What was it, Dean wondered, about mornings that made sound carry so clearly? Or had he unknowingly been listening for the rasp and thud of the door on the ranch house across the road? Either way, he didn’t have to be told who headed this way, along the meandering path beneath the trees to the shallow ditch beside the road and then across it to the field just south of the barn.
Mentally congratulating himself for keeping his focus on the job at hand, he scraped up a metal washer with gloved fingers and awkwardly maneuvered it onto the second of two bolts sticking up out of the yard-square concrete pad and held out his hand for the metal “foot” that Donovan was even then passing to him. Dean worked the holes in the L-shaped foot over the bolts protruding from the concrete pad and picked up a pair of metal nuts to spin onto the threads of the bolts. Using a wrench, Dean tightened the nuts.
With two such feet now in place, he need only to secure two more. Then he could attach legs to the feet, which together would support the mixing pan with its interior paddle wheel, dump chute and openings for input channels from each of the feed storage bins. By simply manipulating levers on the channels, Rex, Wes or the ranch hands could accurately measure the amount of oats and sorghum that they wished to mix. Dumping the feed from the mixing pan into a truck or trailer bed would be a simple matter of pulling a lever.
Well aware that Ann had arrived on the scene, Dean rose and nodded in greeting, prepared to move to the next corner of the concrete mixing station foundation. Instead, both his jaw and the wrench dropped.
Gone was the snooty hotelier who wouldn’t be seen without her perfect makeup and designer clothing. In her place stood a softer, calmer woman, her vibrant hair lying in a braid across her shoulder. Wearing nothing more than mascara and lightly tinted lip gloss, her pale, pearly skin showed the faint stippling of freckles. She might have been seventeen again in her jeans and plaid shirt tied at the waist over a bright blue tank top. For a moment Dean couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
Then he reached up and resettled his cap, hearing himself say, “There’s the girl I’ve missed all this time.”
She laughed, almost as if relieved, and closed the distance between them in swift, long strides. For once, Donovan did not throw himself at her, his head swiveling back and forth between them, curiosity sparking in his brilliant eyes. Hearing her laughter, Dean could not restrain himself. He shook off his gloves and reached out his hands to her, which she took without the slightest hesitation. Only his son’s presence kept Dean from pulling her into his arms. Still, as her shoulder bumped into his and she smiled up at him, he bent his head toward hers. Only when his thumb brushed over her engagement ring was he able to check himself. Even then he couldn’t let the moment pass without comment.
“Welcome home, Jolly,” he said softly, smoothing her cheek with one hand as his thumb swept over her engagement ring with the other. “It’s good to finally see you.”
Her sky-blue eyes plumbed his for a moment. Then Donovan stepped forward, her faded old cap in hand.
“Miss Ann, you dropped something.”
“So I did,” Ann said, smiling. “Thank you, Donovan.” She took the cap, slapped it onto her head and reached out to drag the boy in for a hug.
Dean found himself swallowing down a sudden lump in his throat and immediately got back to work. He expected her to ask an obligatory question or two and take her leave, but to his surprise, she didn’t just stick around, she pitched in. When next he reached for a washer, Ann beat him to it, saving him the trouble of having to scrape it up with the seam of his glove.
After he’d gotten all four metal feet secured, he went to the dually to lift the metal legs from the truck bed. Four feet long and made of heavy, V-shaped channeling, the legs connected to the feet via flattened flanges at the bottoms. They were too heavy for Donovan, even one at a time, so Dean gave him the job of dispensing the bolts, washers and nuts, filling his pockets with each.
“Where’s your extra help today?” Ann asked, helping him lay out the legs at each corner of the foundation.
“Tending their own business. They’re all small ranchers and farmers around here just picking up an extra buck when they can. I don’t need them for this. Doesn’t make sense to pay someone to basically hand me what won’t fit in my tool belt.”
He picked up the first leg, crouched, rested the upper portion against his shoulder and lined up the holes in the flanges on the leg and foot before holding out his gloved hand for the first bolt. Donovan dropped it into his palm, and Dean began working it through the two holes, leaning this way and that to keep the leg lined up. Seeing his problem, Ann walked around behind him and grasped the top of the leg, holding it steady in position.
“Looks to me like you could use an extra pair of hands, though.”
Dean shoved the bolt home. “You looking for a job?”
“So what if I am? You hiring?”
He placed the washer and spun on a nut before tilting his head back and smiling up at her. “Depends. How cheap do you work?”
Her eyes narrowed, lips skewing to one side. “Hmm. Job like this... Can’t settle for anything less than smiles and hugs.”
Dean chuckled and winked at Donovan. “We’ve got those to spare. Don’t we, son?”
Donovan put his head back and beamed a snaggle-toothed smile at Ann, who laughed. It was as if the years literally fell away, but this time, Dean mused, he was part of her crowd, not just hanging around the periphery.
Working together, they quickly got the legs bolted into place. Dean brought out the ladder and set the square metal brace that spaced the top of the legs and held the mixing pan. This part had to be riveted then welded into place, which required significant strength. The first time that the ladder rocked, Ann caught hold of it and made sure that it stood solidly in place while he fixed the rivets.
His welding kit was small, perhaps too small. He hadn’t wanted to rent the larger welder, however, when he had a perfectly usable small welder. Unfortunately the small welder couldn’t sit on the ground, but was too large for the top of the ladder. Dean started thinking aloud about building a platform.
“Can the brace hold the mixing pan as it is?” Ann asked.
“Sure, but it won’t hold several hundred pounds of fodder like this.”
“But it will hold that welder, won’t it?”
He realized suddenly what she was saying and grinned. “You use that head for more than just a place to park that pretty face, don’t you?”
She blushed, actually blushed, and he realized that he was flirting.
“I’ve never been told that I was stupid,” she countered drily.
“No, ma’am, you are not,” he agreed, going for the mixing pan.
The pan itself was fairly lightweight, especially without the mixer, chutes and door attached. It was, however, cumbersome. Ann hurried over and helped him carry it by the chute openings to the station. She then shoved as he hauled the pan up the ladder. Getting it wrestled into place proved a feat. He could’ve done it, but it went much more quickly because Ann climbed the ladder to help him. They performed a strange dance there four feet above the ground, arms over, under and around, bodies shifting and sliding.
When they were done, and the pan was at last appropriately seated, Ann had somehow worked her way to the inside and moved up a rung, turning her back to the ladder, so that they stood pressed together on that narrow structure, staring into each other’s eyes. He had pocketed his sunglasses, and she had knocked off her cap again. With one movement he could have gathered her fully against him and kept her there. The impulse was so strong that he slid his hands across her shoulder blades. Her lips parted, and she seemed to be drawing in breath in preparation for his kiss.
Then Donovan called, “You dropped your hat again,” and Dean realized that he’d almost kissed Ann Billings on a ladder in the middle of a field in broad daylight with his son running around below them. The engaged-to-be-married Ann Billings.
Dean jumped backward off the ladder, landing with a huff in the red dirt. As he gathered his welding gear, he was exquisitely aware of Ann carefully turning on the ladder and descending step by step. He wasted no time climbing that ladder again, this time to deposit his welding gear in the newly placed pan. Ann passed him the helmet and long gloves necessary for the job.
“You two back away,” he ordered, “and do not look directly at the welding arc. Hear me, Donovan? You can damage your eyes looking at that bright light.”
“Yessir.”
“Let’s get a drink,” Ann said to the boy, sliding an arm over his shoulders. She walked him to the back of the truck and let down the tailgate to get at the water cooler while Dean struck a spark and ignited the torch.
He took his time with the welding, moving his ladder as necessary. Ann and Donovan sat on the tailgate of his truck with Digger, swinging their legs and talking. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he saw the way Donovan leaned against her from time to time and heard their occasional laughter. The thought came to him that she would make a wonderful wife and mother.
But not for him and Donovan.
That rock on her finger told him well enough that he had nothing to offer her. He could never afford a ring like that, never give her the kind of life she was accustomed to, the kind of life she deserved. He was still that silly freshman boy dreaming about a girl who remained worlds above him.
After he finished the welding, Ann and Donovan returned to help him finish installing the mixing pan. They formed an efficient team. Donovan had worked with his father long enough to know each tool by name and which one was used for which job. He passed the correct tool to Ann, who handed it up the ladder to Dean, saving Dean many steps and much time. As a result, the job was finished sooner than expected. Donovan was jubilant.
“We get to go fishin’ after, right, Dad?”
“That was the deal,” Dean confirmed, stowing the last of his gear in the toolbox in his truck bed. “If we finished early enough, we’d go fishing.”
“Ann helped so she can go, too, can’t she?” Donovan suggested happily.
Hope and excitement leaped inside Dean, but he kept his face impassive. “Sure. If she wants to.”
Ann grinned and ruffled Donovan’s bright hair, saying, “I’d like that, but I need to be here for my dad so my sister can take care of some errands.”
Dean told himself that it was just as well and his disappointment was entirely out of proportion to the situation, which highlighted his personal foolishness where Ann was concerned. He wasn’t fourteen anymore, after all. As a boy, he’d learned that wishing didn’t make a thing so. It was past time that he gave up this juvenile fantasy of him and Ann Billings.
“If you’ll come to the house, I’ll write your check,” she was saying. “The amounts were all spelled out in your agreement with Rex.”
Nodding, he lifted a hand to indicate that she should lead the way. Donovan and the dog fell into step beside him. Ann walked backward much of the time, chatting with Donovan about what sort of fish he hoped to catch and whether he baited his own hooks.
“’Course I do!” Donovan declared, glancing up at Dean.
“He tries,” Dean clarified. “He’s certainly not squeamish about it. The only question is whether or not there’s enough of the worm left to stay on the hook.”
Ann wrinkled her nose. “Gotcha.”
“They squish real easy,” Donovan muttered, and Dean bit his lip to keep from laughing while Ann delicately shuddered.
They reached the porch, and Dean pointed to the cushioned porch swing, speaking to his son. “Why don’t you and Digger enjoy the swing while I go inside with Miss Ann?”
“Aw, Da-a-d,” Donovan whined.
Ann ruffled his hair again. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, “but my father is very ill, and he can’t be around too many people right now. Or dogs.”
Donovan’s eyes widened solemnly. “What’s wrong with him?”
“It’s called cancer.”
Frowning up at her, Donovan asked, “You’re not going to get it, are you?”
“No, no.” Ann smiled. “No one can get cancer from someone else, but cancer patients can get all sorts of illnesses from other people while they’re getting treatment. He’ll be better before long, then you can visit him. In fact, I’m sure he’d like that.”
Mollified, Donovan crawled up onto the swing. Digger hopped up next to him, and Donovan began to swing them both as Ann and Dean went into the house.
“I won’t be long,” Dean promised.
They headed straight into the office, Ann hanging her cap on a peg in the entry hall on the way. Dean swept off his own cap and stuffed the soft part into his hip pocket. She went to the desk, checked something on the computer and got out the checkbook.
“You know,” she said, scribbling away, “I wouldn’t mind seeing your business plan.”
Shocked, Dean chuckled. “Business plan? What business plan?”
“Surely you have one,” Ann commented, signing the check. “Everyone does these days.” She began carefully tearing the check out of the book. “I don’t mean to be nosy. It’s just that I find what you do fascinating, and I’d like to see how it all works. I mean your agreement with Rex is very finely drawn.”
Dean hung his thumbs in his belt loops. “Jolly, Rex is a lawyer. He drew the agreement. Seemed fair to me, so I signed it. The closest thing I have to a business plan is a budget.”
She leaned back in the old desk chair, staring up at Dean. “Seriously?”
He shrugged. “Unless you consider prayer a business plan.”
“Dean!” she exclaimed, rocking up onto her feet. “You’re smarter than that.”
“Apparently, I’m not,” he admitted testily, yanking his thumbs free. “There wasn’t time for things like business plans and market studies when I started. I didn’t expect to be a father at twenty, but that didn’t change the fact that when Donovan was born, I had to make money as quickly as possible. I had land but no equipment because Grandpa had bought all the machinery on time-share and it all went back to the manufacturer when he got sick. I had no credit of my own, so I sold most of the land, bought some equipment and went to work farming for others. It’s just that simple.”
“I understand,” she told him, handing over his check. As he folded the check and slipped it into his shirt pocket, she said, “But it’s not too late, you know. A good business plan could grow your business significantly.”
He shook his head. “Look, I’m not like you. I didn’t finish college, so I work with my hands. Grandma and I stretch every dollar as far as it will possibly go. And too often it doesn’t go far enough. But we manage, and at least I don’t have any debt.”
“I think you could do better than manage,” Ann suggested gently. “Who carries your line of credit?”
Exasperated, he snorted. “Haven’t you been listening? I don’t have a line of credit, and I don’t care to. I may not be making lots of money, but at least I’m not in debt.”
“A line of credit isn’t about debt,” she pointed out patiently. “It’s about leveling out your monthly income and normalizing your budget so you don’t get caught short. You have more than enough of a track record now to apply for a line of credit, so if you want, I could take a look at your books, help you draw up a business plan and secure that line of credit so you don’t have to worry about months with no income.”
Thunderstruck by both the implications and the offer, Dean’s first instinct was to refuse. He’d been operating on his own for five years now, and he was who he was, a simple, hardworking man. If that wasn’t good enough for her, well, when had it ever been?
On the other hand, how stupid would he be to turn down expert help just because his pride had been pricked? And if there was a way to even out his monthly income so he didn’t find himself completely broke at the worst time of the year, he owed it to his son to at least investigate the possibilities. Besides, as foolish as it seemed, when he came right down to it, he wasn’t sure he could refuse the opportunity to spend more time with her.
He swallowed his refusal and his pride with it. Nodding, he said, “I’ll, uh, be on another job for a few days. Then I’ve got to get that sorghum cut for the Straight Arrow. Will you be available after that?”
She nodded decisively. “I will.”
He felt a rush of relief. “Great. Thank you.”
She put out her hand and he took it, shaking to seal the pact. She smiled suddenly, and it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms for a hug. Instead, he dropped her hand like a hot potato and turned toward the door.
“Okay if I look in on Wes before I leave? I won’t get too close.”
“Sure. Go on back,” she said. “He might be asleep, though.”
“I’ll be quiet,” Dean promised, “just in case.”
He strode away, passing Meredith as she came down the stairs, the strap of her handbag on her shoulder.
“All done for the day?” she asked.
“Yep. Just going to say hi to your dad before we head out.”
Mindful of Donovan waiting on the porch, Dean didn’t pause. He journeyed on down the hall, tiptoeing up to the open doorway of Wes’s room. He found the older man in his bed watching television. The grayness of Wes’s skin troubled Dean, but he put on a cheery smile and hailed Wes from the doorway.
“How you doing, Mr. Billings?”
The other man cleared his throat. “It’s Wes. And I’m doing fine.”
He didn’t look fine, but Dean said only, “Good to hear it. The mixing station is all done. I think you’re going to be real happy with it.”
“I’m sure we will be. We’re always happy with your work.”
“I appreciate you saying so. I’ll get started on that sorghum by midweek.”
Wes gave him a tired smile. “We’ll look forward to seeing you then.”
“If you need me before that, you just call. Ann knows how to reach me.”
Wes nodded wearily. “Good of you.”
“I’ll let you rest,” Dean said, turning away.
“See you soon,” Wes rasped.
When Dean looked back, the older man’s eyes were closed as if he’d fallen asleep. Dean stood there a moment longer, until he was sure that Wes’s chest rose and fell in regular breaths, before he slipped back down the hall to report to Ann.
“He’s sleeping now.”
“Did you get to speak to him?” Ann asked.
“A bit. You’ll call me if I’m needed, won’t you?”
She nodded, smiling slightly. “I wish Rex would get back. If Dad falls or collapses...”
“You just call me,” Dean stated flatly. “Anytime. Wherever I am, whatever I’m doing, I’ll come. You have my word on it.”
“Thank you.”
“Save it for when—if—I actually do something.”
“I feel better just knowing I can call on you if I need to,” she told him.
“Anytime.”
He meant it. Anytime Ann called, he’d come, no matter why or when. Even if he was fishing.
That said something sad and rather pathetic about him, but so be it. He could fight his attraction to Ann and his disappointment that she would never feel the same way about him that he felt about her. He could tell himself that he was being foolish and unrealistic. He could pray for wisdom and strength. But he couldn’t change who and what he was; in truth, he wouldn’t want to try.
One thing being Donovan’s father had taught Dean was to be himself. Only by being his authentic self could he help his son grow into his true self. Knowing one’s true self was a necessity. Sharing one’s true self with another was a gift, an act of love and trust.
It saddened Dean to think that Ann would never know the deepest, truest parts of him, but she was meant for another.
He stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door of the ranch house closed behind him. “Let’s go catch some fish.”
His son’s bright smile lightened his heart.
It was enough. It had to be enough.