Part 2
June caught him removing his boots outside the mudroom. She had a plate in one hand and the door braced with her hip.
“There’s stew.”
“I can eat over at the bunkhouse.”
“You can also eat where the stew is.” She looked past him. “Bring Flint.”
Caleb glanced at the muddy threshold. “You want him inside?”
“If he can make this room look worse, I’ll be impressed.”
At Caleb’s invitation, the shepherd entered, inspected the boots beneath the bench, and settled on the rubber mat. June stepped over his tail to put a third bowl on the table.
Mara asked about the fence over supper. Caleb explained what would have to be reset and what could be salvaged. June wanted to know whether the garage had offered him coffee before estimating the cost of the transmission.
“After,” he said.
“That was wise of them.”
Flint slept until a chair scraped. Then he lifted his head, counted the people in the kitchen with his eyes, and lowered it again.
Outside, the temporary brace took the night’s cold without moving.
Mara found Caleb at the fence before breakfast, a narrow beam of light clamped under his arm. Her own flashlight picked out his boot tracks across the frozen ground.
“You planning to eat today?” she asked.
“After I check this.”
“The sun hasn’t even reported for work.”
He gave the wire another turn. “We’ll have a head start.”
She tucked her flashlight beneath her chin and held the brace while he tightened the fastening.
They spent the morning rebuilding the corner. Under a few hard inches, the dirt was loose and damp. Each thaw had let the post shift a little farther under the strain of the wire.
Caleb laid the old and new posts beside each other.
“Where’d your dad get these heavier ones?”
Mara kept her eyes on the timber. For an instant, the question sounded like something she could ask him at lunch.
“A yard outside Darrow. The ones behind the shop came from somewhere else.”
“We should match the old size for corners.”
“I’ll put it on the order.”
By noon, the fence could take a herd leaning against it. Mara stamped dirt from her boots while Caleb gathered the clipped ends of wire into a bucket.
He dealt with the hydrant next. When she came into the shop, its parts were arranged along a clean board. A worn seal lay beside a small pile of mineral crust.
“This is what’s letting water past,” he said, showing her the seal. “I’d replace both pieces while it’s open.”
“Do you have what you need?”
“In the supply cabinet, unless that box is empty.”
“Then why’d you wait?”
“Figured you ought to see what I’m putting in it.”
She looked at the parts again. “Go ahead.”
He had the water running before the afternoon chores. The next morning, the ice around the base had begun to shrink.
The weather refused to settle. Dry wind rattled a loose sheet of roofing one day; the next morning, a dusting of snow hid the gravel until noon. Sun softened the lane, darkness hardened it, and every gate seemed to develop a different opinion about opening.
Caleb began writing things down on a small pad.
June found it beside the coffee pot. A gutter bracket, two hinges, pipe insulation, a tractor hose with shallow cracks near the coupling. He had divided the page by urgency: immediate work, work for the coming month, and work to finish before calves arrived.
She carried it into the office.
When Mara came looking for a missing invoice, June was entering the items into a spreadsheet, with costs in the next column.
“Look at this.”
Mara leaned over her shoulder.
June scrolled down. “Dad would’ve remembered all of it.”
“You think Caleb will?”
“I don’t want anybody to have to.” June tapped the screen. “If it’s here, either of us can order the hose. Either of us can see what’s due.”
Mara read the list to the bottom.
“Make me a paper copy.”
On Friday, Caleb proposed changing the feeding route. He had worked out a shorter loop from the haystack to the winter pastures, avoiding one trip back through the yard.
Mara let him finish beside the tractor.
“We’re not going that way.”
He followed her gaze toward the cottonwoods. “What am I missing?”
“Water under the crust. Old irrigation cut seeps there. Dad sank a tractor almost to the axle two winters back.”
Caleb walked out a short distance, broke the frozen surface with his heel, and crouched. The soil underneath stained his glove dark.
When he returned, Mara was waiting for the explanation of why his route was still better.
“Your route it is,” he said.
“You’re done arguing?”
“Haven’t started.”
“Most people would.”
He climbed onto the tractor. “They can feed after us, then.”
She turned away before he could see her grin.
Flint required his own education. He understood waiting beside a door and staying clear of tools. He understood Caleb’s voice when an engine started or a vehicle backed up. Horses, however, continued to interest him beyond what Caleb considered appropriate.
The dog watched every trip across the yard. Caleb kept him on a lead near the corrals, redirecting him before he could edge toward the rails.
Then the barn cat discovered him.
The old cat occupied a stack of sacks just outside his reach, one hind foot suspended in the air while it attended to its stomach. Flint stood absolutely still, staring.
“Leave it,” Caleb said.
One ear turned. Nothing else did.
June stopped in the doorway with the mail. “This is the military veteran?”
“Retired veteran.”
The cat stretched luxuriantly. Flint leaned an inch forward.
Caleb shortened the lead. “Apparently he’s taking up easier assignments.”
June’s laugh carried across the yard. Mara looked up from the other side of the barn, surprised by the sound.
By Saturday, Flint knew where he could wait near the shop and where he could not go near the cattle. He still watched the horses, but he had begun to let them travel without his personal review.
Caleb’s phone rang while he was fitting a new shed hinge. Mara was passing with a bucket when he ended the call.
“Garage?”
“Part comes Monday. Pickup should be ready Wednesday.”
“Should?”
“That’s the encouraging word they chose.”
“How bad is it?”
He named the repair price.
Mara winced. “Sorry.”
“At least it’ll move under its own power.”
“You’re setting the bar pretty low.”
“Trying to reach it.”
At supper, June waited until Mara had finished her stew before setting down her spoon.
“Our winter-help budget runs through December,” she told Caleb. “We haven’t spent much of it.”
He glanced toward Mara.
“It wouldn’t be work for a bed anymore,” June continued. “Weekly pay. Bunkhouse included.”
“Through December?”
“To begin with.”
Caleb rested his hands beside his bowl. “And if one of us regrets it?”
“We say so,” Mara answered. “Before it becomes a surprise.”
June took an envelope from the mail pile and wrote down the weekly amount. Caleb studied it, then looked between them.
“I’ll stay…”
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