UNBROKEN PROMISE

~30~Her Own Garden

The next morning, the sun was just beginning to climb over the hills when Logan finished his breakfast with Oma. The meal was lighter than usual, not in portions but in atmosphere. After their walk and talk the previous evening, there was a small but noticeable shift in the air between them. Oma wasn’t entirely at ease, but her posture was less rigid, her eyes less guarded. Logan caught her looking at him once or twice, though she quickly glanced away when their eyes met. He didn’t push her to speak much, letting the quiet settle naturally. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress.

Once they finished eating, Logan stood and grabbed his hat. “I’ll be out in the barn,” he said, his tone as gruff as ever but softer than it had been in the days before.

Oma nodded, clearing the plates as she mumbled a polite, “Yes, sir.”

Logan hesitated for a moment, watching her move about the kitchen. Her steps were careful, deliberate, as if she were still unsure of her place in this house. The guilt from yesterday tugged at him again, but he shook it off, knowing he’d done what he could for now.

---

When Logan stepped into the barn, the familiar earthy smell of hay and wood greeted him, grounding him as he took in the scene. Jacob was already inside, working on repairing one of the stall doors, his sleeves rolled up and sweat glistening on his brow. Nearby, Caleb was playing with Cookie, the little pup yipping and wagging its tail as Caleb giggled and tried to catch him. The sight brought a rare, fleeting smile to Logan’s face, though he quickly buried it.

“Mornin’,” Jacob greeted without looking up, his hands steady as he hammered a nail into place.

Logan gave a curt nod. “Mornin’.”

He headed to the other side of the barn, grabbing a pitchfork to start cleaning out one of the stalls. The work was mindless, the kind he usually welcomed when he needed to sort through his thoughts. But today, his mind was too restless, and the stiffness in his posture didn’t go unnoticed.

Jacob glanced over at him after a while, pausing his work. “You’re lookin’ about as tense as a bull at branding time,” he said casually, leaning his weight on the hammer. “What’s eatin’ at ya?”

Logan ignored him, focusing on the rhythmic motion of the pitchfork as he tossed hay into a pile.

Jacob raised an eyebrow, his tone growing more pointed. “You gonna act like you don’t hear me, or you gonna tell me what’s crawled up under your skin?”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and he gritted his teeth, refusing to answer. He wasn’t in the mood to spill his thoughts to anyone, not even his brother.

Jacob sighed, leaning against the stall door and crossing his arms. “Fine. You don’t wanna talk, that’s your business. But I saw Oma yesterday, and she didn’t look much like herself.”

Logan’s grip on the pitchfork tightened, his knuckles going white. He still didn’t answer, but Jacob’s words hit a nerve.

Jacob pushed off the door, his tone softening as he stepped closer. “Look, I ain’t tryin’ to pry, but I’m your brother, Logan. If somethin’s goin’ on, you can talk to me. That’s what I’m here for.”

Logan finally stopped what he was doing, his shoulders heaving slightly as he let out a long breath. He stared down at the hay scattered on the floor, the words sticking in his throat. After a moment, he glanced up at Jacob, his expression guarded but conflicted.

“How do you do it?” he asked abruptly, his voice low and strained.

Jacob frowned, tilting his head. “Do what?”