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His father cast him an annoyed look. Whether it was at the interruption, or that he’d assumed Porter had kept himself scarce until now, or that he’d even bothered to ask, Porter would never know. Jase Slade was in a mood. Porter hid his wary amusement, knowing better than to set his old man off. He grabbed a pitchfork and went to work.
They’d almost finished unloading the bales when his father spiked his pitchfork into the ground. The stern glares he’d given his sons over the years were now wrinkles chiseled into his face. He put that severity to good use when he fixed Porter with a hardness that belonged to a rock. “Funches spied a cow wrapped up in the fencing in the north pasture.”
Porter nodded. “You want me to get on that?”
“Cole’s got it, like everything else around here. Cattle don’t take a break for the Fourth.”
Annoyance stiffened Porter’s shoulders. Their father was growing more acid-tongued. It was like he was trying to push everyone away these past few months. “Cole told me that he’d call me if he needed my help yesterday,” Porter said. “We worked out an arrangement.”
His father shook his head. “Not with me you didn’t.”
For good reason. If Jase had his way, they’d all be crusty cowboys camping out on the range, becoming the reclusive hermits that their old man had become. Porter knew why his father did it. Nothing brought any relief to his mother’s pain, and Jase was a fix-it man with his hands tied. To make things worse, the guy had never been used to making pretty with the neighbors, and he wasn’t about to turn polite when the condolences came piling in at unmanageable speeds.
Porter nodded.
His father broke away from him, dragging his pitchfork behind his dusty boots. “Finish this up for me. I need to check on your momma.”
“Watch out for Mrs. Lindgren,” Porter warned. “She’s on the lookout for more gossip, and she found something juicy this time.”
His father’s muscular shoulders lifted as he sighed. “Would it hurt you so bad to make good with the neighbors? I need you making connections, especially with other ranchers in the area.”
That was weird coming from their resident hermit. “Why?”
A pulse stood out on his father’s forehead. It seemed to be a fuse lighting up before he blew. His hand tightened on the handle of his pitchfork. “You never know what might happen around here.”
Porter studied the lines of misery on his father’s face. He’d seen anger, frustration, even grim mockery there, but nothing like this. “What’s going on?”
That was enough to make his old man snap. “You thinking about following in your twin’s footsteps? Huh? Are you?”
“I’m not going to Nashville.” If that’s what he meant.
“Good. Your momma needs you. We clear? Don’t do anything to upset her, whatever you do!” Porter opened his mouth to protest his innocence, but his father stopped him with a shake of his head. “Your momma told me that you’re working on her rose garden.”
“Yes.”
“I want you to finish it. Make it beautiful…” His father’s voice choked off as he struggled to finish his meaning. “We might not have long.”
“Wait a second.” The words were pulled from Porter. He didn’t care if his father took offense. His old man was talking in riddles and to be honest, it was scaring him. “What are you saying?”
His father threw his pitchfork across the dirt. The metal points bounced off the ground and slammed against the barn. “Don’t question me, for once in your life,” he shouted, but his bark lacked its usual bite. No, he sounded despairing, deflated. His father swallowed. “Please.” He turned around and marched for the house, not looking back.
Porter took a moment to collect his jaw off the ground. A feeling of dread tightened his throat. Leaving the hay behind, Porter stalked the opposite way to his momma’s rose garden.
The mystical greenery inside always seemed otherworldly. He understood why his mother loved getting lost in here, and it wasn’t necessarily the maze that did it, but the heady aroma of perfume and the overhanging branches crowding out the cares of a world that couldn’t get in.
He needed that right now.
Shoving open the hobbit door to the shed, Porter yanked out a drill. Something was in the air. It felt like change, and not the good kind, either.
He gathered boards to work on Angel’s greenhouse. Too much was going on, and he needed to work on something to get his mind off things.
Thoughts of Angel always made for a great distraction, but it would be better if she’d hurry and be here at his side already. He wasn’t kidding when he’d said that a day apart was too much now.
He missed the feel of her hands the very second that they parted.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Pastor Brown smiled over at Cadence as they drove over the country roads to reach… Lily.
