Page 95 of Burnin' For You
“And you checked the oil?”
Knox gave her a look, and she grinned.
“Just checking. Let me take a look.” She fiddled with the wires, acquainting herself with the engine. Asked Ford to turn it over, just to check spark and fuel flow. She took the rag from Knox for her fingers, stepped back, and hadn’t even realized how much time had elapsed when she heard Gerri from the door of the barn.
“Seriously? Reuben, you’re a terrible messenger.”
Gerri stood there, looking anything but angry, however, grinning.
And it wasn’t hard to figure out why—all her children back in one place.
“You can fix the tractor after lunch. It’s getting cold.”
Gilly finished wiping her hands as she followed the boys out. Until she noticed Reuben standing near the tack room, as if transfixed.
And then his mother walked up to him. “He left it here for you,” she said.
Gilly hadn’t a clue what Gerri meant until Gilly joined Reuben, looked inside.
Hanging on the wall was an old, battered Pulaski, not unlike the kind Reuben used.
“And I thought you might like to read this.” Gerri pulled out a folded envelope and handed it to Reuben. “I found it in your father’s belongings recently.” She touched his back. “I’ll heat up your bowls when you get in.” Then she headed to the house.
Gilly walked into the tack room, took down the ax. “This was your father’s?”
He nodded, opening the letter. “I used to play with it when I was young. He caught me and was afraid I’d chop my foot off and took it away. Hid it. I haven’t seen it since…”
He was reading the letter, and something in his expression caught her, ran a hand around her throat.
His jaw tightened, his breath turned shaky.
“Rube?”
He looked up at her, and she stared nonplussed at his wet eyes.
“Are you okay?”
He handed her the letter. “It’s from Jock.”
Jock?
“My dad must have written to him after I left, maybe when he heard I’d joined the Jude County team.”
He ran a knuckle under his eye. Turned away and walked over to a stall. One of the horses met him, and he ran his big hands over the muzzle, almost absently.
She looked at the letter. Jock’s tiny, blocked handwriting—she recognized it from so many reports and whiteboard directions.
Simon—
Yeah, he’s here, and he’s fine. Working on the hotshot crew—one of the hardest workers I’ve ever seen. Has shown some interest in joining the smokejumping team, like you suspected. I would guess he’ll try out next year.
Following, apparently, in his father’s footsteps.
He’s everything you said—stubborn, tough. Smart. Good instincts. He’ll make a great leader someday.
I know you didn’t ask, but yeah, I’ll look out for him.
I know you’re wondering if you made the right decision, telling him to go. From my perspective you did. He was born for this. Not surprising—he has it in his genes.