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The time passed with all the reluctance of a winter sunrise. Maddeningly slow. Twice footsteps thudded toward the barn, but he knew they weren’t hers. Too heavy. He pulled in a breath and held it, sucking back disappointment that some cowboy headed his way with a piled-high plate.
But the footsteps retreated without any offerings, and despite the growing pangs, he heaved a sigh that the cowboy didn’t make it to the pen where he sat with Dawg.
And then soft footsteps approached and his heart rate picked up like a racing horse.
She stood at the pen with a plate of hot food. “Sorry I took so long. Grady was upset, because he wants a dog of his own and Eddie hasn’t been able to find one, so I promised to make up a story for him.”
“Wasn’t counting the hours.” Just the minutes. Brand took the plate. “Thanks.” He tried to concentrate on only the food, but how could he when Sybil sat so close, her fingers stroking Dawg’s head? And how could he envy the animal? It wasn’t as if he wanted to be all tore up and sewn back together. Though he suspected when he left, his heart would feel exactly like it had been ripped by cougar claws.
Not that the knowledge should slow his departure. The sooner he left, the better. Only Dawg’s injuries kept him here. If he told himself that often enough, he might actually believe it.
Sure, Dawg needed a few days to heal, but that wasn’t the main reason he stayed.
Something else bounced around in his head. A welcome diversion to the insistence of his brain that he should be planning to leave. “You make up stories?”
She studied him, her eyes wide. “Doesn’t everyone? Don’t you?”
“Can’t say I do.” Sure, he sometimes thought of how things might be different. But that was as far as he got. “What sort of story did you make up for Grady?”
She looked away, pink staining her cheeks. “Just a silly little boy’s story. It was nothing.”
“Tell me.”
Slowly, her gaze returned to his. “You’ll think me foolish.”
“I doubt it. Tell me.” He longed to hear her story, hear her voice, enter into her imaginations. He’d love to take a story with him to warm his winter nights.
“Promise you won’t laugh.”
“Not unless it’s funny.”
“Once upon a time,” she began, her eyes darkening to deepest blue as she held him in her unblinking gaze, “there was a little boy, a big dog and a bird. They lived in a world full of flowers and mountains and rivers.”
She spun a tale of a boy who did heroic things, a dog with extraordinary powers and a bird who talked. They encountered challenges. The bird insisted they must obey God even when it was hard. They solved their problems, overcame obstacles, all while helping each other and those around them, and never telling a lie.
“And the boy climbed to the dog’s back, the bird perched on his shoulder and they rode into the mountains, where they would encounter more adventures. The end.”
Brand blinked. “That was wonderful.” His food had grown cold as he listened, and he hurriedly cleaned the plate. “Have you ever considered writing the story down for others? Why, you could probably make a children’s book.”
Her cheeks darkened. “I couldn’t do that.”
“Why not? This is a story that both entertains and teaches. It’s not the first you’ve told, is it?”
She shook her head. “I guess I have a vivid imagination.”
“Why not share it?”
“No one will publish stories written by a woman.”
“Really? That doesn’t sound right. Who told you that?”
“An editor.” She dropped her gaze to her hands, fluttering in her lap like trapped birds. “He laughed me right out of the office. Besides, my parents wouldn’t approve. They said a lady’s name should not be public.” She brought her gaze to Brand’s. “Doesn’t God command us to honor our parents?”
His throat tightened at the way her eyes filled with darkness. She wanted this so badly it hurt, but she feared rejection. He caught her fluttering hands. “Things aren’t always so easy and simple. Yes, we do well to obey God’s rules, but when it comes to man-made rules, they aren’t always in our best interests.” In Brand’s case, obeying his father would be to break God’s law.
