Reese moved uncomfortably on the bench. “Shay, you’re a dreamer. You’ll always see people at their best and finest.”
“Why not?” she challenged, her smile deepening. “I saw it in you the day we met. I sensed it. And you proved me right. I know I’m not a hundred percent on reading people accurately, but I’ve read you.” Shay shook her head, her voice growing low with emotion. “Reese, stop seeing yourself as less than the man you were before you left the Corps with PTSD. You’re the same man. Nothing has changed except for the uniform you wear now.” She waggled a finger at him. “And I love your story idea for all of us. Your story is to be a leader of people. A darned good one. I’ll always see those wonderful qualities in you.”
He swallowed painfully, dodging her gaze. “I’ve got such a long way to go, Shay . . .”
“Don’t we all? But that doesn’t mean I can’t see the whole of you, Reese Lockhart. In the past few days you’ve dazzled me with your intelligence, your compassion and understanding. Your ability to lead people through their own minefield and not get blown up in the process, is incredible.” Shay saw his cheeks growing even ruddier as he barely held her warm, sincere gaze. “Somehow, I swear I’m going to get you to see yourself as I see you, Reese.”
*
Shay braced herself as she made her way through the busy teams at ten o’clock to go meet her father. She saw Troy had wheeled him onto the back porch that overlooked the corrals, the arena, and the area where the four homes were being built. Earlier, Diana Adson had called her on the radio, announcing that Troy and Ray had arrived.
Shay wore a bright orange, cap-sleeved T, jeans, and boots. She had pulled her hair back into a ponytail and wore a tan baseball cap on her head. The buzz of saws, the grinding of pipe being cut, the chugging sounds of the crane, and the growls and roars of the other heavy equipment, filled the air like a construction symphony. She saw the women who were taking care of the food tents, starting to prepare for lunch, which would occur at noon. There were going to be hungry crews coming in after working from seven o’clock onward, without much rest.
Mounting the concrete stairs, her hand on the pipe rail, she leaped to the broad wooden deck. Shay had always loved the wraparound porch on their home. It was wide and linked the east and west porch, where there was a large wooden swing. She saw her father in his wheelchair being pushed by Troy to a spot along the stout wooden railing where he’d get the best view of the work taking place. Today, he wore a straw Stetson, a dark blue kerchief at his throat, a starched white cowboy shirt with pearl buttons, his jeans, and boots. Ray looked so much like she’d always seen him growing up. Only, instead of a horse, he rode a wheelchair. Much to her surprise, he’d shaved, too. Usually, Ray wouldn’t shave for days, reminding her of a grizzled gold miner in the Rockies. He sat straight in the wheelchair, his shoulders squared back with pride. Her heart twisted because she so desperately wanted him to love her and he never had. But even if Ray didn’t have it in him, as Shay approached, she still leaned down and gave him a hello peck on the cheek.
“Welcome to the ranch, Father,” she said, smiling and straightening. She nodded and smiled warmly over at Troy, who was dressed in black pants and a white shirt. He was six feet two inches tall, in his forties, and muscular. Shay knew some of the people in the nursing home needed a strong man to carry or move them around when necessary. And Troy, who was a gentle giant, was her father’s favorite helper there.
“Looks busy,” Troy said, gesturing toward the barn.
“Things have changed,” Ray said, frowning.
Shay turned and stood near him. “For the better.” She gestured to the many pipe corrals down below the house. “I’ve gotten them cleaned up, the rust is off them, and we’ve replaced sections that couldn’t be salvaged.”
“Hmph.”
Troy gave Shay an apologetic look. Shay smiled a little, used to her father’s pessimistic attitude.
“That’s a helluva crane,” Ray said, pointing at it behind the large arena building.
“Isn’t it?” Shay said. She saw interest in her father’s eyes as he watched the slowly moving crane deposit another joist on top of the building.
“And you’ve painted the barn.”
“Yes. It needed it.” She saw her father turn and glare up at her. She had to be careful what she said. Ray had let that barn go for seven years and never painted it. Without paint, the wood wore and rotted away faster and had to be replaced much sooner. Wyoming winters were cruel to wood, and it had to be cared for yearly, or else.
“I didn’t have time to get it done!” he snapped.
“Hmm,” was all Shay said, nodding. She saw Diana Adson come out of the house. “Father? Diana Adson is going to be dropping in once an hour to see how you’re doing and if you need anything.”