Big Sky Daddy. Linda Ford
gave her a hard look. “That would be everything.”
Rose opened her mouth as if to argue and instead burst out laughing. “You almost had me that time. One of these days you are going to convince me with that deadpan way of yours.” Her expression grew thoughtful. “Maybe our first pa was a gambler. You might have learned that from him.”
Lilly shook her head. “You’ve had him be everything from a wild horse wrangler to a traveling preacher. And now a gambler.”
“I’m just curious, you know?”
“No, I don’t. Seems to me what’s in the past is best left in the past.” They had loving parents in the way of Ma and Pa Bell. That was enough for Lilly.
But it had never been enough for Rose. She constantly tried to discover something about their birth parents.
Lilly dismissed the direction of the discussion.
“I’ll bring in the cows,” she said. Rose left the barn to do her own chores.
“Can I go with you?” Teddy asked. Then he sagged. “I guess I should stay with Blossom.”
The dog was sleeping peacefully. “There’s not much to do for her right now but let her rest. You’re welcome to accompany me,” Lilly said. “Both of you.”
Teddy scrambled to get his crutches and hurried to her side. Caleb followed after.
Lilly didn’t know whether to be grateful for his company or annoyed he probably didn’t trust her alone with his son. Then again, she had invited him. And it really didn’t matter either way—her only interest was in seeing Blossom get better and helping Teddy if that was possible.
Lilly led the way past the house. Out of habit, she scanned the pasture and fields. The cows waited patiently. Beyond them, the white sheep dotted the faded green pasture. The yellow and gold leaves on the fruit trees and bushes flapped in the wind. The garden lay peaceful.
Everything seemed in order. She allowed her breath to ease out even though it was only a matter of time until the Caldwells would do something.
“Is anything wrong?”
She startled at Caleb’s question. “Just checking.”
“For what? Are you expecting some sort of trouble?”
She snorted. “You might say that.”
“Like what?” He squinted at her and edged closer to Teddy as if to protect him.
“Nothing to concern you. At least not directly.” She shouldn’t have said anything, but now that she had, perhaps it was best she told him the truth. Perhaps he had been unaware of how dangerous the Caldwells could be. “You should understand who you work for. The Caldwells are always up to mischief.” Aware Teddy could hear every word, though he seemed more interested in watching the cows press toward the fence, she kept her words low and benign while frustration raged through her. Why couldn’t they leave the Bells alone?
He nodded. “You’re right. It’s nothing to do with me. I need the job and who they choose to feud with is not my concern.”
She wanted to argue. But what could she say? That a man of honor would not work for people like the Caldwells? But why did it matter one way or the other if he was honorable or otherwise? Yet somehow it did. For Teddy’s sake, she reasoned, it mattered.
They reached the gate and she opened it. “Come on, girls. Milking time.” Two dough-faced Jerseys cows lifted their heads. “Come, Bossy. Come, Maude,” she called.
“Look, Papa, they come when she calls them.”
She led the animals to the barn with Teddy and Caleb at her side. She scooped oats into the manger for each.
“Are you going to milk them now?” Teddy asked.
“I like to get it done before supper.”
“Papa, Mama used to milk a cow, didn’t she?”
“She sure did. She insisted you have milk so I got her a decent milk cow.”
“She used to take me with her.” Teddy’s sad voice scraped Lilly’s nerves raw. She’d lost her birth parents when she was three—one to death and one to abandonment—and had only a fleeting recollection of them. Or were they memories the girls had created over the years? She didn’t know. Perhaps it would have been better to not have any memories of her birth parents at all—they only made her sad.
Teddy brightened. “I used to give the cow oats just like Miss Lilly did.”
Lilly pulled a three-legged stool close to the first cow. “This is Maude. She’s gentle as a lamb.”
“Can I pet her?”
“Best wait until I’m done milking.” Squirt, squirt. The milk drummed into the bucket.
Meowing cats exploded from everywhere. A couple, seeing strangers, hissed.
“Mind your manners,” Lilly scolded, shooting streams of milk at each cat in turn.
Teddy’s eyes were round. His mouth gaped open.
Caleb laughed. “Guess you never saw so many cats at one time.”
“I want to pet them.” Teddy dropped his crutches and sat down amid the melee.
Seeing the concern in Caleb’s face, Lilly reassured him. “It’s okay. None of them will hurt him.” She smiled at the pleasure in Teddy’s face as the cats rubbed against him.
She might only have one day, but she’d do all she could to see he enjoyed every minute spent on the farm.
* * *
Caleb felt as if he had stepped back in time to a gentler, sweeter place where life followed familiar routines and his son enjoyed normal pursuits.
Two cats crawled into Teddy’s lap, purring loudly. Teddy laughed. The purest laugh Caleb had heard from him in many months.
Caleb’s eyes misted, no doubt irritated by the dust the cats were kicking up and nothing more.
Now satisfied with their drink, several cats hissed at Blossom. She opened one eye and closed it again but otherwise paid them no heed.
Grub cocked his head and watched the scene with a puzzled expression.
“Why do you have so many cats?” Teddy asked.
“Mostly because we had three batches of kittens this year.”
“And you get to keep ’em all?”
“For a while. Usually once cold weather sets in and mice move indoors, people come and ask for a cat to keep the mice population down.”
“Guess you don’t have any mice around here.”
“Not many.”
“Would have to be an awfully brave mouse to come here.” Teddy laughed so hard at his joke that tears trickled from his eyes.
Caleb watched in pure and natural pleasure.
Lilly chuckled as she finished with Maude. Then she stood at Caleb’s side, a foamy pail of milk in one hand, and watched Teddy. “If that isn’t the sweetest sound in the world, I don’t what is.”
He looked at her. She looked at him. And for a moment they shared something. Something he had not shared with anyone since Amanda died. A common delight in his son. It was temporary, he warned himself. But for now, he allowed himself to enjoy the moment. “His laughter is better than Sunday music.”
She laughed. “Tons better than Sunday music if you happen to sit next to Harry Simmons, who sings like a hoarse bullfrog.” She croaked out a few words of a song, then broke off and covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I should not be mocking anyone.” Pink flared up her cheeks.
He’d