road. "It's been a while since I've been here," she murmured.
"My great-uncle was one of your home-health patients?"
She nodded, then smiled. "Yes, I was pleased that you came to be with him at the end." George Durand had been one of her favorite patients.
"I wish I'd come back sooner, but somehow I always thought we'd have more time than we did."
She felt him withdraw from her. Her sympathy was stirred. "That isn't uncommon. I do so much work with the elderly that I see it every day. My patients make the same mistake themselves. They will put off doing things—taking trips, doing home improvements, forgiving old wrongs—until they are physically unable."
She turned to face him, wanting to comfort him. "You shouldn't feel you came too late. You came when your uncle needed you. That's what counts."
"Uncle George stood by my dad and me when we needed him. After my mother left us, he always invited me to spend summers and Christmas and Easter vacations up here. My dad was a cop in Milwaukee, and police don't get holidays off. He helped when we needed him. I couldn't let Uncle George down."
Wendy glanced at him. She hadn't thought about it before, but this man had never known his mother. She had never known her father. "Nurses don't get holidays off either," she said wryly. "Your uncle was a fine gentleman. Everyone knew that. Your family has always been respected in the county." Unlike mine .
Rodd stopped his Jeep in front of the classic red barn with a stone foundation. His family homestead was a centennial farm, one that had been worked by the same family for that long.
"Do you want to come in or wait—"
"I'll come in." She wasn't surprised when Rodd motioned for her to wait till he opened the door for her. He certainly was a gentleman, just like his uncle.
As he held the side door of the barn open, she walked past, just a breath from him. The change of atmosphere was instant—from brittle cold wind to moist warmth. She automatically unzipped her parka and pushed back her hood. She inhaled the distinctive, pleasant smell of a well-kept cattle barn, the rich aromas of cured hay, feed, and cattle. She heard the clatter of hooves against the old cobbled floor, the unmistakable sound of bovine jaws and teeth chewing methodically, then the subtle lowing of a cow.
The quaint setting made her feel at ease—even near this handsome man. If only her father hadn't died before she was born and that hadn't sent her mother into a tailspin, Wendy wouldn't feel this gulf between Rodd and her. The only scandal that had ever touched the Durand's was Rodd's mother taking off when Rodd was a toddler.
Wendy walked beside Rodd to a few stalls toward the rear of the barn. "How many head do you have?" she asked, filling up the silence.
"Not many, only a dozen for breeding dairy cattle. They're not much work till calving next year." He grinned suddenly. "As soon as I learn what I'm doing, I'll be adding more stock."
She smiled back. Though still too aware of him, she was seeing another facet of the man. He might be maddening, a very take-charge sheriff, but he was Uncle George's great-nephew. That was why the county residents had asked him to run for sheriff and had accepted him easily into their midst. He might be from Milwaukee, but his father's family's long-established reputation for integrity worked in his favor, while all her life, her family's reputation had worked against her . She'd have to be careful and not be seen much with the sheriff, or they'd become a topic of nasty gossip—Veda would see to that .
She glanced up. Rodd was looking at her. The intensity of his gaze rattled her.
One of the cows in front of them lowed. Rodd reached over and patted the broad, white-faced Holstein. "The medicine looks like it's doing its job. Let me get you home, Wendy." With his other hand on her shoulder, he turned her back toward the door. His hand rode on her back
"My great-uncle was one of your home-health patients?"
She nodded, then smiled. "Yes, I was pleased that you came to be with him at the end." George Durand had been one of her favorite patients.
"I wish I'd come back sooner, but somehow I always thought we'd have more time than we did."
She felt him withdraw from her. Her sympathy was stirred. "That isn't uncommon. I do so much work with the elderly that I see it every day. My patients make the same mistake themselves. They will put off doing things—taking trips, doing home improvements, forgiving old wrongs—until they are physically unable."
She turned to face him, wanting to comfort him. "You shouldn't feel you came too late. You came when your uncle needed you. That's what counts."
"Uncle George stood by my dad and me when we needed him. After my mother left us, he always invited me to spend summers and Christmas and Easter vacations up here. My dad was a cop in Milwaukee, and police don't get holidays off. He helped when we needed him. I couldn't let Uncle George down."
Wendy glanced at him. She hadn't thought about it before, but this man had never known his mother. She had never known her father. "Nurses don't get holidays off either," she said wryly. "Your uncle was a fine gentleman. Everyone knew that. Your family has always been respected in the county." Unlike mine .
Rodd stopped his Jeep in front of the classic red barn with a stone foundation. His family homestead was a centennial farm, one that had been worked by the same family for that long.
"Do you want to come in or wait—"
"I'll come in." She wasn't surprised when Rodd motioned for her to wait till he opened the door for her. He certainly was a gentleman, just like his uncle.
As he held the side door of the barn open, she walked past, just a breath from him. The change of atmosphere was instant—from brittle cold wind to moist warmth. She automatically unzipped her parka and pushed back her hood. She inhaled the distinctive, pleasant smell of a well-kept cattle barn, the rich aromas of cured hay, feed, and cattle. She heard the clatter of hooves against the old cobbled floor, the unmistakable sound of bovine jaws and teeth chewing methodically, then the subtle lowing of a cow.
The quaint setting made her feel at ease—even near this handsome man. If only her father hadn't died before she was born and that hadn't sent her mother into a tailspin, Wendy wouldn't feel this gulf between Rodd and her. The only scandal that had ever touched the Durand's was Rodd's mother taking off when Rodd was a toddler.
Wendy walked beside Rodd to a few stalls toward the rear of the barn. "How many head do you have?" she asked, filling up the silence.
"Not many, only a dozen for breeding dairy cattle. They're not much work till calving next year." He grinned suddenly. "As soon as I learn what I'm doing, I'll be adding more stock."
She smiled back. Though still too aware of him, she was seeing another facet of the man. He might be maddening, a very take-charge sheriff, but he was Uncle George's great-nephew. That was why the county residents had asked him to run for sheriff and had accepted him easily into their midst. He might be from Milwaukee, but his father's family's long-established reputation for integrity worked in his favor, while all her life, her family's reputation had worked against her . She'd have to be careful and not be seen much with the sheriff, or they'd become a topic of nasty gossip—Veda would see to that .
She glanced up. Rodd was looking at her. The intensity of his gaze rattled her.
One of the cows in front of them lowed. Rodd reached over and patted the broad, white-faced Holstein. "The medicine looks like it's doing its job. Let me get you home, Wendy." With his other hand on her shoulder, he turned her back toward the door. His hand rode on her back
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