Page 8 of The Cowboy Who Came Home

She tapped out her novels in her she-shed, usually in the evening hours, after dinner. She’d put in a doggy door, so any of the animals—besides the cattle—could come and go while she wrote about ranches, farms, horses, and families with tween children. She wanted to create an escape for kids who lived the not-so-idyllic life, and she gained a lot of comfort from her own novels as well, which always had good overcoming evil, and all wrongs being made right by the last page.

Edith prayed for her own happily-ever-after, where the Lord would provide the goodness she yearned for, the wrongs becoming right, even if it wasn’t perfect or easy.

“Olive’s coming out of my she-shed,” she said.

“She found a bone,” Alex said. “She probably took it in there to hide it from Bandit.” He straightened, and his cheeks held a bit of a flush, probably from bending over in the late afternoon heat. “I think I’ve got most of them.”

“I’ll finish up with him,” she said. “You go put the groceries away and get a cold drink.”

Alex trained his own blue eyes on her, and Edith could see so much of their father in him. He kept his blond hair cut short so it didn’t rub wrong under his cowboy hat, and his glare turned into a grin. “Thanks, Edee.” He gave her a quick side-hug. “Did they have the peach soda?”

“Yep,” she said. “I got it for you, but it might still be in my car.” She hadn’t even finished bringing in the groceries. It wasn’t like Edith to only do half the job, but she reasoned it was simply bringing in groceries from the garage, and Alex had been frustrated when she’d arrived.

Olive’s claws clicked as she came up onto the deck, and Edith put one hand on her hip, the same way she had while standing in front of Finn Ackerman, only a few hours ago. “Where have you been, huh?” she asked the border collie.

The dog simply looked up at her as if she’d done nothing wrong, but Olive was known to bring vermin into the she-shed and leave them, as if they were gifts for Edith. As if she needed to clean up feathers before she could start writing her chapter.

Bandit edged over to Edith, and she dropped to her knees and began using both hands to feel along his sides for burrs. “And you,” she said to him, wondering what Finn would think of her talking to the dogs. She’d done it her whole life, but she’d curbed her tongue whenever he’d come to her house as a teen.

“Getting into the burrs again. You’re going to give your daddy an aneurism, and then what will we do? I can’t run this ranch without him, and those raspberries aren’t even ripe enough yet.”

She found a burr, and her thinner fingers with longer fingernails plucked it out of the dog’s hair. “Besides, if you keep eating the berries, there won’t be enough for jam later this summer.”

Edith didn’t particularly love canning and jamming, but Levi had enjoyed everything about the country life with a boyish charm that had helped Edith see the simple joys of life with new eyes. Childlike eyes.

He’d never seen or made raspberry jam, and Levi had claimed that seeing it done was so much better than just taking a jar from the grocery store shelf. He’d only made cakes from boxed mixes, and Edith could hear him chuckling in her ear, feel the weight of his hand on her waist, as she opened her family recipe binder and showed him a cake recipe.

They’d made it together, and while it hadn’t been as light and airy as her mother’s homemade cakes had been, it had done a great job of celebrating his last birthday here on earth. Tears filled her eyes, but Edith kept them from falling as she kept rubbing Bandit’s body to find more burrs.

She picked them out one by one while Olive lay against her legs, panting. She sniffled, and heard the ridiculousness of it in her own ears. “I’m okay,” she told the dogs, and Bandit lifted his head and licked her arm. “Really, I am.”

She rocked back on her heels and wiped her face, though she hadn’t shed a tear. “No more burrs, Bandit.”

He licked her again, and Olive looked over her shoulder at Edith. “If you left me a bird in the shed….”

Olive closed her eyes halfway and turned to face the ranch again. Surely the work out there wasn’t done, but Edith would go out to do the evening feeding after dinner.

Edith got to her feet with a groan, because she didn’t spend time working out. The work around the ranch and with the horses kept her busy, but it wasn’t the same as doing actual exercising. She huffed a couple of times once she stood, and she said, “Come on, everyone. Let’s go get supper ready.”

All the dogs knew the word “supper,” and she wasn’t surprised that her black and brown dachshunds started wiggling as they got to their feet. Frankie, the browner of the two dogs, looked at her with such hope, as if he’d been starved all day long.

Edith got such joy from him, and she grinned at her animals. “Come on, you lot. Let’s get inside.” Her phone rang as she stepped toward the back door, and she freed it from her back pocket to see Aggie’s name on the screen.

Her heart leapt against the roof of her mouth. Had she forgotten girl’s night? No, it was only Wednesday, but she swiped on the call with, “Howdy, Ags. What’s up?”

“Two things,” she said, and she’d always spoken at the speed of light. “I’m on a break, and I can’t talk for long.”

“Okay, go,” Edith said with a smile.

“You’re still good for Friday night? At my house?”

“Yes,” Edith said.

“Okay, the theme is going to be…babies!”

Edith’s mother heart squeezed, and it squeezed hard. She’d always loved children, and she wanted nothing more than to be a mom. “Babies?” she asked, the word choking out. “Why’s that?”

“JoJo’s pregnant again!” Aggie laughed, and a tight wad of two warring emotions swirled through Edith. Joy and relief for one of her good friends fought against a deep well of worry. She’d reunited with Aggie when she’d moved back to Three Rivers, because she was the same age as her—and as Finn.

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