Finding Home

by Lois Greiman

  Casie glanced, too. Tyler, surrounded by a halo of gray horsehair, had stopped grooming long enough to glower in their direction.

  “You must be a good twelve miles from the nearest town,” he said and brought his smile back to focus on her like a spotlight.

  She scowled a little, confused. “I guess. I—”

  “Twelve point four miles from Hope Springs. Fourteen and a half from Chickasaw Creek. I checked,” he said. “It’s in a good location.”

  She narrowed her eyes a little. “I’m sorry. Who are you?”

  He tilted his perfectly cropped head at her. Sunlight glistened on his frosted tips. “Didn’t Ed tell you I was coming?”

  “Ed?”

  “I’m with Assurant Realty in Rapid City. I think I have a buyer for you.”

  “A …” She glanced at the horse, the boy, the chickens. “A buyer?”

  His smile fired up a little hotter. “I mean, they’re not ready to cut a check yet or anything, but I’ve got some real interest. And you won’t have to worry… .” He glanced around the yard, at the still-smoldering pile of rotting lumber she’d burned two days before, the newly planted posts. “… about any of this.”

  “Mr… .” She felt oddly displaced. “What was your name again?”

  His smile glistened in the hopeful sunlight. “Call me Phil,” he said, then dimmed just a little. “You haven’t hired another realtor, have you?”

  “No. I—”

  “Good. That’s great. Because I deal with these corporations all the time. I know how they work.”

  “Corporations?”

  “Swine’s the most likely. But big dairy will probably want in, too. They’re both on the lookout for this type of property.”

  Facts were starting to filter in slowly as if just thawing in the spring warmth. “You’re talking about confinement farming?”

  “They could keep fourteen thousand cows here. And they’ll pay for the privilege.”

  Memories of her parents working and fighting and living on this land came at her in a rush. She suddenly felt old. As if she had been the one who had slaved over these acres for more years than she could remember. As if she had sweated blood to scrape a living from the sometimes inhospitable soil. And maybe that fatigue was reflected in her expression, because Jaegar’s smile faded to a cautious grin.

  “Listen, I can see I’ve kind of dropped a bomb on you here,” he said and touched her arm. “I thought Ed would have called you.”

  “I …” She glanced toward the house, ridiculously aware of his hand on her sleeve. Handsome men had made her nervous ever since she was a gangly, ponytailed girl. But she wasn’t that girl anymore. Now she was a gangly, ponytailed woman. A woman who was engaged to be married. She remembered Bradley a little belatedly and worked him urgently into the conversation, as if simply conversing with another man was a sin frowned on by the Church and the world at large. “I dropped my phone in the milk replacer while I was talking to my fiancé.”

  “In the …” He chuckled at the mental image. “Phones. Slippery little bastards, aren’t they? I suppose you have to drive halfway ’cross the state to get a new cell, huh?”

  “Cell?” It took her a moment to realize his meaning. It wasn’t as if she was living in the dark ages or anything. It just seemed like that sometimes. Which was yet another reason she should get back to Saint Paul. Well … that and Bradley, who did not necessarily consider conversing with the opposite sex to be a mortal sin. “Oh. Cell phone. No. It was a landline. Reception’s not always real reliable out here.”

  “I suppose not,” he said and glanced around as if imagining climate-controlled barns as long as her driveway. “But you won’t have to worry about that anymore, either. You can leave all this for someone else to think about. I’m sure your fiancé misses you.”

  “Bradley?”

  He grinned. “Do you have another?”

  “No. No.” She tried a smile, pushed a few stray strands of hair behind an ear. The bill of the Marlboro cap shaded her face, but she still felt flushed. “Just the one.”

  Jaegar laughed. “I’m sure he’ll be pleased to know that. Hey, I’m engaged, too.”

  “Are you?” She felt as if she were having an out-of-body experience. As if the earth had just shifted beneath her feet, though she couldn’t have said why. She did plan to hire a realtor, after all. She just needed a little time to get her head around the idea.

  “Her name’s Amber. I’ll bring her by sometime, if you don’t mind. I’m sure she’d love to meet you.”

  Casie considered objecting, but that might seem rude. She didn’t do rude.

  “Listen, I can see you need some time to think about things. So I’m going to take off, give you a chance to talk to your fiancé, and your …” He nodded toward Tyler. “Is that your son?”

  She glanced toward the boy. He stood with one chafed hand placed atop the gray’s spiny withers. The stance looked strangely protective. “No. He’s just a neighbor.”

  “You must like kids though, huh?”

  She realized suddenly that she hadn’t had much of a chance to figure out whether she liked kids or not. Brad wanted to have a nice nest egg established before they even considered starting a family. “He’s good with horses,” she said and remembered with an illogcal feeling of pride how he’d traveled miles in the dark just to make sure the old mare was okay. “And they’re good for kids. Horses are. Calming,” she said, realizing it was true. “Kind.”

  “Like you.”

  She pulled her attention from the pair by the barn.

  Jaegar smiled, almost seeming surprised by his own words. “Well … I’ll leave you to your postholes and check back in a few days to discuss possibilities.”

  Casie nodded dumbly. Then he was gone, back in his shiny Cadillac and off down the dirt drive and onto the gravel road. She blinked after him in silence.

  “Who was that?”

  She started as if shot, but managed to calm her expression before she turned.

  Tyler was standing just a few feet behind her.

  “A realtor.”

  He looked as serious as death. “What for?”

  “He says he has a buyer.”

  The serious intensified toward angry. “You’re selling the Lazy?”

  “I don’t want …” she began, then remembered she didn’t have to justify her actions. “Yes.”

  “What about Angel?”

  She skipped her attention to the horse. The old mare lifted her head, newly cropped grass sticking from her mouth like a green bouquet. The animal was still as ugly as sin, but she’d gained a few pounds and seemed to be following their conversation with rapt attention.

  “Listen, Ty,” Casie said, dragging her gaze from the horse. “I have to find a new home for her. What else can I do? I mean, I just can’t—”

  “Can’t is just another way of sayin’ you don’t have enough grit to try.”

  She opened her mouth to retaliate, but the truth was, she didn’t want to try. She was sick to death of trying. “I know you don’t understand… .” she began, then scowled and turned at the sound of a diesel engine. A black Ford was pulling an aluminum stock trailer down the road. She didn’t recognize the pickup, but the trailer kind of looked like Monty Dickenson’s. She scowled, then deepened that expression when the vehicle turned into her lane.

  In a matter of seconds it had pulled up beside her. Richard Colton Dickenson stepped out from behind the steering wheel. The sleeves of his red plaid shirt were rolled up to reveal dark skin and a white cast. A belt buckle as big as a currycomb cinched his faded jeans to his nonexistent belly. He might have been favoring his right leg a little, and the bruise on his cheek could be seen as an interesting shade of puce beneath the down-slanted brim of his Stetson.

  “Hey, Case.” He greeted her as if they’d seen each other every day of the week since infancy. Behind him, the trailer rattled with restive animals she couldn’t quite see.

  She watched him, wond
ering at his motives. “Dickey.”

  He grinned as if amused by the cautious tone in her voice and lifted his chin toward Tyler. “Who’s this?”

  Dark curiosity pulled Casie’s gaze toward the trailer, but she refused to be sucked in. “Tyler Roberts,” she introduced. “Dickey—”

  “No kidding.” Dickenson reached past her to shake hands with the boy. “You’re Gil’s kid?”

  Ty nodded, shook the left hand the other offered, and eyed his multicolored cheek.

  Dickenson introduced himself.

  “You know Dickey’s family. They live just around the corner,” Casie said, but the boy didn’t really seem to be listening.

  “You’re Colt Dickenson?” he asked instead.

  “Some folks call me that.”

  “You won All-Around in the Roundup.” Tyler Roberts had never looked more serious. And that was saying something.

  “Yeah.” Dickenson nodded. “I got a couple lucky draws that time around.”

  Casie glanced from one to the other.

  Tyler pursed his lips, then nodded toward the trailer. “You got broncs in there now?”

  “Well …” Dickenson grinned and turned, striding past the truck bed. “In a manner of speaking, I guess. I picked ’em up fifty miles south of here. Old man that owned ’em moved to Tallahassee a while back. I guess some of ’em was ridden before, but they’ve been roughin’ it by themselves for a while now.”

  “So you bought them for …” Casie paused, choosing words carefully in deference to Tyler’s presence. He might act as tough as bull thistle, but even the hardiest weeds can be gooey inside. “For that Toby guy?” Her voice was deadpan. Her stomach was knotted.

  Dickenson shrugged. “Owner just wanted to get rid of ’em. Guess they didn’t fit in his daughter’s town house.”

  After striding closer, Casie could see that six or eight horses were loose in the trailer. They milled a little, but one dark eye continued to stare at her from between the lowest metal slats.

  “There are babies?” she guessed.

  “No newborns. Just a pair of coming yearlings. Couple geldings. An old stag they never got around to cutting. Few pregnant mares.”

  She felt her teeth grind and tried to keep her mouth closed. No luck. “So they’re going to Canada.”

  He gave another half shrug. “They had a few round bales in with ’em for a while, but they’re running on empty now. The grullo’s skinny as a screw. Might not make it all the way to the border.”

  She managed to refrain from wincing, but she wasn’t so lucky with the words. “Chip was a grullo.”

  “Your old pleasure gelding?” Dickenson said. “Huh. Those pretty blue-grays are kinda rare. Wouldn’t have thought I’d forget that.” Maybe there was something odd in his tone, but she couldn’t identify it. Couldn’t care. That one dark eye kept calling to her from between the metal slats.

  “Couldn’t you …” She was close to the trailer now, close enough to smell the animals. Fifty degrees shouldn’t have been warm enough to make them sweat, but fear changed everything. She knew that from experience.

  Casie tightened her fists beside her thighs and tried not to plead. “Couldn’t you take them home? Your dad likes horses. And Sissy … your sister … she’s good with young stock.”

  “Home.” He laughed. “The place is full to the gills with feeder cattle, and Sissy and Carson are expecting their second baby.”

  “What about your brothers?”

  “Marshall’s going to South Dakota State, Shel’s working at the Triple W, and Reese bought himself three hundred acres up by Belle Fourche just about two years ago. Hell, Case, you must have known that.”

  “No, I …” She swallowed. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Yeah.” He glanced around. “I see you’re cleaning the place up.”

  She didn’t comment but hooked a hand onto an upper slat, easing onto the fender of the trailer and starting a wave of wild commotion inside. A bay jostled the mousy grullo, almost knocking him to his knees.

  “So you’re really selling out?” Dickenson asked.

  She stepped back down, stomach churning, ignoring his question. “They don’t have enough room in there.”

  He shrugged. “Helps ’em stay on their feet if they can huddle up against their buddies.”

  Anger burbled silently inside her. “And they weren’t worth making two trips.”

  His gaze never left hers. His eyes were as bright as river agates, firing up a dozen emotions she had happily left behind. “Times are hard, Case.”

  “I know times—” she began, then stopped herself. “Well, thanks for stopping by,” she said and pivoted away, but his voice stopped her.

  “Wanna keep the grullo?”

  “What?”

  He was grinning when she turned back. “I’ll give ’im to you for free.”

  She fisted her hands, loosened them, fisted them again. “Why would I want another horse?”

  “I dunno. Why’d you want that one?” he asked, motioning toward Angel, who watched, head up, ears pricked forward.

  “I just bought her to—” she began, then remembered Ty’s presence. “I can’t take another horse. I’m moving back to Saint Paul as soon as I get things taken care of here.”

  “Yeah. Sure. Well …” Dickenson said and headed toward his truck. “I’d better get going. Toby might want me to take them straight through to Neudorf.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Time’s money.”

  She gritted her teeth and glanced at Tyler. His lips were pursed, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes. Something that spoke of anger and hope and fear all packed into one tightly bound bundle.

  “I’ll take the grullo,” she said.

  Dickenson turned toward her as if surprised. “What’d you say?”

  “I …” she began and paused. “You heard me.”

  “You sure? He’s in pretty rough shape,” he said, but despite his words his grin seemed to be aching to crack through again.

  Now, she thought, would be the perfect opportunity to hone her cursing skills. But Ty was still watching her with those angry, hopeful eyes. “Get the grullo out,” she ordered.

  “Yeah, well, I’d like to.” Dickenson rubbed his neck, shook his head once. “But it’s not that easy. You’d have to take the pinto, too.”

  “What?”

  “They’re pals. The grullo’s orphaned. And the little pinto’s not weaned. So she should stay with her mama. Come to think of it, the mares are pretty rundown, too. It’s going to be a long trip for them.”

  She murmured something. Maybe swearing wasn’t completely off the table.

  Dickenson tilted his right ear toward her. “What’s that? I didn’t hear you. Did you just say you’ll take ’em all?”

  “No,” she said and forced a smile. “I was cursing you under my breath.”

  “Were you?” The left corner of his mouth twitched just a little. “What’d you say?”

  “I said—” she began, then glanced at the boy and tried to talk sense into that ridiculously childish side of her that seemed to be popping up recently. It was like trying to lasso the wind. “Put them in the cattle yard.”

  His brows shot up. “All of ’em?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well …” He shrugged. “Toby’ll be madder than a cornered badger, but if you’re sure …”

  She never said she was sure. Never said anything else, in fact. But suddenly Tyler was returning Angel to the barn and Dickenson was backing his rig up to the open gate of the cattle pen. In five minutes the area was filled with wild-eyed, milling horses.

  In six minutes she knew she was certifiably insane.

  CHAPTER 6

  The next forty-eight hours passed in a blur of sloppy drizzle, endless labor, and sleepless nights. The Lazy’s newborns were arriving at a furious pace. Clayton had believed it best to get the young stock on the ground early, making heavier livestock and better profits come
fall. And maybe that had worked in his youth, but it was wearing Casie down to her shadow. On her third pasture check of the day she’d found another pair of unexpected lambs huddled against their mother’s damp sides. The old ewe hadn’t passed her afterbirth yet, but she looked strong and sassy. A stamped forefoot had warned Casie to keep her distance and given her hope that the old girl was healthy enough to handle things without medical intervention. Nevertheless, she shooed the trio into the sheep barn, sequestering them in a four-by-four-foot wooden pen. The confinement would solidify the family bond and give the babies a few much-needed hours out of the rain. After feeding them chopped green hay and painting them with corresponding numbers, Casie dragged herself into the house for a little nutrition of her own.

  It was seven o’clock in the evening by the time she headed back outside to finish up the day’s chores.

  Charged with viscous black coffee and sandwiches made from green-shelled eggs, Casie stepped into the cattle barn. Earlier in the week she had turned the cow/calf pairs out in the pasture, leaving the far side of the building empty. Inside it was dim and quiet. Still, there was enough light to make out Tyler’s gaunt shape inside Angel’s stall. His back was to the door as he leaned against the old mare’s left shoulder, arms wrapped around her weedy neck.

  Casie stopped in her tracks as a dozen half-forgotten feelings seeped into her soul, spurred on by aged memories and ragged instincts. How many times had she stood in that exact position, leeching courage and compassion from Chip’s comfortable presence? How many times had she needed the warmth and assurance? she wondered, but the boy straightened a little and she turned abruptly away, putting her back to him as she fumbled noisily for the light switch.

  By the time she faced inward again he was already stepping out of the stall.

  “Oh! I didn’t see you there,” she lied.

  The boy lowered his brows at her. “I was just …” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “… gonna feed her.”

  “Yeah?” She approached slowly. There was a faint, crescent-shaped bruise beneath his left eye. Curiosity melded uncomfortably with a couple emotions she didn’t care to acknowledge. “What happened to your face?”