That was the truth of ranch life—always another crisis, another pressing need that pushed the smaller improvements further down the list. Getting the barn organized had been nagging at him for months, one of those tasks that would make daily work easier but never seemed important enough to tackle when horses needed training and hay needed cutting.
“Where were you planning to put the shelves?” Rose moved toward the back wall.
James pointed with one of his walking sticks toward a section. “There. High enough to add rods underneath for the saddles to hang on.”
Rose stepped closer to examine the wall, running her palm along the smooth logs. “I can hold things steady for you.”
The offer should have been exactly what he wanted to hear. Instead, it grated against something raw in his chest. Rose helping him because he couldn’t manage alone. Rose stepping in to do work that should have been simple for a grown man.
“You sure you want to spend your afternoon playing carpenter?” The words came out way too harsh. Why was he taking his weakness out on Rose?
She turned to face him, and something in her expression made his gut twist. Not pity, exactly, but a careful gentleness that somehow felt worse. “I offered, didn’t I?”
He hobbled toward the lumber stack, his walking sticks slipping slightly on the packed dirt floor. The pain in his leg had settled into a steady throb that made every movement clumsy and awkward.
The boards he needed were on the bottom of the pile, of course. He leaned one walking stick against the wall and shifted the upper planks with his free hand. Each piece of lumber felt heavier than it should have, his balance precarious as he tried to maneuver the wood while keeping most of his weight on his good leg. The walking stick slipped again, and he had to grab for the wall to keep from pitching forward.
Rose moved without a word to the other end of the board he wrestled with, lifting it clear of the pile. Her movements were steady, practical—no fuss or commentary about his struggles. Her kindness in the face of his rudeness only made him more angry with himself.
“Thanks.” The word scraped against his throat like sandpaper.
They worked in silence to extract the boards he needed, Rose anticipating his movements like she had when they were children. She’d always been able to read his intentions, to be exactly where he needed her without being asked.
He positioned himself against the wall where the shelves would hang, his walking sticks propped within reach. “If you can hold this level while I mark the spots…” He raised the first board, trying to ignore the way his leg screamed in protest when he moved.
Rose stepped close, her hands steady on the far end of the plank. The scent of her hair—something clean and a little like flowers—drifted toward him. Yesterday in the cave, that same aroma had filled his senses when she’d cried against his shoulder. When he’d confessed his love and felt her melt against him.
Now she was close again, but the intimacy felt different—strained from his frustration and the awkward necessity of needing her help for something he should be able to handle alone.
He marked the first nail hole with a pencil, trying to concentrate on the task instead of the way her proximity made his pulse quicken despite his foul mood.
“There.” He lowered his end of the board and reached for his hammer. The tool felt familiar and solid in his grip, at least one thing that hadn’t changed since his accident.
Rose watched as he positioned the nail, her green eyes focused on his work with the same attention she gave everything. Something about her steady presence began to ease the knot of frustration in his chest, even as his pride continued to smart.
He swung the hammer, and the satisfying ring of metal on metal echoed through the barn. At least his arms still worked properly. He could still drive a nail straight.
“The other end now?” Rose moved to lift the board again without being asked.
They fell into a rhythm—Rose holding, him marking and nailing. His leg throbbed with each jarring impact of the hammer, but the familiar motions of building something useful helped settle his restless energy. This was work he understood, work that made sense.
As they positioned the second shelf, he stole a glance at Rose’s profile. The way she concentrated on keeping the board level, her bottom lip caught between her teeth in the same unconscious gesture she did as a girl when she was focused on a task.
“You know.” She didn’t look at him as she adjusted her grip. “This reminds me of when we built that tree fort behind the creek.”
The memory slid in like a gift. “You mean when you insisted we needed a proper floor instead of just branches?”
“Those branches were slippery. I was afraid someone would fall.” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You said I was being too particular.”
“You were being too particular.” But he couldn’t help a smile too. “And we nearly broke our necks when the whole contraption collapsed.”
“Your mother was so angry.” Rose’s eyes sparkled with something that looked almost like fondness. “But Mr. Wang helped us build a much sturdier floor.”
It had been perfect. Their secret hideaway with its carefully fitted planks and the rope ladder Rose braided from old grain sacks. They’d spent countless summer afternoons in that fort, planning adventures and sharing the penny candy Mrs. Wang smuggled to them from town.
James positioned another nail, the familiar heft of the hammer steadying in his grip. “Wonder if it’s still standing. I haven’t been that way in a while.”
“Probably not. That cottonwood was already old when we built it.” Rose shifted to support the other end of the board as he worked his way across. “But I’d like to see, when the weather’s better.”
