The Baby And The Cowboy Seal

“How am I supposed to do that?” Wiley asked. “The beast can’t stand me.”

“All right, well, Macy can put a lead rope on Charlie, and you hold the baby. Will that work?”

“Sounds good to me.” Macy jiggled her son. “What do you think, Henry?”

The baby cooed.

Wiley’s chest tightened.

While Macy and the vet talked llamas, Wiley recalled the last time he’d been around an infant—his friend Grady’s Oklahoma housewarming. A bunch of the guys from their SEAL team had flown in for the event that had been held on Grady’s family ranch. Just a few months earlier and Wiley’s whole life had been different—better in every conceivable way. Holding Grady’s infant son on that warm, spring day beneath the vast Oklahoma sky, he’d had his whole life ahead of him. He’d been surrounded by longtime SEAL friends and their families. Cooper and Millie. Heath and Libby. Mason and Hattie. He’d been thrilled for his married friends, but welcomed the companionship of his single friends Marsh and Rowdy. They’d all fished and grilled and downed too many beers and in general did plenty of good man shit until Mason’s bossy wife told them all to shut up before they woke the sleeping kids.

Crazy how fast everything could change.

His life had been measured in tragedies—first third, his folks dying. Second third—his career going to shit. For the rest of his life, he figured he’d live alone on this piece of land that was more rock than dirt, and then he’d die.

“Who gets the pleasure of paying for my good looks and company?” Randall asked.

“Me.” Macy raised her hand.

“I’ll take care of it, Doc. It was my barbed wire.” Before Macy could launch an argument, Wiley took his wallet from his jeans back pocket and fished out a hundred bucks. “Will this cover it?”

The vet nodded. “Macy, I’ll come to your place tomorrow to give him more antibiotic.”

“Thanks again.”

He waved on his way to his truck. “No problem. Oh—Wiley, wonder if you might do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“If you don’t mind, follow me, and I’ll explain.”

“Should I be worried?” Wiley asked. Maybe he ought to have asked what the favor entailed before agreeing?

“Nah...” Randall’s low, throaty chuckle had Wiley thinking the opposite. At his truck, the doc walked around to the tailgate, springing it open before tugging on a wire mesh cage.

It took Wiley a few minutes to hobble that way, but by the time he’d caught up with Randall, it didn’t take much to get the gist of the old man’s favor. “Oh, no... If you want me to give a home to this—”

“Now, Wiley, don’t you start makin’ excuses before I’ve even explained what I need.” Inside the cage was a momma hound dog and four pups that still had their eyes closed. “Some damned fool left this little lady on the clinic’s front porch, and I need someone to keep her till I can find a suitable home. Your granddad used to take in strays. I figure since you’ve got that big empty barn, well, that would make for a whole lot of space for this beauty and her family.”

“Doc, look...” Wiley shoved his hands in his pockets while searching for the right thing to say. “I would, but—”

“Nope. Stop right there. We’re a tight-knit community, and in case you forgot in the time you were gone, we all help out where we can. Now, down at the VFW, there’s been talk about your leg, but last I heard, a poor helpless animal doesn’t care how it gets fed, just that the food comes in a timely manner.”

“Randall...” Wiley had a tough enough time looking after himself. How was he supposed to care for anything else? Especially a dog and her pups?

“You’ll do it? Good man!” He slapped Wiley’s back. “I’m proud of you, son. Your granddad would be, too. Now, give me a hand hauling our momma to her new temporary home.”

Wiley’s stomach churned. “It’s just for a few days, right? You’ll put out word that she needs a permanent home?”

“Oh, sure, sure. I’ll get right on it.”

Together, they tugged the cage from the truck bed, then shuffled back to the barn where the vet led Wiley to a quiet corner in a patch of sun.

“Look, Henry! Puppies!” Macy zeroed in on the cage.

Henry stared in awe. The more the puppies wriggled and whined, the wider Henry grinned until Macy had to use her sleeve to wipe drool from his chin.

The vision of Macy and her child kneeling in dust-mote-infused sunbeams rendered Wiley incapable of focusing on anything but them—their purity and sweetness and light. His breath caught in his throat, and it took a beat to come to his senses. Macy and her boy might be a beautiful sight to behold, but they had no place in his carefully structured life of isolation. Since his accident, since witnessing death after death, he was no longer in the business of living—only forgetting.

“Doc,” he said to Randall. “It’d probably be best for this momma and her pups to move a ways farther down the hill. Little Henry’s already taken with the whole lot.”

“Oh, no.” Macy plucked up her son and backed away. “We’ll be happy to stop in for visits, but between caring for an eight-month-old, an ornery llama herd, a shameful garden and a house in constant need of work, my plate’s plenty full.”

“That settles it.” Randall patted Wiley on the back again. “Macy, I’ll be ’round tomorrow to check on Charlie.”

“Come during lunch and I’ll have something made for you.”

“Will do!” He waved on his way to his truck. After hefting a large sack of dog food from the truck bed, he left it on the dirt drive, then took off in a cloud of dust.

Cursing under his breath, Wiley hobbled to the food. He’d lost so much upper body strength, he struggled to even heft the damned bag over his shoulder, but he eventually managed, hating that the whole while he’d had an audience.

“Let me help.” Macy, with that baby of hers bouncing on her hip, charged toward him.

“Do I look like such a cripple that you think you can do better with no hands?” Another fine sheen of sweat had popped out on his forehead from the strain, but he managed. With the bag near the dogs, he used his pocketknife to open it, then found an old chicken-feed scoop and shallow metal pan to fill. Pain shot up his back and down his leg, but he’d be damned if he’d let his uninvited guest see him hurting. After Macy left, there’d be plenty of time to self-medicate with a lunch of Jim Beam followed by an afternoon nap.

The whole time he worked, she stood at the barn’s double doors, backlit by morning sun.

The weight of her stare hurt just as bad as his physical pain. Used to be, she’d looked at him out of admiration. Now, no doubt she felt nothing but a complete lack of respect and pity.

“Take a picture,” he snapped while filling a water pan from the spigot. “It’ll last longer.”

“Why are you doing this?” She sat on a hay bale, positioning the baby on her lap.

Henry only had eyes for the wriggling, whining puppies and waved in that direction.

“You should probably get your kid out of here. Too many germs.”

She sighed. “Practically all my life, Wiley James, you’ve been a horse’s behind, but lately it’s gotten out of hand. You show glimmers of the man I know you could be, but—”

“Did I ask for a therapy session?”

“Did I ask to get my head bit off? Don’t forget, the only reason I’m even here is because you’ve got a dangerous junk heap in your yard.”

“Oh—that’s rich. Point of fact—if you’d learn to keep your goddamned llama on your own—”

Henry’s little mouth puckered and he whimpered a few times before launching into full-blown tears.

She turned him around, cradling him to her chest. “Now, look what you did. He’s not accustomed to raised voices.”