Her smile lifted and stayed. “Together.” She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed me. She didn’t linger, but it was cute and sweet. Just like her.
Chapter 23
The Ground We Keep
Milly
Acouple of weeks after the fire, the north pasture smelled like sawdust. The hammering and sawing sounded like progress—not just toward rebuilding the barn, but also toward my new life.
The new pole barn was larger than the one that burned. When I looked around and saw the equipment out in the elements, I figured they needed a home—one with a roof intact. The silver lines and steel posts were a change from the rustic charm of the ranch, but when it was done, it would match the ambiance. The snow glittered on the stacked panels; it had snowed for three days straight, but that didn’t stop Everwood. We just hunkered down and plowed through it in true Montana fashion.
“Hand me the five-sixteenths,” Mason called from his back, a foot too far from the tool bin and fully in his element. He had a pencil behind one ear and a smear of grease on his cheek that had somehow grown with every passing hour.
Levi lifted a labeled drawer from the toolbox mounted in the back of his truck. “Five-sixteenths, one-inch head, zinc,” he boasted. Cassie had gotten him the toolbox for Christmas last year, and you’d think it was made of gold by how proud he was.
Cassie placed the finishing touches on the snack table under a portable tent she and I had erected this morning to keep the coffee and croissants sheltered from the snow. A patio heater I’d found in the stockroom of the clinic came in handy, too. “Snack table’s open! Carb up!” Cassie was her own brand of fun, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Sue presided over two slow cookers and a thermos cooler from the tent next to the snacks, her hat pulled low, reading glasses perched on her nose. “I made a double batch of chili,” she called out to the men. “Don’t make me use my librarian voice.”
Duke’s truck idled at the fence line; he stood with his thumbs hooked in his belt, watching the frame go up. Every so often, he’d nod in approval.
And Austin—well, he wouldn’t admit it, but he was having a blast. He was poking fun with Mason and laughing with Levi. My heart giggled seeing him smile.
He rolled up his sleeves. The angry pink line where the heat had kissed him shone on one arm. Gauze tucked neatly under flannel, he moved easily, measuring twice, checking for level. He worked the ratchet with the rhythm of a pro. Click, click, set. Click, click, set.
I stood at the edge of the barn with a clipboard and Penny’s old ledger—its cracked leather soft from years of use. I’d re-labeled it:Clinic & Barn Progress Journal.It felt right, writing in the same book that once held inventory and secrets. Today, it held measurements, deliveries, and one line underlined twice:Austin, with a hand-drawn heart next to it. After all, he had my heart.
The wind came down off the ridge with a bite. It threaded through the frame of the barn and hummed a low note. The goats bleated their approval from their pen, and the chickens scratched around in the new dirt for juicy snacks. Inspector supervised from the hood of Austin’s truck, tail flicking like ametronome, and the horses looked on with interest. All was good on the ranch. All was good.
I took a picture in my head: silver posts, winter-blue sky, friends and neighbors scattered around the frame. Everyone looked happy to help, and more importantly, I was happy for their help. I couldn’t have done this without them. Not just the rebuild, but everything. They were my support. They took me in and made me feel loved. Penny was right when she wrote my mom all those years ago, before the fight: “One could find themselves in Montana.” Maybe that’s what a second chance does. It raises your confidence and helps rebuild what you’d lost.
“Boss,” Levi called, “we’re ready for the next lift.”
Boss. The word still made me want to look over my shoulder for Penny. But no one was behind me anymore. I was standing on my own two feet.
We’d rented a compact telehandler for the day, and its diesel cough sounded cheerful. It made me laugh. I stepped forward in my bright orange gloves and nodded at Mason. “Let’s set the north truss.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mason secured the sling while Levi checked the chalk line and plumb bob for the seventeenth time. Austin caught my eye as the truss rose and gave me a wink. I blew him a kiss.
Cassie coughed out, “Get a room,” then shook her head and blew a kiss toward Levi.
The truss swung in a slow arc. The shadow slid over my boots. I set my palm against the nearest column, felt the cold steel, and said a prayer: Please help thisstand, last, and keep what we love safe.
When the plate seated and the first bolts caught, the entire frame changed, some invisible balance settling. The sound it made was subtle, like a door finally finding the right house.
Cassie whooped. “We have symmetry!” She’s such a science geek, I thought. No wonder she’s a science teacher.
“Trigonometry,” Levi corrected, lovingly.
“Don’t make me split you two up,” Sue joked, and the crew laughed.
I wrotenorth truss set,12:43 p.m., in the ledger and added a tiny star. Penny had always drawn stars next to her completed items rather than crossing them out. Who was I to change tradition? I wasn’t superstitious, just sentimental in a college-ruled way.
By midafternoon, the sun gave us a clear hour. Snow reflected bright light back at us, and the barn’s bones threw long shadows over the pasture. Steam curled from paper cups. Somebody’s radio played a country song about dusty Bibles, Duke left his post to adjust a post, and Austin ratcheted a bolt into place. It was like a rehearsed dance, everyone working in tune to the radio. This was the life. Penny knew what she had, and I’m glad she entrusted it to me.
Browne’s SUV appeared on the lane, black and tidy, and exactly on time, just like him. He parked beside Sue’s truck, stepped out in tweed and wool, and lifted a thick folder with a smile.
“Miss Thomas,” he said, his voice warm and inviting. He took in the rising frame, the town, the ledger in my hands, and shook his head. “For a moment there, I thought I was looking at your aunt. You remind me so much of her.” A compliment to be proud of.
