Scarlett Rose's Arc

Chapter 5 of 57

Scarlett came down the ladder behind Clayton and stepped out into a wind that had not been there an hour ago. The sky over the ridge had gone the color of wet slate. The pines on the high line were bent one way. She smelled rain and cold iron. The bloodhound pup lifted his nose from the barn floor and whined. "Storm," Clayton said. He looked past the barn to the low crossing where the county road dipped between their two properties. "That wash fills in ten minutes when it comes off the ridge like that." His truck sat on her side of the crossing. If the water rose, he was here until it dropped, and the mare and pup were still out in the open pasture. Scarlett did the math in her head. Truck first, then animals, then house. She grabbed a lead rope off the nail by the door. "Move your truck up to the cottage," she said. "High ground by the porch. I'll bring the mare in." He did not argue. He tossed her the keys to the pasture gate and went for his truck at a run. The first fat drops hit the tin roof behind her. Scarlett cut across the pasture with the rope over her shoulder. The white mare was already walking toward her, ears pinned at the sky. Scarlett clipped the lead to the halter and turned her toward the barn. The pup came behind at her heel, belly low. Wind pushed her hair across her face. She did not stop to fix it. Halfway back the rain hit for real. It came sideways and cold. The mare balked once. Scarlett laid a hand flat on the wet shoulder and kept walking. The mare came. She got them into the barn as the yard turned to running water. She latched the mare in the stall, dropped hay, and shut the pup in with her. The tabby watched from the loft edge with her kittens under her chin. Scarlett ran for the cottage. Clayton had the truck parked tight against the stone at the porch steps. He was on the porch already, hat dripping, holding the red door open for her. She went up the steps two at a time and inside. The kitchen was warm. The biscuits were still under the cloth on the counter. Down at the crossing, brown water was already sliding over the road. Clayton hung his hat on the peg by the door like he had done it before. "Truck's stuck this side till morning," he said. "Maybe longer." "I know." He looked at her, wet through, hair down her back in dark ropes. He did not look away. "Coffee's cold by now," she said. "I'll drink it cold." She went to the stove to put on a fresh pot, and her hands were steady for the first time all morning.