“Oh.” She looked down at her toes. “Well, I wasn’t trying to keep you out. It just never occurred to me. It’s been a while since I’ve been around a man much. I don’t remember my grandpa, and my father died when I was eight.”
“Aw, I’m sorry. What happened?”
“He was a drunk,” she said flatly. “He set the house on fire accidentally. My mother tried to pull him out. They both died.”
He stared at her for several seconds, at a loss for words. Finally, he said, “That’s awful.” Then he felt he had to add, “I’m sorry. For everything.”
She smiled tentatively. “Me, too.”
Nodding, he headed for the door, guilt dogging him every step of the way. He hated the anger and resentment that he felt for his mother and the way it had splashed over onto Fawn in the beginning. He hated that he was ashamed of his own mother and that he didn’t want to be seen with her or tell the rest of the family about her. He hated that strangers showed her more understanding and kindness than he could. He told himself that he couldn’t have handled the situation any other way, however, and when he joined the rest of the Lyons family in their customary pew, he felt mainly relief at not having to tell them about his mother’s presence or the existence of his baby sister. Still, when Lucinda invited him home with the rest of the family for Sunday dinner as usual, Dixon couldn’t quite make himself agree. So he came up with an excuse.
“I better not. That old heifer of mine’s not doing too good. I need to give her as much attention as I can today.”
His father clapped him on the shoulder. “Let me know if you need help, son.”
Dixon smiled. “Will do.”
Then he took himself home, irritated by how much he anticipated Fawn’s cooking. And just the sight of her. Why’d she have to be so wonderful, anyway? He kept trying to find some flaw, but not only was she lovely to look at, she was selfless, kind and caring. She had the most beautiful face he’d ever seen. Her hair couldn’t have been any blacker or more lustrous, and though she stood at least a foot shorter than he did, she was perfectly proportioned, with skin that looked like caramel silk. He was finding it increasingly difficult not to touch her just to see if it was as smooth as it looked. He didn’t like being so drawn to his mother’s champion.
The meal did not disappoint, and with Bella awake and charming everyone with her gurgles, squeals and smiles, he couldn’t help enjoying himself, which just added to the guilt he already felt.
He escaped to the barn at the earliest opportunity, only to find the cow in a very foul mood and that the wound on the heifer’s leg still looked red, angry and swollen. She couldn’t kick, so she tried to squash him between her body and the stall fencing while he attempted to rewrap her wound.
“I’d flatten you, too, if you kept me tied up like that.”
Surprised that Fawn had followed him and managed to enter the barn without his knowledge, Dixon dropped the unrolled end of the bandage in the dirt. Irritated, he balled up the whole thing and tossed it over the rail before pushing up to his feet. She stood there in a big canvas coat, the cuffs rolled back. The coat was obviously a man’s and much too large for her but looked warm. If she had gloves, she wasn’t wearing them.
“Sorry about that,” she said.
Dixon pointed at the cabinet fixed to the wall just inside the door.
“Bring me another bandage.”
She went to the cabinet, rummaged around and found the right packet. When she returned to the stall, instead of simply handing over the bandage, she let herself inside and went to the cow’s head, frowning. “She’s on too short a halter.”
“I’ll loosen it when I’m done here.”
Fawn patted the cow then sidled around it, keeping a hand on the rough black hide.
“She’s pregnant.”
“Yep.”
“You should untie her back legs.”
“It’s to keep her from breaking open these stitches.”
Shaking her head, Fawn said, “Too stressful and uncomfortable for her. Remove the hobble. She’ll calm down.”
“She’ll kick me!” Dixon exclaimed before emphatically holding out his hand for the bandage.
Fawn gave him a droll look. “You’re not smart enough to keep from getting kicked by a haltered cow?”
Dixon glowered, but something told him that she was right. He dropped down to his haunches and gingerly removed the hobble. With Fawn at her side, the heifer didn’t so much as swish her tail, and when the hobble dropped away, the cow immediately shifted, blew and lowered her head. Fawn came and peeked at the wound before digging something out of the pocket of her coat and handing it to Dixon. It was a plastic baggie filled with a yellowish paste.
“Will you try this on the wound? Grandmother says it draws out infection and reduces swelling. It won’t hurt, I promise.”
Frowning doubtfully, Dixon opened the baggie and sniffed, catching hints of honey and something sharpish. He removed a tube of ointment from his own pocket and held it up. “The vet gave me this.”
“So use that, too. For all the good it seems to be doing.”
He uncapped the tube and squirted a line of the goo all along the wound. After replacing the cap, he returned the tube to his pocket. Wisely, Fawn passed Dixon the bandage and moved back to the cow’s head without further comment. Dixon squatted there on his haunches for several heartbeats, the baggie in one hand and the bandage in the other. He looked at the jagged, inflamed line of the wound and thought, Why not?
Opening the corner of the baggie, he squeezed out the paste, laying it in a line alongside the prescription gel. He closed the bag and quickly ripped the paper package protecting the bandage to begin wrapping the bandage around the animal’s leg.
While he worked, Fawn spoke softly to the cow, patting the animal as if it was a pet. Dixon didn’t recognize any of the words she used, the language unlike any he’d heard. As swiftly as possible, he molded the self-adhering mesh around the wounded limb. To his surprise, the heifer barely moved. He glanced at the head of the stall to find Fawn feeding the cow from her hand.
“What are you giving her?”
“Crackers. Cows like them because they’re salty.”
“Obviously. She’s not been eating. I’ve been trying to tempt her with sugar, but she’s not been cooperating.”
“She’ll eat now,” Fawn said, lengthening the halter rope. As he finished off the bandage, she crumbled crackers into the feedbox. When he went to add more grain, the cow already had her nose buried deep in the box, her tail swishing happily.
Dixon took the hobble and let both himself and Fawn out of the stall. “Where’d you learn about cows?”
“My grandmother has a milk cow. And chickens and rabbits. How come you don’t have chickens?”
“Too much trouble. With the cattle and horses, I have my hands full.”
“You have a good place for a chicken coop,” she said. Then, abruptly, she asked, “Why do you have three horses when you can only ride one?”
“The two geldings, Phantom and Jag, are cutting horses, very useful on a ranch. The stallion, Romeo, is a moneymaker, or will be once he’s trained and shown.”
She tilted her head, a sign, he had come to realize, that she was thinking. “Do you always name your horses after expensive automobiles?”
Dixon chuckled. She was quick. “Caught that, did you?” He moved to Romeo’s stall and hung his forearms on the top rung.
“Rolls Royce