Saviours of Oestend Oestend 2 Read Online Free PDF Page B

at the frozen world—“may as well wait until I can hang them out to dry.”
“Fair enough. You need help with anything else while I’m here?”
“No, thank you.”
“Are you lying?” Partly he was teasing but partly he was thinking how helping Cami would probably mean working in the nice, warm house, which sounded far less miserable than working outside in the freezing cold.
She laughed. It was a sweet, light sound, and once again he was reminded of Tama. “I promise, I’m not.”
It figured. She didn’t need him either. He tried not to be bothered by it and went back to the barn. There was always shit to be shovelled from stalls, and the barn was the only building on the damn ranch that didn’t reek of death. Even manure was preferable to the smell of decomposing bodies.
Once there, he fell into a rhythm that was both familiar and depressing. His daddy had always said that cleaning stalls was a good way to clean one’s mind, but Dante had long fostered a love-hate relationship with barns.
As boys, he and Deacon had been inseparable. Jeremiah had raised them as brothers, whether Old Man Pane approved or not. They had shared everything, and so it had seemed only natural that eventually, they shared themselves as well. As boys, they’d discovered each other in the BarChi barn. That was exactly the way Dante labelled it when he looked back— discovered. It had been so innocent, and so pure. Just two boys, two brothers, sharing everything and learning what they each had to give. It had seemed like the most normal thing in the world. Up until his mean old granddad had caught them at it.
The aftermath had been horrible. He’d been so ashamed for so long, and yet he’d never quite understood why. The wounds were old, nothing to show now but a few scars on his back, but barns were the worst. They were all the same—the quiet nicker of horses and the snorting of cows, the soft mew of the kittens in the corner or dogs scruffing in the straw. The smell—not just animals and manure, but also hay, and saddle oil, and the leather tack hanging on the wall, and underneath it all, the earthy musk of birth and milk and new life. It was a smell others associated with warmth and comfort and safety, but for Dante, it meant secrets and shame. If he was busy, birthing a colt or talking with the hands, he could keep his mind on the present. But if he was alone, if he allowed himself to fall too deep into the rhythm of his work, his mind would begin to wander. And inevitably, it would turn to the past, whether he wanted it to or not.
* * * *
    For the next two days, things were much the same. They did their chores in a frozen wonderland. For two nights, they ran the generator on coal. Finally, on the fourth day, things began to melt. The wind started to blow at last—not the frozen north wind Dante had expected, but a nice warm breeze from the south. Midway through the morning, the propeller on the windmill broke free of its ice with a crack that echoed across the ranch like a gunshot. The blades creaked and slowly began to turn.
    “Thank the Saints for that,” Simon said to Dante when it happened. “I was starting to worry about our coal.”
Simon wasn’t the only one who’d been worried. Zed Austin had let the stocks run a bit low to begin with. Dante had been remiss about restocking them. It was so rarely needed, and especially so early in the year. But if another freeze hit them, they’d all breathe easier with the coal bins full. Dante kicked himself for not realising sooner how low they were.
“Someone’ll have to go to town.” Dante turned to look at Simon. “You and Frances want to do it?”
Simon scowled at him. “I just got back.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” It was an eight-day trip to town, round trip. Still, most every hand loved to go, because it meant stopping twice at the McAllen ranch. It was a chance to roll with a woman. Women being in such short supply out on the prairie, men were usually jumping up