Waiting Out the Storm

by Ruth Logan Herne

  Rita sent him an encouraging smile. “You should be able to move out of the camper soon, right?”

  “Late summer,” Craig replied, “depending on how things go.” Fighting his desire to stay, Craig squeezed Sarah’s hand. “Patience, Wise Woman.”

  Her chin quivered. Her lips trembled. His throat tightened in response. He stepped away, choking down emotion. “I’ll be around.”

  Rita nodded, her expression sympathetic.

  Sarah didn’t say a word.

  Craig’s phone paged him as he finished the last side of Sarah’s new fencing. Seeing his mother’s number, he returned the call quickly. If it wasn’t vital, she left a voice mail. Important, she paged. He heard it in her voice when she answered. “Mom?”

  “Craig.” Silence filled the gap while she caught her breath. Struggled against tears.

  “Mom, what is it?” Setting the last rod into place, he swung the wire gate to make the final connection. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Rocket.”

  His heart sank. He didn’t have to ask. The truth colored her voice, her tears.

  “I found him under the back deck. I called Dad, but there was nothing we could do. It looks like he just fell asleep and…” Craig understood and. He blew out a breath, fighting the pressure in his chest. “I’m on my way.”

  He passed landmarks without seeing them. By the time he made his way up the lodge drive, he had no idea how he’d gotten home. Thoughts of Rocket filled his head. The boy and hound, bounding through fields, neither one a hunter, despite their heritage.

  Oh, it had been interesting, all right, to be Jim Macklin’s son and Cade’s brother and never want to aim a gun. With their top-notch reputations, Craig had learned the skills of a gunman, then chose not to use them. When one spent his life repairing animals, it seemed at odds to hunt them down.

  Since Rocket bombed as a bird dog, they made a good pair. Never once had his father lamented the lack of hunting prowess in young man or beast. In typical fashion, he’d let them mature as they were destined.

  Now Rocket had passed. Funny. Craig would have sworn he was prepared for this moment, but he was wrong. The sight of the shrouded hound brought him to his knees, tears unchecked as he petted the smooth head of his beloved friend, the thick paws stilled forevermore, the dog’s warm, faithful heart silenced.

  Cade showed up soon after. Together they hoisted Rocket in his burial sling, moving him to a gravesite slightly uphill.

  “He liked to sit here,” Deb explained, waving a hand, Jim’s arm snug around her shoulders. “In the afternoons, he would watch for your car. See you coming. Remember how he used to run down and greet you, Craig?”

  Craig nodded, swiping the back of his hand across his face. “Yeah.”

  “Of course these days he’d just thump his tail. Wait for you to come to him,” she continued, her voice breaking. How many women would have unconditional love for a gassy bird dog that refused to fetch a bird? “He was a good old man.”

  “He was,” Grams agreed, a sweater pulled tight despite the warm afternoon. “Your grandpa used to say that a true dog was a true friend, and Rocket was all that.” She bent and stroked the old dog’s head. “Sleep well, my friend.”

  Craig’s throat thickened. His vision blurred.

  With gentle hands they lowered Rocket into his final resting spot. Once the task was complete and the hole filled, Craig grasped the hands of those on either side of him, not caring that some might think it weird to eulogize a dog. Rocket was more than a dog. He was a buddy, a confidant. A friend in need. “Father, we thank You for the gift of Rocket. His faithfulness. His patience. His unqualified devotion. You sent him to us in spite of his flaws and we’ll miss him.”

  Grams squeezed his hand. A chorus of “Amens” sounded around them. Craig turned. A small group of fishermen had gathered. One of the men blessed himself, his eyes moist. Craig nodded in understanding.

  “Stay for supper, Craig?”

  His mother’s voice held a plea, but Craig couldn’t face that. He didn’t want food or casual conversation. He wanted two things he couldn’t have—his dog by his side, jumping logs and scaring fish, and Sarah Slocum’s love.

  Neither scenario seemed possible. One was dead, the other despairing.

  Driving home, he alternated between laments. The dog, whose life had been strong and fulfilling, ending in a peaceful, natural death, and Sarah, whose misconceptions made her a repository of self-doubt.

  “I don’t know how to help her, God,” he prayed as he passed her tree-shrouded home, the windows dark. “How do I reassure her when I was part of the problem? I saw her as a Slocum, not thinking of her feelings, her emotions. How do I make up for that?”

  Once home, he pushed out of the driver’s seat and walked to the back of the house. From this vantage point, the land opened before him, its beauty resplendent. Rolling fields melded into forestland, with occasional houses and farms dotting the landscape. The North Country bore all kinds of people, from all walks of life. His view encompassed that. A feeling of entirety lay before him.

  But he preferred the view from the front of his house. Sarah’s pasture, her front hay lot. The barn with its noises and smells. The small corner of the house visible between the trees. The light that shined through the branches at night, offering a glimmer of hope.

  “Give her peace, Lord. Help her see what I see. The woman of beauty and promise. Help her find the truth no matter what the surgery leaves.”

  Sleep was hard-found that night, and restless once it came. Disjointed images of Sarah and Rocket filled his brain. He awoke more tired than when he’d lain down, and took a bracing, cold shower to clear his head.

  Then went to work like it was any old day.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Walk over and thank him.”

  Rita sounded irked. Sarah bit back a retort, thinking of Rita’s steady improvement. Two months ago she’d have been drunk and passed out, not reprimanding Sarah’s lack of manners.

  “I’ll send a card.” Sarah tried to nudge the tired note from her voice. She’d slept upright since the surgery, and not all that well. Each day she watched for signs of improvement. Nothing so far. Until there was, facing Craig didn’t make the short list.

  “Will you stop looking at your face already?”

  Sarah drew back from the mirror, bemused.

  “It needs time to heal,” her sister-in-law continued. “And you need to march across the street and thank Craig Macklin for that fencing.”

  “He shouldn’t have done it.” Sarah hoped her manner left little room for response.

  Wrong.

  “But he did and you’re acting like a brat.”

  “Rita June.” Sarah sent her sister-in-law a look of surprise. “You just called me a name.”

  “And meant it.”

  “Naw. You didn’t.” Smiling, Sarah settled back to her balance sheets. To allow healing time, Brett had taken over Sarah’s farm duties before working for Craig at night. The Bristols filled in where necessary, leaving Sarah time to rest her bones while working on accounts. Spreadsheets were gravy work, even with pain pills coursing through her system.

  Brett pushed through the back door, his footsteps heavy. “Hey. Can I have some of that butter cake to take to Craig’s?”

  “Of course.” Rita stood and moved to the counter. “Take as much as you’d like. You’ve been working hard.”

  “It’s not that,” Brett replied. He watched as she sliced off a generous hunk. “His dog died the other day and he seems really sad about it.”

  “Rocket?” Sarah rose quickly. “Rocket died?”

  “Yeah. The day you had your surgery.”

  The day she tossed him from her hospital room. Great. Just great. Talk about kicking a man when he’s down. Of course the dog must have died later. She’d have known if Craig had gone through that, wouldn’t she? The look of him? His actions?

  No, she admitted. She’d been too caught up in hers
elf to pay attention to Craig. She couldn’t rightfully say what expression he’d worn that day, she’d cut him down so swiftly.

  “How’s he doing?”

  Brett shrugged. “Okay. Just misses him, I guess. Said it was weird because he hadn’t been able to do much with him for over a year, but it still seems funny to have him gone.”

  “I bet.” Making a decision, she eyed her nephew. “How late are you working?”

  “Not late. Craig’s got tomorrow off and we need to let the wallboard seams dry.”

  Craig would be home tomorrow. Good.

  “Did you want me to tell him something?”

  She shook her head. “No. I…” She fingered the hem of her cotton shirt, thinking. “I hope he enjoys the cake.”

  Brett frowned. Rita eyed her with a little more frankness as she resumed her seat in front of the monitor. Once Brett left, Rita spoke up. “What are you planning?”

  “That you might be right. Maybe it’s time I stop dwelling on Sarah, the freak.”

  Rita groaned. Sarah smiled with care. Until the bone healed, there wasn’t much incentive to grin. The accompanying pain made it less than worthwhile. But God had dropped an opportunity into her lap.

  She hated indebtedness. Her self-reliance cringed at the thought of owing anyone.

  That made it hard to accept the sheep, but they were from other farmers, like herself. People unafraid to get dirty.

  Craig’s gifts were different. Crippling, almost. She might start depending on his help and generosity, and then where would she be? Waiting for the broken heart to follow. As sorry as she was about the death of his dog, she was ready to seize the opportunity.

  She only wished she looked better. A glance to the mirror confirmed her fears and had Rita threatening its demise. “I’ll break it. The surgeon said six weeks, minimum.”

  “It’s a long time to look like this, Rita.”

  Rita swung around. “The storm could have killed you. It did kill sixteen full-grown sheep and their lambs. You might want to thank God for sparing you instead of belly-aching. Whining is even more unbecoming than bruising.”

  Rita was right. She knew it. But the mirror’s pull was strong, its reflective image reaffirming every negative thing she’d tried to leave behind. “I’m tired.”

  Grim, Rita nodded. “I’ve got things covered here. Maybe you should rest.”

  Agreeing, Sarah saved her work, shut down the program and climbed the stairs. As she crested the top, Rita’s voice carried after her. “And stay away from the mirrors.”

  Sarah paused, surveying the lovely home before her, a box clutched in her hands. The house rose from the land but seemed part of it, its style and grace suited to the hillside setting. Turning, she saw her holdings as Craig must see them, worn and small, cluttered with animals, farm equipment and dung. Self-conscious, she took a step in retreat, ready to flee.

  A small sound came from the box. Hearing it, she stiffened her spine, thrust her chin up and pretended her face was whole. With a firm hand, she knocked on Craig’s front door. No answer.

  She tried again.

  Still no answer. Frowning, she eyed the SUV. If his car was here, then by rights—

  With a blast of realization, she wondered if he’d gone out last night. Hadn’t Brett said they weren’t working late?

  He probably had a date and sent the kid home early. Stupid, Sarah. Just plain stupid.

  She started down the walk, chin dipped, her footsteps hurried. Why hadn’t she considered he might have gone out with someone else? How awkward. Heat flamed her cheeks as she headed home. “Sarah?”

  Craig’s deep tone stopped her. She turned, wondering what she was doing there, nonplussed by the sound of his voice. She drew a breath and looked up.

  He strode toward her from the back of the house, his expression curious, a tool belt snug around his hips. Really nice hips that looked good in worn blue jeans. The thinning side seams made the denims either very expensive or well-worn. Knowing Craig like she did now, Sarah put her money on well-worn and oft-washed. “You came over.”

  “I…” Glancing around, she clamped her lips, willing her nerves to calm. “Yes.”

  “To see the house?” His voice was gentle. Hopeful. He leaned forward, head angled.

  “No. Brett told me about Rocket.”

  Craig’s eyes shadowed. “Not the greatest week.”

  “I wanted to tell you how sorry I was,” Sarah explained. “I know what he meant to you.” She hesitated, looking beyond him. “It’s hard to say goodbye, even when you know it’s time.”

  “Yes.” He stood before her, those jeans resting on narrow hips, his shoulders straining the seams of an aged v-neck white T. He watched her, then offered, “I thought I was ready. Was sure of it. When the time came?” He shook his head, grimacing. “Not even close.”

  She nodded and moved closer. “It was like that with my mother. I understood the disease, knew the inevitability and even prayed for a peaceful death when the pain grew bad, but…” She shrugged again. “I still wasn’t ready.”

  “I don’t think anyone’s ever ready to lose their mother,” Craig replied, motioning her to the front step. She moved forward and sat, positioning the box on her lap. “As much as I loved Rocket, you’ve got me beat.”

  She smiled at his gentle humor. The warmth in his tone. The way he stood by her, then sat as if sheltering her. He nudged her hip with his. “I’m glad you came by. I’ve been hoping you would.”

  “Because?”

  “Because I miss you and want to show you my house. See what Brett and I have been working on.”

  “When you’re not busy replacing your neighbor’s fencing,” she retorted.

  He shifted a brow up. “Am I in trouble?”

  Sarah eyed the trees, the chirps and whistles of mid-summer birdsong a sound of contentment. Joy. Listening, she almost forgot what she looked like. How she appeared. Then her cheek sent a twinge into her temple and reality flooded back.

  Quickly she turned her head, softening his view.

  “Sarah.”

  She ignored the gentle remonstration. “I brought you something.”

  His hand grazed the sweep of her good cheek. She fought the sensation his touch aroused while he smiled. “Did you? I loved the butter cake.”

  “Rita,” she replied, keeping her bad side turned away. “My gift is different.”

  “Brownies?”

  She almost laughed. “No. This.” Handing him the box, she watched as he lifted the lid. “Sarah. It’s—”

  “Little Lady,” she supplied, smiling. “She loves you and misses you, so I thought—”

  He might never know what she thought. His mouth closed over hers, the kiss gentle but full, the feel of him, strength and muscle, soft mouth and firm hands a glorious contradiction. The whimper of the pup pulled them apart long moments later.

  “Craig, I didn’t—”

  “Mean for that to happen?” His smile deepened. He pressed a kiss to the undamaged side of her forehead. “I did. Been waiting for quite some time and wouldn’t mind having it happen again, truth be told. Often. Regularly.”

  “I wanted you to have the dog. She was taken with you and I thought you’d be lonely without Rocket.” She stood and faced him square. He pushed off the step, smiling, the box with the pup braced in one hand.

  “You were right. I’m very lonely.” His eyes sparkled with something that had nothing to do with dogs. His hand strayed to her good cheek, her neck, sending wishes and dreams spiraling through her. She took a broad step back.

  “I didn’t do this as a come on. Or to flirt with you. I just wanted to repay kindness with kindness.”

  “A trade-off?”

  His tone made her blink. “Kind of.”

  “Because I replaced the fencing.”

  “I don’t like being indebted,” she explained, wishing she had better words. “It makes me uncomfortable.”

  “I see.”

  He studied her, hea
d angled, eyes narrowed. “So I get the pick of the litter as long as it doesn’t include you?”

  Her face flooded with embarrassment. “I’m not a dog to be picked over by potential buyers.”

  “Nor a woman to be loved and cherished?”

  “Like your last one?”

  She didn’t mean to say it. She saw the effect of her accusation like a dash of cold water against his face. Then his features went cool and calm. Carefully blank. “Well. It’s good to know where we stand.” He stepped back, holding the box with strong, gentle hands. Setting it down, he withdrew the pup and nuzzled her neck. “I guess we’re even, Miss Slocum.”

  Sarah’s heart pinched. Short minutes ago he’d laid his lips on hers, giving her a hint of what could be with a man like Craig Macklin. A quick taste of the love she’d never dared hope for.

  But like her father and brothers, it was withdrawn with haste and rightly so. Everyone knew a Macklin couldn’t abide a Slocum.

  The memory of his kiss lingered. The touch of his mouth. She brought her hand to her lips to hold the pleasure, but it had already fled. He watched her, his face unmoving, inscrutable.

  Solemn, silent, she turned and walked away.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “A soccer ball at work?” Rita smiled as her gaze swept the ball in Brett’s hands. “Nice job, kid.”

  “Craig lets me shoot on him for practice,” Brett explained. “I want to try out for the modified team next week.”

  “But you haven’t played in…” Sarah’s stomach clenched as the timeline reflected itself in Rita’s expression. “Over two years.”

  “That’s why I need to practice,” Brett countered, watching her, his tone cautious. He and Liv stepped carefully around Rita, not ready to be themselves. It was a phony level of safety, but Sarah could do little except watch and wait. Eventually someone would act normal, and Rita would either withstand her first crisis or not.