.

  Chapter Twelve

  How could you do that? How could you do that? How could…Sarah’s thoughts ran through her mind like a freight train the next morning.

  Craig had been nice to her. Kind enough to play Little Boy Blue to her Sleeping Beauty before she drove off in a huff because he noticed she looked tired.

  She was tired. It would take more than seven hours of segmented sleep to make up for a chain of abbreviated nights, but it would all turn out for the best. She had to believe that.

  Didn’t Job have his trials? And Moses, the recalcitrant leader, dealt with chronic doubt, confusion and insubordination from the people he led.

  Given that, Sarah White Fawn Slocum should be able to handle multiple sheep herds, three rowdy children, two messy homes…

  And a partridge in a pear tree…

  Right.

  She spied Livvie curled up with a book. “Cleaning today. Your house, this time.”

  Liv nodded, surprising Sarah. “I’m ready. Brett’s feeding the barn sheep.”

  “Really?” Sarah angled her head. Took a moment. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  “No problem. I put the cleaning supplies we might need in the truck.”

  Sarah walked over and felt the girl’s forehead. “Are you feverish? Tired?”

  Livvie frowned. “No.”

  “Then who are you and what have you done with my niece? Are you a pod person?”

  Liv burst out laughing, then sobered. “I just figured you must be tired to sleep until almost nine o’clock.” She shrugged. “And I wanted to do something to help Mom.”

  Sarah hugged her. “Me, too. I want the house decent when she comes home. Give her a fresh start.”

  “It might take more than a day,” warned Liv.

  “But we can get a lot done. We’ll make a list, check it twice.”

  “Find out who’s naughty and nice?” Liv laughed. “A little out of season, Aunt Sarah.”

  And then some. Two Christmas references in a span of minutes. Must be the cold nights. “Gather up Skeets, will you? I’ll help Brett so we can hit the road. I want to check Lili’s pups, too. The ad goes out this week.”

  “I’ll miss them.”

  Sarah lifted a wry brow. “Missing them would require stepping foot in the barn.”

  “That’s true,” Liv replied, fingering a strand of hair. “But as long as I walk straight to the pups, it isn’t so bad.”

  Sarah leveled a look at the teen, then smiled. “Get your sister.”

  “It’s worse than I remembered.”

  Liv’s early optimism disappeared when a ripe smell assaulted their senses at Rita’s door.

  Brett looked around, overwhelmed.

  Skeeter grabbed Sarah’s hand. “What’s wrong?”

  Sarah moved forward, toting supplies. “Not a thing, honey.”

  Disillusionment marked the faces of the older two. Sarah jerked her head left. “Let’s start with opening the windows. Air things out. Brett, I’ll have you clear out the living room. I’ve got a giant box of garbage bags here.” Her nod indicated the bright yellow box. “Skeets, your job will be to find all the toys and put them in—” Sarah glanced around “—that box right there. We’ll sort them later. Liv?” She eyed the girl at her side. “I’m going to start on the kitchen and back porch. You want to help me or tackle the upstairs?”

  The look on Livvie’s face could have gone either way. Explode or implode. Exhaling, she headed to the stairs. “I’ll straighten up first. Then dust and vacuum. Scrub the bathrooms.”

  Sarah sent her a woman-to-woman smile, then eyed Skeeter. “Now, Skeets, the important thing is, don’t get in Brett’s way. He’s got a big job ahead of him. Brett.” She turned to the boy, who looked somewhat overcome. “Would you rather I help you in here? Give it a head start?”

  He considered that for a moment, looking hopeful, then manned up. “Naw.” He glanced at his little sister, unusually cooperative, and nodded. “We can handle it. Can you keep the door open, though?” His gaze slid to the swinging door separating the kitchen from the living room.

  He didn’t want to be alone with the mess. The smells.

  “Absolutely. That way we can talk as we work. You guys want music?” Moving to the CD system, she raised a brow.

  Skeets twirled. “Taylor Swift!”

  Brett groaned, then grinned. “How about the theme from Rocky? We sure have a fight on our hands.”

  “Rocky first,” Sarah decided, ignoring Skeets’ groan. “Then Taylor. We might follow her up with a little Kenny Chesney, or maybe some Michael W. Smith.” She eyed the room, then the boy. “I’ll be in the kitchen. If anything tries to eat you, holler.”

  “Right.” He scanned the room with an Oscar-worthy look. “If I live to tell about it.”

  The day flew. Sarah pulled out all the stops and did takeout for lunch, grateful for proximity to the golden arches, then ordered Chinese for dinner. By that time the living room invited repose, throw rugs were aired and thrashed, the kitchen sparkled with a new coat of lemon polish to the chestnut-toned cupboards, counters gleamed and the floors shone.

  “The dining room looks good, Aunt Sarah.” A warm smile softened Liv’s features. “I forgot how pretty it was.”

  Sarah nodded. “Me, too. I love the bay window. It’s a shame it overlooks the neighbor’s driveway.”

  “You’re used to acres of privacy. This is normal to us.”

  “Country mouse, city mouse?”

  Liv’s smile deepened. “I don’t think I’d like being a real city mouse. New York or something like that. But being in town?” Her look encompassed the neighborhood. “I like being near people.”

  “I don’t.”

  Sarah looked at Brett, noting the strength of the assertion. Her expression invited him to continue.

  “I hate it.”

  “Why?” Keeping her voice level, she allowed Brett time. If he was offering the rarity of sharing his feelings, she’d give him whatever proved necessary.

  “Everybody watches us. Waits for us to mess up.”

  “They do not.” Liv jumped in, her tone absolute.

  Brett went silent, rolling his eyes.

  Sarah considered his allegation, thoughtful. “Some do,” she acknowledged. “Your dad’s actions made things difficult. It takes time for people to move beyond that. See you for who you are.”

  “Mom’s drinking doesn’t help,” Liv noted.

  “You’re right. I think she got overwhelmed and didn’t know where to turn. She fe
lt let down by her husband. By God. Her family.” Seeing their looks, she corrected herself. “Not you guys. Her extended family. Uncle Ed and Aunt Heather. Grandpa. They blamed her because they couldn’t accept your father’s guilt. It had to be someone else’s fault and your mom was a handy target. It got to be too much.”

  “But she’s a grown-up.” Brett’s tone said he thought that made you invincible. How Sarah wished that was true. She made a quirky face.

  “Yeah. But we grown-ups have our problems. Sometimes we get hung up on them. Forget to take them to God. It’s easy to get in over our heads.”

  “Has that ever happened to you?” Liv’s expression said she couldn’t believe anything overwhelmed Aunt Sarah.

  Sarah met the look. “Yes. That’s part of the reason I went to New Zealand after college. Some people don’t like the fact that I’ve got an interesting heritage on my mother’s side.”

  “Because you’re Native American?”

  “Yes. And part African-American on my grandfather’s side. Slocums don’t handle diversity well. Once my mother died, I wasn’t welcome at most family functions. I got tired of being left out.”

  “But…” Brett screwed up his face. “You always sent us presents. Birthday and Christmas stuff. And cool cards.”

  Sarah rumpled his hair. “Of course I did. I love you. We’re family.”

  “Dad didn’t like you,” Liv remarked.

  Sarah shrugged. “Your father liked control. I had a mind of my own.”

  “You were independent.”

  Inside, Sarah marveled at the girl’s intuition. Outside, she kept her face placid. “I am. And I have a deep faith that frightens some.”

  “Because they don’t believe?”

  Sarah considered that. “Because I believe so fully. Faith is a gift. Not everyone accepts it.”

  “Grandpa likes me.” Skeeter light-stepped her way into the kitchen, her left cheek covered in pink sleep wrinkles. She stretched and yawned. “He says I look like my daddy’s mother.”

  Liv snorted. “You look like Mom did when she was little. We’ve got pictures that prove it.”