Myra Johnson - Her Hill Country Cowboy

From the far side of the room came a tiny voice: “Daddy, is the doggy sick?”

“Not sure, sweetie.” Two scuffed boot toes appeared at Christina’s left. “What’s going on with your dog?”

“I don’t know. She’s never acted like this before.” Sitting on her heels, Christina looked up with a helpless shrug.

Marie returned through the door leading to the reception area. “Oh my, is your dog hurt?”

Just as quickly as she’d lain down, Gracie scrambled to her feet. Tail wagging, she trotted over and licked Marie’s hand.

Eva whimpered. “Omi, don’t let it bite you!”

“Oh, she’s fine, honey.” Marie gave the dog a scratch behind the ears. “Hey there, sweet thing. Are we friends now?”

Pushing up from the floor, Christina edged away from Seth, who looked ready to charge to his little girl’s defense. But Eva’s expression, though still fearful, now held a glimmer of curiosity.

Social worker instincts kicking in, Christina saw an opportunity. “Eva, I think Gracie may be a little bit scared, too.”

The child’s lower lip trembled. “Why?”

“Well, we’re both new here, and we both want very much to fit in. She’d be very sad if she thought you didn’t like her.” Christina scooted one of the barstools closer to Eva’s and climbed on so that they were both looking toward Gracie. The dog now sat quietly at Marie’s feet.

Marie cast Christina a knowing smile as she knelt and continued stroking Gracie’s head. “We like you just fine, Gracie, so don’t be scared. You’re a good dog, aren’t you?”

“But she’s so big.” Eva’s hand crept into Christina’s, and her voice fell to a quavering whisper. “I’m scared of big dogs.”

Such great fear in such a little girl—it broke Christina’s heart. Eva reminded her so much of another little girl, a child who had good reason to be terrified of her abusive father. A child Christina had tried so hard to protect.

And nearly failed.

The blast of a horn. Screeching brakes. The explosive crunch of metal against metal.

As calmly as she could, Christina slid off the barstool and prayed her legs would hold her. “Gracie, let’s go.” This time, her tone left no room for the dog’s disobedience. “Please excuse me. I—I’ll get something to eat later.”

Before anyone could stop her, she bolted for the back door and hoped she’d make it to her cabin before she completely fell apart.

* * *

The look on Christina’s face as she barged out brought a twinge of guilt to Seth’s gut. Why he should feel guilty he had no clue. Everything he did was for the sake of his kids, and if this new housekeeper couldn’t see how her dog terrified his daughter, then it was her problem, not his.

Opi and Joseph came in shortly afterward, oblivious to the previous goings-on. Omi took over the sandwich fixings, and a few minutes later they sat down for lunch. Though no one talked much while they ate, the disgruntled frowns Omi flashed Seth’s way left little doubt as to the direction of her thoughts.

Later, with Eva down for a nap and Joseph stretched out on the family room sofa with a favorite book on his e-reader, Omi informed Seth she needed to talk over some business matters with him in the office.

He didn’t need his imagination to guess what “business” his grandmother had in mind.

“Sit down, son.” She motioned toward one of two leather barrel chairs in front of the massive mahogany desk. Seth obeyed, and she took the chair opposite his.

He drummed his fingers on his thighs. “If this is about Christina—”

“Actually, it’s about you. Your attitude isn’t cutting it, mister. I won’t tolerate you being rude to that sweet girl.”

“Omi—”

She silenced him with an upraised hand. “You think I didn’t notice those ice-dagger glances you were shooting her way? You’ve got to give Christina a chance, son. You know what the Bible says about judging people.”

“‘For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.’ Yeah, I know. You’ve quoted the verse so many times I know it by heart.”

“Then heed it.” Omi sat forward, her gaze earnest. “Seth, honey, I know full well the pain you’ve suffered. But you don’t have a corner on suffering. Grant Christina the benefit of the doubt and stop giving her such a hard time.”

Okay, so he’d been a little tough on the woman, but only because of the dog she couldn’t seem to go anywhere without. Controlling his tone, he said, “Can you at least tell me why she needs a service dog? Because I’m just not seeing it.”

Omi sat back with a tired sigh. “All I’ll say is that she was in a bad car wreck a couple of years ago. She suffered severe head trauma, among other things. Her disability is post-traumatic stress disorder, along with the lingering effects of the brain injury. Gracie helps keep her on an even keel.”

Swiveling toward the window, Seth silently berated himself for being so insensitive. Omi was right—he’d been too quick to judge. “I’m sorry for what she’s been through,” he said through tight lips. “But she still has to respect my need to protect my kids.”

“She does. More than you know.”

Seth swung around to face his grandmother. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She merely shook her head as she rose and moved behind the desk. “Tomorrow will be here before we know it. Best get back to work.”

When it was clear his grandmother would say nothing more, Seth stood and marched out of the office. He had plenty to do—tack to clean, a pasture gate to repair, a low spot to fill where the horseback-riding trail cut across a creek. Maybe a few hours of hard labor would take the edge off the bitterness that followed him around like his own personal dark cloud.

Later, returning from spreading a load of gravel at the creek crossing, he glimpsed Christina’s little blue car turning down the lane to her cabin. His next stop was the broken pasture gate, which meant he’d be working only a scant distance from Christina’s door. After parking by the gate, he grabbed his toolbox from the pickup bed and hoped the housekeeper wouldn’t decide to walk her dog anytime soon.

While he searched for a replacement bolt for the gate hinge, the cabin door opened. One hand pressed hard against her left hip, Christina trudged to her car. She popped the trunk and leaned inside, then straightened with plastic grocery bags in each hand. With a grimace and a hitch in her step, she started for the cabin.

Go help her, you idiot. The voice inside Seth’s head shouted with the volume of a megaphone.

Muttering a few choice words, he slammed down the toolbox lid and strode up the lane. Wedging a neighborly smile into his tone, he called, “Looks like you could use a hand.”

Christina halted on the porch steps, her head snapping around in surprise. “Thanks, but I’ve got it.”

The dog stepped between Christina and Seth, not menacingly but clearly sending a message: Don’t mess with my mistress.

Keeping a respectful distance, Seth firmed his jaw. “You look like you’re hurting. Sure you’re okay?”

“Fine. Just a little sore.” Christina nodded toward the open cabin door. “Excuse me, but these bags are getting heavy, and I’ve got groceries to put away.” When she lifted her left foot, pain slashed across her face. One of the grocery sacks slipped from her grasp.

Seth charged up the steps. With one arm bracing her around the waist, he relieved her of the other bag. “Let’s get you inside. You need to sit down.”

“I told you, I’m fine.” She made a feeble attempt to pull away. “It’s just a muscle spasm. I get them from time to time when I overdo.”