Chapter 23: Sheridan's Barn

On the first Saturday of December, half the ridge came to raise Sheridan's new barn.

The lumber came from donors who had left the Dinner early and wanted to make it up.

Jude stood on a ladder with a nail gun, wearing a flannel shirt I had last seen on the crew chief.

Four medics sawed boards on trestles, and the mechanic from the base had brought a trailer of his own tools.

Sheridan walked among them in her work boots with a clipboard, saying thank you to every person twice.

Duchess lay under a table of sandwiches, getting fed by everyone who passed.

"You don't have to keep thanking them," I told Sheridan.

"I know." She wiped her forehead with her sleeve. "I'm going to anyway."

She had her ranch.

Phyllis's guarantee on the loan had stood, and the bank had written Sheridan a letter that said so.

"Beck called me last week," Sheridan said.

"What did you say?"

"I said, 'This is Sheridan, and I'm hanging up now.'" She grinned, shakily. "It felt wonderful."

A gray sedan came up the ridge road at noon and parked at the end of the line of trucks.

Phyllis got out.

She wore a plain wool coat and no cardigan, and she held a manila folder against her chest.

The hammering slowed.

She walked through the lumber and the sawdust with every pair of eyes on her.

She stopped in front of me.

"I'm leaving for my sister's in Oregon on Monday," Phyllis said.

Keep reading free with an account. Start He Rescued a Dog Over My Gran, So I Took His Helicopters from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.