Rough Stock

by Dahlia West

  His eyebrows raised. “Dakota? No. She’s like my sister.” While not entirely true, Seth could admit, at least to himself, that he never felt for Dakota what he felt for Rowan Archer when he’d first laid eyes on her at the Silver Spur…or any time since.

  The light was getting gauzy, and Rowan turned away from him to look at it. A faint smile played on her lips, and he realized it was the first time in days he’d seen it. “I missed this,” she said. “So much.”

  “Isn’t it the same sunset in Cheyenne?” he asked as blue bled into pink, like large strands of cotton candy from the fair.

  “No,” she said firmly.

  And Seth knew that it wasn’t. Because it wasn’t for him, either. The sunset in Star Valley was the closest to Heaven. He’d convinced himself of this as a child and had never wavered in this belief.

  “I used to think if I climbed high enough,” she said, nodding to the foothills, to their right, “I could reach out and catch the clouds as they went by.”

  They stood in silence for a while, watching the light fade. When the sun itself was finally below the horizon, Seth tipped his hat to her. “Good night, Rowan.”

  “Good night, Seth.”

  She turned away and headed up the porch steps.

  Seth got into his truck and turned over the engine. All his good feelings faded as his tires ate up the blacktop from the Archer place to Snake River. What had Court been thinking swiping a horse and bringing it by? The answer was, of course, he hadn’t been. Seth threw his Ford into park in the large driveway and lowered himself to the ground, slamming the door in disgust.

  Sawyer was perched in a rocking chair on the porch and peered over the railing at him. “It’s safer out here,” he called out in warning.

  “Dakota?” Seth asked as he mounted the stairs.

  Sawyer nodded. “Well, that, and Austin and Walker have managed to lower the temperature around here by a few degrees all on their own.”

  “Austin and Dakota went to the barn together. Walker’s inside. Tearing up the office, chewing on the furniture, I suspect.”

  The front door opened, and Court appeared on the porch. “Hey,” he said. “Why were you at Rowan’s place when I got there?”

  Seth narrowed his eyes at his youngest brother. “I forgot a feed bag last night. We can’t use it, and she needs it.”

  “Oh. Hey, listen, can you…can you talk to her for me?”

  Sawyer chuckled from his seat. “Your famous Vaquero charm not working on her these days?”

  Court glared at him. “She’s just stubborn,” he insisted.

  “Well,” Sawyer drawled, “impromptu group sex to which she wasn’t invited tends to do that to a woman.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  “Really?” asked Sawyer. “Seems like that was how you rang in the New Year, too, if I recall.”

  “I wasn’t cheating on anybody that time!”

  “All right,” Seth said wearily. “Enough.”

  Court shot one last venomous look at Sawyer before turning to Seth. “She likes you.”

  Seth was quiet, waiting to hear where this was going.

  “So, I was thinking, you could…work on her. Explain to her that I’ve changed.”

  Seth let out a long, slow breath. “I don’t know.”

  “I have!” Court protested. “You know I have.”

  Seth knew no such thing, but he didn’t feel like arguing tonight. “So, just show her.”

  “That’ll take forever. And you saw she doesn’t exactly lift her tail when I come around.”

  Seth’s hands flexed at his sides, but other than that he remained still.

  “Just talk to her for me,” Court said. “You’re good with women.”

  “Yeah, Seth,” Sawyer chimed in. “You’re great with women. Well, you don’t lie, and you don’t cheat, and they don’t cry after they’ve been with you. Thumbs-up in my book!”

  “Shut up!” Court snapped. “She’s pissed off, Seth. And I don’t want her pissed off.”

  Seth sighed. “Neither do I.”

  “So, you’ll talk to her?”

  “I’ll…I don’t want her to get hurt. She needs help, Court.”

  “Yeah, okay, so you’ll help her, and you’ll get her to sit down with me to talk.”

  “I’ll help her,” Seth replied, feeling a bit slimy as he spoke.

  “Awesome!”

  Court took off down the stairs, whistling a jaunty tune.

  Seth sighed again and lowered himself into the chair next to Sawyer.

  Dakota and Austin came out of the barn, heads together, speaking in hushed tones. They parted ways at the foreman’s shack.

  Sawyer grunted. “Sure makes things complicated,” he said, “when your brother’s got his eyes on your woman.”

  Seth turned and studied his younger brother intensely, searching for some kind of veiled accusation. But Sawyer’s eyes, as usual, were the darkest of the Barlows and impossible to read. “I can’t see Austin moving in on Dakota,” Seth declared.

  Sawyer shrugged. “They’ve been spending a lot of time together.”

  “I’m sure it’s not like that,” Seth insisted, defending Austin as much as himself.

  Sawyer peered at him. “Yeah,” he finally said. “I mean, you’ve been over to the Archer place a few times now. Just helping out.”

  Rowan had a laundry list of things to do at the farm, none of it being actual laundry, it seemed. “Rowan and her sister are running the place by themselves while their dad is in the hospital,” Seth told Sawyer. “It’s hard work for two people. Especially two women.”

  Sawyer shrugged again. “They grew up on the farm,” he pointed out. “They’re used to it.”

  “Rowan’s a nurse,” Seth argued. “And she lives in Cheyenne. She’s not a sheep rancher.”

  Sawyer smiled in a way that made Seth want to punch him. “Well, I guess you know her better than I do.”

  Seth heaved himself out of his chair and started toward the front door.

  “Hey,” Sawyer called after him. “Where’s your jacket, anyway? Your lined one? That’s your summer jacket you’re wearing.”

  Seth ignored him as he yanked open the door.

  “Aren’t you cold?” Sawyer shouted.

  “No,” Seth snapped without looking back.

  He was too pissed off to be cold.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‡

  Rowan tucked Willow into bed, wondering how her daughter had grown so big without her noticing. She was big enough now to ride a pony, Rowan supposed. And old enough to ride away from her mother and straight to Court, she also thought bitterly.

  “That horse was pretty, wasn’t she?” Willow asked as Rowan pulled up the blanket.

  “Yes, baby, she was.”

  “And we can go to Court’s farm and see his other horses.”

  Rowan frowned, and Willow noticed.

  “You promised!”

  “We will, baby,” Rowan assured her. “We will.”

  Rowan paused for a moment before reaching for the lamp on the nightstand. She looked down at her daughter, her whole world for almost five years, and took a deep breath. “Honey, I…have to explain something to you. Court…well…baby, Court is your daddy.”

  Willow’s brow furrowed. “Really?”

  “Yes. Really.”

  It felt strange to speak the words out loud, afraid as she’d been of them for so long.

  “How come I never saw him before?!”

  There would be a time for that later, Rowan supposed, when Willow got older and the accusations came—which they would, Rowan had no doubt. Someday she’d have to find a way to talk about why she’d done what she’d done. There might never be a good way to explain herself and her choices to Willow. Rowan just hoped that Willow would forgive her someday, when she finally understood things.

  It was tempting to trash Court, but no good would come of it. Willow couldn’t possibly understand it, certainly not now. An
d if Court, by some miracle, ever did get his shit together, Rowan didn’t want to be responsible for driving a wedge between father and daughter simply out of spite and past hurts.

  She had to give some kind of answer, though, now that the question had been asked. For now, Rowan did the easiest thing, the comfortable thing—she lied.

  “Court was in the rodeo, baby, remember like we saw in Cheyenne? He travelled a lot. All over the country. He was gone. But he lives here now,” Rowan added quickly to head off any questions. “He lives in Star Valley, just like we will, and…” She swallowed hard. “You’ll be able to see him whenever you want.”

  “Can we go to his farm tomorrow? Please? Please, please, please?!”

  “No, baby. We can’t.”

  “But you said—!”

  “We have to work tomorrow, Willow. We’ve got to walk the fence line. Remember, sweetie, the farm comes first. Before everything else. Always. But…after we’re done, I’ll…”

  Actually, calling Court was quite possibly the very last thing on this Earth that Rowan wanted to do. But she’d always put Willow first and wasn’t about to change that now. “I’ll call Court tomorrow,” she vowed. “We’ll work out a visit. Now, go to sleep, baby. Tomorrow, after we work, I’ll call.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise.”

  Willow turned to pull her stuffed lamb closer. “I have a daddy, Wooliam!” she whispered. “A real one!”

  Rowan turned out the light, leaving the nightlight burning, and closed the bedroom door quietly. Instead of retiring to her own room, she headed downstairs, slipped into her boots and Seth’s jacket and stood outside on the porch. The night was crisp and clear, though cold. With the porch light off, the stars shimmered above her like diamonds on velvet.

  She wondered if Seth liked to look at the stars, too.

  Rowan didn’t feel better for having finally told the truth to Willow. To be honest, part of her, deep down, had kind of expected relief, if only minimal, that the whole house of cards had tumbled down. It had been difficult to hold them up for so long. But in truth she felt nothing. Nothing at all.

  Maybe it was because she was tired. Between work here at the farm and visits to Dad, she was worn out, worn thin, left numb to everything. But part of it maybe was how she’d been living, vending machine meals, not enough free time, never enough sleep. She’d been putting one foot in front of the other for so long that she’d lost sight of the road. She was home, now, though, so the lonely trek was over. She closed her eyes and smelled the night air.

  Somewhere in the dark, a howl broke the silence. In their chain-link run, the dogs broke into a chorus of snaps, snarls, and barks. Rowan moved back away from the edge of the steps and ducked into the house again, closing the door firmly behind herself.

  Home wasn’t without its share of challenges.

  *

  In the morning, Rowan bundled Willow into the car and headed into town to check on Dad. Thankfully, she was able to duck past all the nurses at this point and head straight to his room. She was unhappy, though, when she found him nearly doubled over in bed, wracked with a cough.

  It must have come on quickly, because he wasn’t clutching his pillow, the way he was supposed to. She grabbed it and pressed it to his chest. “Don’t panic,” she told him, knowing he was having trouble getting air. “Just stay calm.”

  Within a few minutes, it subsided, and he fumbled for the water glass on the small beside table.

  “Th…th…” he stuttered.

  “It’s all right, Dad.”

  She didn’t need to be thanked. She just needed him to get better.

  Another coughing fit erupted, and this time, instead of going for the water, Rowan snatched a stethoscope hanging off the wall behind the bed. She affixed the buds in her ears and pressed the drum to her father’s back. “Try and take a deep breath in,” she commanded.

  He tried and failed, but Rowan had heard enough. She pressed the nurses’ call button and handed her dad the cup of water. Within a few moments, Jill Sykes came in, looking fit to be tied, her face pinched and cheeks red. “We’re on a schedule, Rowan, and—”

  “I want x-rays for my dad,” Rowan interrupted. “Now.”

  Jill looked from Rowan to Mac and back again. “I…I’m not…”

  “Get Dr. Hillman and tell him I want a full chest x-ray.”

  Jill turned and sped off, presumably to do Rowan’s bidding, while Rowan took the cup from Dad’s shaking hand and dabbed at his face with a square of paper towel. “When did your cough get worse?”

  “Oh,” he sighed. “I couldn’t sleep last night.”

  “Did you tell anyone?” she asked, but she already knew the answer.

  “I don’t want to be a bother.”

  Rowan sighed. While Dad was trying not to be a bother, he’d developed a lung infection.

  Dr. Hillman wrote down the new orders, and the orderlies took Dad away. Rowan followed and stood next to the technician as the stills were taken. She groaned, not needing the man beside her to give her the bad news.

  He gave her a sympathetic look. “They’ll start him on antibiotics and fluids right away.”

  She nodded gravely. More drugs, more fluids, more days in the hospital…more money.

  With Dad settled back into his room, she was reluctant to leave, but it was getting close to lunch and Willow had to be hungry.

  “Go, go,” Dad ordered with as big a smile as he could probably muster. “I’ll be fine.”

  Rowan sighed inwardly. The trademark Archer fine. She nodded, tucked him in, and made sure the water and the coughing pillow were well within reach. “Drink as much as you can,” she told him and led Willow out the door. “We’ll be back later.”

  At the house, Willow devoured a pack of snack crackers while Rowan sat at her father’s ancient desk, sorting through the stack of bills teetering precariously on it. If he was going to be away longer, some of these needed to be paid. She rifled through the overstuffed drawers until she found the power of attorney papers they’d all—Rowan, Dad, and Emma—had had drawn up a few years ago. There was a coffee cup stain on one of them, but she didn’t suppose it would do much harm. She slipped them into her purse and bundled Willow up again.

  “We’re just heading to the bank,” she told the little girl. And they headed back to Star Valley, the trek seeming longer each time.

  First Wyoming Federal was a squat, unwelcoming building constructed sometime in the late seventies and all but forgotten about after that. Inside, of the three tellers behind the counter, Rowan gravitated to Honor Jones. They’d been in the same graduating class in high school. Mrs. Winslow, next to Honor, was already giving Rowan the stink eye while counting out bills for Mr. Hemmings. Her dour expression perfectly matched the equally dour decor. Festive shamrocks adorned the counters, though. It seemed like the employees were doing the best with what they had.

  Seeing Mrs. Winslow’s glare, Rowan shuffled away, not in the mood for outright hostility these days. She might snap and beat the woman with the plastic shamrock taped to the counter’s edge, which would be lucky for no one.

  She waited patiently, instead, in Honor’s line. When the young woman finally noticed them, Rowan instinctively reached for Willow, wanting to protect her even though the girl couldn’t possibly understand people’s reaction to her. But Honor smiled, warm and genuine, and plucked a lollipop from the container on the counter. She started to reach over the counter but stopped.

  “Oh! We’re supposed to ask!” she said, giving Rowan a sheepish look.

  Rowan nodded. “It’s okay.”

  Willow took the treat and returned the grin.

  It seemed to be contagious, because Rowan couldn’t stop smiling, either. So few people in Star Valley had been welcoming, and it was such a relief. She laid the withdrawal slip on the counter and pulled out the Power of Attorney papers. “My name’s on the business account,” she told Honor. “Emma’s, too. But not on his personal accounts
. I have the paperwork, though. We filled it out a few years ago, just in case.”

  Even with Mom’s illness and subsequent death, Rowan had always held out hope that just in case would never come with Dad. Hadn’t they been through enough?

  Apparently not.

  Honor took the documents and started to reach for the withdrawal slip but stopped. The warm, friendly grin of seconds ago vanished.

  Rowan stifled a groan. She really did not need any more complications in her life. “What’s wrong?”

  “Well, the social security numbers don’t match.”

  Rowan took back the papers and scrutinized them. This time she did groan. Underneath her father’s name was indeed the wrong social. “That’s mom’s,” she told Honor. “He has them both memorized, all of ours really. He probably just forgot whose was whose. I didn’t check it over.”

  “Um…” said Honor, frown deepening.

  Crying in the lobby of First Wyoming Federal was not an option, Rowan told herself. Willow was happy with her stuffed lamb and her lollipop, and she did not need to see that her mother was hanging on by a thread at this point.

  Honor, though, saw it, apparently. She snatched the papers back quickly and set them face down on the counter, all while maintaining that comforting smile. “No one really looks at these,” she said quietly. “They just go in a filing cabinet. No one will know.” She took the slip off the counter, opened the cash drawer, and counted out the withdrawal. She stuffed the bills into a self-sealing envelope and handed it to Rowan. “I really hope your dad gets better soon. He’s so nice, every time he comes in. We all really like him.”

  Rowan took the offered envelope and nearly cried, this time from sheer gratitude. “Honor, thank you. Thank you so much!” She herded Willow outside and back into the car. It was amazing how one small act of kindness had pulled Rowan back from the brink of total despair. Dad wasn’t out of the woods yet, and there was still Court to deal with, though. Just thinking about it all made her tired.

  When they got to the farm, she got out of the driver’s seat to open the gate but it lurched in her hands, the lower half tumbling into the mud. “Oh, God damn it!” she hissed but not loudly enough for Willow to hear from the backseat.