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He took him into the house, tucked him into bed, then ignored Zeke’s anger until the boy fell into a troubled sleep.
Corrie said nothing to him. Not one word. But her silence spoke volumes.
Cookie arched a brow, but he stayed quiet, too.
Why was Heath the bad guy in all this? Why did everyone think they would be better at raising his child than he was?
He stomped back to the roof once Zeke fell asleep.
“Oh, you are in it now, my friend.” Jace muttered the words as Heath began handing him full-size shingles. “I expect folks all the way in town heard that child carrying on, and the poor sheep were racing this way and that, wondering what the ruckus was about.”
“They were not.” He knew how important it was to keep sheep calm. They were placid creatures, but once riled, they tended to stay upset.
“Perhaps racing is too strong a term, but you got their attention. You know that was one of the things I loved about my daddy,” Jace continued. He waved the hammer toward the farm lane. “He’d set me right up on that tractor seat and talk to me while he worked. He showed me every little thing there was to know about working a farm, riding herd, running equipment. I don’t remember an age where I wasn’t part of his work detail, so when he died in that mudslide, it was like a part of me died, too. But I don’t have a view in these parts that doesn’t remind me of him. In the hills, on a roof, in a pew each and every Sunday or framing walls. Jason Middleton might not have lived as long as we would have liked, but he lived every minute he had, teaching me and Justine how to do things. And when he wasn’t able to be there, my mama wasn’t afraid to take the reins and do the same thing.”
A part of Heath wanted Jace to shut up. Another part knew he was right.
“You got mad at God a long time ago,” Jace noted. He didn’t stop hammering, and the pneumatic gun shot nails with a steady ping! ping! ping! as Heath laid shingles. “Anna knew it. Yeah, she talked to me about it,” he said when Heath gave him a sharp look. “She prayed for you. I expect Lizzie’ll pray for you, too. In time.” He bent low again, nailing shingles with quick precision. “If she doesn’t kill you first.”
They finished the roof in silence.
Lizzie had told him to delegate. He hadn’t listened, not really. And it wasn’t just where Zeke was concerned, although that was a major issue.
He was turning into a micromanager, not trusting folks to do their jobs and that was no way to run a busy ranch. Overseeing was one thing.
Being a bossy jerk was quite another.
* * *
I will not kill him.
I will not kill him.
I will not—
Lizzie ran the pledge through her head while she drove the tractor back to the equipment shed.
The little guy had been perfectly safe in her arms on the wide-seated tractor. She’d learned to run tractor in Kentucky, not because she needed to learn that stuff. That was what farm staff was for on a sprawl like Claremorris.
She’d learned it because she loved working the land and working with horses, because showing, riding and caring for horses was part of her Celtic blood, and because she was born to it, just like she was born to run a business. God had gifted her with both talents.
Did Heath know this? Or was he assuming a greenhorn was taking his kid on a death-defying adventure?
The hammering on the roof stopped as she parked the tractor. She crossed to the stables. She wasn’t ready to have a face-off with Heath. In the peace of the horse barn she could work, think and pray.
And then she’d kill him.
That thought cheered her as she rounded the stable, but she hadn’t paused to peek around the corner and her quick approach startled the scruffy dog.
It jumped up, barked twice and raced off toward the walk-in shed at the back of the first horse pasture. It darted out of sight like it had done before and she rued the lost opportunity to coax the dog closer.
“Was that a stray dog?”
She hadn’t heard Heath approach, and she wasn’t all that pleased with him so his tough tone of voice didn’t sit well. “Not a stray anymore.”
He glanced to the food and water dish, then surprised her because he didn’t scold. He sighed. “It’s different here, Liz.”
Right, cowboy. Tell me something I don’t know.
“Sheep view dogs as wolves. The Border collies and the Maremmas are raised with them. That’s why we keep them in the field, not in the house. They’re here to do a very important job as guardians. But stray dogs can make sheep crazy, and crazy sheep lose lambs. They stop feeding, they get nervous, and that nervousness spreads through a flock. It’s not that I’m against being nice to animals. It’s that the wrong dog can mess up a flock real quick. We’ll have to catch that one.” He thrust his chin toward the shed. “And there’s a lot to lose if he starts bothering the horses. Had you considered that?”
