Mattie sighed and returned to the concrete-floored room sanctioned off for her in the barn. Half an hour later, she looked up as Gil strolled in with a tool belt strapped around his waist, her beagle right behind.
“I have tools, and there’s wood in the barn. How can I help?” Gil had traded his canvas coat for a flannel shirt tucked into denim jeans. The sight of him made Mattie’s pulse quicken.
They worked side-by-side all afternoon, clearing the room and building more shelves for medicine. In addition, they constructed two examining tables out of two-by-fours and sheets of plywood. Gil drove the last nail into the wood and let out a long, slow whistle.
“I don’t know about you, but I could stand a break. You don’t happen to have any snickerdoodles sitting around, do ya?”
A sliver of anxiety rushed through Mattie at the mention of those cookies, and how Gil once questioned her abilities as a vet. Yet here he was, helping her reestablish her business.
“I might have something.” She laid her hammer down and moved past him, calling her pup to follow. As they headed for the cabin, Mattie noticed a flurry of activity in the corral.
“What on earth is going on over there?”
TWENTY-THREE
GIL LOOKED PAST MATTIE AND SAW JAKE ON HIS HORSE, HERDING A dozen steers that had been unloaded from a trailer. His dad stood at the corral gate, cane in hand, with his blue heeler at his side.
“Let’s go see what those old-timers are up to,” he said and veered toward the corral.
His dad lifted his cane. “What took you so long? Go saddle your horses.”
The smile on the man’s face reminded Gil of years gone by, before his dad turned cold against him. “What’s going on? Whose steers are these?”
“Jake and I decided to create a little roping practice for you. Like the old days. Convinced a neighbor to bring some longhorns over.”
Gil swallowed the knot in his throat. What made his father think he’d be interested in reviving this pastime? Acting like nothing’s happened, as though the last nineteen years had been a bad dream? Was the man in denial, or did he hope to make the bitterness between them disappear?
How many nights had Gil gone to bed wishing the same?
The difference lay in not getting his hopes up. He knew change wouldn’t take place overnight. But this was a start.
Gil squinted into the sun as it dipped behind the clouded horizon, casting golden-pink hues across the western sky. He grinned at the doc. “What do you think? Want to rope a few steers before supper?”
Mattie’s eyes lit up, her enthusiasm contagious. “Beats staring at a cabin wall.”
They saddled the mares they’d ridden that morning, and Gil handed Mattie a thirty-foot rope. “Try this on for size.”
Mattie swung a loop over her head, each rotation bigger than the one before. She released the cord and missed her target by a few feet. Gil tried not to smile, knowing he might not do better. “It’s not as easy as it looks, but you’ll get the hang of it.”
They rode to the arena where Jake, Gil’s dad, and the owner of the steers sat on square hay bales waiting for the fun to begin. On the opposite end of the arena, the longhorns bunched together along the fence. An occasional bawl drifted from the herd, adding to Gil’s anticipation. He kissed the dun into a trot, then loped a few circles. Mattie did the same.
“You want to go first?” he asked when the horses were warmed up.
Mattie released another practice throw and it fell on empty space to the ground. The woman was full of concentration, her tongue poking out the side of her mouth. “Why don’t you? I’m in no hurry to make a fool out of myself, especially in front of our audience.”
“Those old geezers? Pretend they’re not there. That’s what I do.” Maybe he should have given her a few pointers before they began. The thought of holding the doc next to him with the sweet smell of her curls in his face sent a jolt through his body. He shook the image from his mind.
“Frank and I used to keep score, but we won’t worry about that. Let’s just see how many we can catch.” Gil led the way and walked his horse through the spotted steers to break them apart. Not wanting to run them, he swung his lariat and relaxed into the smooth rhythm of the