Ava smiled. “No. Not Sarah.”
He hadn’t seen his neighbor in two weeks. So what that he took comfort in her presence, wondering at the end of each busy day how hers had gone? How the pups were doing. But he stayed away, noting the temptation and willing to fight it for family comfort and Rita’s state of mind. The pain that darkened her face when she found him sitting in Sarah’s comfortable kitchen offered a harsh wake-up call. Rita had been through enough and her current hold was fragile. He had no right to mess with that.
That realization didn’t stop him from thinking about Sarah on a regular basis. Okay. Make that constant.
Ava tilted her head. From the look in her eye, she read him with ease. Craig twitched a shoulder and narrowed his gaze. A smile edged Ava’s mouth as she acknowledged his declaration. “No, you’re right. Sarah’s one of a kind.”
Craig scanned the sky as he headed south from a Potsdam farm, then called Brett. “It’s supposed to storm, Brett. We won’t try to work tonight. Maybe you can help your aunt.”
“Okay,” Brett agreed. “She’s moving fencing but got interrupted by the co-op guy. He wanted to pick up lambs a day early because of the holiday weekend, but forgot to tell her. Now she’s got to hurry because it took us a while to gather the lambs.”
Craig appraised the western sky. He noted towering cumulus, definitely storm material, but nothing out of the ordinary. That, he knew, could change. “Then you help her, Brett. She can’t leave the fence half-done.”
“Right. I will. ’Bye, Craig.”
Uneasiness swept Craig.
He pushed it aside. Late-day thunderstorms were the norm once summer arrived. He’d seen Sarah and the Bristol boys running hay wagons the last few days. Made note of the long sleeves she wore despite the heat to protect her skin from the sharp-edged forage. He wanted to help, but the internal work on the house had to get done; to keep his costs down he needed to do some of the finish work himself. The longer days of June and July afforded him more time, but the influx of work had the vet clinic hopping. Throw Hank’s vacation in for good measure and Craig had been working on short sleep for nearly twelve days. But Hank would be back after the Independence Day weekend, and Craig could slow down. He hoped.
Sarah didn’t need a watch to tell her that the hour-plus spent gathering lambs pushed her time frame. The wind had picked up. The air smelled of hot, sticky rain. The humidity weighted everything. Every so often the trees would still, their branches drooped and tired. Then the wind would roar once more and they’d dance in frenzied abandon, bending. Laughing.
The wire of the west side border twisted when the wind snatched it out of her hand. Sarah wanted to swear. And cry.
She did neither. Thinning her lips, she maneuvered the balance posts and wire back to their original position, aligning strands with a patience that would have made her tribal ancestors proud. Finally positioning the anchor posts to her liking, she stepped to the end. As she adjusted the prior side to meet and match the notches in the final curve, a crack of lightning split the air, its sound a sizzle. The thunder that followed was short moments behind. Sarah grimaced.
She wasn’t afraid to get wet. Been there, done that. No big deal. But standing in an empty field in the middle of a thunderstorm was stupid.
No way could she outrun it. The initial gray cloud cover morphed to towering black cumulus, foreboding and ominous. Lightning forked to the ground and danced from cloud to cloud in nature’s own electrical parade.
Nor could she seek shelter from the nearby hedgerow. The trees were an obvious draw to the forked bolts.
Moving to the lower edge of the western fence line, Sarah spread the gate. A whistle brought Max. “Come bye, Max.”
Circling clockwise, the black and white dog guided the free-ranging sheep to the open gate. “Good, good. Away, Max.” Sarah kept her voice calm in spite of the electrically charged downpour.
The storm unnerved the sheep. It took Max long minutes and several tries to maintain the flock and move them along. With Molly by his side it would have been short work, but on his own the nervy sheep gave him trouble.
Sarah knew better than to interfere. It would only confuse the situation. Waiting it out with the wrath of Mother Nature crashing around her, she fought for patience.
A near strike sent her sprawling. Electricity sizzled in the wet grass beneath her. Knowing the ground was the safest place at the moment, she lay there, letting the storm beat around her as the dog worked the animals into the newly staked pen.
Tree branches snapped along the farm lane to her left. A maple sent a large limb down, the tearing wood an ominous sound. Keeping a low profile, Sarah moved to the gate as the last sheep entered and swung it shut with a sigh of satisfaction.
Thank You, God. Now, for home.
She turned, still crouched low, and gave Max leave to go. “That’ll do, Max. Good dog.”
She had no clue what happened next. One moment she was watching the tail end of the dog race for the barn and then sights and sounds combined to create a train-in-a-tunnel effect, the sound growing in strength and definition as she found herself smashed and tumbled into first the fencing, then a branch, then a thick-trunked tree. Then nothing.
Chapter Seventeen
“Wow.” Gazing out a north-facing window, Deb Macklin shook her head. “It looks wicked up your way, Craig.”
Craig looked up from the newspaper and gave Rocket a lazy scratch. “Really?”
“Sky looks funny.”
“We get storms all the time, Mom.” Their eastern proximity left them wide open to nor’easters, and Canadian cold fronts never missed St. Lawrence County. Not as much snow as some lakeshore communities, but enough cold and wind to make a man sit up and take notice.
“Not like this.” Deb frowned, obviously concerned, and Deb Macklin didn’t get concerned easily. Craig rose.
“Craig?” Jim Macklin’s voice hailed his younger son from the downstairs doorway. “Yeah?”
“Grab the phone. Cade’s trying to reach you but your cell is out.”
Craig snatched up the landline. “What’s up?”
“Trouble your way. The house looks okay from here—”
“Where’s here?” Craig interrupted. From this angle he could see the roiling mass of clouds that banked north of his parents’ lodge. “You at my place?”
“Sarah Slocum’s. The kid found her lying unconscious in a field. He couldn’t move her, she was pinned under a large branch…”
“No.” Craig’s heart compressed in his chest and the cry was part prayer, part lament. He didn’t try to hide the angst in his voice. “Where is she, Cade?”
“On her way to the hospital. The EMT figured her for a concussion, minimal. Her face is a mess, but vitals are good.”
“Who’s there?”
“You mean here? At the house?”
“At Sarah’s.” No way could Craig clamp down his anxiety. His voice went impatient. “Are the kids okay?”
“Brett’s on the way to the hospital with her. The others are with Rita. It was just Sarah and the boy here.”
“Dear God.” Craig gripped the phone tighter, aware of his mother’s attention, wondering why he hadn’t followed his earlier instincts. If he’d been there—
He drew a deep breath and tried to calm his racing heart. Didn’t work. “You’re sure Sarah’s all right?”
Cade’s voice stilled. When he spoke again his voice was calm and measured, as though informing next of kin. “She’s hurt. Significant. But not life-threatening.”
“And the sheep?”
“I don’t believe I’m having this conversation.” Cade’s tone deepened with curiosity. “I thought you hated sheep.” Drawing a breath of interest, Cade continued, “She lost a bunch. By the way the hedgerow is twisted and mangled, Wynn figures a tornado finger-tipped the area. Sarah was arranging fencing when it hit. We’ve got some dead, some injured, and some placidly chewing their cud. Stupid things.”
Craig
grabbed his keys. “I’ll stop at the clinic for supplies and get right over there. Call Hank, will you, since my cell’s out? Fill him in. Have him meet me at Sarah’s. And the Bristol boys,” Craig added, his mind strategizing what they’d need to treat several hefty farm animals. “They can help shift the animals out of the field. I’ll have Mom call Julie and Ralph. We’ve got to save what we can.”
Visions of Sarah’s hard work spun through his mind. Long nights, bleating lambs. Every large animal vet understood the time and financial commitment that went into a new operation. It wasn’t for the faint of heart, that’s for sure. Yet Sarah had done it, single-handed, employing occasional part-time help to see her through. She’d done it and stood in the thick of a brutal storm to try and maintain it.
When he was through helping her, he might just throttle her himself. Save the next tornado the trouble.
Breathing hurt. The slightest movement of her lungs brought a knife-like burning to her ribs. Sarah tried to focus on the discomfort, like her mother taught her. Once centered, she would erect a mental shield against the pain. It was a skill that worked during those dark days following Peg’s death. The days of just Old Tom and the boys, criticizing her. Ridiculing her every effort. Making her feel ugly. Stupid.
She might be able to draw on cultural strengths to block the physical pain, but the mental anguish didn’t need stirring. Pushing it out of mind, she concentrated her efforts on what to do next. Open her eyes to face the damage or turn away from the pain and sink into oblivion?
Oblivion won.
The calm of the post-storm air infuriated Craig, acting meek and mild when less than an hour ago Mother Nature dumped fury on an innocent young woman and a flock of mindless sheep.
“Why, God?” he muttered as he packed the boot of the SUV, then hurried to the cab. Gravel spun as he directed the sleek 4x4 toward Waterman Hill. “Why Sarah? What has she done to deserve this? The girl lives her life to be kind and peaceful. Look what she had to overcome,” he railed, temper mounting. “Born to a family that didn’t appreciate her. Rejected by her father and brothers… Why pick on her?”
With a start Craig realized he was yelling as much at himself as his Savior.
Hadn’t he judged Sarah? Spurned her? Just a few months ago he’d been tempted to refuse her treatment because she was a Slocum.
He was as bad as the two Toms and Ed. Worse, because he’d been raised to be God-fearing. Not a presumptive, sanctimonious jerk.
Now here he was, barreling to her place, trying to help a woman he’d previously shunned.
How much had changed. His need to help her, protect her, was strong. He wasn’t foolish. He understood the backlash. Grams didn’t need constant reminders. Neither did Rita. And caring for Sarah brought his own guilt to the forefront constantly, her family a steady niggle of his own part in the whole mess.
“Feed my lambs.” The Lord’s admonition to Simon Peter came to him. “Take care of my sheep.”
Three times Christ instructed a reinstated Peter to guard the flock, feed the sheep. The meaning was clear; Peter, forgiven for his lapse of strength and faith as Christ was beaten and scourged, was now given the command to guide the infant Church.
“God, I’ve got to tend these sheep now. Minister to them. I need to use my skills to save the work of Sarah’s hands when I’d rather be with her. Keep watch on her, Father. Ease her pain, her suffering. Give her the gift of peaceful sleep; time for her body to heal. Take care of her.”
Gone were any notions that God might be too busy to handle a personal entreaty. Craig’s prayer was one-on-one, a direct line to Heaven.
He wheeled into her drive, scattering stone. The Bristol boys had helped move the remaining flock from the lower pasture. A caravan of trucks hauled the injured to the front barn. Hank jumped off the first pickup, his expression grim. “I’ve done the triage. There are some we can save, many we can’t. Too much internal damage.”
Craig trusted Hank. He knew the older vet would never take a farmer’s loss lightly. Every breeding ewe was money in the bank to a sheep farmer. With no lambs to sell mid-fall, Sarah’s bank account would take a direct hit. And the time it took to rebuild a flock? How many more accounts would she have to keep by night just to stay afloat?
Hank jerked his head toward the barn. “Let’s save the ones we can, ay? We’ve got a nice operating theater right here.” The sound of wheels on gravel brought his head up. A look of satisfaction lightened Hank’s eyes as he spied Julie’s car with Ralph riding shotgun. “Now we’re ready.”
Twelve sheep saved. So few out of how many? Nearly thirty?
But it was a dozen more than Sarah would have had if the medical crew hadn’t gathered. Jack and Mike Bristol agreed to stay the night, alternating watch. Once the cleft-hoofed patients were resting comfortably, Hank took Craig to the back pasture.
“That’s where they found her.”
“Where Brett found her.”
Cade’s voice came from behind. Craig turned and searched his brother’s face for news. “Have you been to the hospital? How is she?”
“Asleep. She must have taken a full frontal into the tree before the storm dropped her to the ground. She’ll be hurting.”
“Did she say anything?” Ask for me? Call for me? While common sense told him there was no reason she should, he’d love to hear that she did. Cade shook his head.
“Nothing that made sense. Wynn said she whispered something about John being twenty-one, but he couldn’t make sense of it.”
“The concussion,” Hank interjected. “They make you talk stupid. So, Sarah was here—” Hank waved a hand to the sugar maple that had been both torment and haven to the young farmer “—and the sheep were in this pasture.”
The sight of the tree nearly gagged Craig, the huge branches lying haphazard on the ground. Their torn-away filaments looked stark and naked in the oblique evening light. Scattered along the sloped edge of the field lay the remains of nearly twenty sheep. The rumble of an approaching machine drew their attention. A backhoe approached, with old Ben Waters driving.
“I called him.” Craig answered Cade’s look of question. “I didn’t want Sarah coming home to this. It’ll be rough enough as it is.”
“Good move.” Cade’s look said he heard more than Craig offered out loud. Ben stopped the big shovel and clambered down.
“Sorry business, boys.” He stuck out a hand to greet each man, then angled a look to Craig. “Where shall I dig?”
“Here,” answered Craig, then turned toward Sarah’s bungalow, appraising the angle. “This will work. She won’t be able to stare out the window and see it.”
“Would Sarah do that?” Hank’s voice said the woman he knew was too busy to dwell on the loss of a few sheep. But Craig had seen the exhaustion. The day-by-day struggle of kids, sheep, land, accounts and Rita.
“We won’t give her a chance,” he replied, wanting to kick himself for his self-imposed exile these past two weeks. If only…
“Craig’s right,” offered Cade, surveying the sight. “Sarah’s had a lot on her plate. No call to add to it. The fencing’s shot.”
The remains of the tension-wired fence lay knotted and tangled. “We’ll get rid of that tomorrow,” promised Craig. He glanced at his watch. “Hank, I’m heading to the hospital. You’re okay here?”
“Fine. I want to recheck our patients before I leave. Go over the instructions with Jack and Mike.”
“Thank you.” Craig grasped his partner’s hand. “I appreciate you coming right out.”
Hank shrugged. “Part of the job.”
“I mean it.” Craig met Hank’s eye. “And whatever’s owed from this, we’ll take from my account.” The veterinary practice kept employee accounts for animal care.
Hank paused, then nodded. “Whatever you say, Craig.”
Cade gave Ben a hand up to the raised seat of the hydraulic shovel. Once Ben was resettled, he turned to Hank. “I’ll help Ben. You might want to send Jack to help mov
e the bodies once the hole’s dug.”
“I’ll do that.” Hank’s eyes scanned the field, littered with dead ewes. “Rough day for our little shepherd.”
Craig heard the remark, but kept his eyes averted as he climbed into the SUV. All too easily it could have been Sarah lying there, still and broken on the rich, green grass. Try as he might, he couldn’t push the thought aside. He could have lost her before he had a chance to know her. At this moment, arguments about family feelings seemed inconsequential compared with the thought of losing Sarah for good. He scowled as he pulled away, heading toward the hospital.
He’d gotten something many wish for and never receive. A wake-up call, a second chance.
Craig was ready to take it.
Chapter Eighteen
Murmured voices almost brought Sarah to the surface. She listened with care for one certain voice, sure to recognize the low, gentle timbre beneath the others.
It wasn’t there. Quiet re-descended as she shifted away from the pain, remembering the crush of the tree pressing her into the rain-slicked ground.
“Sarah Slocum’s floor?”
A pink-smocked woman nodded.
“How is she?” Craig continued, his medically trained mind jumping to worst-case scenarios.
“Are you next of kin?”
“A friend.”
“Craig.” Brett’s voice interrupted them from behind.
Craig turned. Brett barreled toward him, offering explanation, his step awkward. “I couldn’t get it off her. I tried. I really did. It wouldn’t budge.”
Pain and guilt weighted Brett’s features. Craig hugged him hard, the boy’s tears dampening Craig’s shirt. “Your mother here?”
Brett nodded and pulled back. Snuffling, he wiped his nose on the upper edge of his T-shirt. “She’s with Aunt Sarah, but they won’t let her do anything.”
Craig frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Aunt Sarah won’t wake up and they wanted permission to do some tests, but Mom can’t give it.”
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