Page 66 of On the Land, We Shoot Straight
Cole stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“How?”
“Whaddya mean, how?”
“You gonna bury him?”
“I can, yeah.”
“I’ll do it. You get that one a bottle.”
Grady was going to argue—Cole was shivering something fierce—but his serious expression stopped him. Grady went for the kitchen, and Cole dropped his hand.
The little fella took his time taking the milk, but he was feisty enough by the end of it; Grady reckoned he’d be all right. He went out, headed for the barn, and found it empty. Chloe and Red both had their noses out the stall door, though; likely Cole had been there. Grady went out the other side and saw Cole in the corner of the field, a mountain of dirt beside him like he was digging the world’s biggest hole. He’d shed his jacket, sweater, hat and scarf, his wet shirt clinging, his hair a black mass of strands sticking to his face, the bundled body beside him.
Grady went over to him. The rain was still coming down, but it’d lightened enough it was almost comfortable to stand in it and talk.
“Reckon that’ll do it,” Grady said.
Cole grunted and put the shovel in again. Grady looked at him and saw his face flushed with exertion, his eyes red with tears and his nose running. Grady stilled his arm before he could plow in any farther.
“That’ll do it.”
Cole shook his head, sniffed and wiped his hand over his face to clear it, dirt smearing his nose and cheek.
“Reckon a few more.”
“All right,” Grady said and took the shovel from him. “You make sure he’s wrapped up nice then.”
“You don’t want the blanket?”
Grady looked back at Cole. His tears had stopped, but his face was racked with pain. “I reckon he can keep it. Keep him warm.”
Cole nodded, dropped his gaze, and cried freely. Grady got to digging. He planted the shovel next to the hole once it was deep enough. Cole bundled up the lamb and put him in, whispered something to him that Grady didn’t want to hear.
Grady filled in the hole while Cole stood beside him, arms around himself, shivering and quiet, eyes still leaking. Grady patted the earth with the back of the shovel and faced him. Cole met his eyes.
“I know it seems—”
Grady gripped his shoulder to stop him. “You done good.”
Cole shook his head and blinked back tears.
“You done good.” Grady tugged him under his arm. “C’mon now, you’re gonna catch a chill, and I reckon them lambs are gonna need ya.”
Grady herded him back inside, told him to go on up and shower and he’d get him some toast, get the dinner started. He listened to Cole’s quiet footsteps on the stairs and on the landing and blew out a breath.
He looked down at Dog and Lady in front of the fire looking around at the lambs with alarm, listened as the water came on gently upstairs with barely a clang. He shook his head and went in to make the food.
35
T
hat night, Grady layin bed, staring up at the ceiling, the fire from downstairs burning bright enough to cast bursts of light and shadow on the hallway wall upstairs, the murmur of the lambs settling in for the night drifting up to him. He brought his arm up and rested his head on his forearm, and found his mind racing even though it’d been a long day, a cold day. His body was tired in the way it got when you were cold and filthy and then clean and warm, in the way you felt when you’d done your work and it was time to be resting in clean sheets.
But his mind wasn’t resting. It was so loud in his thoughts, he didn’t even hear Cole come in. He felt him, though, when he was crawling in beside him and stretching out lengthways along Grady’s side. Grady brought his arm down and pulled him close.
“You ain’t sleepin’ with your lambs?”
