The first cut was off by an eighth of an inch. Dillon realized he’d failed to account for the thickness of the saw blade as soon as he finished pushing the board past the table saw’s spinning blade. The second cut was better. The third was square.
He liked the feel of it. Which surprised him. He hadn’t expected to enjoy shaping wood into something useful. He was a man of living tissue. Pulse rates, breath sounds and all the subtle tells of how and where an animal was in pain. Wood was alien to him. But there was something satisfying about cutting a line that stayed where you put it.
Arlo watched him work for a while without talking. Then, as Dillon started sanding the edges of the top piece, the old man said, “Mick was quiet out here.”
Dillon’s hand slowed, but he kept sanding.
“People remember his charm,” Arlo went on. “His big laugh. The way he could talk a stranger out of a bad day in three minutes flat. And he was all that. But out here he’d work for hours without saying a word. Fern used to stand in the doorway and watch him work. She said it was the only time he was ever at peace.”
Dillon ran his thumb along the edge he’d just sanded. Not as smooth as a horse’s velvety nose but getting there.
“I’m sorry I didn’t know him,” he said.
“You two would’ve liked each other. People always accused Fern of being a flaky hippie and letting her boy run wild, but he was surprisingly old-fashioned. Valued honesty and hard work and kept his word. He would’ve appreciated you coming here, using his tools, and building something for his girl.” A paused. “Don’t think he’d mind you paying attention to his wife now that he’s gone.”
Dillon kept sanding. Kept his face carefully, professionally blank.
“Of course, that’s between you and Tessa,” Arlo said mildly. “I figure a man in your position might feel like he’s stepping on a ghost. But I knew the ghost in question, and the ghost isn’t the problem. He was a lot of things, but he wasn’t stingy. He’d want Tessa to keep living. Be happy.”
His throat inexplicably tight, Dillon set the sanded piece of wood on the workbench beside the others, picked up the next one, and started on its edge. He finished the last piece and straightened, stretching his back.
“That’s enough for today,” Arlo said. “You can put it together next time you’re here.”
“I’ll call you when I’ve got some free time?—”
Arlo cut him off, saying, “Mick gave me the key to this place years ago. Told me to come use it any time I wanted. Now, I’m doing the same for you.” Arlo held out his hand, and lying in his palm was a shiny new key.
“Made you a copy. Use this place any time you want.”
Surprised and humbled, Dillon took the key. He wiped down the workbench and table saw, swept up the sawdust, and turned to see Arlo staring at Mick’s pencil.
Very deliberately, Arlo picked it up, walked over to the coffee can, and put it with the other pencils. He looked up at Dillon and said gruffly, “Tessa doesn’t need this place to be a shrine anymore,” he said. “It’s just a pencil.”
Dillon he put away the broom and followed Arlo outside in silence.
The next morning, he was back in the woodshop assembling Makayla’s mounting block when his phone rang. The caller was Pete Maddox. He ran cattle on four hundred acres out at the west end of the lake. “What’s going on, Pete?” he asked briskly.
“I got a cow birthing. First-timer. Been pushing going on two hours. Calf’s not coming.”
“Position?”
“Can’t tell. She’s upset. Won’t lie down or stand still to let me reposition the calf. Wife’s out of town and my daughter left for college last fall. I’ve got no help to handle her.
Dillon put down the screwdriver and screws. “Keep her quiet if you can, but don’t get yourself killed trying. If she goes down, put a rope on her and keep her down. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
Dillon turned to leave, and that was when he realized Tessa was standing in the doorway. He didn’t know how long she’d been there.
Here it came. The Look. The flash of resentment that had crossed Lexi’s face a hundred times across a dinner table, across a bed, across a crowded party as he dropped everything and responded to a call.
He braced for a snide comment, but Tessa merely asked, “Horse or cow?”
“Heifer. First time delivery. She’s in trouble.”
Tessa nodded, then turned and called toward the house, “Mak, grab your farm boots and mine. Now, please.”
Dillon stared at her.
“What?” she said, noticing.
