“I’ve got it.” Adjusting her body with care, Sarah slid down to rest, avoiding his look. “Thanks for coming, Reet. For staying.”
Glancing from one to the other, Rita couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her mouth. “He’s being awfully nice, Sarah. Cut him some slack, okay?”
Sarah grunted, face turned. Meeting his gaze made it difficult to keep her distance. Maintain her necessary barriers.
Rita puffed out a breath. “I’ll see you later.”
“Love you, Reet.”
Rita smiled, giving Sarah a carefully placed kiss. “Love you, too. I’ll be praying for fast healing, Sarah. And an open mind.”
Sarah groaned. “Stick to the healing, thanks. I’ve got the rest under control.”
Rita’s gaze flicked from Sarah to Craig and back again. “Right.”
“You’re still here?” Half asleep, her voice didn’t sound nearly as cantankerous. Craig leaned forward. “Yup.”
“Don’t you need to go home? Get some sleep? Change?” Her gaze traveled the length of him, noting his outfit.
“Hank ran the clinic this afternoon so I could grab a nap and clean clothes.” His glance down indicated his blue jeans. “These are definitely a deeper blue than last night’s. Can’t you tell?”
“Last night?” Her voice bordered dreamy. “I don’t remember much of last night, Doc.”
Good, he thought, imagining the pain her mind intentionally blocked. He nodded. “Perfectly understandable. You slept the night away. And the day, from the sound of it.”
“I was tired.” Her sleepy glance fell on the bouquet now snugged in a water-filled vase. “The flowers. I almost forgot. They’re beautiful, Craig.”
First name basis again. He hid a smile. One step forward, two steps…
He smiled at her, squeezing her hand and made small talk while the evening nurse checked Sarah’s vitals. “I stopped by your place this afternoon. The Bristols are doing fine. Rita’s going to take her suitcase over there tonight. Get settled. I know it will be noisy, but Brett knows the routine and Rita can easily run the house for you. Besides, it will keep her busy. Focused.”
Sarah nodded, unable to speak around the thermometer.
“The sheep were doing okay today?” she asked when the nurse had recorded her temperature.
“Better,” he acknowledged. “We’re watching the injured ones for spontaneous abortion, but we still had solid heartbeats today.”
“Good.” She angled her head, offering him a better view of the less injured side.
“Don’t do that,” Craig protested, leaning forward. “You don’t have to turn your face away. It doesn’t bother me.” The look his words inspired made him squirm. “No, wait, I mean it bothers me that you got hurt.” Agitated, Craig narrowed his eyes and ran a hand across his hair. “It doesn’t bother me that your face is—” He muttered something under his breath, then faced her square. “I don’t know how to say this and make it come out right.”
Sarah’s heart squashed like a puffed marshmallow oozing out the sides of a s’more. “I understand.”
“Do you?” His expression was earnest, his eyes tired. She nodded.
“Yes. The surgeon was by this afternoon.”
“What did he say?”
“How incredibly sexist.”
“He said I’m incredibly sexist?” Craig grinned, misreading her with intent. “I don’t even know him and already he’s a fan.”
“He’s a she,” Sarah remonstrated. She started to shake her head at him, but the pain reminded her it wasn’t the best of ideas. “She said I’ll be looking at surgery in approximately two weeks time. Then about six weeks for the bone to heal.”
“Pretty much what we figured.” Craig drew up her hand. He plied the fingers gently. “The pain’s a little better, I take it?”
She glanced down at their linked hands. “How can you tell?”
“First, you’re not reaming me continually. Second—” he grinned at the expression on her face “—your fingers are relaxed. When you’re in pain, breathing accelerates, muscles tighten and hands tense. Loose fingers are a sign of less pain.” Once more he smiled, but this time his eyes traveled to her mouth before making a tug-boat slow trip back to her eyes.
She leaned against the pillow and watched him. He smiled, raised her hand, and kissed the telltale fingers. “I think we’ll let your face heal a bit more before we attempt anything else, Miss Slocum.”
She snatched her hand back, ignoring the shot of pain into her shoulder. “You’re cocky.”
“Yeah.” He gave her a lazy smile, then yawned. “And tired. Mostly tired.”
“Go home,” she told him, glancing to the window. “Catch up on your sleep. Rita will be by soon.” She should have left it at that. She knew it, but couldn’t resist adding, “There’s really no reason for you to be here.”
His eyebrow quirked. The grin went from lazy to mischievous in a flash. “None?”
“No.” She wished she felt as sure as she sounded.
He leaned forward. The scent of soap and spice drifted with him, assailing her senses once again. Enticing her. Tempting her forward. “Nothing comes to mind?”
“No.” That refusal was a little less confident, perhaps.
“Not a clue?” He leaned down until his face was just above hers, his eyes warm, his mouth curved in a teasing grin. Once again his eyes slid to her mouth. She felt a shiver of promise. A yearning to move toward him. Ease the distance.
“Not really…” Oh, man, that one sounded lame even to her. Spineless. Disconcerted.
Leaning farther, Craig pressed gentle lips to her temple. “Then we’ll have to work on that.”
“I—we—”
Craig placed a finger to her lips. “Shh. You sound tired, too. Maybe it’s time for another nap.”
A nap sounded safe. Staring at him, she slid down again with careful movements. With a sigh she sank her good cheek into the softness, welcoming its presence. “They said I can go home tomorrow.”
His voice was gentle and low. “Good.”
“Rita will come for me.”
“Then I’ll see you at home.”
“Brett will be there. He’ll see to things.” She’d come to lean on the boy’s capabilities more and more these last weeks. He was a willing student and a fast learner. They could get by without Craig’s help.
“I have to visit the sheep. Check on their care.”
“Oh. Of course.” Duh, Sarah. He was a vet and lived right across the street. She was an animal owner. It behooved Craig to stay on her good side when she had so many potential patients, even though he’d probably rather have Hank oversee the care of her flock.
She knew how he felt about sheep. She knew how he felt about lots of things. Steeling herself, she tried to remember Craig’s face when he’d spurned her. When he’d overlooked her deliberately, time and again.
This time she couldn’t. The only image she conjured was a more recent variety. His eyes warm and caring, his smile tender. Man, she must be on drugs.
She was on drugs. That nudge of realization almost brought a smile.
She was medicated, no doubt about it. Her biggest fear was that Craig Macklin would still look this good once the meds were discontinued. Then what was she supposed to do?
Chapter Twenty
Walking past the impromptu gravesite two weeks later, Sarah fought a wave of sadness. The long, earth-covered hole offered silent testimony to the forces of nature. It was a reminder of keen loss, her fall market lambs dead and buried, and the ewes, such gentle creatures.
Her surgery was scheduled for the morning. Sarah considered the prospect with mixed feelings. The unsightly mess of her face needed attention, the sooner the better. She hated what she’d become, a living Greek drama mask, split down the middle, one side misshapen, the other almost normal. The rare glimpse she caught brought back every insult Tom and Ed had ever hurled her way.
The idea of metal pins and plates in her cheek ups
et her. She tried to ease her worry by starting a project at the wheel, spinning Icelandic fleece into a two-ply skein, but couldn’t lose herself in the softness of the wool. Thoughts crowded, interrupting the peaceful movements of the treadle and the rhythmic pull and twist of the carded fibers.
She knew the surgery was a relatively simple procedure. The surgeon was confident and competent. She’d addressed Sarah’s fears, answering questions in a direct manner.
But she saw the outside Sarah, the calm, secure, self-controlled Abenaki woman. No one saw the girl within, the child who’d been called homely too many times to count.
“You break that mirror yet, Ugly?” Ed’s voice haunted her, taunting.
“Ed, you need to be politically correct,” Tom Jr. cautioned, mock-serious. “She’s not ugly. She’s ‘appearance challenged.’”
Ed had raised his green glass longneck in salute. “That sounds real nice, Tom. Educated.”
Tom shrugged. “Just prettying up the facts.”
The pre-adolescent Sarah ignored them, just as she had all the times before. It angered the brothers when their cheap shots made no overt impression on her. They behaved all right when her mother was around. While Peg lived, even Old Tom had shown her some respect and affection. Nothing you’d call love, but Sarah was fairly sure that was in short supply in Slocum assets. Her mother’s steady presence and faith offered a shelter of normalcy in an otherwise dysfunctional family. When Peg died, Sarah’s safety net died with her. By then, Tom and Ed were grown and gone, leaving their attacks to the occasional visit, but it was enough to make a girl question the reflection in the mirror and find it wanting.
Or just plain ugly.
“There you are.” Spotting Sarah as he rounded the corner of the back barn, Craig saw the pained look, the troubled frown. He tried not to notice as she shifted her face, gazing outward, offering him a view of the less injured side. “Hank sends his best. His wife sent a pound of maple-walnut fudge. I snagged a little and set it aside because the ravenous adolescent vultures in your kitchen circled as soon as I approached the back door.”
“They’re always hungry,” she agreed, still not looking at him. “Between Bonnie’s kindness and Rita’s baking, we’ll be needing a diet.”
Craig cast her an encompassing look, his appraisal disagreeing. “Nothing wrong with the view from where I’m standing.”
Sarah frowned. Her glance flitted up, then down, in uncharacteristic fashion. She started for the barn.
“Worried about tomorrow?” Craig fell into step beside her, matching her pace. While she was much better, he knew she winded easily, her body protesting its rough treatment at the hands of the freak storm. “I’ll pick you up at six.”
“Rita’s taking me.” Her voice left no room for argument.
“Then I’ll meet you there.”
Sarah inhaled on a sharp note. Her shoulders stiffened. She looked about to cry and he wished she would. Maybe a good bawling session would release the trapped feelings. She turned, abrupt. “There’s no reason for you to be there. I don’t want you there.”
It took effort to hide the effect of her words, but Craig managed it. “You’re angry. Maybe a little depressed after all that’s gone on. It doesn’t hurt to have friends at a time like this.”
“We’re not friends,” she retorted, heading for the stall that held the Border collie pups. “You ostracized me for a long time, Craig, making me feel guilty for something I had no control over. My genes. My family. Well, let me tell you something, Doctor.” She spun about, nailing him with her gaze. “I don’t need your friendship or your pity. I’ve made it through a lot of years without the blessing of Craig Macklin. I guess I can make it through another day.”
“Sarah, I—”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Her voice rose, disconcerting the little dogs. “Maybe you’ve smartened up. Gotten a clue. Well, that’s great. Wonderful. I’m so very inspired by your change of heart.” Her voice went hard and sarcastic. “But it’s a one-way street, Doc. I’ve been scorned and ridiculed by experts in the field, so it’s not like I’m unaccustomed to the feeling.” Her dry honesty wrenched his heart. “But I’m not inclined to self-degradation. Or forgiveness at the moment.”
He took a step back, regarding her, hands out in placating fashion. “You shouldn’t go into surgery all riled up like this. There’s a prayer service tonight at Westside Community. Maybe you and Rita could go.” He took another step in retreat.
She turned her back on him, intent on the pups, her mouth compressed, her profile stern. Knowing she should go under anesthesia with a calm mindset, he walked to the barn door, standing half-in, half-out. “If you need me, I’ll be around. You’ve got my cell number.”
Silence answered him. He pawed at a driveway stone with the toe of his boot, then stepped fully through the door. “Good night, Sarah.”
Prayer service. Right. Spurn a man’s lame attempts at reconciliation and right away you must be in need of prayer. Supplication. While Sarah cleaned the collie stall, the little female that sought Craig’s attention on a regular basis batted her boot with a disgruntled paw, as if wondering why she’d sent him away. Why, indeed? Because I’m hideous, Sarah thought, unable to push the reality out of mind. She eyed the pup that thought chasing boot-clad feet a wonderful game, although it made raking the dirty shavings difficult. After stepping on the pup a second time, Sarah scooped her up. “Stop. You need to stay over here,” she scolded, tucking the pup into a closed-in corner.
“I know,” she acknowledged, seeing the pup gaze woefully toward the door. “I sent him off and you wanted some time with him. But it does you no good to set your sights on someone like that, young lady. There are plenty of beautiful dogs out there…” At the pup’s vexed look, Sarah righted her words. “I mean other beautiful dogs, of course.” Stroking the saddle-backed collie, Sarah met her eye-to-eye.
“We’re not his type, little lady. Especially now,” she explained to the pup, glancing at her distorted reflection in the barn window. “Even if we were, he…” Thinking aloud, Sarah raised her eyes, staring out the front barn door in direction of Craig’s unfinished home. “He deserves beauty. Maybe craves it.” Her gaze wandered the visible corner of his house, the stately country bearing of the extended Cape structure. It rose from the hillside in pristine splendor, cream on cream, the gray and red stone of the chimney adding warmth and color, accenting the deep berry tones of the shutters. “He’s not for us.”
“Sarah?” A voice from the side door brought her head around.
“Mr. Shackles.” Blushing, Sarah’s look went from him to the dog and back again. “I was talking to the pup.”
He nodded, his glance noting the emptiness of the barn. “I was wondering,” he admitted. He indicated the stone drive behind him. “I’ve got something for you. From the missus and myself.”
Sarah stepped through the barn door and spotted a pair of sheep in the boot of Floyd Shackles’ truck. Turning, she furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand.”
“They’re all up to date,” he rambled, unhooking the tailgate latch. “You can separate them if you want, but they haven’t been exposed to anything. And their testing is negative.”
“But I—”
Floyd unloaded the pair of sheep. “Dorset/Finn, just like the rest of yours. When we saw how well you were doing with the STAR program, all on your own, Betty and I just up and kicked ourselves. ‘If a little girl like Sarah Slocum can work the accelerated program, why can’t we?’ the missus says. And I see she’s right, so we buy some new sheep and these two are from our first breeders. What do you think?”
“They’re beautiful.” Gently, Sarah smoothed the short coats of the ewes. “Did you bring them to show me what you’d done?” Turning, she lifted her gaze to his.
Floyd shook his head. “No ma’am. They’re for you. We felt bad at your loss and know how hard you’ve worked to put this place together. We see the lights, nights on end. We just wanted to say we�
��re sorry you got hurt. Lost your flock.”
“Mr. Shackles—”
“Floyd.”
“Floyd, this is kind of you, but—”
“Well, now, the missus won’t be hearing any buts.” The man’s voice toughened in that distinction. “When she takes to kindness, she’s not one to take no for an answer. I’m smart enough not to buck her, Miss. I think you’d be wise to do the same. Best be on, now. She’ll be waiting supper.”
“Mr. Shackles. Floyd…” Sarah fumbled for words. Then she looked into the faded, sea-green eyes of the old farmer and relented. “Thank you, sir. And Betty as well. I’m grateful.”
“Well, then.” He huffed a bit, then rolled his shoulders. “Betty will be glad to hear it. She’ll come around soon, no doubt. Bring you more of her fresh bread.”
“I’ll look forward to it, sir.” Biting back words of argument, Sarah extended her hand. “God bless you.”
“And you.” The old man grabbed her hand in a gnarled paw. “You do good over here.” He directed a general nod to the farm as a whole before he climbed into the seat of his pickup. “Hope your operation thing goes okay tomorrow.”
Sarah nodded, having no idea how Floyd Shackles knew she was scheduled for surgery. “Thank you. I’m sure it will be fine. Nothing major, you know.” For some reason, saying the words out loud brought comfort.
“Glad to hear it.” The old man headed down the drive with a nod and a wave. Sarah eyed the pair of freshened ewes before her.
“Well, girls. Let’s find a spot for you, shall we?”
Once she had the ewes sequestered, Sarah went in search of Rita. “I’d like to go to the service tonight at Westside Community. Care to join me, or do you have an AA meeting?”
Rita shook her head. “Not tonight. I need a few minutes to get ready, though.” She glanced at the clock behind Sarah. “Whose truck was that?”
Sarah bustled to the bath, her step lightened by the farmer’s kindness. “Floyd Shackles. He brought me sheep.”
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