Her jaw tightened. "Seven o'clock will be fine."
He tipped his hat and headed for his truck, tossing each of the geese a slice of apple from a plastic tribute bag he’d made for them. They accepted their bribe and parted to let him pass between them with grudging reluctance.
In the rearview mirror, as he pulled down the drive, he could see Makayla sitting in the barn door with Brown Dog half in her lap petting him with one hand, and Captain the three-legged dog lying against her other side, getting petted with her other hand. Tessa stood on the front porch, watching her daughter with an expression he couldn't read from this distance.
The blue rocking chair sat empty behind her.
He drove in silence for most of the way back to town before he let out a long breath.
She wasn't what he'd expected. At the funeral, she'd been all polish and armor—pearls and designer clothes, devastating one-liners, and a wall so high around her he couldn't see over it.
Today, in a barn with her hair falling down and chicken manure on her blouse, taking notes on her phone because she refused to let these animals suffer even though she had no earthly idea what she was doing?—
Stop it.
She was Lexi in a different zip code. Wealthy family. Designer wardrobe. Her kid dressed for tea parties instead of barns. She would tolerate him for exactly as long as he was convenient and not one second longer.
A few days, maybe a few weeks, of farm life and she'll be gone.
But the kid. Makayla leaning against June's neck with her eyes closed, whispering, she's so warm?—
He turned up the radio and drove faster.
He was not going to think about a girl in ballet flats who'd never touched a horse before today. He was not going to think about her mother's scratched hands or the way she'd read Arlo's note like it was a battle plan.
He was going to go home, eat cold leftovers standing at his kitchen counter, and review his case files. There was nothing more for him.
5
Monday morning, Tessa woke up and got dressed for work the way she always did. She gulped down a mug of liquid courage in the form of strong coffee and headed out to the barn to feed critters and do a quick round of medications before she took Makayla to school and went to the store.
Feeding went surprisingly smoothly. Arlo’s note was clear and Fern had organized and clearly marked who got what food. Pills went fine, and Biscuit, the boy horse, was cooperative when she squirted his paste medicine into his mouth. She’d put it off as long as she could, but her last chore was giving the cat his shot. She delayed feeding him until last in hopes that a dish of cat food would lure him down out of the rafters.
Sure enough, she rattled the kitty kibble in his dish, and Chairman Meow launched himself off his perch. Her triumph only lasted an instant, however, for he jumped directly onto her shoulder. Her silk blouse was slippery, and the cat promptly slid off her shoulder, over her collarbone, and down her chest.
She yelped as claws dug into her skin, which must’ve scared him, for he ricocheted off her chest and went airborne. She lunged for him but missed, and he streaked down the barn aisle and disappeared outside.
Drat. She didn’t know much about cats, but she suspected she wouldn’t see hide nor hair of him until at least suppertime tonight. She hated to skip his shot, but she had to leave in about five minutes to get Makayla to school on time. The cat had gone a week without any shots. She supposed skipping one more dose of insulin wouldn’t kill him.
That was when stinging pain registered in her brain. She looked down and was shocked to see four long, parallel tears in her silk blouse, each one with a thin line of blood marking a scratch behind it. She went to the open barn door the cat had shot through and looked around. There was no sign of a tabby cat anywhere.
If she was lucky, he would keep on running and never come back.
She wasn’t lucky. He was back in his usual spot in the rafters at suppertime, more irascible than ever. But this time, she closed all the barn’s exits before she tried to catch him. He flatly refused to come down from his perch, even for supper, and she ended up fetch a can of smelly tuna fish from the house to lure him down for food and his shot.
Tuesday morning, she dressed in a pale blue cashmere sweater for work. It met its tragic end when she leaned into Biscuit's stall to administer his joint paste and the gelding, apparently offended today by its fake apple flavor, shook his massive head and sprayed a mixture of slobber and half-chewed bute paste across her chest in a wide white arc. She stood there covered in slime while Biscuit regarded her with impassive calm and not one shred of remorse.
Wednesday morning, Tessa got smart. She laid out the lavender linen button-down she planned to wear for work on the back porch rail where she would see it and not forget to change out of the old cotton oxford she put on to feed animals.
But when she got back from a surprisingly uneventful feeding and medicating session, the blouse had mysteriously vanished. She called inside to Makayla, who was practicing her violin, to ask if she’d moved the shirt, and Makayla hollered back no.
Tessa searched the yard, eyeing the geese suspiciously. She demanded to know if they’d stolen her blouse, but they merely looked up innocently from their dish of goose pellets and then went back to eating breakfast. She searched the barn next. No sign of the blouse. She headed for the paddock.
That was where she found the remains of one lavender sleeve. Just the sleeve. Loretta stood there with the smug contentment of a creature who'd recently consumed something expensive and deeply enjoyed it.
"You ate my blouse," Tessa accused.
Loretta brayed enthusiastically, declaring the blouse a particularly fine vintage of linen.
