Time came roaring back to full speed again, and Etta stepped back. August released her, and she lifted her eyes to meet his. The moment caught again, and Etta said, “Thank you for sharing her with me.”
She turned toward the food, her own pulse thundering like wild horses’s hooves through her chest, her bones, her vital organs. “I have never been married, but I have been in love, and it is a terrible thing to lose.” She reached for the plastic wrap over the rolls. “I just need the oven at four hundred and fifteen minutes, and these will be hot.”
She hadn’t made it back to the homestead in time that afternoon to get the dough made and through two rise cycles before she’d needed to load everything into her truck and come down the road to August’s cabin.
Dot had brought Glory home today, and Etta had not left Bull House until she absolutely had to. Dot had seemed grateful for the opportunity to shower and brew coffee while Etta tended to Glory, and Etta had told her she’d be over every day if necessary.
She had relinquished the baby to the other ranch wives who’d stopped by, but that had only been Sammy for a few minutes right before naptime for her baby, and she’d brought diabetic-friendly brownies as Dot had to watch her blood sugar fairly closely.
Beeping sounded, and Etta turned to find August setting the temperature on the oven. When he faced her again, Etta offered him a smile she hoped was kind, flirty, and sexy all at the same time.
“Did you sell your ranch in Dripping Springs?” She opened the fridge and put the bowl of pea salad inside. She liked hers cold as ice, and even fifteen minutes out while the rolls cooked was too long.
“No,” he said. “It was my wife’s, and after she died, I couldn’t, well.” He swallowed. ‘I couldn’t keep working the ranch. It was too painful. I saw her everywhere, and I couldn’t help reliving the last time I’d seen her.” He closed his eyes and shook his head, as if living through all of it again.
“I moved Hailey out to a house in town, and I worked another ranch. Josie’s parents took over the ranch. They still have it.”
Etta nodded, trying to imagine what it would be like to go through a traumatic experience like that. “I’m sorry, August. That must’ve been hard.”
“She fell from a roof,” he said, his back to her. “It’s a terrible way to die, and she was alone. Josie was so headstrong. She never needed help from anyone, you know?” He gave a light laugh that sounded more bitter than nostalgic. “We don’t know how long she was there. I was mowing that day, and that can steal hours from a man. Her father and I went out to find her when she didn’t come in for dinner.”
Etta didn’t know what to say. How could a husband and a father happen upon their deceased loved one and not be changed forever? She wanted to comfort August, but she didn’t know how. She knew that when she was right in the thick of her own hardships, she didn’t want sympathy. She didn’t want someone to tell her it would all be okay one day. She didn’t want someone to quote some meaningless platitudes.
She just wanted to feel like she wasn’t alone. The oven beeped, indicating it had come to temperature, and Etta bent to open it and slide the unbaked rolls inside. Please help him to know he’s not alone, she prayed.
Straightening, she said, “I’m right here. You can tell me anything about her, and I won’t judge you.”
August nodded as he fiddled with the aluminum foil over the bowl of mashed potatoes. “Strange as it seems, Etta, I actually believe you.”
“Why is that strange?”
“Most people judge,” he said. “Even when they say they won’t.” He tilted his head, barely looking at her out of the corner of his eye. “But you…like I said the other day. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met. When you say you won’t judge me, I actually believe you.”
Etta nodded, her throat thick with unsaid words. “I was in love with a man named Noah Johnson,” she said, her voice warbling, almost like she’d swallowed a music box that needed new batteries. “We were engaged to be married. He was several years older than me.” She shook her head, frowning. “No, he was a lot older than