The Texan's Happily-Ever-After

This time she laughed. The scent of horses and the sun’s heat beating on old wood rode the corral air. Although Shep didn’t always say a lot, he was easy to talk to. He made her feel…safe. She’d returned to Sagebrush to feel safe, to be close to her mother and brother, to establish roots that had somehow slipped away on that terrible day in 2001. She’d felt safe in the Victorian with Gina, and now Angie. But not safe in this way. Not protected like this. She suspected Shep was a protector, and that gave her an odd feeling. Clark had been a protector, and because of that he’d died.

“You’re thinking sad thoughts.”

How could Shep do that? How could he know? “Not for long. As soon as your boys hand me a shovel, I’ll only be thinking about getting finished and going on that trail ride.”

Shep motioned her inside the barn. “Then let’s get started.”

The barn was old. Raina could tell that there were signs of it being refurbished—fresh mortar between stones on the walls was lighter gray and without cracks. Some of the wooden stall doors looked new, their catches and hinges shiny and untouched by time.

“How old is the barn?” she asked, realizing the boys were nowhere in sight.

“The buildings on the property date back to the 1850s.”

“You bought a piece of history.”

“That’s the way I look at it. That’s why I didn’t raze everything to the ground and start over. I liked building on what was here, making the old stand up to the test of time. Do you know what I mean?”

“I do. It’s nice to know something will last with a little help.” As she took in the stalls and the feed barrels, she asked, “Where are the boys and their shovels?”

Shep shook his head. “I know where they are. Come on.” He led her past the tack room, and when they rounded the corner, she saw Joey and Roy leaning over a pile of hay bales. The hay was stacked wide and high. But the boys were sort of in the middle of it, two bales up, peeking over the edge of one bale.

“Kittens?” she guessed.

Shep nodded, smiling. “You have been around barns. They wanted to bring them up to the house, but I told them the babies are still too little. They haven’t even learned how to climb out of their nest yet. Give them a few more weeks and they’ll probably be sleeping with the boys.”

“You sound resigned.”

He chuckled. “I know kids can get attached to animals. Pets can give them security, so I’m all for it.”

Without thinking twice, Raina climbed up the bale and sat next to Joey. She peered over the edge and saw a mama cat nursing four little ones whose eyes were barely open.

“They know where to go to eat,” Roy told her, as if that was important information.

Joey added, “Dad says we shouldn’t touch them until they climb out. Their mama wouldn’t like it.”

“Your dad’s probably right. The mama cat might move them and then you wouldn’t be able to find them.”

“Until they’re old enough to run around,” Joey said, as if he were challenging her.

“Yep, that’s true. But in here they’re protected from the weather and anything else that might bother them. So it’s a good place.”

Joey seemed to think about that. “Yeah. I like the barn. It’s even neater when the horses are in here making noises.”

“I’ll bet,” Raina responded, holding back a grin.

“Come on, boys. If we don’t get those stalls cleaned out before lunch, you don’t go on a trail ride,” Shep reminded them.

Without grumbling, they crawled down the bales, rushed into the tack room and emerged with three shovels. Roy handed one of them to Raina. “Dad uses a pitchfork, but he won’t let us touch that.”

“It’s locked in the tool closet,” Shep explained. “I’ll go get it and meet you at stall one.”

Chores went quickly, and Raina noticed Shep did most of the work. He wanted the boys involved, to have a good work ethic, but he wouldn’t give them more than they could handle.

By the time they reached the third stall, Roy was slowing down.

Raina said, “Why don’t I give you a hand?” She put her shovel aside and stood behind Roy, helping him scoop and carry to the outside bucket.

He grinned up at her. “That was easier.”

Joey didn’t say a word, but there was no indication he resented his little brother having help when he didn’t.

When they’d finished with the third stall, however, Shep suggested, “Let’s take a break. Go on up to the house and tell Eva we’re ready for lunch. Wash up. We’ll be along.”

A few minutes later, Raina stood beside Shep, watching the boys race out of the barn through the corral gate and across the lane. “They’re hard workers.”

“Yeah. And sometimes I think they’ll do anything for my approval. That’s not always a good thing.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I want them to be themselves. I want them to be who they are with each other when they’re in their room alone. When I’m around, they’re more guarded.”

“They’ve been with you what—a year and a half?”

“Yep. And you’d think they’d be more comfortable with me by now.”

It was easy to see that Shep was the strong, silent type. She wondered how much sharing he did with his boys. How much he told them what he was feeling. But she didn’t know him well enough to say that, so instead she said, “There’s distance between me and my mom, even now. But my brother and I are really close.”

“You don’t tell your mother what you’re thinking?”

“No.”

Shep didn’t ask why, and his look told her he wouldn’t pry if she didn’t want him to. So, instead of keeping her childhood hidden, as she usually did, she brought it out to examine once again. “My father was Cheyenne, and proud of it. He told me and my brother about the old ways of living, of thinking, of believing. My mother didn’t like that. She wanted us to fit in. Sometimes being proud of our heritage didn’t help us fit in. Ryder and I were often made fun of, but we had each other and I didn’t tell her about it. That sort of set the standard for our relationship. I tried to be what she wanted me to be—the perfect daughter. Daddy and I could always talk, but my mom and I couldn’t. He died when I was ten, and nothing was ever the same after that.”

Shep nodded as if he knew all too well exactly what she meant. “Did your mother work before your dad died?”

“At the library. But afterward, that wasn’t nearly enough, so she started driving a school bus, too.”

“Gutsy lady.”

“I think in her heart she always wanted to be a teacher, but never had the money to go to college. She practically runs the library now. She gave up bus driving a few years ago to take the head position.”

“She sounds as interesting as you are.”

Raina wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she fell back on what had affected her life most deeply. “My mom never got over losing my dad. It was like that part of her, the romantic side of her, just stopped existing.”

“Has that happened to you?”

Raina really had not seen the connection before, and now she did. “I think that’s happened to me because of the way Clark died.”