Together they saddled the horses in silence. She didn’t particularly like the way her heart gave a little tug when he lifted Callie onto her pony.
They were well past the house, Rufus running in circles around them, Callie laughing before Rawley said quietly, “Dallas looks good,” and she realized he hadn’t insisted on escorting her home because he’d thought she couldn’t take care of herself, but because he’d needed to talk, had needed her.
“I know. He doesn’t appear to be a man suffering from any ailments. Maybe itwassomething he ate, maybe itwasthe heat, but it sure gave us all a fright.”
“I noticed you hugged them both pretty tightly.”
The sun was just an orange line on the horizon. “I’ve come to realize they’re getting older, and I could lose one or both of them at any time. They are so much a part of this place, a part of my life, I can’t imagine not having them around.”
“It’ll be a while yet.” He said it with such confidence that she had no choice except to believe—or at least want to believe—him.
“We’re home!” Callie yelled, as though they couldn’t see the small cabin nestled among the mesquite trees.
When they brought the horses to a halt, he dismounted, grabbed Callie, and swung her to the ground. As soon as her feet hit the dirt, she was off chasing fireflies, Rufus leaping along beside her.
“You used to do that,” Rawley said fondly.
“Remember when you caught some and put them in a jar for me, so I could sleep with them beside my bed?” He’d always done little things like that for her. Small wonder she’d loved him so much, still did.
“I remember. Before you went to sleep you set them free.”
She stared at him in disbelief. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, she’d been incredibly quiet creeping to her window, opening the jar, and sending the bugs back into the night. “You knew about that?”
“Faith, there wasn’t much you did that I didn’t know about.” He nodded toward Callie. “Didn’t know about her, though. Why didn’t you tell me about her?”
“Why did you really leave?” she fired back at him.
His answer was a half grin. “It’s complicated.”
Her own words tossed back at her should have angered her, but only served to sadden her. “We never used to keep secrets from each other.”
His smile turned somber, his eyes filled with regret. “We always had secrets. Or at least I did. I’ll see to your horses.”
“I’ll help.”
They worked in silence, relaxing into old, familiar routines. When the horses were settled in the corral with its protective shelter, Faith headed up the steps to the front porch. “Thanks for escorting us home.”
He stood with his hands pressed into the back pockets of his denim pants, a familiar stance that tugged at her heart. He studied her as though he had more to say and didn’t know quite how to say it. He wasn’t alone in that regard. Maybe she owed him an apology. Her recollection of that night was blurred, faint, but she couldn’t seem to find the words, not when so much between them had changed.
Callie bounded up the steps and hugged one of the porch beams that supported the eaves like it was her best friend. “Grampa helped me teach Rufus to play dead. Wanna see?”
“Sure,” Rawley said, and Faith had a feeling he wouldn’t deny her anything she asked.
She pointed her tiny finger at the dog. “Rufus, drop dead!”
The dog fell to his side.
“That’s pretty impressive,” Rawley said, looking over at Faith. “I can’t believe Dallas had the patience to train the mutt to do that.”
“He always had a way of making people obey. I guess that talent transfers to animals, too. He’ll stay like that... Callie, let him know the game’s over.”
“Rufus, wake up!”
The dog jumped up and raced off, no doubt catching sight of something in need of chasing.
“Uncle Rawley, wanna see my pichers?” Callie asked, and Faith knew the child could spend all night sharing one thing after another.
“I’m sure Uncle Rawley is tired,” Faith told her. “We need to let him get back to Gramma’s.”
