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I didn’t have the time to dilly-dally.
“It’s a week or nothing.”
“It will take more than a week to decide,” she said in a firm voice.
My face scrunched up in a frown. Fine! Let her suffer.
I turned to leave. But before I could take a step, the first drops of rain splattered on the ground. Anna and I exchanged a frantic glance. I looked toward the ranch house, calculating how fast I could take the horse to the barn, then guided Anna to her house.
The howling wind picked up, kicking up dust and sending loose objects tumbling across the open field. Then the raindrops fell, each one stinging as it hit my raw skin.
Shielding my eyes from the cold rain slapping against my skin, I cursed inwardly. I regretted the decision to opt for a horse ride instead of driving my truck.
Within seconds, the drizzle turned into a torrential downpour. My horse neighed uneasily. Anna’s hair was instantly plastered to her face, and her clothes began to stick to her frame. I grabbed the horse reins with one hand and Anna's hand with the other, then pulled them with me.
“Quick, the barn!” I shouted over the roar of the rain.
We sprinted, the rain pelting us. I yanked the barn door open. We stumbled inside, gasping for breath and dripping wet. We were drenched to the bone.
The thick wooden door slammed shut as the wind howled outside.
For a few seconds, we stood there catching our breath. The barn was dim, save for the occasional flash of lightning illuminating the space. The heavy rain pounded on the roof, its rhythm only interrupted by the distant claps of thunder.
The air was chilly. Anna was soaked, her clothes darkened by the water. She shivered, her teeth clattering. I could see the goosebumps on her exposed skin.
“We need to get warm,” I murmured.
After tying the horse to a post, I racked my brain for solutions.
Then, I remembered an old trick. Hay, when packed, could act as insulation from the cold ground. I searched for some hay bales, piled a few together, and guided Anna to sit atop them.
I then scavenged around the barn and found an old tarp. Wrapping it around both of us, I pulled her close to share body warmth.
She stiffened momentarily.
“Anna, we need to stay warm,” I said, my voice barely audible over the storm.
She nodded. Wrapping my arms around her, I pulled her in. She relaxed into my embrace.
A huge drop of water splashed on my shoulder. I glanced up and saw a tear in the roofing material and a wooden section from which water was steadily dripping.
I gently extracted myself from her grip.
“I’ve got to fix that. Let’s see if we can find something to patch it up.”
Anna nodded. Together, we rummaged through the barn tools until I saw a patch kit. I retrieved it, then found a sturdy ladder and positioned it beneath the leak.
As I ascended, Anna’s voice reached my ears.
“Be careful.”
I looked down at her and noted the concern in her eyes. I nodded.
The barn’s roof was slippery and treacherous. But the leak needed fixing to prevent further damage. With effort, I managed to press the sealant over the tear and pressed the patch down firmly. That would have to be enough until the storm ended, and a proper repair could be done.
Returning to the hay bales, I noticed Anna had found an old blanket. We wrapped ourselves up.
For the first time that evening, I felt a true sense of warmth.
