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satisfaction. Maybe she could suggest a night at the gym, a bout with a punching bag. Did gyms still have punching bags?
    She didn’t know, but figured Marc might feel better after an evening-long session with one. Hours of repetitive thrashing could release his anger at a situation beyond his control. And beyond hers, for that matter. She’d been assigned to do a job, and had every intention of performing her task to the best of her ability.
    With or without Marc DeHollander’s approval.

Chapter Four
    M arc pulled into Nan Bedlow’s at 5:40 p.m. He’d spent the better part of the day moving rotational fencing, allowing the herd new winter grazing on old cornstalks. His shoulders ached and his back knew the strain of bending and shifting, but he’d finished the job.
    The task wasn’t rhythmic like when he partnered with his dad. Then, one would drive, one would stake and unspool the wire to the plastic insulators, and they’d leapfrog one another to keep the installation moving. They could encircle a cornfield in a few hours time.
    Quick compared to today, anyway. Setting fence was a two-man job.
    He’d hired help for the feed store so he could have more time with his father. Even with the midwinter slump in business, he couldn’t be in the store, the barn and the house at the same time. Superman, he wasn’t. But he couldn’t justify paying two hands with the decreased work, so the store got the extra hands and Marc got the farm labor.
    He smiled as Jess swung open the passenger door.
    “Cold?”
    Jess tugged off her gloves. “Oh, yeah.” She placed her hands palms down over the dashboard vents. “Thanks for having the truck warm.”
    “It’s all right. Good session today?” Jess worked Rooster several times a week. The saucy paint had been a relatively inexpensive purchase five years past. He’d proven to be a good horse, with instinctive showmanship. The gelding loved an audience.
    That made him perfect for Jess’s needs. Rooster defied the laws of gravity with his leans and Jess had no problem eyeing the arena’s dirt floor with him. They made a team, with the show ribbons and acclaim to prove it.
    Jess kept her eyes trained ahead. “Good enough.”
    Uh-oh. “But?”
    “He needs to work.”
    Ah. January doldrums. Working horses didn’t like being put to rest. They’d stabled Rooster with Nan so they wouldn’t have to trailer him. Jess worked off his feed by helping Nan. It seemed a good plan, but Rooster was a “go” horse. Hanging out with the pampered babies of weekend riders wasn’t his cup of tea. Marc understood that. “You’re probably right.”
    “But trailering him here takes a lot of time.”
    “Not so much.”
    Jess started to object. Marc raised a hand. “We want to do what’s best for him, right?”
    “Yes, but you’re doing everything on your own. That’s hard.”
    She didn’t add that the advanced state of their dad’s cancer not only removed a capable set of hands, but added a pall to everyday life. They both recognized that. She continued, “I wish I didn’t have to go to school. I’d rather stay home and work with you. Ride. Feed. Muck.”
    “Castrate.”
    Jess laughed. “That, too.”
    “You’re a born rancher, kid. And when those calves start dropping, I’ll put you to work.”
    “I know.” Her voice was smug. “I’m a chip off the old block.”
    Marc tuned in more carefully. Something else was going on. Something unspoken. “Problems?”
    “Nope.”
    She answered too fast. Marc mulled the possibilities. Jess wasa good student. High honor roll, a favorite of teachers. He frowned as a thought occurred.
    She rarely brought friends around. She’d meet up with other riders at the ring and sometimes hang out with them, but that was different.
    School friends? None he could picture. Did she feel funny bringing them home with Dad sick? “Why not have some friends over this weekend? We can do a winter barbecue.”
    Jess’s careful smile set off warning