“Steady is good.” She put a hand on his arm. “You’re married.”
She’d dropped her gaze to his left hand where his plain gold band glimmered. “I was.” A rogue cloud passed between them and the sun at that moment, chilling the spring air as it dulled the light. “She died from complications after having our little boy. Now it’s me and Zeke. My son. We do all right.”
Corrie did what she’d always done.
She prayed.
Right then and there, her hand on his arm, head bowed, she whispered a prayer for him and his child.
Then she stared up at him, and he couldn’t bear to see the pain in her eyes, in anyone’s eyes, because he’d moved on. He had no choice because he might have lost Anna but he still had his son, Ezekiel Sean Caufield. And Zeke came first now. In everything.
Lizzie had drawn close. He wanted to avoid her, especially now, remembering the birth of his son. His wife had risked her life and lost, but she’d been willing to go the distance for their child.
That set the two women a long ways apart. One who was willing to sacrifice for a child, one who couldn’t be bothered.
He had no time to dwell. He had work to do and a son waiting for him. A spunky little boy, waiting to play with his dad.
He started to turn. Lizzie turned at the same moment, and there they were, face-to-face.
Anger bubbled up from somewhere so deep it should have stayed buried, but Corrie’s words about his wedding ring had opened it like a fresh-dug grave.
Lizzie started to speak, then didn’t.
Just as well. They had nothing to say to one another.
He reached out and hoisted two duffel-style bags, then moved toward the porch.
“Where are you going?”
“Inside?” he said, because it was fairly obvious.
She hooked a thumb toward the stable. “Who’s living in the barn apartment?”
“No one.”
“Well, there is now.” She grabbed a rolling bag by the handle. “Leave the right-hand duffel here, please, but go ahead and take Corrie’s into the house. First rule of horse is to have someone close by that knows how to rule the horse.”
“You’re going to live in a barn?” He looked back at Corrie. She remained quiet, just out of the way, watching their back-and-forth.
“At least until I get a feel for the place.” She kept walking toward the barn. “Is it furnished?”
It wasn’t because Sean had cared for the horses until he got too sick, and he’d lived in the house. “No.”
“Wi-Fi?”
Sean had the equine offices built on the first floor purposely, facing the pasture. If he was throwing down a major equine business deal, he didn’t want the walk back to the house to interrupt. The vision of pricey mares and geldings in the rich, green grass added enticement to the deal. “Yes. There’s a full office set up with all the records. Hard copy and online. I can show you all that.”
“Corrie, I’ll see you once you’re settled.” Liz motioned toward the house. “The sooner I get set up, the quicker I can grab some furniture off Craigslist.”
Used furniture?
Living in the barn? Was she serious?
One look at her face confirmed that she was. Maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe she understood the stakes. Maybe she had what it would take to help make things right.
He hauled Corrie’s things inside and up the main stairs. He set the duffel inside the first room, then repeated the trip with the smaller bags and boxes.
His phone rang as he backed out of Corrie’s room. The name of a well-known Pacific Northwest grocery retailer flashed. He took the call, and by the time he’d finished a deal for four hundred fresh market lambs for wedding season, nearly a quarter hour had passed. That meant he’d left Lizzie to do all her own lifting and carrying.
He hurried back outside because no matter how rough their past had been, he wasn’t normally a jerk. At least he hoped he wasn’t, but with Pine Ridge teetering on the brink, he might be testier than normal. It wasn’t fair to lay that at her door, but there wouldn’t be time to sugarcoat things, either.
Lizzie wasn’t in his line of sight when he stepped outside. He started for the nearest stairs at the same time he heard his five-year-old son sigh out loud as he gazed out through the square, wooden spindles. “You’re so beautiful.”
Heath turned in the direction his son was facing and swallowed hard, because Zeke was one hundred percent correct. Standing on the graveled yard below, Lizzie Fitzgerald was absolutely, positively drop-dead gorgeous in an all-American girl kind of way. That thick, long hair framed a heart-shaped face. A face he’d loved once, but he’d been young and headstrong then. Somewhere along the way, he’d grown up.
“You’re quite handsome yourself.” Lizzie smiled up at Zeke, and despite Heath’s warnings about strangers, Zeke grinned back, then raced down the broad side steps.
“Are you staying here?” He slid to a quick stop in front of Lizzie. There was no curtailing his excitement. “My dad said we’ve got people who are coming here to stay, so that must be you. Right?”
“Correct.” She didn’t look at Heath and wonder about his dark-skinned son, and he gave her reluctant points for that. Zeke’s skin was a gift from his African American mother, but his gray-blue eyes were Caufield, through and through.
Lizzie squatted to Zeke’s level and held his attention with a pretty smile. “My name’s Lizzie. My friend Corrie and I are living on the ranch with you. I hope that’s all right.”
“Do you snore?”
She paused as if considering the question. “Not to my knowledge. But then, I’m asleep, so how would I know?”
“I do not snore,” declared Zeke. He shoved his hands into two little pockets, total cowboy. “But I have bad dreams sometimes and then Dad lets me come sleep with him.”
“I’m glad he does.”
“I know. Me, too.”
Heath came down the stairs. Zeke smiled his way. “This is the first girl visitor we’ve ever had, Dad!”
Lizzie raised her gaze to Heath’s. He thought she’d tease him, or play off the boy’s bold statement. There hadn’t ever been a woman visitor to the ranch house, except for the shepherds’ wives.
She didn’t tease. Sympathy marked her expression, and the kindness in her eyes made his chest hurt.
Maybe she’d grown up, too.
Maybe she could handle life better now. That was all well and good, but he’d lost something a dozen years before. A part of his heart and a chunk of his soul had fallen by the wayside when she chose school over their unborn child.
Guilt hit him, because he was four years older than Lizzie, and it took two to create a child. He’d let them both down back then, and the consequences of their actions haunted him still.
“You’ve got your daddy’s eyes. And the look of him in some ways.”
“And his mother.”
He didn’t mean the words to come out curtly, but they did and there was no snatching them back. Lizzie stayed still, gazing down, then seemed to collect herself. “That’s the way of things, of course.”
“Do you look like your mother?” Zeke asked as Lizzie stood up.
“I don’t. I look more like my dad and my Uncle Sean. My two sisters look like my mother.”
“Mister Sean was your uncle?” That fact surprised Zeke. “So we’re almost like family!”
“Or at least very good friends.” She smiled down at him. “I think I’d like to be your friend, Zeke Caufield.”
“And I will like being your friend, too, Miss Lizzie!”
“Just Lizzie,” she told him. She reached out and palmed his head. No fancy nail polish gilded her nails. And from the looks of them, she still bit them when she got nervous. Was the move to the ranch making her nervous? Or was it him?
“But Dad says I�
��m asposed to call people stuff like that,” Zeke explained in a matter-of-fact voice. “To be polite.”
“I think if you say my name politely, then it is polite. Isn’t it?”
“Yes!”
She looked at Heath then.
He tried to read her expression, but failed. What was she feeling, seeing his son? Did her mind go back to their past, like his did? Would this old ache ever come to some kind of peace between them? How could it?
“Dad, I’m so starving!”
“Hey, little man, lunch is ready inside.” Cookie, the ranch house manager, called to Zeke through the screen door. He saw Heath’s questioning look and waved toward the road. “Rosina had a doctor’s appointment, remember? So Zeke is hanging with me for a few hours.”
He’d forgotten that, even though he’d made a note in his phone. What kind of father was he?
“I’ll see to him, boss.” Cookie’s deep voice offered reassurance, but it wasn’t his job to watch Zeke, and keeping a five-year-old safe on a working ranch wasn’t a piece of cake. “No big deal.”
It wasn’t a big deal to the cook because he had a good heart, but it was a huge deal to Heath. His first priority should be caring for his son, and since he’d lost his friend and mentor, Heath was pretty sure he’d fallen down on that. He’d add it to the list of necessary improvements, a list that seemed to be getting longer every day.
“Maybe I can be with you?” Zeke had started for the stairs, but he paused and looked back at Lizzie. “Like while Dad’s working and Cookie’s busy. I won’t get in the way.” He shook his head in an earnest attempt to convince her. “I like almost never get in the way.”
Cookie bit back a laugh.
Heath didn’t. He slanted his gaze down. “Miss Lizzie will be busy. You stay here with Cookie. Got it?”
Zeke peeked past him to Lizzie, then sighed. “Yes, sir.”
“But for now we can have lunch together,” said Lizzie as she followed Zeke up the stairs.
He couldn’t stop Zeke from eating with Lizzie, and the reality of having her here was a done deal. But he could set limits when it came to Zeke. He was his father, after all.
But when Zeke aimed a grin up to Lizzie and she smiled right back down, another dose of reality hit him.
He couldn’t enforce sanctions on emotions. And from the way his son was smiling up at Lizzie, then reaching for her hand...
He swallowed a sigh and headed for the barn.
Emotions and Lizzie were a whole other rodeo. One he knew too well.
Copyright © 2018 by Ruth M. Blodgett
ISBN-13: 9781488090653
A Widow’s Hope
Copyright © 2018 by Vannetta Chapman
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