“Why didn't you call someone?”
“Who?” She threw up her hands. “I'm trying to keep the farm running, the animals fed, the garden alive. I don't have time to hunt down a plumber and wait around all day for them to show up.”
I knew that feeling a little too well. I finished tightening the new hinge, testing the door's swing. Much better.
“Show me.”
She blinked. “What?”
“The irrigation system.” I stood, brushing dirt off my jeans. “Show me.”
“Why?”
“Because I can probably fix it.”
She stared at me. “You're a vet.”
“Who converted a barn into a dog shelter.”
Her eyebrows rose slightly.
“I know my way around tools.” I picked up the toolbox. “Irrigation systems aren'tthatcomplicated.”
She studied me for a long moment, arms still crossed. The morning light caught the gold in her hair, made her freckles stand out against the flush from her cheeks.
“Fine.” She glanced back at the chicken coop door, which now swung smoothly and latched perfectly. Something flickered across her face—maybe relief, maybe gratitude. “Thank you. For that.”
I nodded, gripping the toolbox handle a little tighter. One less thing for her to worry about. One problem solved.
It shouldn't have felt as satisfying as it did.
“This way.” She led me across the yard, past the farmhouse and toward the garden.
I followed, focusing on the toolbox in my hand. The weight of it. The metal handle digging into my palm.
Noton how her cutoff shorts had a patch shaped like a strawberry on the back pocket. Or how her ponytail swung with each step. Or how the morning sun turned her profile golden when she glanced back to make sure I was following.
Stop noticing things.
We finally reached the garden area. Rosie opened the gate and let me through.
The space was bigger than it looked from the road. Neat rows of lettuce, tomatoes, zucchini, and half a dozen other vegetables—all green and thriving despite the broken irrigation. Flowers bordered the edges in bright clusters, probably for market bouquets.
She'd been managing all thisby hand.
Rosie led me to the corner where a control box sat mounted on a post, tubes and connectors snaking out in multiple directions.
“Here.” She gestured at the mess. “Walt explained it once. Something about zones and timers and...” She trailed off, rubbing her temple. “It just blew up. Water went everywhere. Now nothing works right.”
I knelt beside the timer box, looking for the problem. Water stains ran down the main line where it connected to the lateral pipes. Could be pressure issues causing connections to blow, but I needed to check the whole system first.
“Turn it on.”
“You sure?”
“I need to see what happens.”
She reached for the manual override valve, hesitating. “Just so you know?—”