Ty turned back to Carlos. “Too early for the sweet spot. And she’s still just a tropical storm.” He directed the stream of water to the remaining hay and sawdust on the floor.
The “sweet spot” was a very nonscientific method Ty used to predict which storms would affect them—either by a direct hit or by putting coastal Alabama on the east side of the eye, pounding them with the worst of the wind and rain. When storms hit a certain path in the Gulf of Mexico, they often seemed to get caught in a current that funneled them north toward the Mississippi-Alabama border. No meteorologist worth his suspenders would put stock in Ty’s “sweet spot” method, but he’d been right so many times, he’d lost count.
Carlos grabbed the wide broom and pushed the standing water out of the barn. “Here’s hoping you’re right. I’m taking Gloria to Panama City next weekend. Donna—”
“Dawn.”
“Whatever. She better not mess up my plans.”
Ty turned off the faucet, then curled the hose around the hook. “I was supposed to take Betsy somewhere like that soon. A vacation.” A bead of sweat dripped from his forehead into his eye as he wound the hose. He swiped his face with the back of his hand.
“And? What’s stopping you? I can take care of things here.”
Ty nodded to the window. Betsy had directed the kids’ attention to the old black-and-white photos lining the walls of the observation room, but Addie and Walsh remained pressed against the glass. They both grinned when he looked their way.
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Didn’t want to pry. How long are they staying?”
Ty chuckled. “The million-dollar question.”
Behind the glass, the kids trailed out of the observation room toward the door. Betsy led them over to the side yard where a cow had wandered over to the fence, likely suspecting small hands full of sweet treats. Without even seeing the characteristic diamond-shaped spot on her nose, Ty knew it was Rosie. She was the most affectionate of the whole herd. She pressed her cheek against the wooden posts, and the kids reached through the fence to pet her face and back.
Ty kept four bulls on the farm, and the Grantleys up in Stapleton had a herd of fifteen. When Ty’s four hadn’t had success with Rosie, they tried several of the bulls from the Grantley farm. Ty had done all he could do for her—all he could stomach. Rosie couldn’t seem to get pregnant and the vet had no answers for them. But the girl was maternal and nurturing to everything she saw, whether cow, person, or barn cat. She licked, she nuzzled, she even cleaned other cows’ calves.
After a moment, Rosie walked away from the kids’ curious hands and fingers to visit another heifer, number 046. Forty-six was easy to spot because she was all white except for the black on her tail and her legs below the knees. A year younger than Rosie, 046 had been successfully impregnated three months ago. From the looks of it, they’d have a Christmas calf. Rosie sidled up to 046 and rubbed her cheek against the other cow’s neck.
That evening after a quick and chaotic dinner with Betsy and the girls, Ty retreated to the barn to put away the extra bags of feed and hay he’d bought that afternoon. Some might think that after being in the barn all day, a farmer would relish closing the door behind him at the end of the workday and leaving it behind. The truth was, nighttime was Ty’s favorite time in the barn. While the sky outside grew dark, the barn was lit with warm light. The cows were well fed and content, moths fluttered in the lights, and industrial fans on either end of the barn swirled lazily, taking the edge off the heat. The aroma of the cedar beams and rafters filled the air.
As he pulled out a half-used yellow legal pad to note which supplies he still needed to add to their stock, the screen door slammed, then Addie’s and Walsh’s voices carried through the dark. He looked up to see Betsy following the girls to the barn.
“I thought y’all would be asleep by now,” he said as Walsh ran to him and hugged his leg. He looked up at Betsy and she shrugged.
“They weren’t even close to settling down. They begged to come see you, so here we are.”
He stood and pried Walsh’s arms from around his legs. He patted her on the back, and she ran off to the other side of the barn with Addie. “How are you?” he asked Betsy. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Sorry I had to come back out here. I wanted to get this stuff put away before we need it.” He gestured to the pile of bags behind him.
“You getting ready for Dawn?”
“Well, not her necessarily. She won’t be too bad. But there’ll be more.”
“She’s in the sweet spot,” Betsy said.
Ty laughed, rubbed a hand over his eye. “That sweet-spot business is ridiculous. You know that, right?”
“No,” she said with a smile. “If Farmer Ty says it’s real, I believe it.”
She looked so beautiful in her black sleeveless top and white shorts. Her long legs had the first hints of a summer tan. Wisps of brown hair brushed her cheeks.
“What is it?” She looked down at her clothes, then back at him.
Why did he all of a sudden feel uncomfortable around his own wife, this woman he’d been married to for eight years, known for a decade? He was fidgety, nervous. Words bounced around in his mouth, but the right ones refused to come out.
“Have you talked to Jenna?” he finally asked, his voice quiet so the girls wouldn’t hear.
The smile that played at the corners of her mouth
