Free Rough Stock by Dahlia West

her finger at her sister. “You listen to me,” she whispered fiercely. “Willow…is not the problem! Willow has never been the problem, and if I ever hear you talk like that again—”
    Emma held up her hands. “I didn’t mean it like that! Of course she’s not the problem.”
    Rowan took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her shoulders ached. She was all screwed up from napping in the middle of the day. “I’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
    And they would come to it. Sooner or later. She just needed time to figure out the best way to go about it.
    “What are you going to do?” Emma asked, eyes wide.
    “Well, nothing,” Rowan replied. “Nothing right now. I’ll wait until Dad’s home, until things are…more settled. Then I’ll figure out something.”
    “He lives down the road, Rowan. He’ll find out you’re in town. He might stop by.”
    Rowan snorted. “I’ll sic the dogs on him.”
    Emma peered at her for a long moment. “Why do I get the feeling you might actually do that?”
    “If he sets one foot on this property, Emma, I’ll blow it off with Dad’s Remington. I swear to God.”
    Emma stood up and tossed the empty Band-Aid package into the trash. “Well, then, I guess things are just about settled.”
    Rowan looked at her curiously. “Just about?”
    “I’ll talk to my boss. See about bumping down to part-time.”
    “Emma!” Rowan protested. “You said yourself, you just got that job!”
    “Well, it is what it is. This is serious, and it’s not going away any time soon. So either my boss is on board or…”
    “Or what? You’ll go back to waiting tables at the Rusty Bucket like in high school?”
    Emma shrugged. “Maybe. I’ll work it out. If you’re going to do this, then I’m in it with you. We can’t lose the farm. If the heart attack didn’t kill Dad, losing this place will.”
    Rowan nodded grimly. That was the God’s honest truth. Without this place, they’d lose the only parent they had left. She let out a long sigh and slumped back against the counter. “God, I could use a drink.”
    “Me, too,” Emma agreed and opened the cabinet over the stove. “Crap,” she said pulling out Dad’s only bottle of tequila. The yellow liquid barely covered the bottom of the bottle.
    “Let’s go out,” Emma suggested, putting the bottle away.
    “Out? Are you serious?”
    “Why not? I’m not tired. You’re not tired. Troy can watch Willow. We’ve both slogged sheep shit and taken turns at the hospital. I need a break from all this.”
    Rowan laughed, for the first time since she could actually remember. “A break?” she asked. “We haven’t even started.”
    “Exactly,” Emma replied, grabbing her cell phone. “We need food anyway,” she said as she dialed. “Unless you like TV dinners and frozen corn dogs. We’ll get a drink, hit the Stop’N’Save, accomplish some things. Maybe I’ll put in an application at the Rusty Bucket,” she joked.
    Rowan shook her head. “I wouldn’t let you. I’d work three jobs first. That place is gross.”
    “Well, you’re going to have to ditch your fancy Cheyenne ways and get used to the food there. It’s the only game in town.”
    Rowan groaned as she remembered. “My boots smell like sheep shit.”
    “I’ll lend you some shoes.”
    And like that, there seemed to be light at the end of the tunnel. A long tunnel. A very long tunnel. And Rowan wasn’t going to fool herself that this wasn’t going to be the most difficult thing she’d ever done. But she’d always said she’d do anything for family.
    It was time to make good on that promise.

Chapter Seven
    ‡
    S eth stepped into the blue-smoke haze of the Silver Spur behind Sawyer and Court and let his eyes adjust to the dim light. The crowd was decent, as usual, because there wasn’t much to do in Star Valley in the evenings. Or ever. Cowboys in shiny boots lined the walls and the tables as the jukebox blared Rascal Flatts. Seth preferred outlaw