Yeah, whatever.
“It’s an old tradition. Barn raising, they used to call it. Though I suppose now it’s more like barn clearing and rebuilding.” Morrie’s expression softened slightly. “Elway helped build half the barns in this county over the years. Folks remember that kind of thing.”
“When would something like that happen?” Rowan asked.
“As soon as the insurance agent is done. Maybe this weekend if the weather holds.” Morrie studied Rowan’s face. “You planning to stick around for it?”
“As long as Sierra needs me here.”
“Hmm.” Morrie’s grunt was noncommittal, but his eyes held calculation. “Well, if you’re gonna be here, might as well make yourself useful. We have roundup in the morning—going out to the western pasture. You ever done any ranch work?”
“I think I can handle myself.”
Morrie made a grunt. “Okay then.”
Rowan turned to Huck. “Huck, want to help me check the perimeter before dinner?”
“Can Bandit come?”
As if summoned by his name, the Jack Russell terrier bounded around the corner of the house, tail wagging furiously. The pup had clearly been digging, his nose caked in dirt.
Huck handed him a doggie treat.
“Sure.”
“We’re taking off,” Saxon said and extended his hand. “Call if you need anything.”
Mack too. “Nice to see you and Dad bonding.”
He wasn’t bonding with Alden Jenkins, thank you.
Mack and Saxon pulled out while Rowan walked the fence, Huck chattering about school and friends while Bandit investigated every interesting scent. When they reached the front porch again, Rowan called the dog over.
“Sit,” he commanded.
Bandit looked at him with intelligent brown eyes but remained standing.
“Sit.” Rowan demonstrated, placing his hand on the dog’s hindquarters and gently pushing down while repeating the command. “Got any more of those treats, Huck?”
He handed him a fistful.
After a few tries, Bandit finally settled into a sitting position.
“Good boy!” Rowan pulled out one of the treats. “I used to try and teach my dog how to do this.”
He balanced the treat on Bandit’s nose, the dog’s eyes crossing comically as he tried to focus on the prize just inches away.
“Stay,” Rowan commanded, holding his hand up in a stop gesture.
Bandit trembled with the effort of not moving, his whole body vibrating with restraint. After a second, he shook his head. The biscuit fell off and Bandit gobbled it up.
“Shoot.”
“My dad used to do this with our old dog, Bernie.” The memory surfaced, swift, with a tiny punch to his heart. “He said patience and consistency were the keys to training anything—dogs, horses, kids.”
“Your dad sounds like he was really smart.”
“He was.” Rowan handed Huck a biscuit. “Want to try?”
