Snow Melts in Spring - By Deborah Vogts Page 0,43

Jake sat at the oblong table. She felt their attention as she washed her hands at the kitchen sink.

“Mildred, your ham and potatoes smell wonderful. I hope it’s not a burden to feed one more.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” The older woman patted Mattie on the shoulder. “We could stand a few more females at the table, considering how much hot air these men blow.”

TWENTY-TWO

GIL CHUCKLED AT MILDRED’S COMMENT. “IF YOU THINK WE’RE BAD, you should hang around a locker room sometime.”

“No thank you,” Mildred said and went back to slicing ham on the stove.

While Mattie washed her hands at the sink, Gil thought about the doc’s lifestyle. She ate on the run, tended her patients at all hours of the day, and recently had her life turned upside down. Through all that, she was still a joy to be around. His mother had been that way. She always saw the good in people and tried to be thankful no matter what.

Mattie took a seat opposite Jake. Gil removed his hat and laid it on the floor before offering grace.

When he finished, Mildred set a bowl of steaming scalloped potatoes on the table. “I understand you had quite a morning chasing that bull in the pasture.”

“You should have seen ’em.” Jake smacked the table with his fist. “Ol’ Blackie went into that trailer with his tail between his legs.” The ranch hand turned to Gil’s dad. “You’d be plumb proud of your dun mare. She’s as sassy as ever. Slammed right into the side of that bull and knocked him down. Thought I was at a rodeo.”

“You don’t say?” The old man’s eyes piqued with interest. “You penned the bull today? On your own?” He sounded like he didn’t believe it — that he couldn’t imagine his son riding a horse after all these years.

Gil nodded. “I had a little help from your new tenant.”

His dad directed his gaze at Mattie. “You went with them to the pasture?” There was a reproachful edge in his words but also a hint of admiration.

Mattie lowered her eyes.

“If it hadn’t been for her,” Gil said, “there’s no telling how long I would have chased that bull. I was shocked at how well Tulip moved. Never guessed the girl had it in her.”

This seemed to please his father. “Always liked riding that mare.” He winked at Mattie, then faced Gil. “How’d it feel to throw a rope again?”

“Good.” Real good. “Makes me long to rope steers like we did when I was a kid.” The mention of it made Gil’s heart dance.

“What’s stopping you? Pen some fall calves and have yourself a little roping practice.” His father’s voice chimed with enthusiasm.

If Gil wasn’t careful, he’d slip into thinking everything was okay — that problems didn’t exist between him and his dad. He shook his head, reminding himself why he came home — to make amends. “I thought this afternoon I’d help Mattie with her room, then when the clinic’s done, I’d like to start fixing up this place, beginning with the house.”

For a long moment, his father stared at the ceiling. “Reckon it’s been a while since anything’s been done to the exterior. Ain’t had a good sandblasting since you were in high school.”

Excitement rushed through Gil at the thought of reviving his old home. “When the walls are done, we can shingle the roof. After that, I want to repair some of the old fence.”

“Whoa, there.” His father cleared his throat. “Before you go making all these renovations, it might be wise to talk with me first, seeing as how I’m still the owner.”

Gil wiped his mouth on his napkin. “These things need done, Dad. Now that I’m retired, I have the time and the money, so we may as well get started.”

His father glanced at Mattie, then at Gil with a grumble. That the old man gave in without a fight surprised Gil, but it was probably because the doc tended to bring out a gentler side in his dad. Taking another bite of ham, he glanced out the window and noticed a red truck pull up to the barn. “Are you expecting a client?”

Mattie stood from the table and went to the window, showing immediate recognition. “That’s Mavis. She’s decided to adopt the yellow stray.”

WITH THE EXCEPTION OF DUSTY, MAVIS’S LABRADOR WAS THE LAST of Mattie’s patients. As the red truck pulled away, Mattie wondered how long it would be before she’d take on more clients. A week? Two weeks? Or longer, if

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