Jeremiah looked like he wanted to argue but Ben piped up. “I’ll be good. I promise.”
Jeremiah ran a hand over his face, mumbling something that sounded a lot like “I cannot believe I’m doing this.” He dropped his hand. “All right, when would you like him to start?”
“Right now suits just fine. You could go pick up the other boys and bring `em back for supper. Sandra likes that.”
The front door slammed, and Jeremiah and Ben both turned to look at the house. It would be Lucy. Walter didn’t even have to look, he could see it on Jeremiah’s face—the man was gutted as a fish.
“I’ll be back in two hours.” Jeremiah took off nearly at a run. Lucy stood on the porch, her hand up, shading her eyes from the sun. She wore a green and white plaid shirt and looked so much like Saundra twenty years ago, Walter had to look away too. “There’s a pile of reins in the tack room,” Walter said to Ben. “Go and grab them, would you?”
Ben nodded and vanished into the barn.
A nurse, Walter thought, chewing over the word and the idea, surprised when the taste was sweet. The boy felt more like a second chance.
And why, he wondered, with a dry mouth and sweaty hands, did that make him so damn nervous?
Lucy watched Jeremiah drive off and told herself she’d suffered worse rejections. Harsher. Bloodier. But none had ripped her legs out from under her. After last night’s restless sleep, she’d woken up resolved to forget Jeremiah, since that seemed to be the only thing she could do.
But the second she’d seen his truck out the window, she’d entertained, for about half a second, the idea that he had changed his mind. About her. And she’d charged out the door like a lunatic.
But it was Walter he’d been here to see and the disappointment was bitter.
His truck kicked up dust as he charged away from the ranch and when it settled there were Walter and Ben, sitting in the shade, a pile of leather between them. Bits of silver flashing in the sun.
She thought of her leather bracelet designs and realized that the materials she needed might be right under her nose.
Carefully, unsure of her welcome—or truly what she was doing, only knowing she had to do something or lose her mind thinking about Jeremiah—she approached the two of them.
“Hey,” she said.
Walter looked up and did a rather comical double take. “Lucy?”
Ben just stared at her, the little turncoat. Really, she wondered, what did Walter have that she didn’t?
Maybe you should find out, Lucy thought. Maybe you should find out why your own mother wants a “friendship” with this man.
Maybe you should give him half a chance.
“What...” She gestured limply at the pile of beaten-up leather reins and bridles. “What are you doing?”
“Cleaning,” Walter said.
“Oh. Could I join you?”
She laughed at Walter’s face. Oh, so funny that face. Horrified, he was utterly horrified at the thought of spending time with her. She couldn’t totally blame him. It wasn’t like she’d been overly pleasant to the man.
“I guess not.” She started to turn on her heel.
Surprisingly her support came from Ben. “You can stay,” he said.
She turned back just in time to catch Walter glaring at the boy.
“What?” Ben asked. “There are a lot of reins here.”
“Actually,” she said, plunking herself down in front of the piles of leather, across from Ben. “I was wondering if I could look at the pieces you’re getting rid of.”
“The garbage?” Walter asked.
“You know what they say. One man’s garbage is another woman’s jackpot.”
“Suit yourself.” Walter used his cane to push a small pile of beat-up leather straps at her. She dug into it with gusto, sorting pieces she could salvage from pieces that were too far gone.
“So,” she said, needing to occupy her brain as well as her hands, if only to fill the empty space Jeremiah used to fill. “What are we talking about?”
Ben and Walter shared a look. Apparently there wasn’t a whole lot of talking going on yet.
“Do you have any stories about my mom?” Ben blurted.
“Do I?” Lucy cried, taking her own cloth to clean the ruined leather. Distressed leather was cool; distressed leather that smelled like horse—not so cool. “Your mom used to babysit Mia and me when we were kids.” She launched into a story about their epic and elaborate games of hide-and-seek in the barn.
“And then…” she cried, lost in the memories “…when we’d hear Walter coming in, we’d—”
She stopped, suddenly embarrassed. They’d been little shits to Walter when Mom and Dad weren’t around.
“What?” Ben asked, wide-eyed, the leather forgotten in his lap.
“Nothing—” She winced.
“Go ahead,” Walter said, not looking up from his oil and cloth and the strip of leather he was working on. “Tell him.”
“We’d hide Walter’s things. His glasses, his hat. We’d bury them in the hay. We’d move his horse between stables. We were…we were mean.”